Framed by the small window in the drawing room, Draco had watched the sun sink slowly behind the fields; he guessed it must've been at least 5 o'clock by now. He'd been left alone all day, hanging from these damned shackles and haunted by the memory of his murdered father.
He hadn't the strength to keep his head up anymore as he circled the edge of sleep, hovering somewhere between consciousness and darkness. His drooping eyelids were fluttering as his legs swayed with the weight of his body, but his entire body stiffened when he heard the creaking of the door. He tensed and braced himself for whatever might be next. He wasn't sure his body or his mind could handle anymore.
"Muffliato," a voice whispered behind him.
He heard the sound of heels clicking against the stone floor, a familiar staccato from all his formative years at the Manor. He relaxed.
Narcissa came to stand before her son, clapping a hand to her mouth to muffle the gasp that escaped her lips.
"My son… my dear son… what have they done to you?"
Her hands, bony and pale, hovered briefly over Draco's face before she cupped his cheeks as tears sparked into her eyes. It was a sight that still felt foreign to him, to see his mother emotional like this. Her hands were cold against his skin, but soothing in his turmoil nonetheless.
"I'm okay," he said, but found that his voice was barely there. The relief he felt at seeing her – an integral part of this plan, and a comforting figure – was enough to dull the aches all over his body.
"Bellatrix only told me today that you had been captured. Perhaps she suspects that I would try to help you."
Draco nodded slowly in understanding; he had wondered where his mother had been last night.
Narcissa's eyes darted quickly to the door and then back to her only son. "That's why I'm here, Draco," she whispered with urgency, "I can help you escape; we've done it before and we can do it now. But we must be quick, we don't have much time."
Draco hung his head, touched by his mother's determination for him. "Mother, listen to me… it is no accident that I am here."
"I don't understand."
Draco glanced at the door. "Are you sure we are alone?"
"Certain – I've charmed the door and placed a silencing charm around the room."
He tried to adjust himself against the cuffs holding his arms firmly over his head, but it did little to take any of the pain and irritation away.
"I allowed myself to get captured."
His mother frowned and took a step away from him. Her dark eyes widened. "And why in Salazar's name would you do that?" Her usual short, clipped tone had momentarily found its way back into her voice.
He sighed, glancing nervously once more at the door. "Before I tell you, I must ask you a difficult question."
She waited, clearly becoming impatient with the air of mystery. "Well, ask it then," she said eventually after Draco had searched his mother's face for what might be her answer.
It was not just the plan that depended on his mother's co-operation, but also the flicker of hope in his heart that his mother no longer believed in the Dark Lord. Sure, she had helped him – her only son – as a mother, but Draco knew just how hard it was to fight against all the prejudices they had believed in for so many years. Did she really still believe that Voldemort was changing the wizarding world for the better?
"If there was a battle – between the resistance and the Death Eaters, the Ministry, the Dark Lord… where would you stand?" He asked it slowly, bracing himself for the answer.
Draco watched as she considered this, pursing her thin lips and knitting her brows. "I would stand with you, darling."
It was a muddled answer, but there wasn't time to cross examine it. It would have to do. "Then I need your help," Draco said bluntly. His mother's eyes widened even more at this. "Do you know if the Dark Lord intends on coming here?"
She averted her gaze. "He does – this evening. Draco, he intends to extract as much information from you as possible before killing you, which is why I can help you escape…"
Her voice faded as Draco shook his head. "I told you mother, this is part of a larger plan. I need him to come here. I need all of that to happen."
His mother looked back up at him, fear and confusion swimming in her features. "What is it exactly that you have planned? Why have you put yourself in all of this danger, Draco?"
He had never seen her look or sound panicked in just about his whole life, until now.
He sighed. "I allowed myself to get captured, as I knew that would surely lure Voldemort here. From there, the resistance are to come in to ambush and take him down, once and for all."
Again, Narcissa gasped. "An ambush – here?"
Draco nodded gravely, trying to read his mother's expression.
"And what is to become of you in this plan?" She asked, a slight bite to her voice that almost reminded Draco of Amelia's reaction.
"Well… hopefully, I survive it," he replied dryly, though his mother did not appreciate the dark humour. He softened his voice a bit: "Which will be possible, with your help."
To his surprise, she frowned again. Her voice came out as a hiss. "Draco, I sacrificed everything – put everything on the line – to ensure your freedom, your safety. And you repay that by walking straight back into certain death?"
"You have to understand, I have to do this. This can be our chance to get our lives back, you included."
Narcissa exhaled, her nostrils flaring and eyes narrowing. "And you are okay being killed in the process?"
It was something that of course, he had tossed around in his own mind for the past week. "I'd rather not be, but… If it ends this war, yes."
His mother studied him with calculating eyes. Her chin tilted upwards as she stared down her nose at her son. Draco had no idea if all of this was helping his case or not.
"You honestly want to continue living in this world where mothers and children are killed in their beds by Death Eaters?" Draco pressed, his own chest tightening at the thought. "Muggle or not, you can't possibly think that's how we should live our life as wizards."
Narcissa simply rolled her shoulders and fixed her expression, still glaring at her son who stood with limp arms hanging in shackles counting the long seconds until she spoke again. "Fine. I will help."
Draco breathed a sigh of relief and chuckled dryly despite himself. "Thank you."
"What is it that you need from me?" She sounded almost impatient, but he could see the sorrow in her eyes. She was trapped just as much as he was, even if she was far too proud to admit it.
"A couple of things… firstly, there is two-way parchment stuffed in my sock. I need you to write on it that I'm okay and to standby. Oh, and sign it from Green Phoenix."
Narcissa raised a thin eyebrow and Draco shrugged sheepishly. It was a code name that the resistance had decided would be necessary in case the two-way parchment was intercepted by Death Eaters who might then lure the members there. It was Neville Longbottom who had enthusiastically offered 'Green Phoenix'.
With a small tutting sound, Narcissa did as Draco requested, unfolding the small piece of parchment, taking the quill and writing in loopy cursive:
'I am okay – Standby.
Green Phoenix.'
She folded the parchment back into his sock and straightened back up, looking expectantly at him.
"I am supposing that this is not all you need from me," she said.
"Not quite… The Dark Lord's snake, Nagini, I need to get to her. Is she in the Manor?"
Everything came down to this: all of the hypothesising that he had done with the resistance, assuming that the snake would be under protection here could come crashing down with his mother's answer.
"I can't be certain," she said and Draco's heart began to sink, "but I believe she might be."
He waited for her to elaborate.
"There is a room that your father gave up to the Dark Lord; it contains a lot of our family heirlooms and has the highest level of protection around it. No one has been allowed to enter except for the Dark Lord, for several years now. If the snake is in this house, that is where she will be."
"I need to get into that room."
Narcissa shook her head slowly. "That would require disabling all of the wards around the entire Manor."
Draco gave her a look and realisation washed over the older Malfoy's face. "Oh Draco, no – we couldn't possibly –
"It's the only way. I know that you know how to." He bit his lip as he once again waited for his mother's answer. Surely it wouldn't be long until others in the Manor wondered where she was, or else came to see Draco to check on their prisoner.
She ran shaky fingers through her hair, though it was tied neatly in a low bun with not a single hair out of place. "Fine, fine. Merlin help us Draco, if we are found out…"
"We won't be. This will work, I'm sure of it." A lie, but a necessary one.
He told his mother what she needed to do next, that as soon as Voldemort arrived and came to presumably interrogate Draco, that she had to let the wards around Malfoy Manor down.
To his surprise, Narcissa shook her head. "Too risky," she hissed. "I am not convinced Draco, that he won't just kill you on sight. Besides your betrayal to the Death Eaters, you have made a fool of him. He is furious."
Draco thought for a moment, biting his lip and churning the plan he'd revised to memory around his mind. He felt his body prickling with the rising adrenalin. "Okay, okay, fine. I have a solution – it might work better actually. Do you have a House Elf you can trust? Someone who has served the Malfoy house before the rise of Voldemort?"
Narcissa considered this for a moment, then nodded.
The plan was revised: when Voldemort arrives Narcissa would, as she usually did, play the gracious and loyal host beside her sister Bellatrix. Meanwhile, a house elf would come to Draco's aide and take him to the room where the wards were controlled from.
"And from there?" Narcissa pressed, clearly not comfortable with the plan.
"The resistance will be able to infiltrate Malfoy Manor."
She looked even less convinced by this, but nodded. She told him how to disable the wards, and that once he did, all protection around the Manor would be gone.
"When the resistance arrives, mother, you should apparate far away from here. Somewhere no one knows about – not even Bellatrix," Draco said with pleading eyes. "In fact, especially not Bellatrix," he added with a scowl.
"Not without you, my son."
He smiled gravely. "You know I can't do that. Amelia, everyone in the resistance, I have to fight with them."
His mother nodded. "Then just be sure to come out the other side of this, Draco," his mother said in a fierce whisper. Tears brimmed in her eyes once more and he wished his hands were not bound so he might offer some comfort to her. She touched her hands to his cheeks once more and pressed her forehead against his. He wished he could tell her everything that had happened since he had last seen her; wished he could tell her that her sister from so long ago had found her way to the resistance and that perhaps if this all worked, there would be a chance for forgiveness between both of them. There was no time though, and as Narcissa stepped back and glanced nervously at the door, Draco knew that she sensed this as well.
"I must go. I wish there was something I could do to ease this pain for you, Draco."
He shook his head dismissively. "If you did, they would know you were here," he replied with a small lopsided smile. "If this plan works, you will have helped an entire generation of witches and wizards regain their freedom."
Again, she looked unsettled by this and Draco imagined the inner turmoil as his mother perhaps tried to break away from what she had believed in her whole life. He hoped that after the war it was something they could discuss, together.
"Await my house elf," she finally said with a final nod, before tearing herself away from her tortured son and leaving Draco alone again.
.
.
Amelia sat in the dining hall between Henry and Ron. She pushed the Shepherd's Pie around the plate; her stomach was so full of her anxious and dark thoughts that there seemed no room for food. Eventually though, she managed a few bites to stave off Henry's persistent worried gaze.
"Remember," he mumbled so that only she could hear, "you're eating for two now."
She gave him a look that told him to be quiet and but he simply shrugged, knowing he was right. She glanced around the table; Ron was concentrating wholly on his own dinner.
"Furthermore," Henry said in a louder and matter-of-factly tone, "we could be storming into Malfoy Manor at just about any minute, and I certainly don't want to be doing that on an empty stomach." With that, he held up his fork as if toasting with a glass of champagne and shovelled it into his mouth. Amelia laughed and shook her head at her brother, and conceded by eating a few more mouthfuls.
Suddenly, the dull tones of mumbled conversation around the dining hall were interrupted by the doors to the dining hall swinging open to reveal Hermione sprinting in, grasping something. Her hair was wild and windswept, her cheek flushed.
She stood in the middle of the dining hall, looking over to Harry but aware that all eyes were on her after the dramatic entrance.
She was brandishing something in her hand and held it up over her head. "It's Draco – he's made contact!" She said, panting for breath.
Harry immediately stood; Henry stiffened beside Amelia. Hearing his name from Hermione's mouth made Amelia's heart bloom: he was alive.
"What did he say?" Harry asked. The whole hall was now silent. Some people sat with their forks half way to their mouths.
"He's okay," Hermione said first, her eyes now searching and landing on Amelia with a warm smile. Amelia felt tears spring to her eyes. Henry grasped her hand, squeezing it tightly.
"He said to standby," Hermione continued, sounding more serious now. The entire dining hall seemed to tense at this.
Harry locked eyes with Henry across the hall. Amelia looked to Henry, who nodded slowly.
"Alright… sounds like tonight could be the night. Everyone: let's take up our positions! Ten minutes." Harry called out, as the hall erupted into cheers. People embraced and whooped, some punched the air or clapped. The battle was here, the plan was working, and in a matter of hours they could all be free and this might all be over.
Beside the, Ron shovelled in a few more bites of Shepherd's pie.
Henry turned to Amelia. "You ready for this, sis?" His eyes were blazing; he'd been waiting for an opportunity like this for years.
"You bet," she said, smiling.
The communication from Draco gave her hope which acted like a drug; intoxicating and un-inhibiting and as she looked around the hall she saw that this was clearly the case for the whole resistance. It seemed so possible now: if Draco had come this far and this insane plan was working, then just maybe they would succeed.
Amelia ran back to her tent. She changed into a fitted sweater, a pair of jeans and boots and tied her hair back with fumbling fingers. She looked at herself in the mirror for the briefest moment: she didn't exactly look like the type of warrior witch or wizard she had read about in Professor Binns' History of Magic classes years ago, but what else was a fighter than just someone with something worth for fighting for? Years from now, when Hogwarts students might study this wizarding war, will those kids picture people like Amelia, Ginny and Seamus as the heroes who won the war?
Her heart thumped against her chest with the anticipation of the night lying before her and she turned back to her small tent before leaving.
The space had been her sanctuary for so many years now and, along with the rest of the resistance, had become her home. The sofa where she and Ginny would sit with cups of tea, chatting and laughing hysterically for hours. The kitchen where she would make dinner for Henry whenever he was grumpy or frustrated with the state of things, nodding along as he rambled and she stood at the stove stirring a pot of his favourite mushroom casserole. The bedroom where she and Draco had spent so many hours, completely tangled in each other. She had been so desperate for the war to end and to build some sort of normal life that she hadn't ever stopped to consider how much she would miss the little life she had created right here; for better or for worse. And now it was ending – she would either perish in the battle, or the resistance would triumph and there would no longer be any need to dwell in a tent in the middle of nowhere, hiding away. She gave the tent a final look, breathed in, and closed the door behind her.
.
.
It had been over an hour since his mother had left the small drawing room, and still Draco was imprisoned there. The conversation with her had given him a renewed energy and now anticipation coursed through his tired and weak body. He wriggled his wrists in the shackles, even more irritated by them now.
Just as he looked out the window and saw that a blanket of darkness now covered the Manor's gardens and the fields beyond, a loud crack echoed through the room. He tried to whip his head around to see what – or who – it was, but his movements were too restricted.
"Master Malfoy?" A meek and high pitched voice pierced through the lonely silence of the room. Draco looked down and saw a house elf, dressed in rags and fiddling nervously with their fingers, standing before him.
"My mother sent you?"
"Yes, yes," the house elf said quite enthusiastically, his eyes lighting up at this. "Madam Malfoy said Motley is to help you, sir."
"Good. Then you can start by getting me out of these fucking shackles," Draco said gruffly. He saw a familiar mixture of fear and obligation wash over the house elf very briefly and hastily added, "please."
"At once, sir."
With that, Motley the house elf pointed a long and bony finger just above Draco's head and twisted his finger as if he was scooping jam out of a jar. In an instant, the chain holding Draco upright was severed, and the shackles parted and sprung apart, freeing him.
Draco fell to the floor with a groan. His shoulders throbbed with the pressure of holding his body for so long and he rubbed at his wrists, red and raw from the metal digging into him for so long.
"Is Master Malfoy alright?" Motley asked, tentatively taking steps towards the collapsed Draco as he rose on shaky limbs to his hands and knees.
"I'm fine," Draco said through gritted teeth, though it was as if his body had forgotten how to move and it took all his effort to keep himself upright.
"Oh! Madam Malfoy instructed me to give you this," Motley said with equal gusto. Draco looked up, confused as the house elf was now brandishing a small glass bottle with a cork stopper.
"And what is this?"
"Pepperup Potion, of course sir. To give you strength!"
Draco accepted the potion, uncorking it and gulping it down. He had only ever had it as a child when he was sick with a cold or flu, but within seconds the invigorating feeling flushed through his body, warming him from his core.
"Thanks… Motley," he mumbled. He felt strangely shy in front of the house elf who he did not remember, but assumed must've been with the Malfoy's in his childhood. He hoped that this particular house elf didn't remember how awful he used to be to them, but judging by the slight hesitation in the elf, it was clear that he did.
"Does Master Malfoy feel better?" Motley asked, bowing slightly.
"Loads."
Draco got to his feet on shaky legs and straightened up. The warmth from the potion coursed through his limbs as if it were in his bloodstream.
"Motley is ready to take Master Malfoy to his destination, if he is ready also," Motley said with a lower bow this time.
Draco heard footsteps coming up the corridor; it sounded like at least three people approaching. Both Draco and Motley whipped their heads to the door and just as Draco heard Bellatrix's high pitched cackle travel through the walls towards them, he nodded and accepted Motley's outstretched hand. Just the door swung open, they vanished from Luscious' drawing room.
.
.
Amelia stood at the front of the crowd alongside all the others who had been to Malfoy Manor; it was them who would apparate the rest of the resistance into the residence. She gripped her wand in her hand and squinted against the cold December wind. It was impossible to believe that only a few short days ago they were all celebrating Christmas together, and now they stood shoulder to shoulder, readying themselves for battle.
Harry stood near her, facing the crowd of allies, his wand to his throat to amplify his voice.
"As soon as we receive Draco's signal, we will apparate in pairs to the Manor. If you are amongst the first to be apparated then you need to be immediately on guard and vigilant in case there are Death Eaters in the vicinity and battle ensues immediately. As we are apparating into the dungeons though, hopefully that won't happen and we'll have the advantage of ambush. Once we are in the Manor, we will be moving as one towards the main entrance hall. Hopefully by that point, Draco may have managed to find and kill Nagini but if not, Neville and Seamus – you are to assist Draco in this mission."
There were nods all around the huddled group.
.
.
Draco opened his eyes and saw that they were in a small circular room in the Manor, barely bigger than a broom cupboard, with no windows. Silky green drapes cascaded down the walls, enclosing the whole room, and two lamps flickered on the far side, leaking warm light onto a contraption against the wall. Draco had of course never been in this room, had never even known it existed. He guessed though, from its circular shape, that it was within one of the turrets of Malfoy Manor.
"Where are we, Motley?" He asked as he took careful steps towards the contraption.
Motley scuttled alongside him, clearly keen to be as helpful as possible. "The far side of the west wing, sir. On the top floor!"
Draco nodded. They came to stand in front of the contraption: it was a thick and circular stone-like object, twice the size of a dinner plate and a smooth silvery granite. Though it must've been very heavy, it hovered by itself at waist height.
Draco glanced down at Motley, who was looking up at him expectantly with his sparkling, wide eyes. He would be lying to deny that he was comforted by having another presence with him as he navigated his way through the sticky plan, even if a house elf was perhaps the most unlikely ally to Draco Malfoy.
He knew what he needed to do; his mother had walked him through it. She had made it clear that it could only be a Malfoy to disable the wards, and that the device had a definitive way to screen this.
He crouched down and took the wand from his sock, which upon his touch immediately grew to its original size. Bracing himself, he flexed his left palm and traced along it with his wand, diagonally from the base of his thumb to his pinky finger. His wand, performing the Severing charm under his command, immediately drew blood. He sucked air through gritted teeth and felt his eyes prickle at the sharp sting of his skin splitting. Thick, dark crimson spilled freely from his hand; he clenched his fist so that any of his pale skin was covered like a glove.
Motley looked on with fearful intrigue as Draco took his bloodied hand and pressed it down into the centre of the stone plate, still grimacing at the pain from the pressure on his open wound. He kept it there as the room began to spin like a winding clock; Motley grabbed onto his leg as Draco and the stone plate appeared to be the only thing staying stationary in the small circular room. It was as if a hurricane had sprung into the room as a wild wind whipped around, ruffling the curtains and making it impossible to hear anything else. Throughout all this, an invisible force continued to press Draco's hand harder into the stone and he could see small trickles of blood emerging from underneath his palm.
"Is this happening to the whole building or just in here?" Draco asked over the wind, managing to turn his head towards Motley who still clung to his leg.
"Only in this room, Master Malfoy!" Motley screeched back.
Another few moments and then, just as quickly as it had begun, the wind and the spinning ceased. A force threw Draco's hand back from the stone plate, leaving a deep red handprint in its place.
"Is Master Malfoy alright, sir?" Motley asked, clearly feeling slightly more at ease in Draco's company.
Draco briefly examined his hand and the large slash across it and wiped it on his trousers. It stung but he had no essence of dittany to heal it. "I'll live," he mumbled. "Did it work? Can you tell?"
Motley's eyes widened eagerly. "Oh yes! Yes, Master Malfoy has disarmed all protection around Malfoy Manor."
"So people can apparate into here?"
Motley nodded, his pointy ears flapping wildly as he did so.
Without hesitation Draco crouched to the floor, extracted the two-way parchment and wrote in bold capitals 'Wards disabled. NOW – Green Phoenix'.
Just as he stuffed the parchment back into his sock a chill crept into the air.
"Draco…"
All at once, the voice seemed to echo and bounce all around the walls while feeling as if the speaker was whispering right into Draco's ear. Beside him, Motley jumped and shrieked. There was no mistaking the voice though, and even though he knew that Voldemort was not in the room with them, hearing his voice was certainly not a good thing right now.
"Come out, Draco… I know you are still here, hiding in the corners of your old home… I have come all this way to visit you, only to find that you have gone missing. Fear not though, we shall find you…"
The voice was somehow both a whisper and deathly loud and made the hair on the back of Draco's neck stand on end.
Voldemort's voice meant two things: the plan was working, but time was limited. He had to find the snake and just hope that the resistance were about to appear.