45
Tuesday, October 12th – Week 8
"What?" Hermione asked, unsure of what he meant exactly. None of the rest of them were required to share their memories when they did, and it wasn't like Susan to be forcing Draco's hand that way. Surely, there was something else there.
Draco blinked and seemed to pull himself out of his head enough to explain. "Apparently, we're using magic for something later in the week, and though Susan offered her wand again, she told me to – well, she gently nudged actually – she said that she'd spoken to the Wizengamot, and based on her judgment, I can use magic again. Temporarily. Given that I complete the program here, it would be permanent then. And she said, once I've taken that step, then she'd sign off on it."
"That's great!" Hermione said, but Draco's look of contrition said otherwise.
"I knew I had to do it eventually, I just… I thought I'd have more time." He sat down on the edge of the bed, kneading his hands in a way very unlike him.
"More time for what?"
He turned to face her, frowning at her question before giving a faint shrug.
Scooting closer to him, she pulled one of his hands between her own. "It'll never be easy, no matter how much time you have." She leaned toward him, resting her head on his shoulder and her knee brushing his.
She knew this wasn't going to be easy for him. It hadn't been easy for any of them, but truthfully, she'd already suspected that his memories would be much different than the others', and likely much harder to watch as well. It wasn't easy watching any of her friends' memories, but she'd been especially worried about Draco's – it was certainly different watching someone you love hurt.
'Someone you love,' she thought, pressing her lips softly to his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking," he said, leaning up suddenly, as if the thought had just crossed his mind. "I … I already gave Susan my memories." He turned his face to her again, his lips pressed together tightly. "We can go to her office, if you want; otherwise, I can show them to you first."
"It's fine," she said. She'd thought about whether or not she'd want to see Draco's memories prior to having to experience them with everyone else, and unless he wanted her to, she'd already determined that she didn't. Having to watch them once would hurt enough. Of course, if he'd asked that of her, had he needed that, she would have done it without question.
As he searched her face, she gave him a half-smile, wanting to give him as much comfort as she could despite knowing that he'd be on pins and needles all day regardless.
Rather than leave it up in the air and risk yet another miscommunication, she asked, "What would you like me to do? Afterward."
"What do you mean?"
"What can I do to help you through it?"
The look of confusion on his face faded as one corner of his mouth lifted. "You're already doing it."
Later that night, the rest of them stood beneath the bright fluorescents of the group therapy room while Draco sat in his normal seat, a light sheen across his forehead as he spun the signet ring across his finger. She'd honestly expected him to Occlude, at least to some degree, but the open vulnerability on his face said that, despite the discomfort of the situation, he wasn't hiding any of it from himself or anyone else.
She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, and he returned it, albeit a bit forced. As she took Nicola's hand to her left and Dennis' to her right, she was transported in a swirl of colors into the pensieve in the middle of their circle, leaving Draco seated in the room with Susan.
They came to a stop in the middle of what Hermione vaguely recognized as the Malfoy's large dining room. Most of the decorations appeared to be the same as when she and Draco destroyed it weeks ago, but here at least, bright sunlight filtered through the windows, bathing the room in a soft orange glow.
Hermione looked around to see Lucius and Narcissa, both substantially younger and back to their pristine selves, seated at the table and eating dinner. To Lucius' left, directly across from Narcissa, sat a young Draco–younger than Hermione had ever seen him. He couldn't have been any more than six.
His hair was just as immaculate as it had been at Hogwarts, though quite a bit shorter here, but his eyes were the same slate they still were. Hermione realized she'd been staring so intently at him, unable to contain the smile on her face – he was just adorable – that she hadn't even realized that Narcissa and Lucius were speaking.
"I told you not to give that woman our money anymore, Cissa," Lucius said, speaking slowly, but the way his eyes bore into the steak in front of him said that he was anything but calm.
Narcissa, however, seemed completely unfazed. "And I've told you that her robes are much better than Madam Malkins'. She just received a shipment from Paris that I've been wanting to –"
Hermione jumped, along with those visiting the memory and with Narcissa and Draco as well as Lucius slammed his fist onto the table. Young Draco's eyes were wide in shock as he looked rapidly back and forth between his parents.
"Enough!" Lucius roared, staring straight ahead, his fists clenched beside his plate. He turned to glare at his wife, whose face was completely devoid of color. "I said we will not be giving that Mudblood our money, and I will not say it again. Is that understood?"
Narcissa blinked at him, tears swimming in her eyes as she whispered, "Yes."
"Good," Lucius said, straightening in his seat. "We are Malfoys, and we're going to act like it," he said as he returned to his meal. Narcissa seemed to breathe again as Lucius' gaze returned to his food rather that her own, and she looked up at Draco, who still seemed frozen in terror at what had just transpired between his parents. Narcissa forced a soft smile toward him as she nodded for him to continue eating. He reached for his fork, hesitating for a split second as he looked at his father, before he too seemed to breathe easier.
The scene shifted around them, and Hermione took in the welcoming sight of a bustling Platform 9¾. It was a stark contrast from the last scene they'd all witnessed here in Luna's memory, where all the pedestrians were down-trodden, eyes downcast and gait hurrying to get home. Here, it was just as Hermione remembered it from her years at school. The sounds of laughter and a humming engine filled the air as children rushed off the Hogwarts Express to greet their parents.
Eleven-year-old Draco sauntered up to his parents, dragging his trunk behind him and grinning ear-to-ear as he hugged his mother. Lucius clapped a hand on his son's shoulder and beamed down at him in a way Hermione had never thought possible for him. He looked like a proud father, with no sign of the characteristic sneer on his face. But just as quickly as his smile had appeared, it was gone. He straightened up and cast a glance around him, turning his attention from his son, and Hermione caught a flash of hurt across his features as Draco glanced again at his mother. She gave the same smile she'd given him at the dinner table in the last scene.
Lucius scoffed, pulling Hermione's attention away from the shared glances between Draco and his mother, and said, "Hogwarts is going downhill rather quickly. Half-bloods and Mudbl–"
"Lucius!" Narcissa hissed.
"Muggle-borns everywhere," he rephrased, as Narcissa glanced around the platform to make sure he wasn't overheard. "Ridiculous."
"Have a good summer, Draco!" a boy yelled from their right, and Hermione turned to see a Ravenclaw boy that she remembered from their year… Kyle? Kevin? Kent?
Draco said nothing. His glance shifted quickly toward his father whose eyes were narrowed at the young Ravenclaw as he ran across the platform to greet his parents… his very obviously Muggle parents.
"Draco," Lucius said, his voice dangerous and low as he turned to his son. "Who is that?"
Draco swallowed, his eyes wide as he said, "Kevin Entwhistle."
"Why is he speaking to you?"
"We were Transfiguration partners," Draco said, gaze trained on his father's. "We had top marks."
Narcissa folded her hands together in front of her, her lips pursed as she watched Lucius look down his nose at their son.
"I'm sure that was more your doing than his." Lucius tapped his cane on the ground and asked, "What have I told you about them?" When Draco said nothing, Lucius continued. "They're a …?"
Narcissa attempting to intercede, saying, "Lucius, perhaps this is a conversation better suited for—"
"They're a….?" Lucius continued over her.
"Burden to the advancement of wizarding-kind." Draco's voice was completely devoid of emotion. Everything about his appearance was exactly how Hermione remembered it from their first year, but she'd never heard him sound this way.
"Exactly." Lucius wasn't menacing, nor did he seem angry. He was speaking to Draco like he was simply explaining arbitrary facts, not spewing hatred and bigotry. "We don't know them, and we don't want to know them."
"Yes, sir."
"Do what you need to do in order to maintain your grades, but" – Lucius put a gentle hand on Draco's shoulder again – "don't forget who you are. Or who they are."
"Yes, sir."
This was somehow just as sad as the torture she'd witnessed in the others' memories, watching in real time as prejudice was passed from generation to generation. Knowing that ultimately Draco learned the truth didn't exactly erase a lifetimes' worth of lies that he'd been force fed. She pushed those thoughts aside, as well as the anger boiling up inside her at Lucius, as the scene changed again.
They were back in the same dining room as the first scene, and Hermione turned when she heard scuffling behind her. Lucius was dragging Draco into the room by the collar of his shirt, both of them red in the face. Draco was as tall as his father now, and Hermione guessed this would have been around their fifth year.
As soon as they made it into the room, Draco pushed his father's hand off him and straightened his shirt.
"You will not –" Lucius began to speak, but Draco cut him off.
"What is wrong with you?" he shouted, taking a step toward Lucius and Hermione thought she could feel the heat from his gaze as he sneered at him. He looked his father over, as if trying to ascertain some difference in his appearance. She expected Lucius to retaliate just as heatedly, but he surprised her by glancing once out of the open door, peeking around the corner to make sure they were alone.
He sighed and turned back to face Draco, whose look of vitriol hadn't left his face. It was so reminiscent of their time at school, and yet Hermione hadn't ever thought he'd wear this look when addressing his father.
Lucius licked his lips and said quietly, "You don't understand the situation we're in."
"You mean the situation you put us in," Draco snapped, and Lucius' frown deepened as he glanced once more toward the door. Draco walked around him, starting to leave the room but Lucius grabbed his arm. As Draco snatched it away from him, he curled his nose in disgust and said, "Look at what he's done to you. You're a coward."
Lucius clenched his jaw, his patience wearing thin. "The Dark Lord–"
"You treat him as if you're his bloody house-elf, licking his bootheels and begging for–"
Thwack!
The sound echoed through the room as Lucius backhanded Draco across the mouth, snapping his face to the side, threatening to throw him off balance with the force of the blow.
"Shit," Nicola said just above a whisper, stepping closer toward Hermione and reaching for her arm. Both Lucius and Draco seemed just as shocked by what had just taken place as Hermione and Nicola were. Lucius swallowed thickly, as Draco righted himself but took a step away from his father, blood dripping from the corner of his lips and his eyes full of a hurt that felt like a punch in her gut.
Lucius started to reach for him, but then stopped himself. He stood himself up straighter, and Hermione could pinpoint the exact moment that Regretful Lucius became Masked Lucius. His face took on the familiar indifference that she'd seen on Draco a few times and on Lucius himself in her own memory from being in his home.
Lifting his chin and looking down at Draco, he said, "It's an honor that we've been chosen to serve him. You'll do well to remember that." Lucius straightened the front of his robes and started out the door. As he stopped beside Draco, he added, "And you'll do whatever it takes to help the Umbridge woman succeed at Hogwarts." He stepped out of the doorway and as Draco's eyes followed him out, Hermione realized at the same time as Draco that Bellatrix had been standing just outside the doorway watching their interaction.
She tilted her head to the side at Draco, her eyes half-lidded and a menacing half-smirk on her lips.
Lucius never looked back as he walked away, and the scene swirled again.
Hermione and the others were now standing in the middle of Lucius' study. She'd never forget this room, not just because she and Draco had destroyed it together or because of the way he'd opened up to her here, admitting that this was where he received the Dark Mark. This was where she and Draco had shared their first kiss.
And what a kiss it was, she thought, remembering the intoxicated feeling it had left her with. The piano stood in the same place, but unlike the utter destruction that they'd left it in, the room now stood as immaculate as it had been when they'd first entered it all those weeks ago.
Draco stood by Lucius' desk, the frantic look in his eyes betraying his look of poised confidence, and on his face stood a shadow, dark circles beneath his eyes and his skin pallid. A row of masked Death Eaters stood to the rear of the room, Bellatrix beside them leaning on the piano and twisting a lock of her hair around one finger. Narcissa stood beside her, her head held high. Blinking, she clasped her shaking hands in front of her.
Voldemort seemed to float into the room, and he casually threw his robes out of the way and took a seat across from him in a large grey armchair, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back, the perfect portrait of superiority. Propping an elbow on one armrest, he pulled his wand from his robes with the other, and Hermione noticed the way Draco's eyes flicked toward it as Voldemort leisurely twirled it around his fingers.
"Have a seat, Draco," Voldemort said, and a chair slid from the wall and crashed into the back of Draco's thighs, causing him to fall into the chair behind him and Bellatrix to chuckle from where she stood by her sister. Draco swallowed, clearly recognizing the position he was in; the row of Death Eaters on the wall, his mother under the watchful eye of her crazed sister, and Voldemort sitting above him – it was all reminiscent of a trial.
A death sentence.
Draco put his hands in his lap and sat up straight, lifting his chin to look into Voldemort's eyes. A sheen of sweat stood out across his brow as Voldemort started to speak.
"Do you know why I've brought you here, Draco? Into this room."
"No," When Bellatrix hissed from across the room, he hastily added, "No, My Lord."
"This is your father's study, is it not?"
"Yes, My Lord." His eyes left the red ones of the monster sitting across from him and landed on the wand in his hand again.
"I've brought you here because I want to give you an opportunity. I want to give you the opportunity to be the lord of this manor. Your father has failed me, pathetically inept as he is, but you, young Draco," Voldemort paused, a serpentine smile growing on his pale face. "You have so much more potential. Would you agree, Narcissa?" Voldemort directed his question toward the woman behind him, but his red eyes remained fixated on Draco.
Narcissa opened her mouth but she couldn't seem to find the words. She closed it again for a second, her lips thinned into a flat line and her chin quivered ever so slightly before she pulled herself together. "Yes, My Lord."
Draco seemed to be willing himself to not look at his mother, but Hermione noticed the way one hand gripped the armrest.
"I have a very special task for you, Draco. One that only you can accomplish." His thin lips moved as he spoke, carrying his rasping snake-like hiss throughout the room. "With this task, you will lead us into a new world order. You will play a key role in securing the future for Wizarding kind."
As he spoke, Draco seemed to relax slightly, likely finally realizing he wasn't being brought here to be tortured or killed. His hand relaxed as he moved it back to his lap with the other.
"What do you say, Draco? Will you join us? Will you fulfill the role that your father could not?"
Draco's eyes finally looked toward his mother, but her own were closed, her arms wrapped around her waist and her bottom lip pinched between her teeth.
Draco's gaze returned to Voldemort's, and he licked his lips. "Yes, My Lord." Hermione had been watching Narcissa, and the moment Draco spoke, agreeing to sell himself to the devil, her face crumbled, and all the breath seemed to leave her lungs.
"Wonderful," Voldemort said, an eerie smile on his face, and the Death Eaters standing in the back of the room stepped forward, walking into the center and circling around Draco's chair.
Draco watched the masked figures approaching, his back pushing further into the seat behind him as his eyes darted between them all.
Bellatrix strolled forward, her eyes locked on Draco's, and the rest of them parted, giving her a wide berth as she passed as if they knew how unstable she was. She circled behind Draco, her eyes raking over him and her fingertips trailing across his shoulders as she passed. His gaze never faltered, but it was obvious he was no longer looking at Voldemort. His eyes stared straight ahead, unfeeling and deadened, but his breathing quickened the moment they'd all blocked him in.
Bellatrix leaned down, her lips brushing against Draco's ear as she whispered to him, too low for the others to hear. He clenched his jaw, but didn't move until she shrieked, "I said get on your knees!" Her words shattered through the tense silence of the room as she pulled him from the chair by the shoulder, throwing him forward with enough force that he'd barely managed to stop himself from smacking his face against the stone beneath him.
Hermione's heart was in her throat, and she could feel her palms sweating as she watched him rise back onto his knees. Narcissa had started to step forward, but Draco's eyes found hers at last, and he gave her an infinitesimal nod.
"You must forgive my pet, Draco," Voldemort said, his eyes burning deeper in the fading light of the room, and Hermione's stomach roiled at the open look of adoration Bellatrix shot toward him. "She gets excited. Play nice, Bella."
At his words, the witch loosened her grip on Draco's shoulder and knelt down far enough to slide her fingers down his arm, her lustful smirk still visible though her bottom lip was pinched between her teeth in anticipation.
Bellatrix stood, pulling Draco's arm with her as far as their positions would allow. With a gentleness Hermione didn't know she possessed, Bellatrix unbuttoned the cuffs of Draco's sleeve, but just as quickly she returned to her normal demeanor as she yanked his sleeve upward, exposing the pale skin beneath. Hermione felt tears sting her eyes at the realization that this was the very last moment of his entire life without that awful remnant tarnishing his skin.
Bile rose in her throat as Bellatrix walked her fingers along his flesh before she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forearm. Draco grimaced, his eyes pinching shut, before he was able to pull his emotions back beneath the surface again. As he reopened them, Voldemort stood, his bare feet padding softly across the floor as he stepped toward Draco.
Draco's eyes were frantic again as he watched Voldemort approach him, his mask slipping enough to allow the obvious fear to show through on his face. As he'd been focused on the monster in front of him, Draco hadn't noticed Bellatrix removing her wand from her robes right before she used it to slice a thin gash down his arm.
Draco's sharp gasp made Hermione jump again and cling to Nicola's arm around her own. Blood dripped from the gash in his arm, blooming crimson in his white shirt sleeve. He seemed to have suddenly realized that he'd made a huge mistake, but the more he tried to pull his arm from Bellatrix's grasp, the tighter she clung to him, her hands now stained red with his blood as her eyes danced.
"Draco Lucius Malfoy," Voldemort said as the light in the room began to flicker, creating dark shadows beneath Draco's features and the red in Voldemort's eyes to turn a deep burgundy. "Do you swear allegiance to me?"
Draco hesitated, the hand that wasn't clutched in Bellatrix's trembling slightly as he clenched his fist. "Y-yes."
Bellatrix twirled her dark, gnarled wand around the gash in Draco's skin, pulling a thin stream of blood through the air where it circled above her.
"Give your will to me."
"I… I will." Draco's voice was urgent, coming out as if he were trying to convince Voldemort and himself of his allegiance. Hermione's pulse raced as the blood from Draco's arm continued to pool in the air above Bellatrix's head, swirling around like a helix. The candles continued to flicker, pulsing ominous shadows across the silver masks around the circle. Wide-eyed, Narcissa gripped the edge of the piano in front of her, turning her knuckles white.
Bellatrix was the complete antithesis of her sister; her own eyes were practically bouncing with glee as she turned to face Voldemort. Pointing his wand toward the blood in the air, he hissed an incantation, the words immediately recognizable as Parseltongue. He unbuttoned the top buttons of his robes, making Hermione's skin crawl as he exposed the pallid, skeletal chest beneath.
The helix began to spin faster, shrinking in on itself to create a tight coil which shot through the air and splattered across Voldemort's chest. Hermione couldn't contain her gasp, and she heard the same from Nicola beside her. Hermione had no idea what the Dark Mark process entailed, and she'd be lying if she said she'd never wondered about it before, but this was far beyond anything she'd ever imagined.
The look on Draco's face said that he was just as horrified. He no longer looked anything at all like the man she now knew or even the version of himself from his later years in school…
He looked like the little boy he'd been in the very first memory, eyes full of terror as he watched his father shouting at the table. All color was drained from his face, and Hermione wasn't sure if that was from the amount of blood he'd just lost or the horror of the situation itself as he watched his own blood seep through Voldemort's skin. Veins beneath the surface stood out harsh and black as it seemed to flow directly into them from the surface of Voldemort's sallow flesh.
Nicola shook her arm, and Hermione looked down, realizing she'd been gripping the woman's wrist so tightly that tiny half-moons were embedded into Nicola's skin from her fingernails. She loosened her grip and looked back up when more Parseltongue boomed through the room, much louder than before. She couldn't understand them, but she shivered as the words seemed to settle into her bones.
Voldemort's back bowed and his head fell back as a rumble seemed to rise directly from his chest, growing and pulsing through the room like an approaching train. She didn't even think to watch Draco's reaction in this moment; her eyes were stuck on Voldemort, watching whatever type of Dark Magic he was using as the rumble seemed to grow loud enough that Hermione could feel it in her chest.
Hermione covered her mouth with her hand, stifling another gasp as Voldemort's mouth fell open and somehow seemed to grow wider and wider as a swarm of black poured out of him, swirling and twisting through the air just as Draco's blood had done. Unlike Draco's, whatever this mass was seemed to be alive, twisting in on itself and struggling almost as it flattened into a stream that crawled its way through the air and latched onto Draco's fingertips. It coated his hand like oil and inched toward the gash in his arm.
Draco no longer tried to appear calm. He struggled to free himself of Bellatrix's iron grip while his other hand tried to shake her grip loose, but it was useless. Whatever was oozing across his arm, reared up as it approached the opening in his forearm, but only for a split second. As if this living thing had just discovered a vulnerability, it surged forward, pushing into his open flesh and disappearing inside him.
Just like when Voldemort had seemed to absorb Draco's blood into his body, the veins in Draco's arm stood out as the viscous liquid poured inside him, and Draco hissed through clenched teeth at the obvious discomfort of the heavy black lines weaving through his skin, writhing just beneath the surface. Bellatrix stepped away as Voldemort took Draco's arm in his hands and began threading his skin back together with the tip of his wand, closing the blackness up inside of him.
Throughout the process, Draco flexed the other hand at his waist, the muscles in his arm rolling as he fought against the pain of whatever was inside of him, but when Voldemort finishing closing up the wound and pressed the tip of his wand harder into Draco's skin, he couldn't hold back anymore. He shuddered once, as Voldemort's wand trailed across his skin, the black ink beneath following the path it was leaving. His skin seemed to sizzle, and the room was filled with the smell of burning flesh and hair.
"Stop, stop… plea–" Draco cut himself off as he bit back the whimper that threatened to pour out of him, but Voldemort continued, completely unfazed by Draco's begging beneath him as the snake began to take form in his arm.
Hermione clenched her eyes shut, not wanting to see anymore, but she could still hear him, begging between the throes of agony.
"Hold him!" Bellatrix snarled, but Hermione bit back a sob as she pressed her face into Nicola's shoulder not wanting to see what he was going through anymore. A scream tore through the room, echoing against the walls, and Hermione couldn't hold back her tears any longer. Thankfully, the scream seemed to drop off abruptly, causing Hermione to open her eyes, expecting to see them still standing in the middle of Lucius' study, but instead they were in total darkness.
Hermione's heart quickened again, but she felt Nicola's hands on her arm, steadying her as the blackness of the room started to abate. "I think he passed out," Nicola said into Hermione's ear, wrapping her arm around Hermione's shoulders.
Before Hermione had a chance to respond, another memory surfaced, the room swirling into view just as quickly as the first had. Hermione and the others now stood in what appeared to be the same concrete dungeon they'd all seen during part of Luna's memories. There were puddles here and there, dark dingy water covering the dark stone floor, and flickering light from the sconces on the walls lit the room.
Draco had one knee on the ground in front of them as he struggled to get back to his feet, his hands shaking as he tried to push himself up.
"Get up!" Bellatrix growled from their left as she shot red sparks at Draco's feet, giving him enough strength to push himself off the ground to stand. He swallowed, the sound echoing through the room. His eyes were unfocused, his pupils almost seeming to vibrate as they dilated then shrank again, and his hair was wet – either from the dripping ceiling or sweat, Hermione wasn't sure which. A small trickle of blood dripped from one ear as he clenched his eyes shut in a grimace, shaking his head slightly before reopening them.
Eyes like coal scanned him up and down as Bellatrix circled around him, her nose turned up in disgust. "You're weak," she snapped, shaking her head. "You have too much Malfoy in you." The sneer on her face vanished, replaced by a sweet smile, and Hermione caught the briefest glimpse of the beautiful woman that Bellatrix could have been. "But don't worry," she said, with a pout, "I'll get it out of you."
Her face turned hard again, as she flicked her wand at him, almost lazily, sliding him across the stone floor. His back slammed against the stone wall, knocking all the air from his lungs with an oomph. Boots clicking across the stone floor, she walked toward him.
Draco's back and arms were stuck to the wall behind him, pinned there by the witch's magic, but the defeat in his eyes was replaced with defiance.
"Oooh, are you angry?" Bellatrix cooed, one side of her mouth tilting up in a devious grin as she ran the tip of her wand between his eyes and down his nose, dragging it down his chin and stopping on his chest. "Good" – her voice returned to the cold snarl from before as she spoke slowly – "Use it. Keep me out. Legilimens."