"What the fuck are you doing?" asks Draco in confusion.

"Taking you to headquarters."

Weasley makes a confused face when nothing happens as he grips Draco's arm far tighter than necessary.

"Anti-apparition wards," states Draco. "Only I can apparate from inside the manor – well, and a select few Death Eaters that my father permitted – and the Dark Lord, of course."

"Right," sighs Weasley. "Well, I need to get my storage of Polyjuice before you get summoned, so–"

Not wanting to risk being tortured for Rosier's absence, Draco immediately apparates them past the wards, ducking behind a stone wall where Ron takes over and apparates them to some Muggle neighbourhood. Draco assumes they are still near a major city, given the street looks relatively normal. Most of the Muggles that the Dark Lord has been killing – and apparently shoving into camps – have come from the more rural parts of the country as The Cause continues to wreak havoc on the land.

"Your headquarters?" Draco asks, eyeing the modest home. Weasley simply shrugs as they walk towards the front door. As Draco places his foot onto one of the small steps, he feels an intense burning sensation causing him to stumble back. "What the fuck?" he yells. "Warn me, you fucking berk. I can't get past the wards."

"Oh," says Weasley with a chuckle as he pulls out his wand and mutters something. Then he takes Draco's fucking hand, pulling him up the steps to the front door.

"You're a fucking cunt," says Draco as they enter the property. Looking around, he can see a sitting room to his left, full of mismatched chairs all set in random places, and a sofa near a small table. There are also books strewn all over the room and parchments; his only guess is this is where the Order has most of their meetings.

"Come on," says Weasley, leading Draco up the stairs. They enter a plain-looking room with a bed, and by the state of the space – and musty smell – it's most likely the Weasel's room. Draco looks out a small window as Weasley pulls out a box, opens it, inspects a vial, and then gives Draco a nod.

"Whose home is this?" asks Draco.

"It was the Grangers," says Weasley. "Hermione sent her parents to Australia to keep them safe after she Obliviated them."

"That is – incredibly stupid," mutters Draco, now realising the room was most likely Granger's childhood bedroom, wiped from its memories as well. "Why not tell them what's going on so they could at least attempt to defend themselves? Now they're just fucking around Down Under in ignorant bliss only to get killed within a matter of time—if they haven't been already. The Australian Ministry is in the Dark Lord's pocket. Probably have labour camps there too."

Weasley rolls his eyes. "Yes, well – she only Obliviated their memory of her so they could still be aware of what was happening. She didn't want them to be burdened worrying over their daughter - it was the only way to get them to willingly leave Britain. They simply think Hermione is a young witch who grew up next door. So – they're fond of her, but –" he trails off. "We've been sending the children from the main camp in Bath through Bristol by boat to Dublin. And then, from there, the Irish Order takes them by Portkey to Perth, where the Grangers and others pick them up. The Dark Lord thinks he has the Australians in his pocket, but the entire Ministry has been pulling one over on The Cause because he never has actually set foot on the soil. The Aussies don't fuck around. Australia is still free."

"Are you fucking serious?" says Draco in shock.

Weasley leans back on a small desk with a contemplative face. "Voldemort is a big fucking idiot who surrounds himself with idiots – and I say that with offence meant," he smirks, to which Draco can't help but agree, knowing his is – was – one of those idiots. "Moldy Voldy thinks that he's got more power and influence than he actually has. So, the Order might seem like we're skulking in the shadows, but the skulking is really only those of us who are considered to be on the front lines — all of us who are still in Britain."

"Fuck," says Draco, shaking his head. "Voldemort is seriously delusional," he mutters.

"You're just now realising this?" Weasley says with a raised brow as he hands Draco a strange bottle. "It's water."

Draco takes the water, and after a few seconds, Weasley has to show him out to open it and then hands it back to him.

"The only reason the Order hasn't won the bloody war is that, admittedly, we made an error in thinking we destroyed them all," says Weasley as he sits on the unkempt bed."

"Ah –" says Draco. "You mean the Horcuxes?"

Weasley tilts his head. "You wouldn't happen to know of any strange artefacts that might be hidden around Malfoy Manor?" he says with a raised brow. "It's our assumption that Voldemort created more just before the Battle. Our theory is that they're either in the manor or somewhere nearby. Most Order members have been scouring this fucking island and trying to get information."

Draco runs a hand through his hair. "I'm aware that he made more – as I told you when you interrogated me – but like I said before, I only know that because I – was hiding in a cupboard from—" Draco looks away. "I overheard my Aunt Bella talking to Rondolfus about it. She said they'll never be found, and then she did that weird cackle thing." Draco leans against the wall. "I didn't know what a Horcrux was then, but I did some research afterwards. He originally made six –"

"Seven," blurts Weasley, and Draco narrows his eyes. "Harry – he – he's a Horcrux – was."

"Right," says Draco with an eye roll. "For the attention?" he adds with a smirk causing Weasley to huff a laugh. "So – he originally made seven, which fucking destroyed him. After coming back looking like he needed to cook a bit longer– I assume he wised up and didn't make as many."

"We figured as much – just have no fucking clue what they are. And Dumbledore isn't here to give us any more vague and ominous clues to subtly lead us into peril," mutters Weasley as he lies back on the bed, hands behind his head.

Draco raises a brow, considering exploring Weasley's thinly veiled contempt for the old codger but decides to let the moment pass – for now.

"So, Granger actually fucks you in her childhood bedroom?" Draco says when he eyes a pair of knickers on the floor, wondering how the Weasel would react if he said he fucked the witch's disgusting cunt first. Well – sort of fucked — the details aren't important.

Weasley narrows his eyes as he sits up but then chuckles when he also eyes the knickers. "I guess you could say Hermione lets me fuck other witches in her childhood bed. We haven't been together since the Battle. Besides, Hermione doesn't stay at headquarters anymore," huffs Weasley. "She's with Snape now."

Draco can't help spitting out his water, choking on a cough. "Are you fucking serious?" he asks incredulously when he can finally speak. "She — what?"

"Fucking hell, Malfoy – not like that," Weasley says, scrunching his nose. "She stays at Spinner's End because she essentially forced Snape to let her apprentice him, saying that the Order needed more than one person to master potions," he huffs. "Fuck," he then mutters, shaking his head. "If anything, they have more of a reluctant pseudo father/daughter relationship who constantly bicker. There's a rumour going 'round that she even got him to smile."

"I'm not sure that revelation is any better," says Draco, as he vanishes the water he'd spit all over while Weasley simply laughs.

"Hermione and I gave it a go, but we discovered that we were better off friends than lovers," says Weasley, scratching his jaw while Draco rolls his eyes. Although he knows he shouldn't judge as he's never even attempted opening himself to any sort of relationship given his heart is shrivelled up and he's dead inside.

"The war makes it difficult to cultivate romantic relationships. Sort of have to just appreciate the time you have with the people you love and hope to see them another day," Weasley adds softly, looking out the window.

Before Draco can reply to Weasley's depressing motivational quote, he turns his head, hearing three light taps from the other side of the door.

Draco takes a defensive stance as Weasley gets off the bed. "Relax – it's just Harry."

"Can you see through walls? How the fuck do you know?" asks Draco, watching as the git opens the door. Draco straightens his posture as soon as Potter enters and furrows his brow at the confusing sight. Then, he watches the Chosen One pad into the room, wearing darkened glasses and holding some odd-looking stick.

"Who's this?" questions Potter, looking fucking right at Draco.

"It's Malfoy," says Weasley, seeming to think the behaviour is normal, while Draco can only feel slightly offended that Potter doesn't even remember what he looks like. But then Potter takes a few steps forward, places the stick under his arm, and fucking touches Draco's face, causing him to back up.

"What the fuck, Potter?" Draco barks. "What was that for?"

"Seeing what you look like now," Potter says calmly.

"Wait, what?" says Draco, still confused.

"He's blind, dumbarse," huffs Weasley.

Draco looks back at Potter, now realising why his glasses are different. "The Avada you took to the face. It –" The mental image of the blood and Potter's broken glasses back at Grimmauld Place comes to mind.

"We've got a real Sherlock here," says Weasley with an eye roll.

"Fuck you," says Draco, although it's more of a whisper as the memory of Potter taking the Killing Curse to the face flashes in his mind. Potter slowly makes his way over to the bed and sits down. The wizard doesn't look it, but his demeanour gives off the sense that he's aged well beyond a cocky twenty-year-old.

"I can only see magical signatures — people's magical cores. Yours is quite unique, Malfoy."

Draco can't even respond, reeling at the thought that Harry Potter is fucking blind. Potter turns to Weasley. "Some of us are meeting downstairs in a few –" he begins and then "looks" back at Draco. "Bring him."

Draco eyes the empty chairs scattered around the room while sitting on a stack of books, knowing that Weasley is taking the piss in saying the Order members are particular about their seating places. But, not wanting to stir the pot as he's about to be surrounded by several witches and wizards who most likely still want him dead, he acquiesces. Also, Draco deems it appropriate to sit on a makeshift chair of books for his first time visiting the Queen of the Swot's childhood home.

"Hello, love," he hears Potter say when a young ginger witch enters the room. She eyes Draco warily but then smiles as she kisses Blindy's cheek. Draco raises a slight brow when he notices the apparent bump in her abdomen and given how thin she is everywhere else – he can only assume that Potter's lack of sight has apparently hindered his ability to cast a successful contraceptive charm. Of course, one would have to be beyond insanity to purposefully bring a child into all this shite - which only tracks for Potter.

The sound of multiple apparitions can easily be heard outside the home, and Draco braces himself for who might be attending this little impromptu Order meeting. The fact that he's relying on Beardy and Blindy to vouch for him makes his head hurt. But he's also fucking fond of Molly Weasley now and admittedly even fonder of the little Muggle-born waiting at the bothy – so – he might as well accept his new reality.

Draco watches in relief as Charlie enters the room, grinning like an idiot – what's new. But then he's quickly followed by yet another ginger. The wizard looks vaguely familiar, and Draco has to look away, realising he's one of the twins, remembering that the other died during the Battle. He glances back as they take their seats on the sofa, grateful he wasn't the one to have killed their brother.

Next, two more wizards enter. The first Draco recognises as Shacklebolt, followed by –

"You've got to be fucking joking," mutters Draco, seeing the insane wizard who had transfigured him into a ferret. He thought old Mad-Eye had been killed, but clearly – things were not what they seemed. Draco flinches slightly when he feels Potter lean in to whisper.

"It's not him," he says softly.

"What?"

"Moody – the one who – well – turned you into a ferret. That was a Death Eater Polyjuiced as Moody. Barty Crouch Jr. –" Harry huffs a laugh. "Although, I wouldn't put it past the real one to have done the same thing."

"Wait," says Draco in confusion, watching the Order members give him sideways glances as they converse, waiting for the others. "You mean a Death Eater was pretending to be a fucking Hogwarts professor? How– how long was he a fake?"

Harry runs a hand through his hair and adjusts his – sunglasses – as he calls them. "All of fourth year."

"Fucking –" huffs Draco. "So, you mean to tell me that a fucking Death Eater traipsed around Hogwarts for an entire year, making fucking lesson plans and having office hours and monitoring the corridors whilst assisting students? Fuck, I mean – other than nearly killing me –" he snorts. "Barty Crouch Jr. was a method actor – Salazar."

"If you would just listen to what I'm saying, then we could figure out–"

The entire room turns to look as Snape and Granger enter the room together, clearly in the middle of some kind of tiff.

"Mr Potter, please encourage Miss Granger to see reason," drawls Snape. Draco watches as Granger places her fucking hands on her hips with a scowl, clearly about to descend into some kind of lecture – ever the Swot. "Given –" Snape looks directly at Draco. "Mr Malfoy's alarming information regarding The Cause's experimental apparition trace, it is vital that we produce more Dawdle Draught to remove any evidence of trace magic by the castor."

Granger immediately bristles. "I never said that I didn't think we should be producing more – I agreed with you, Snape. However, I did say that I disagree with your barbaric suggestion on how to collect the Unicorn tears."

"Let's discuss this among the group," suggests Potter, gesturing for the odd couple to take their seats. Granger gives a quick glance right at Draco, face completely blank as she takes a seat next to Charlie while Snape simply stands in the corner. "Given everyone else is on a mission, we'll go ahead and get started," says Potter, again, sounding like a wary wizard who's seen far too many horrors over his long and pathetic life. Which, other than the long life part, the rest is probably reasonably accurate. "Ron –" Potter states as Weasley sits straighter.

"I'm now working with Malfoy, infiltrating the manor and going to be Polyjuicing myself as Death Eater Rosier, who – is dead." He looks at Snape and Granger. "I've got a sack full of his scraggly hair that should last for quite some time. I've also got my current storage of Polyjuice, but I will need a more potent supply to last longer. I'll be moving out of headquarters and into the safe house in Cumbria to be near Malfoy to answer the summons. We've already been tasked by Voldemort to monitor the route along the Avon River, so we should be able to continue moving the children more freely."

The group immediately begins to ask questions, all directed at Weasley, completely ignoring Draco's presence. Which – he prefers it that way.

"Hermione, what are the issues you have with Snape's methods in brewing more Dawdle Draught?" asks the young ginger, which Draco now knows is named Ginny, vaguely recognising her from Hogwarts.

Granger sits up as she attempts to tie her frizzing hair behind her head. Draco nearly laughs, knowing she had probably just come from brewing potions, given she had a similar look every time he sat behind her in Double Potions.

"We need Unicorn tears and – well – " she falters. "Given that we are all adults and have –" she huffs. "Snape wants to enlist some older Muggle children we take from the labour camps to acquire the tears. I don't like putting them in more danger than they already are."

"Hermione," says the not-dead twin. "Most of the– well – according to Percy and the other's reports about the state of the camps – most of the older children – the way they're treated—" he trails off, and Draco subtly closes his eyes, taking in a breath already knowing what he's implying.

"Although I can see your reasoning, Mr Weasley," starts Snape. "It is an antiquated belief that a Unicorn's aversion to adults is in regard to virginity – which is a subjective concept anyway. The creatures can be approached by anyone who they deem innocent. And regardless of the tragedies that have befallen many of the children, the violations against them are just that – a violation. A child who's had their innocence taken from them is still – innocent."

"Even so – I don't think it safe to take further advantage of their innocence," huffs Granger. "They're already at a great disadvantage being Muggles."

"Again – we are not innocent -" starts Snape. "And as we have already been doing, will continue to toe the line of light and dark to ultimately defeat the Dark Lord. We can resort to using magic-less and less, but without the ability to safely apparate, we will risk far too much, and those children will die alongside their parents in the labour camps."

"What about the Muggle-born boy?" chimes in Moody. "The one Molly sent a Patronus about?"

Draco's head shoots up. "No," he says firmly as everyone looks at him. "He just watched his friend get murdered right in his arms. I won't let you manipulate him into being another child soldier." He glances at Snape, who looks a bit put off and then looks at Granger, who has an unreadable expression as she eyes him.

"We need the draught," implores Snape again. "The brew won't work without the Unicorn tears."

Draco looks to Potter, who is passing his cane between his hands. "How old is the boy?" Potter asks as the room remains silent. Draco then realises everyone is waiting for him to speak.

"He's only fucking eleven," says Draco scrubbing a hand over his face as the room takes on a contemplative silence. As much as he hates the idea of using the boy in such a way, he's aware that it will be a shite show in a matter of weeks as the Death Eaters become more proficient using the tracking spells. "I'll take him," Draco finally says confidently. "I'll make sure he's safe. I know how the Death Eaters operate and how to stay out of their way."

"What about the summons?" asks Weasley. "You can't just take him out there and then have to disappear."

"You can come with us – if I get the summons, with you being my Team Lead, you can say that I'm in a skirmish or some shite and the absence is excused. I'll just need someone to – to make it look like I was in a difficult duel the next time I appear before the Dark Lord."

Weasley gives him a pointed look and then smirks. "I think I can make that happen."

After pinning down the finer details of the Order's horrible plan, Draco apparates with Weasley at the bottom of the – looks like a hill today – as they trek towards the bothy. Weasley had already sent his fucking dog over to inform Molly – who sent back her erumpent scolding them for wanting to involve a child but ultimately gave in, knowing how much worse of a spot they'll be in if they can't apparate.

As soon as Draco crosses the threshold, Paul is immediately right in front of him, jumping up and down in excitement that he gets to help – and that fucking Unicorns are real. Next, Weasley gives a more in-depth run down to Molly. Within minutes, they take Paul, wearing Potter's fucking invisibility cloak, to the bottom of the hill, where they quickly complete multiple apparitions to Scotland. After nearly killing Paul by apparating the first time, Draco figured it would be better to do shorter jumps.

Unfortunately, once they finally arrive near the Forbidden Forest, Paul throws off the cloak as he bends over and proceeds to vomit everywhere.

"Sorry, mate," says Weasley, scrunching his nose while Draco awkwardly pats the child on the back.

"Guess splinching is worse, though," Draco mutters.

"I'm alright," says Paul as he wipes his face on his sleeve and then puts the cloak back over his small frame. "What now?" he asks, clearly not deterred and ready to continue his special mission, as he called it.

"Well, now is the boring part," says Draco as he leads them into the Forest. "It might take a while to find a Unicorn."

There's an eerie nostalgia as he remembers trekking through the Forbidden Forest while serving detention with Potter. Although, when Draco was eleven, the unicorn they stumbled upon was dead, and he later learned it was fucking Voldemort who'd been sucking its blood like a fucking vampire. Shaking off the creepy memory, Draco guides Paul to where they'll most likely find the creature.

One Hour Later

"I'm bored," says Paul as he throws another rock at a tree. "Can I see your wand?" he asks Draco for the hundredth time.

"No," Draco says, not even opening his eyes as he sits, leaning his head against a tree.

"Why not?" asks Paul, petulantly eliciting a snort from Weasley, who's also throwing rocks at a tree.

"Because, as I keep telling you, I'm not going to risk you accidentally using magic and attracting – unsavoury things to our location."

Paul huffs as he pulls his knees to his chest. "You should have told me to bring stuff to draw with," he mutters.

"Fuck," rasps Weasley as he ducks behind a tree, causing Draco to immediately draw his wand and stand in front of Paul. "Sorry," he whispers, turning to look at them. He then points and mouths the word 'unicorn.'

Paul quickly stands, and Draco slowly follows behind the boy over to Weasley as he also hides behind the tree.

"Wow," whispers Paul in awe at the sight of the large white unicorn grazing nearby. Draco bends to Paul's level and hands him a large vial and a small sack.

"We might as well collect some hair, too," Draco whispers, and Paul nods. "Remember, go slow – the Unicorn will know you don't mean any harm, but they're quick, so we don't want to spook it."

"Okay," says Paul, warily eyeing the unicorn. Draco can see his excitement has quickly turned into stress. "What – what if I – what if I fail?" he says as he looks back at Draco.

Draco shrugs. "It's okay. The Order can suck it," he smirks, causing Paul to smile. Draco gives him a stiff pat on the back and watches as Paul tentatively steps out and begins walking towards the creature. The unicorn lifts its head and stares at Paul before going back to grazing, and both Weasley and Draco let out a breath of relief.

Paul continues moving closer until he can gently pet the creature's mane. Draco can hear the boy giggling, and he and Weasley look at each other with smiles before quickly looking the opposite way and awkwardly coughing, not wanting to acknowledge the moment.

The unicorn slowly moves as it turns its head and begins to nudge Paul on the cheek. Draco watches as Paul freezes and waits for a few moments, now realising the boy is either afraid or simply doesn't know how to proceed. Sure enough, Paul turns around with wide eyes. "How – what?" he says, clearly losing his courage. The unicorn then nudges Paul's head and manages to open its mouth, getting its tongue and spit all over him. Paul squints his eyes shut as the large creature nearly knocks him over.

"I– I can't do it," Paul cries in defeat.

"Fuck," says Draco watching the boy wilt under pressure. Then, without much thought, he takes a step forward until Weasley grabs his arm.

"It'll run off if you go over there."

"Fuck that - he's scared," Draco hisses, pulling his arm away and slowly walking over. The unicorn finally stops nudging Paul as it looks at Draco. The Order be damned, they're just going to have to figure out another way to do this, and Draco quickly moves to Paul's side.

"It's okay, Paul," Draco says, pulling the boy away, kneeling again so they can be face to face.

Paul opens his eyes tearfully. "I failed," he says sadly.

"It's okay–" Draco goes rigid when something touches his head. He slowly turns to see the fucking unicorn is fucking nudging him. "What the fuck?" he says in confusion. But the unicorn doesn't leave as it tries to get his attention. Not really knowing what else to do, Draco takes the vial from Paul and slowly reaches his hand out, causing his mouth to gape in shock when he makes contact with the creature. "What the fuck?" he says again, seeing that the creature is allowing him to not only be near it but fucking pet the thing.

"Get the tears!" he hears Weasley rasp. Draco looks over to see Weasley standing with wide eyes, clearly confused as well.

"Merlin," mutters Draco. "Fuck," he says as his hand shakily brings the vial up to the unicorn's eye, and sure enough, it begins to produce tears for him. "Maybe –" he says, trying to make sense of everything. Paul moves beside him, looking calmer as he quietly begins to collect the hairs and stuff them in the little sack.

After Draco fills four vials of unicorn tears, he looks over to Weasley and cocks his head, indicating he wants him to come over and see if the unicorn will allow him near as well. But as Weasley walks closer, the unicorn's head shoots up, eyes the ginger, and then walks a bit before quickly galloping away.

"What the bloody 'ell, Malfoy?" Weasley says, looking completely gobsmacked. "How are you at all innocent?" he asks incredulously. Although it's evident the Weasel isn't trying to give a slight and is simply in shock.

"Let's just go," says Draco dismissively, not wanting to dwell on the moral code of a magical creature. Clearly, for whatever the fuck reason, Draco, having been a child, manipulated and violated to the point he ended up where he was, deemed him still fucking worthy to the fucking unicorn.

They silently walk for a few minutes, and Draco startles when he feels Paul take his hand. The boy doesn't say anything as the three continue to walk.

"Weasley," starts Draco, finally breaking the silence. "Don't say anything – please." Weasley simply nods before they apparate a few times until arriving at the bottom of the – looks like a mountain now – and begin the slow trek back to the safe house.

"I'm going to draw a unicorn," states Paul as they enter the small space. Draco and Weasley huff a laugh as the boy immediately sits at the table to begin drawing what he'd seen while Molly asks questions, looking relieved that they returned unharmed.

"Next time – find another way," Molly says softly, looking at the boy as if he was her own.

Draco stands stiffly, still reeling from the stupid fucking unicorn interaction, as Weasley turns to his mother and gives her a comforting hug.

"I think we can figure something out."

Draco raises a brow at Molly as she sets yet another plate of food in front of him, not even bothering to devise an excuse for why she's been making him meals. Paul had already eaten and gone to bed early, still easily tired from his months of lack of food, while Weasley immediately tucks into the simple meal of bread and some sort of soup.

It's a strange sight, given the git still looks like Rosier. Draco felt the summons about an hour after returning to the bothy, and thankfully, the Weasel held his own, effortlessly passing off the Death Eater's one-dimensional personality. They worked in tandem, spouting off complete bullshite regarding their patrol of the Avon River. And thankfully, Voldemort still wants them scouting the area – determined to find a weak link and figure out who is moving the children from the labour camp.

After a quiet meal, Draco takes the seat cushions from the sofa and transfigures them into three camp beds. Of course, Molly sits at the table and does her nightly writing ritual in her journal while Weasley immediately sleeps. Finally lying down, Draco tries to make sense of the day. He's a fucking murderer. Why could he not only touch the unicorn but fill four fucking vials full of its tears? Maybe Snape was wrong, and it really did come down to virginity.

Of course, Pansy had given him quite a few unenthusiastic blowjobs throughout fifth year while he much more eagerly returned the favour. But then she officially started dating Blaise, which ended their fooling around. And unfortunately, the only time Draco's ever had sexual intercourse was when he'd fucked Granger. He often wondered if his very regrettable tryst with the swotty bitch counted, given he didn't fully – get it in.

And with everything going to shit and being under the Dark Lord's thumb, unless Draco wanted to stoop to becoming a fucking rapist and taking advantage of Muggles – there wasn't any opportunity to seek out an amorous affair. Not that he even cared to, with the immense stress in his life, combined with his trauma and heavy Occlusion, effectively quashing any sexual drive other than the odd toss-off here and there.

Draco sits up and grabs Regulus' journal that he'd hidden under his pillow, having yet to read anything more than he had upon its initial discovery. Then, he quietly gets out of the makeshift bed and moves to the door. "I'm going to sit outside," he tells Molly softly. She gives him a nod and a slight smile as he walks outside and sits on the grass. The familiar stars shine brightly, and Draco tries not to dwell on the fact that it's a full moon.

Draco opens to the first page again, rereading his dead cousin's thoughts about taking the Dark Mark, ignoring the comment about his father and reads the scribbled note someone had written at the bottom.

Took the Dark Mark at 16 over the summer holiday.

Turning the page, Draco can see that it's dated a few weeks later.

2 September 1977

I'm nervous about returning to Hogwarts with the Dark Mark on my arm, but I don't want to stay here anymore.

Draco skims the passage, not wanting to read the details already having seen Greyback's name mentioned multiple times in the passage. He eyes other phrases confirming that he and Regulus are even more similar than he realised and the thought twists something in his gut. But then his heart nearly stops when he reads the last few sentences.

Lucius told me that it was my fault. He said his father did the same thing to him and that it wasn't until he stopped acting like a child about it that Abraxas finally stopped. He told me not to dwell on it, or it would eat me alive.

"Fuck," Draco cries, closing his eyes as a wave of grief and confusion washes over him, not knowing how to process that his grandfather abused his father the same way Greyback had done to him. The revelation, now shedding a whole new light on his father's terrible way of trying to help him get over it, makes him feel like vomiting. Draco looks back at the passage as his eyes are drawn to another scribbled note by whoever seems to have been analysing Regulus.

His general demeanour and unwell look all of sixth year. Was Greyback staying in the manor when he was marked? Fenrir was with him when he let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Possible grooming techniques to ensure fear and loyalty?

Was he abused too?

Draco slams the journal shut, enraged, now realising that the person wasn't analysing Regulus – they were analysing him.

"Fucking Potter," Draco huffs, remembering how the git followed him around to the point he nearly killed him in the boy's loo. Seems like Saint Potter has been trying to understand how someone could be so fucking stupid to willingly serve the Dark Lord. Thankfully the git is blind now, so he hasn't had any more use in the journal.

"Reducio," Draco mutters, placing Regulus' writings into his pocket. Then, without even letting Molly know, Draco storms down the hill and apparates to the manor. Instead of his room, he goes directly to the rose garden where his mother buried his father. Having not stepped foot in the place for years, Draco shakes his head, seeing all the dead flowers and the poor state of things. Once again, Draco is relieved that his mother is no longer around to see her favourite place continue to fall in disarray. He slowly walks over to the small monument and sits down, eyeing his father's name.

It takes a minute for Draco to know what to say, still reeling in confusion over how his father had treated him. But also realising the wizard did care for him in a terribly misguided way. The silver lining is now Draco's fond childhood memories, once tainted with anger, can once again be seen for what they really were. His father had loved him, after all.

"Why couldn't we have just – talked?" he says softly, then shifts into a more comfortable position. "I thought I knew you – and then you turned out to be nothing like I thought, and now –" Draco shakes his head with a heavy sigh. "Now I realise I don't know who you are – were – at all," he says sadly. "The Muggles aren't the savages, father – we are."

Draco steps back into the safe house to see Weasley clearly in a tense conversation with Molly. They both pause when he enters - Molly looking relieved and Weasley looking –

"Where the fuck were you?" Weasley spits in anger.

"I went for a walk," Draco says dismissively, annoyed that Weasley is losing his mind because he was gone for a fucking hour. But then he sees the wizard take a breath, running a hand through his hair. "What's going on?" He looks to the bed and is relieved, seeing Paul still peacefully sleeping.

"Percy made contact an hour ago – there's a small group of Muggle children he's got waiting for transport," says Molly.

"I thought they weren't going to move any more children until the investigations died down," says Draco, eyeing her worried face.

"Well – my brother seems to think saving a few children from being Avada'd is worth the risk," says Weasley. "Percy said that these little ones' parents have all passed, either from sickness or punishment. The camp's protocol is to Avada their children given they don't want a bunch of unsupervised kids running around the camp."

"Fuck," says Draco. "Who's going to move them?"

"Given Death Eater Rosier and Death Eater Malfoy are already skulking the area – you and I will be moving them to the port."

"Wait – what?" says Draco in confusion as Weasley places a hand on his shoulder.

"You and I just became the official babysitters of the Order of the Phoenix."

Draco finds himself standing in the doorway of a small hovel next to Weasley, looking at the terrified faces of four young children. Technically three terrified faces, given one is a fucking baby and is currently asleep in an older girl's arms.

"Hello," starts Weasley. "I'm Mr Percy's younger brother, and this here is my – uh - friend - Mr Draco. We are going to take you to the boat like we planned, yeah?"

The girl nods as she steps forward, and Draco sees the two little boys, holding onto each other, sitting in a tiny wagon. "Um – so – how the fuck are we moving them?" asks Draco, now realising other than the small wagon, they've not been provided with any sort of transportation. "We can't fucking apparate them all – and with the trace –"

"We walk," says Weasley quietly, still smiling at the little boys. "What are your names?" he asks politely.

"My name is Maisie," says the girl confidently. "This is Anaka- she's four months old," she adds, motioning to the baby. "I don't know the boys' names. They don't talk. I think the taller one is five, and the other is three."

"Thank you, Maisie," says Weasley as he pulls out his wand. The girl flinches, and he takes a step back. "Sorry – I'm just going to cast a– I'm going to make you all invisible, so you're not spotted. And then Mr Draco and I are going to be wearing disguises."

Draco puts his mask on his face while Weasley does the same with Rosier's. Although he doesn't plan to use Polyjuice unless necessary. "We are going for a bit of a walk, alright?" says Weasley as Draco rolls his eyes behind his mask, knowing it will take at least ten hours given their precious cargo.

Maisie nods as she slowly follows Weasley while Draco takes hold of the wagon. The smaller boy's eyes widen in fright, so he quickly lifts his mask. "It's alright – I'm going to take you for a little ride, okay?"

The older boy nods, still clinging to the other child, and Draco pulls his mask down as they begin their arduous journey. Within five fucking minutes of their trek, Draco flinches, feeling the summons. "Not fucking now," he mutters.

Weasley whirls around and immediately downs the Polyjuice. "I've got you," he says, and before Draco can even comment, he watches as Weasel Rosier dissaparates.

"Fuck," huffs Draco, now seeing he's on fucking babysitting duty alone. "Come on," he says gruffly as he pulls the wagon ahead while Maisie walks in step next to him, shuffling the baby from hip to hip. "How old are you?" he asks, seeing she's already struggling with the extra weight.

"I'm twelve, but I'll be thirteen next month," she says proudly but then frowns. "My parents said they were going to buy me a mobile phone when I turned thirteen – but they –" she looks down and continues to walk silently. Already feeling wholly out of his element, Draco keeps quiet, feeling the girl looking back at him. Finally, he turns to look at her, and sure enough, she's furrowing her brow.

"What?" Draco snaps as Maisie instantly recoils. "Sorry," he mutters before taking a calming breath, wondering how the fuck becoming a spy turned into becoming a fucking children's governess.

"You dress like them," she states. "Like the people who killed my parents – that mask is dreadfully frightening."

Draco pauses and looks back at the little boys, who are simply taking in the scenery as the morning sun peaks through the trees, lighting the path. Then he looks back at Maisie, evident that her arms are tired. Heaving a sigh, Draco removes his mask and hands it to the girl.

"Trade me," Draco says, hoping he doesn't regret this decision.

Maisie gives a small smile as they awkwardly make the exchange. Never having held a fucking baby before, Draco does his best to put the infant on his shoulder as the girl helps him retake hold of the wagon.

"How old are you?" she asks with narrowed eyes, now seeing his face in the light.

"I'm twenty," says Draco. "Although I feel much older," he adds, knowing the torture he's received over the years is beginning to make his joints constantly ache – not to mention the recurring headaches he's been recently getting.

"You look younger," she says as she inspects the mask and then puts it on her face, only to immediately remove it. "This is terribly uncomfortable."

Draco huffs a small laugh but then grimaces when Anaka begins to squirm on his shoulder and then grunts. "Fuck," Draco curses when he hears - and feels - the baby take a shit in her nappy before immediately crying. "Um –" he says, looking at the fucking twelve-year-old for help.

And, of course, Maisie just shrugs.

"I don't know anything about babies," she says honestly.

"Salazar's fucking ballsack," Draco huffs just as the wagon hits a root, causing the thing to lurch while the three-year-old also begins to cry. "Fuck me," he groans with an eye roll, and Maisie starts to giggle. "I'm never having any fucking children."