Oh hiiii! (throws update and hides)
Chapter 14 - Break the Rules and Stay Alive
Hermione - December 25, 1996
A heavy weight draped across Hermione's waist. Warm and familiar, it stirred her magic. Draco.
But wasn't she in her four-poster with Crooks, waiting for it to be light enough to get up?
She cracked open her eyes and took in the sight of a roaring fire in an unfamiliar stone hearth. Reaching out a tentative hand, she felt the buttery softness of sheets. Far too fine to be her Hogwarts' bedclothes. Though it was a beautiful room, it was filled with an air of melancholy.
How was this possible? She couldn't remember ever noticing textures in a dream before.
A heavy breath shifted her hair. "Stop thinking, Witch. It's too early." His words rumbled through his chest to her back.
She pushed back into the safety of his arms. "I can't help thinking, it's what my brain does." His hands gripped her nightshirt possessively.
"Beautiful brain," he mumbled against her neck.
It was such a lovely feeling. She never wanted it to end. But what was this? "How am I here?"
"Where?" He squeezed her tighter.
"Here, wherever this is, with you?" It didn't seem like a vision, and it definitely was no ordinary dream.
"You're not here, silly witch. I'm dreaming," he hummed and pressed full lips to the pulse on her neck, sending a wave of pleasure along her nerves. "They can't take you from me here. Keep you safe…"
She tried to sit up, but the room grew hazy, so she leaned back into him. His heart beat in a steady rhythm as her uneasiness grew—What was this?
"No, Draco. I'm here. Where are we?" She covered his hands with her own and flinched. They were cold as ice. The world shook, and the weight on her waist lessened. Panic rose in her chest as she tried to turn around to face him.
"Draco?"
"Back to sleep… so tired… stay hidden… keep you safe…"
Another shake. "Miss?"
The room faded into a mist. "Draco, don't let go!"
But he was already gone. "Draco!"
"Miss Hermione, are yous okay?" A familiar voice broke the remaining vision of Draco.
Hermione shot up from the bed, wrapping her arms around her waist, missing the weight of Draco's arms. "Wha—?"
The dream, or whatever that was, was gone.
"Dobby, thinks yous been dreamin.' But miss, yous are expected at the morning feast."
"Oh." She lowered herself back down, releasing a breath. "Right… oh my… right"
She tugged the comforter up and pushed her hair out of her face, revealing one of her knitting successes. She sat up again and found Dobby's overlarge ears sticking out past the cheery hat. At least someone liked her creations.
"Thank you, Dobby. I apologize. I didn't realize I'd slept so late."
The house-elf nodded solemnly. "Tea?"
"Goodness, yes please, if it won't inconvenience you." That's what she needed, caffeine to jump start her hormone addled brain.
Dobby rolled his eyes. "No, miss, I should likes to get you tea." He snapped his fingers and a small service appeared on Hermione's nightstand. "The feast be startin' soon."
"Of course, yes. Please let Professor McGonagall know I'll be along shortly."
Dobby snapped his fingers with a smile and disappeared.
It was turning out to be a very strange start to Christmas day. That had been such a vivid dream. She could have sworn she was really in Draco's bed. The drapes and hangings had all been a beautiful royal blue. She'd always assumed he'd have everything done in Slytherin Green.
She took a sip of the lovely tea Dobby had set out. How silly of her to think it was real. She just missed him. These two weeks apart were going to be unbearable.
Draco - December 25, 1996
The death mask was heavy as he lifted it towards his face.
The sensation of all the light disappearing when it magically secured itself against his head was terrifying. Draco felt like he was suffocating, as though buried alive and with no way out of the nightmare that was his life.
Hastily touching the mask with his wand, it turned to smoke and disappeared, leaving only his horrified reflection staring back at him in the mirror. His knees gave out, barely bracing himself on the dresser before him as he continued to suck in heavy breaths of air. He squeezed his eyes shut, his grip tightening until his knuckles blanched white.
I can't do this. Merlin-FUCK! I. Can't. Fucking. Do. This.
Desperate for even a modicum of comfort, he dove into his garden, aiming straight for his mother's white rose, and buried himself deep into the soil below. Hermione's warm body playing the little spoon, like in his dream that morning, stirred his magic. Then visions of her laughing and smiling, the look of longing and finally the stars in her eyes when they parted from an emotional kiss.
Keeping all of this hidden away was exhausting, but necessary.
He remained beneath the ground just long enough to pull himself together. Then he pushed Hermione—his heart and everything he longed for—back to where he'd buried her before.
"Fucking fool, Malfoy." Draco chastised himself, knowing how stupid it had been to even think about her at a time like this. Even from his location, tucked away in his rooms at the other end of the Manor, he could hear his Aunt Bella's infamous cackle. It was all too real, too soon.
A deep breath helped him to recenter. He focused all of his strength on occluding, watching his reflection morph from the bloke with no choice, to the shell of a human, void of emotion or heart.
The crack of Zipps appearing behind him caught his attention.
"Mistress is wanting Zipps to gives the Master this." The house-elf approached with a small trinket box. He placed it in Draco's outstretched hand and then disappeared with another crack.
In it was an onyx signet ring. The Ancient and Noble House of Black family crest adorned the top. After removing it, Draco snapped the case shut and slipped it onto his finger. Thank Merlin his mother would be nowhere near the events of the day. Draco knew this was her reminder of who he was, and the protection his family lines afforded him.
He slowly pulled on his robes and grabbed the re-materialized death mask. With a straightened spine, Draco stepped through the door, letting it shut with a snick behind him. Once the house wards shimmered over the door, sealing away his private space, he made his way to the staircase.
I am descending the stairs, one foot at a time. I am approaching the atrium of the Manor. I am stepping into the ballroom…
Black robes flooded the space. Draco silently made his way to the back of the crowd, but the smiles and chaotic laughter between sycophants made his stomach lurch. A sense of excitement hovered in the air. It seemed everyone but Draco was eager for the coming entertainment.
He inhaled deeply and moved to a spot against the wall under a priceless painting of Salazar Slytherin. It was where he and Theo had snuck their first sips of firewhiskey during one of his mother's charity balls.
"Welcome, Nephew," a gravelly voice spoke behind Draco.
He turned, gripping his mask and dropping out of his walking meditation. "Hello, Uncle. I trust you are enjoying your stay in my ancestral home," Draco said, using the measured, indifferent tones he'd learned from his parents growing up.
Rodolphus Lestrange cackled in Draco's face. His hair was unkempt and his lips pulled apart in a ghastly smile. His teeth were yellowed and cracked from his time in Azkaban, and his breath reeked of death. Draco fought his reaction, forcing his need to gag away. He'd thought Greyback's odor was foul, but this was worse.
Is this what was to become of Malfoy Manor?
"So proper," Rodolphus said, wheezing a laugh, his saliva spitting past Draco's face. "Will you be asking the disgusting muggles if they are finding their torture painful enough?"
Draco stared, fighting the desire to hex his uncle, though perhaps retching up his most recent meal on his shoes was more likely. Behind the grotesque man, he noticed his aunt sashaying towards them.
"Don't tease the boy, Husband. He's excited. Today he becomes a man, a real wizard," Bellatrix cooed with her odd baby-talk way of speaking. She twirled between them, taking Rodolphus' hand to guide her around, as they both laughed with manic glee. After a moment, they stopped, and she turned her attention back to Draco. She picked at his robes and wiped away whatever invisible thing her twisted mind had conjured up.
His robes were spotless. He'd made sure of it.
I am standing in the ballroom. I am breathing normally. Trees are blowing gently in the wind. The deathflower is in the corner. The white rose is steady.
A familiar voice sounded from across the room. "If I'm to believe my daughter, he is already a man," Pansy Parkinson's father announced, as he strode toward Draco.
Stifling a flinch, Draco held his hand out to his ex-girlfriend's father. "It's nice to see you, sir," he said, falling back on his pureblood manners.
"Hmm...is it? Never been a fan of these, to be honest," Mr. Parkinson said, glancing around. "Prefer the political end." He gave Draco a hard look, arching his pointy brow. "That's where the power is, boy. Mmmm, yes. Very attractive, politics."
Draco nodded, working hard to remain neutral.
"Oh shut it, Pendus you lazy sod." Raising her arms, Bellatrix twirled around, gesturing to their surroundings. "These are the heights of being a Death Eater." She pointed her wand straight at his snout like nose. "You'd be wise to remember your place, Parkinson. Loyalty is everything to the Dark Lord, and goblin gold can only go so far." Her wide eyes lit up with wicked glee.
Draco wanted to hide in his garden. The thought of her enjoying this entire experience terrified him. But he had to stay present.
Parkinson swatted her wand away and cleared his throat loudly. "Yes, yes, all right. I remember how well you enjoyed the revels, Bella, and keep that bloody wand out of my face. I can assure you, the Dark Lord is perfectly satisfied with my gold." He turned back to Draco. "Speaking of gold, I quite expect a meeting with your family to discuss a contract, Draco."
He knew sleeping with Pansy had been a mistake. "I'm afraid those decisions are not within my control. My father—"
Mr. Parkinson cleared his throat, his cheeks reddening. "Of course, yes, of course. I should have realized. You're both young yet. Avoid mistakes that cannot be undone, and when things settle down, I'll expect to hear from your father."
Draco gave him a thin-lipped smile. It wasn't like Draco expected to survive the next year, anyway. "Yes, I'll be certain to let Father know."
The whoosh of a floo activating pulled both of their attention, with muffled sounds of feet shuffling headed their way.
A voice hissed, "Useless boy!"
An oomph came from the corridor as the sound of more footsteps grew louder. Draco's eyes widened as Theodore Nott Sr. came around the corner, a hand bunched in the scruff of Theo's neck with Pansy barely clinging to his arm. Their dress robes were rumpled, and they seemed off balance. Reaching for the edge of his garden, Draco breathed in for calm, and gave a small bow. The elder Nott hardly spared him a glance.
"I'm sent to retrieve you, only to find you imbibed on cheap elf-made wine. And at that home, so beneath your stations," he whispered angrily into Theo's ear before shoving him forward.
Pansy stumbled into Theo's side, an arm sliding around his waist. Draco stepped forward and grabbed onto Theo's shoulder to steady him.
Theo and Pansy were drunk? How could they be so bloody stupid as to show up for an audience with the Dark Lord drunk?
Mr. Parkinson pushed forward, moving Pansy to his side. "What is the meaning of this Nott?"
"What do you think?" Nott Sr. snapped, pressing his wand to his black Death Eater robes until they flattened. "The Dark Lord requested I retrieve my heir." He glared at Theo. "As well as any other dark family heirs I came across. Pansy is your heir, is she not?"
How had Draco not predicted this? His friends were now being pulled into service. Of course they were.
"Pansy, explain yourself. Your mother would be most disappointed!"
"Had you"—she hiccupped and swayed in place—"warned me, Father, we would not have overindulged. It was a Yule celebration!"
Draco groaned. The Yule celebration Blaise had mentioned, of course.
Mr. Parkinson pinched his nose. "Had I known your presence would be requested, I would have told you."
Nott Sr.'s gaze turned to Draco, his eyes hard. "No doubt your influence."
Confused, Draco frowned. "Sir…?"
"Worthless, the lot of you," the man growled, giving Theo a hard push straight into Draco's chest before disregarding the three of them. "Pendus! A word."
Draco waited for the men to be out of earshot and grabbed both friends' arms, pulling them behind one of the ballroom's pillars.
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" His stomach filled with worry and his outermost mental shields cracked. This wasn't supposed to happen!
"You stupid fools, coming here completely smashed!"
"For fuck's sake, Draco! Don't be ridiculous! Do you really think we'd allow ourselves to be dragged here without some kind of plan in place?" Pansy whispered-hissed.
"We knew it was coming," Theo said, running a hand through his disheveled hair, eyes darting around the room. "Blaise had his elf keeping tabs on the floo and warned us in plenty of time. Gave us a few drops of his mother's Boozy Potion to mask any doubt."
He looked over his shoulder past the crowd of Death Eaters, and spotted his mother in the corner, stoney-faced as she glared at him.
Fuck. If she's seen us, how many others have as well?
Draco rolled his lips in frustration. Having them here was a liability, one he couldn't afford.
"Just… keep your heads down, and stay out of my way, all right? It's… it's not you he's interested in tonight." He gave them a pointed look, nodding when Pansy's eyes widened.
The silent acknowledgement that Draco was who the Dark Lord was interested in passed between the three of them. Pansy dropped Theo's hand, slumping back into his shoulder, eyes down. Altering his stance as well, Theo leaned lazily against the pillar, all emotion dropping from his face.
Wild hair surrounded by stars flashed across Draco's mind, but he couldn't indulge in the comfort. He swallowed and inhaled deeply to recenter. He couldn't let the worry he felt for his friends and mother show. And he pushed the euphoric memory of his magic binding with Hermione back down, deep into the recesses of his mind. The thought of gripping her nightshirt in his dreams was fuel enough for an excruciating hexing if anyone broke through his mental defenses. He refused to allow it. He would keep her hidden away. Safe.
He focused on the calm swaying of the reeds in his garden until he was fully occluded.
Draco cleared his throat softly. "Let's not draw any more attention to ourselv-"
"My patience wears thin!" The Dark Lord's voice filled the ballroom. "Nott, Parkinson, Malfoy, come!"
Pansy met Draco's eyes and there below the intoxicated haze he could see terror. Mr. Parkinson stomped back over towards them, took her arm, and began whispering in her ear.
"Say nothing," Nott Sr. hissed at Theo.
It was good advice. Advice Draco planned to follow as much as possible. He slipped into a walking meditation, clearing his mind and fortifying his garden. They were about to stand before the Dark Lord. He needed to be prepared.
As a group, they quick-stepped past the watchful eyes of the other Death Eaters until they reached the dais at the end of the ballroom. The house-elves had erected it after the Dark Lord had moved in the previous summer. Now, Nagini lay at her master's feet, coiled around the large throne.
Mr. Parkinson stepped up. "Apologies, my Lord. The children have been at a Yule celebration this night and are"—he audibly swallowed—"inebriated."
"A party?" The red slits of the Dark Lord's eyes glinted with what could be anything from mirth to irritation.
Nott Sr. moved next to Mr. Parkinson. "Yes, that Zabini woman. Something for her latest husband's business venture."
Nagini slithered up the side of the throne and butted her head against her master's hand. "Why are they not here?" He stroked the snake's head. "Are they not a dark family?"
Nagini hissed, carrying across the ballroom that had grown quiet as all ears turned to the Dark Lord.
Nott Sr. took a subtle step back and bowed. "He was a Ravenclaw, and she's from Italy, no specific affiliation. They are not one of the families that recruitment has focused on."
What went unsaid was the fact that the Zabinis were not blood purists. And the latest husband was a half-blood from Wizarding and Muggle money. They were not likely to be swayed to the Dark Lord's cause.
"Fine, fine. Nott, I want your son working on his recruitment." Red eyes turned to Mr. Parkinson, his thin slips pulling into a frown. "Maybe your daughter can be of some use. She is passably pretty, I suppose."
The Dark Lord's words shattered Draco's meditative state. He glanced at Mr. Parkinson, who seemed frozen. Just as Draco was Lucius' heir, Pansy was also the Parkinson heir. Heirs were not used in such a manner. Married off for alliances, certainly. But never as a passing enticement. He would not see his friend used in such a way if he could prevent it.
With a terrible idea on the tip of his tongue, and the rest of his mind closed, Draco stepped into the space next to Pansy and placed her small hand on his forearm.
"My Lord, my father has long been in negotiations with the Parkinsons for a betrothal between Pansy and myself." Her trembling fingers gripped him.
Two red slits turned back to Draco. With every ounce of his will, Draco fought not to tremble at the direct attention.
"And were you at this celebration, Draco?"
He bowed his head, avoiding eye contact. "No, my Lord. I have been preparing for tonight's festivities."
The heavy gaze of their lord shifted. "Parkinson, what of this betrothal?"
Mr. Parkinson stepped closer, his hand settling on Draco's shoulder. "Yes, yes, my Lord. Draco and I were even discussing it just moments ago."
A murmur rose from the gathered crowd.
The Dark Lord settled back on his throne, still petting his familiar. "Do you hear that, Nagini?" He chuckled softly. "It would appear my absence has caused them to think they have the luxury of making decisions on their own."
Red slits looked up menacingly. "No magically binding contracts are to be signed without my approval."
The group of sycophants surrounding the dais had grown in the time since Draco had been called up. And everyone of those heads turned. Faces ranged from shocked, disapproving, and even a few looked disgusted.
"My Lord." Nott Sr. bowed again, drawing the Dark Lord's attention. "Though your absence from us has been an unbearable travesty, upholding your vision of purity in the wizarding world has lived on. However, the handling of betrothals is a sacred process not shared outside of the families involved. It is tradition."
The Dark Lord waved his hand. "I care not for your inconsequential marriage traditions. We have more important things to consider. The role of the next generation is most important. I do not have the time nor the patience for silly rituals."
Mr Parkinson's chest puffed out as he harrumphed, "Silly—"
"Crucio!"
Draco watched frozen as the Dark Lord spell struck Mr. Parkinson. The air filled with his screams and once the spell released, an eerie quiet settled over the room.
"Yes, Pendus. Silly. Your traditions are second to serving me. We cannot waste the time and resources on such trivial things as marriage. Does anyone else disagree with me?"
"You're quite right, my Lord." Yaxley pushed through to stand before Voldemort. "Especially for this younger generation. They need to remain focused on the cause." He gave Pansy a distasteful look. "Distractions like wives are likely to cause more harm than good."
Draco's mind reeled. None of it made sense. His mother made it perfectly clear to him that he was expected to complete a betrothal post-haste. And to his knowledge, that had been an instruction from the Dark Lord. But the drama unfolding in front of him suggested otherwise. Rather than consider engaging again, Draco sought his garden, but realized that was too deep. He needed to be more present than that, so he took to focusing on the unimportant details surrounding him. The light smell of Pansy's perfume, the sweat glistening at Theo's temple. At least there was a delay in what was to come.
Draco glanced around the dais and noticed Dolohov had moved quite close to Pansy. His eyes roved over her body inappropriately.
"Mr. Parkinson, if you would," Draco said, doing his best to keep his voice steady and neutral as he turned Pansy away from the dais and toward her father. Pansy's hand shot out, gripped Draco's tightly for two pulses and then reached out for Theo.
"Yes, yes, please take away the weak-minded children. We don't have all night," Yaxley said, waving them away.
Draco sighed in relief as his friends' heads disappeared into the crowd.
The Death Eaters jeered and bellowed until the ballroom doors slammed shut.
"My dedicated followers, the time has finally come!"
The Dark Lord's words were icy fingers grating up Draco's spine. It took all of his skill not to jump out of his skin when a hand landed on his shoulder and gripped it tightly.
"Oh ho, Little Malfoy. Your father was always my favorite revel partner," Antonin Dolohov said, his greasy voice curdling Draco's already sour stomach.
Just beyond Dolohov, the Lestrange brothers, as well as Bellatrix, had resumed their animated discussion. Bellatrix turned to him once and smiled, teeth bared and eyes alight with excitement. Draco swallowed down his disgust, briefly wondering if this was something she'd imagined while being locked away in Azkaban.
What would his father say if he could see him now?
Breathe in. Breathe Out. I am standing in the ballroom. The white rose stands tall.
Dolohov gripped Draco's arm, and then the world turned inside out. It wasn't a regular apparition. This was unsettling in a different way. The normal hook through the navel became a sword, slicing straight through his head, setting his body on fire. His spine bent and legs split as he contorted unnaturally through the apparition. Trapped, there was no air for his scream. It would never end.
Until it did.
Draco's feet slammed onto a hard black surface and his lungs filled with clean air. Slowly, his disorientation cleared. There were rows of homes, many decorated with twinkling lights, and next to them was a small lit park. A muggle neighborhood. He'd known to expect this, but it was much worse now that he was in the middle of it.
Is this what her neighborhood looks like? He shut down that train of thought again, berating himself for even thinking of of apparition and black smoke swirled around them as more and more Death Eaters appeared on the street. Draco's eyes darted back and forth between them. Surely they all hadn't been in the ballroom before. It was terrifying to realize so many were still so loyal to the Dark Lord.
Dolohov gripped his shoulder again. "We'll let everyone get set and then we'll have some fun."
Three loud cracks announced the arrival of Aunt Bella, flanked by the Carrow twins. None of them wore masks, their features twisted in sickening glee as the windows from another home imploded. Barely occluded, he knew their expressions would haunt him.
Bellatrix threw her wand arm in the air. "Morsmordre!"
Green sparks exploded overhead, the low clouds shifted and formed the skull and snake. Bellatrix cackled, and the crowd whooped and hollered.
Panic stirred in Draco's chest up as the jeers grew louder. Dolohov squeezed his shoulder, hard.
"While we wait, got a question for ya."
Taking a deep breath, Draco centered himself—I am standing. I am breathing. The reeds are still—and prepared for whatever it might be. "Of course," he said flatly.
"Potter's little mudblood, Hermione Granger—"
Draco's occlumency shuddered, and his magical core knotted. He strengthened his mental shields, forcing every memory of school as far down as he could into the soil of his garden, expanding the lake further out to cover it. He could feel his magic coursing through him, the sensation of another fierce layer akin to his own now melded with him. Draco allowed it to surround him, acting like an invisible shield.
"—she's in your year at Hogwarts, ya?" The smarmy bastard was practically drooling over the mention of her, his rancid breath heavy and panting.
Draco's eyes narrowed. "Remove your hand." He sneered instead of answering, giving his best impersonation of his father as he shoved him away.
Dolohov stumbled back a bit at the force, but seemed unbothered. "Yeh, your lot is the same year. Oooh, I can't wait 'til we round up all the filthy mudbloods. I have plans for that one." He rubbed his hands together. "Always wanted me a pet."
Draco swallowed, disturbed by the declaration, but said nothing. If he spoke, he might lose control. The wretched pig would never lay a finger on her. He'd kill anyone that tried.
"Get me some of her hair, will ya? You know, so I can practice." Dolohov laughed and slapped Draco's back, unbalancing him.
Reeds whipped around in a flare of angry wind. The water rippled and foamed.
Draco concentrated, focusing on calm, empty, indifference. No one could see him react.
Moving slowly and deliberately, Draco lifted his mask to his face. With his expression hidden, and his mind as settled as possible, he responded, "Only a fool would attempt such a thing."
Dolohov shook his head. "So stiff. Relax, little Lordling." Dolohov's arm rose toward Draco's head, but he shifted away. Apparently, further amusing the Death Eater. "We need to loosen you up. Be plenty of opportunity for that tonight."
Bile burned the back of Draco's throat. He wanted to fucking murder the man standing next to him. Then a horrible thought occurred to him. "My father enjoyed these pursuits with you?"
"Old Lucius." Dolohov laughed again and settled his mask in place. "Don't be daft, boy. He's got one of them"—he spat on the ground—"fidelity bonds with your mum."
This surprised Draco, as he knew they did not have such a bond as part of their marriage contract. But he wasn't one to lose an opportunity. "Unlike others, Malfoy's take purity of mind and body very seriously," Draco said, quoting his grandfather, hoping to put Dolohov off.
"Yeah, yeah, not willing to dip your wick in the mud. Fine, fine, but you are—" Red sparks appeared in the sky. "Here we go. Plenty of ways to have fun, even if you are uptight," Dolohov said, and jogged away.
His panic resumed as a flash of red lightning burst from the sky, striking the front door of the closest house right off its hinges. Draco breathed into his occlusion, trying to shift back into a more meditative state. He slipped into his garden and twisted away from the sweet scent of roses. He couldn't seek her out; she was safe and tucked away. What he needed was focus and determination if he was going to get through this night. He needed Severus' water. He watched the still reeds and his calm waters for two breaths. Enough to find his center, enough to bring his preparations into focus.
Syllables and wand movements danced across the surface of his consciousness. Flashy things that would allow him to look like one of them while doing the least amount of damage. He was ready to blend in with them and not attract attention.
It was the best that he could do.
Pathetic. Is this what we're all to become?
He sent the errant thought deeper into the garden, took another deep breath. He stepped forward, foot striking the ground and let his robes billow out around him.
The flicker of Christmas lights formed shadows and phantom shapes. A pair of Death Eaters shoved past him on either side, bumping his shoulders and causing Draco's stride to waver. He grit his teeth and pushed forward, aiming his spell just over the tall hedges that separated each house. His nonverbal spell erupted from his wand in a ball of yellow light and blasted the side of the house. It left residue like he had blasted the house, but it actually only damaged the paint. An odd little spell he'd found in a book his mother recommended.
He needed to be careful. It was important that he have the appropriate memories to eliminate any doubts about his devotion. But he also couldn't bear to harm the people of this quiet neighborhood.
A quick flick of his wand sent a flash of blue light to the base of a shrub and a giant orange cat dashed out, yowling in surprise at the water spell he'd cast.
More flashes of light chased the animal until it disappeared under the house.
A heavy hand landed on Draco's shoulder. He turned, thankful the mask covered his dismay.
"Missed 'em," said an unfamiliar voice. Whoever it was didn't linger, moving on to join a small group that was aiming spells at the second-story windows of the next house down.
The first scream shattered his concentration, knocking him out of his garden. There was a cacophony of destruction that his occlusion had muted. But without it, screams surrounded him. Pain and joy in equal measure. There wasn't time for this. He couldn't get lost and fail this soon. He focused, trying to visualize the glassy surface of his pond and the reeds waving gently along the edges.
Another deep breath, but he couldn't find equilibrium. He descended past the walking meditation and further into his garden.
Heavy, fragrant blooms waved in the warm breeze. A familiar magic that wasn't quite his own slowed Draco's heart, and the heat of adrenaline receded. Her name carried on the breeze and skipped across the pond before returning to the manicured rose garden. He reached for the waters. He needed their stillness and calm. Releasing a slow breath, the cool water stayed with him and the reeds appeared in his peripheral vision. This was something different. He'd never brought the garden out with him. He felt calm but also more present than he'd been able to accomplish before.
Draco's legs felt loose, but he could move again. He walked forward, and his garden stayed in his peripheral vision, as if it were now part of his walking meditation. It allowed him to focus on staying mixed into the group, letting them propel him down the street while he existed in this new mental limbo.
The Death Eaters moved like a giant snake, slithering down the cobblestone lane surrounded by a layer of thick, black, cloudlike smoke. There was an icy chill of death weighing down the air. What would the Muggle morning papers say? Would they blame the destruction on terrorists? Was that what they were? All of the wizarding world would know exactly what had transpired. Circe help him when those papers found their way to Hogwarts. He breathed deeply again, rustling reeds waved. Water and magic lapped at the edge of his mind. Focus. He needed to stay focused.
Another scream and more laughter filled the air. He didn't want to look, but reflex pulled his eyes to the robes surrounding a figure huddled on the ground. The reeds dimmed and his calm waters receded; the air grew colder, the sting biting Draco's cheeks. More screams. He squeezed his eyes shut as a bright flash of purple struck the figure. Yellow lightning battered the borders of his garden, shaking him to his core. He stopped walking, his body still while his mind began racing towards the white rose. The roots. Down, down, down into the soil he went.
Safe. Safe. Safe.
His eyes flew open when a hard shove brought Draco to his knees and face-to-face with a woman. Her dark curly hair matted, clothes torn and dirty, and her mouth open in a soundless scream. Green lightning lit the inside of his garden, white petals blasted across his vision before dissolving as his walls dropped completely.
MOTHER. HERMIONE. MOTHER. HERMIONE, HERMIONE, HERMIONE!
He wanted to scream, to run, but he couldn't. He couldn't do this. Bloody fucking hell! He was not one of them. Draco tried to move back into his garden, but the screaming was near constant and he couldn't seem to find his bearings. His breathing became erratic as the panic he'd been trying so hard to push down consumed him. His hands frantically grasped at the coarse pavement, his fingertips growing wet with his own blood—or was it the girls? HERMIONE!—as his fingernails scraped against the ground.
"Bring the body."
"Did you hear that scream? Perfection!"
"Let's round 'em all up, 'n burn em!"
"The Dark Lord will be pleased."
"Where is the boy?"
Draco gasped for air as the rest of the Death Eaters moved around him, stepping on his robes and hands as they celebrated their first Muggle death.
She'd looked like Hermione, or maybe he was hallucinating. Was she bound to suffer like this, too?Would it be at his own hands? Who would protect her? Potter? Weasley?
Soon someone would see his panic. They would realize he'd collapsed, hyperventilating in fear, not excitement. He reached for the pain from his torn up hands. Anything to regain control, but he couldn't catch his breath.
I need to get out of here. I need to get back to her. We need to hide. I'll fucking kill anyone that harms her.
More screaming. SO much screaming!
There was a hard pinch to the back of his arm, followed by a wave of cool magic that gave him back his breath. Then Draco was pulled back to his feet.
"Pull it together. You must occlude!"
Snape was gone before Draco could even fully grasp what happened. More light flashed around him. A short distance away, he spotted Dolohov dragging someone by their hair.
Draco breathed in harshly, but at least he could breathe.
He had to stop this. After several deep breaths, Draco felt the protections built within his mind rise back into place. He wrapped the feeling of safety and calm around him and focused. If he was too present, he feared his walls would crumble again. He would have to do this through the haze of his garden.
Draco opened his eyes and saw more vegetation. Yards filled with neatly trimmed hedges and blankets of twinkling lights—tiny fires. He silently cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. Did Muggles send law enforcement when there were fires? He could only hope.
"Incendio." The whispered incantation struck its mark, and a row of hedges roiled with green flames.
Cheering drowned out the screams, and Draco's small bit of sabotage was celebrated. Though no one seemed to have connected him to it. He slipped away from the fire, settling on the edge of his garden, and sent quick sparks off as inconspicuously as possible.
Where were the Aurors? With how on edge the Ministry of Magic was, they surely were monitoring Muggle emergencies and for the presence of the Dark Mark. They had to know something like this would be coming.
Mentally hovering at the edge of his garden, Draco could still hear the screams of the Muggles being tortured around him. He wanted to do something more than just survive this. He needed to if he was going to live with the images burning into his retinas.
He slid and ducked around the other Death Eaters. Careful to cast below his waist, Draco directed trip jinxes at his comrades, and mild stunners at the Muggles, hoping to dull their pain.
His task allowed him to keep the torture and murder from overwhelming him again.
"Aurors!'' The call finally went up. Draco wasn't sure how long it had been. Time felt distorted and stretched out. A rough hand grabbed his arm and the tug of disapparition pulled him from the scene of his newest nightmare. He stumbled out of the unexpected side-along to the sight of the gates of the Manor.
The battered walls of his mind had grown weak. He wouldn't be able to continue feigning enjoyment for much longer. Hope that the fire he had started may have helped alert the ministry faster was all that kept him from breaking down.
He slowed his walk and tried to block out the sounds of joy, but then he heard it. The distinct sounds of pain. He pulled out of the garden to be more present and it was then he realized that Death Eaters were not the only ones to have returned to the Manor. Glancing back at the crowd of cloaked and masked figures, he spotted several Muggles in their sleep clothes.
His hope shattered. He hadn't been able to stop a thing. Muggles, the muggles he'd tried to help, were being dragged into the ballroom. Just like before the start of term, he knew what would happen to them.
Bottles of firewhiskey and tumblers floated through the air. Draco grabbed a tumbler filled with amber liquid. He wouldn't be able to risk more than a glass, but he desperately needed to feel less if he was going to get through this.
The ballroom quieted to only the moans of the captured muggles and tumblers filling with liquor. "Draco, come, come! Tonight you become one of us!" Rabastan said, slapping Draco on the back. There was only one path before him. Draco swallowed the full measure of his firewhiskey and walked into hell.
So focused on avoiding bumping into those celebrating, Draco stumbled at the sight of nearly a dozen muggles splayed out on the marble floor. Rabastan kicked one and waved Draco forward.
"Welcome, young Malfoy!" Yaxley called out as they reached the dais.
Two, still masked, Death Eaters dropped a middle-aged Muggle at Draco's feet. The man wore a thick cable knit jumper and tan trousers, though his shoes were missing, revealing maroon socks. Deep hazel eyes looked up at Draco, so full of fear.
"We had to cut our fun short, but I have a special gift for you, Draco. Show us the proper treatment of filth such as this." Yaxley tied back his pale blond hair, similar to how Lucius often wore his own. The crisp cut of his robes was far more expensive than anything he'd ever seen him in. It made Draco wonder how he could afford such a luxury.
Putting the thought away, Draco looked down at the man at his feet. His mouth moved, but no sound could be heard.
His wand slipped into the sweat-slick grip of his hand, and Draco pointed it at the Muggle. All he could think was that this man with his eyes so like Hermione's and somewhat frizzy grey-streaked brown hair could be her father.
He knew he wasn't; the Grangers weren't in Britain, but it didn't matter. Visions of torturing Hermione's Muggle parents strangled his magic.
"Crucio."
Nothing happened. Not even a sputter of light.
"Drakey!" Boney fingers pinched his forearm. "It's just like with the ickle rats-ys." Her foul breath hit his cheek, and she circled around him, dragging sharp nails against his cloak. "Do it, do it now. Or I shall refresh your lessons from this summer…"
"C–cr–crucio."
–
Fire sizzled down Draco's spine.
Herm—Mother!
Darkness…
–
"Renervate! He'll do it this time, my Lord."
Oxygen burned in Draco's throat. The screaming had stopped. Aunt Bella's pointy black boots jabbed him in the side.
"Stand. Can you not summon the hate and disgust this scourge deserves?"
He gasped and pushed to his knees. "Yes. Aunt Bella." He grasped his wand with weak fingers. "Crucio…"
–
"Draco… please…" his mother's whimper pulled him from the darkness with a renewed sense of urgency. He must do this. What was he supposed to do, though? Where was he?
He blinked his eyes, trying to see through the painful haze he recognized as the aftereffect of extended crucios. The drawing room. Another blink. His mother being dragged into the room. Hands lifting him from the ground. A Muggle man curled in the fetal position at his feet. His wand thrust into his hand.
"Here is your motivation, Draco." The Dark Lord pointed his wand at his mother and her screams filled the air.
"No," the words croaked out of Draco's throat.
He had to mean it, and he was sure he did now. They filled him with so much hate and disgust. Not the Muggle man, but the creature casting on his mother and his followers.
"Crucio…"
Nothing, no light, not even a tingle down his wand. The world narrowed around him. He tried to cast again. "Crucio!" A sputter of light glowed at the end of his wand.
"Pathetic."
"Well, he is Lucius' son. Not enough of the Black blood in him, clearly."
"Oh, my pampered nephew is just soft. He'll learn." Bellatrix pushed him back to the floor.
Red eyes gleamed down at him. "Yaxley, a demonstration."
Yaxley raised his wand. The voices drifted away, and the darkness returned.
AN: Huge thanks to everyone that keeps coming back to our story! We love you all and sincerely appreciate every favorite, follow and comment. If only there was a time turner we could use to spend more time working on this! We have zero intentions of ever abandoning this story. We hope you'll stick with us while we continue to post.
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