Draco Malfoy stood in the shadows. The moonlight casted him fantastically in the vibrant colors of a peacock as he leaned against the stained glass window on the outskirts of his own celebration. He stomped out his cigarette, smearing it into the crisp marble.

He hated parties. He disliked them so much that he often tried to forget them, and with a nearly empty vintage bottle of firewhisky threatening to fall from his grip, Draco was sure he had done the trick on this occasion.

He tipped his head upwards to the ornate ceilings as he sauntered past huddles of decadent strangers, all of whom had surely forgotten his own birthday was the sole purpose of this party. He was always more keenly aware of lost details in the home on nights like this, most likely because he was more inclined to stare at a wall than make small talk.

He blew out a liquor-numbed, counted breath as he took a swayed step into the grandest space within the manor. The ballroom still ached with newness. The velvet of the silver drapes were pressed a bit too perfectly, and the hand-sewn crystal linings glimmered far too brightly. The marbling of the floor had quite too little scuffings, and the silver-painted moldings flecked all too rarely. He concluded that he also hated this room.

Draco remembered. His home was once gilded in aged luxuries and candied golden light. It had been of show of might and unattainable wealth. A warning promise of power to the guests who walked through the halls and yet a warming vow of heritage, a place to always belong and pride oneself.

But that, of course, was before. A time prior to when the Dark Lord had taken his home as his own and defiled it along with the remnants of his boyhood. He had left the home in shambles, and no matter how much magic his mother poured into the manor, the scars always shown through. The lighting a bit too cool. The soaring dragons painted upon the enchanted ceilings flew less swiftly as if the horrors witnessed had weighed them down. Even the portraits had grown more weary and less spirited. They used to love flirting with guests at a grand party such as this one. Draco rolled that specific observation over in his mind, and with drunken honesty allowed the intrusive thought to surface — maybe in this new world there was less pride to be had in being a Malfoy.

Draco took another swig from the bottle. It burned numbly down his throat then sloshed into his stomach to be reunited with the rest of the bottle. He took loose steps across the faintly checkered floor with all too much, unearned arrogance. He spotted his father through his own blurred haze. Draco couldn't be sure if the nasty sneer of disapproval his father wore was for him, and his blatant drunkenness, or the bumbling gentleman who was currently selling him on another sinking venture.

A familiar arm snaked around his waist, forcing him to stand straighter. He glanced down to discover short, midnight hair. He raised a bothered brow as the rounded face of Pansy Parkinson twisted with an unkind profanity. "You stink like the bottom of a whisky barrel."

Draco creased his forehead and curled his lip, mocking her words in jest.

Pansy removed the empty bottle from his loose fist with a heavy sigh. "I see we aren't even making it to midnight this year — to blow out the cake."

It was a tradition his mother loved; blowing out the birthday candles when the clock rung precisely midnight, marking the official moment he was one year older — and another year safe. He hated spectacles, but he loved his mother. It was rather unfortunate that he also loved firewhisky, and was under the growing belief that twenty-three candles required entirely too much effort to extinguish.

"That was the goal," he smirked drunkenly, feeling too empty without a glass or bottle in hand.

Draco lazily looked around for another drink as Graham Montague appeared abruptly, gathering shape from thin air as he transformed. He slapped Draco on his back with a broad grin as he spun amber liquor within his crystal glass. Draco reached for his drink but Graham was quick with reflex. "Rude," he muttered with casual distaste.

"His mother is going to murder him," Pansy whispered to Graham.

"No," Graham chuckled, sliding his sapphire blue eyes towards the towering windowed doors that led to the gardens. "She's going to murder Theodore."

Pansy's eyes landed on the summoned devil as he strolled in from the night and through the throng of bodies that packed the sparkling ballroom towards them. "Theo dragged him to one of his nightclubs earlier for a pre-celebration," Graham murmured as Theo flashed a devilish smile to guests as if the manor was his own home.

Pansy pursed her lips as Theo finally halted in front of her. He eyed her with calculation, sensing her disapproval. He then shrugged with a roll of eyes and patted the top of her head as to simmer down her mood. "Please, Pans. Spare me."

Draco threw his arm around Theo. "Where you been, mate?" He slurred.

A crooked grin was slow to slide on Theo's handsome face. "Malfoy, where have you been? I most definitely did not deliver you here in this state." He took the empty bottle from Pansy and held it up as evidence of the crime. He shook his head with delight before turning his attention.

"Pans, what have you heard about Gwen Wolfgrove?" Theo asked nonchalantly, tossing the bottle between his hands. It clinged against the several encrusted rings he wore.

Pansy shrugged casually. She was always the one to provide gossip — intel. She had once cracked a case for Draco by crying in a bathroom during a luncheon over a bad breakup to his lead suspect, an older woman with refined taste and an impressive collection of ceramic cats. Draco believed she killed her husband with a slow rot poison and had rightfully assumed she would offer her murder advice.

Pansy paused before answering, gaging how invested Theo was in the anticipation of her answer. "Gwen? Nothing exciting. She still owns a curiosity shop in Diagon Alley. Why do you ask?"

Theo shifted his weight and shot her a flat look that conveyed she had been rather unhelpful. "She is here tonight — unexplainably." His face carved with annoyance.

Pansy scoffed. She was many things but unhelpful was certainly not one of them. She whispered a constant stream of grisly news and planned happenings in Theo's ear.

Graham huddled closer, butting in. "She arrived with Cassia Ambrose, who spent most of the evening..." he tilted his head sensually, insinuating the proper word he searched for, "cavorting, in the gardens," he finally stated, grinning a little too slyly.

"It would seem they are still close then," Pansy muttered. She preferred to gossip at a much lower octave as she believed herself to be more civilized than the men in her life.

"Cassia Ambrose?" Draco muttered as Theo drew in a scandalized breath. The circumstances of Graham's discovery dawning on him.

"You fucking pervert," Theo gasped with widening eyes, jumping to conclusions. Theo assumed Graham only shifted into his animagus form to spy on women after he had caught him scurrying out of the girl's dormitories in their third year. It had taken him months to realize that the Slytherin common room was not in fact home to several feral cats — and feral cats weren't so meticulously groomed or quite so plump.

"That was only one time." Graham retorted with reddening cheeks. Theo was relentless in teasing him to this day about the dare he had taken from Draco almost a decade ago. "And it was surveillance tonight! I've never trusted Cassia — or Gwen for whatever it might matter to your plotting."

Theo swigged the last of the firewhisky and thrusted the empty bottle into Draco's chest. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his slim-fitted tux defensively. "I am not plotting, Montague. I was simply curio-"

"Cassia Ambrose is here?" Draco declared a bit louder, wearing a new shade of bewilderment.

Theo cut his attention quickly to Draco while raising a groomed finger to Graham, putting their bickering on pause. "Yes, Draco. Cassia," he spoke slowly as if his drunkenness compared to a toddler. "Blaise escorted her back from the gardens not too long ago. You know how much his mother adores her," Theo replied, rolling his eyes.

He turned back to Graham, tightening his his jaw. "And I don't have the bandwidth to plot even if I wanted to scheme because of how royally you fucked our drop last week."

"Oh, pfft," Graham guffawed, sloshing his drink. "Must we unpack this again? You know I'm bad with coordinates. For fuck's sake, I'm dyslexic! You don't even care enough to remember!"

Pansy sighed deeply and leaned closer to Draco as Graham and Theo started whispering harshly. "I do care!" Theo said defensively as he stepped closer.

They often reminded her of boys fighting over who got to play superhero or sidekick instead of two criminals arguing over murderous escapades and felonious activities. It was baffling that they bickered so openly in front of Draco, an auror. Then again, Draco always turned a blind eye or cleaned up their mess. Their tightly knitted circle was allegiant to each other above laws. Pansy knew Draco would shut down this very public feud swiftly if he wasn't currently stuffed full with a load of firewhisky.

Pansy tugged on Draco's arm, who was apparently still mulling over Cassia's presence within his home. "Your mother must adore her too, you know?" Pansy murmured quietly with a smug upturning of the mouth that revealed a dimple. "Daphne told me she was invited by her personally." She stirred her martini. "Ran into each other out shopping. Rumor has it, they even had tea afterwards."

Draco gave her a sideways glance, sizing up the validity of her gossip. He attempted to cut through his dizzying haze to think logically. What was Cassia plotting? Or worse, what was his mother plotting? His mother was quite open with her attempts at match-making as she was more than eager for him to date seriously; marry, even. She nagged him constantly every Sunday night at dinner. He held his tongue and let her scheme as most of the women were harmless, but Draco knew in his bones that Cassia was anything but inoffensive.

He could never sort it out, but she was a deeply unsettling creature. Cassia remained aloof during their time at Hogwarts. Draco had been obsessively intrigued by her in their fourth year. He had even asked her to accompany him to the Yule Ball, but she had quickly declined with a meek shake of head. His younger self had felt so dejected that he had waited all night to see who she had deemed a better choice than himself, but she never showed up at all. He had felt both relieved that she had chosen no one over him yet disappointed that he wouldn't get the chance to sweep her away — persuade her that she had been mistaken to decline him, then break through all her high reservations that kept her withdrawn.

He understood his own mistake by Christmas of his fifth year. Her reservations weren't born from a meekness or a sweet shyness. She often laughed loudly with her small selection of friends in the viaduct courtyard and rumors ran amid in the quidditch locker room that she briefly stopped hearts in the most intimate moments for her own enjoyment.

It was a fading thing, but he remembered. He had caught her on a rare outing one evening as a large group sat on the dock by the lake. As the moon grew higher and the laughs faded to soft whispers and confessions, he had watched her dive into Black Lake with Pansy and Daphne. They were all only ever friends after midnight. The other girls had quickly climbed back onto the dock shivering. They begged her to get out as she might risk freezing to death, but Cassia didn't. She only floated serenely beneath the moonlight and waved them off. Draco knew she should have frozen in the wintered waters, and in the glimmer of the ripples, he could have sworn her fingertips were pulsing with blackness — magic.

By autumn of his sixth year, Draco had grown completely convinced that she wasn't a fully pure-blooded witch like she claimed. He had glimpsed her, studied her, enough to recognize all the uncanny flaws. When the sunlight found her nearly clear irises in the Herbology greenhouse, the faintest flecks of violet glimmered. The same sun revealed darkened veins beneath her unblemished skin. He never heard the end of it for theorizing. Blaise had called him delusional while Theo had claimed Cassia wasn't a beast just because she had rejected him once. Both had adamantly reminded him that he couldn't afford distractions at the time — and they were right.

By the end of his sixth year, everything had changed. He didn't think of much beyond survival and the preservation of his family during those times and while the darkest hours had only lasted a few years, they had hung over his head for several more. The black ink that now labeled him a traitor had faded into a roughly edge, raised scar on his forearm. He had spent nights daydreaming about his memories of Hogwarts at his lowest points.

And finally, a little time after he had officially become an auror, he had grown curious enough to delve into what had happened to Cassia Ambrose. He had felt ridiculous for wasting so much thoughtless energy on her during school as the war then threatened, but he had grown desperate enough once more to use her as a much needed distraction as his regrets loomed ceaselessly.

Draco had assumed she was prowling silently around London as her mother was quite ostentatious within society — but there was nothing. She was a veiled phantom to the world. Draco had nearly assumed she was dead as the years passed wordlessly without a trace.

The inability to find something lost plagued him. He had admitted to Theo one night what he had done and what he hadn't found. Theo had chuckled softly and had asked Draco if he knew what else burrowed underground and could stop hearts. The answer blew through Theo's lips on an exhaled wave of nicotine — vipers. The clarity of his answer haunted Draco and confirmed his suspicions. There was something rotting about Cassia Ambrose, but it didn't stop her from burrowing beneath his own skin to fester.

He newly focused on his surroundings. She was here, now, snaking through his manor. Over his own dead body would he allow her near his mother. The dislike swam in his veins — or was it the firewhisky? Regardless, he stood taller and peered over the array of bellowing bodies and clinking champagne.

"I'll draw you a picture next time, alright? To prove I fucking care," Theo huffed as Graham shook his head.

Draco shushed them both. "You two, shut the fuck up. You know better than to bring your bullshit into my family home." He careened his line of sight to the far right, searching for Blaise, his mother, and what he imagined Cassia might look like after all these years.

His gaze struck against the unusual shifting of the grand chandelier in the center of the ballroom. He angled his head and narrowed his cooling grey eyes. How unusual.

The flames amongst the inverted candles danced wildly as the tiers of thin golden chains that wound them threatened to loosen. He furrowed his brow, his instincts realizing something was wrong far before his mind did as it fought for sobriety. He patted his chest, premonitions brewing. Where was his wand?

Theo turned sharply and pulled out his own, reading the amiss in Draco's expression and choosing to act instead of waiting find out. With a great groan, the golden chains of the monstrous chandelier began to give out as if a force tugged downwards in an attempt to rip them from the ceiling.

"Fuck!" Theo yelled as he casted a blasting spell that pushed the guests beneath the chandelier out of the way.

"Fuck," Draco muttered as he quickly observed the guests tumbling through the air with the impact of Theo's spell. He rushed to break their falls with his own magic as he reached his hand, magic thrumming, to the sky.

In a flash, the chandelier collided with the marble floor in a reverberating thunder. The room was suddenly lit plainly, the illusion of revelling beneath a kaleidoscope broken. Hundreds of well-lit candles rolled danced across the ballroom. The shriek of settling metal and wind of rising flames were all that echoed through the ballroom for a moment. A panicked silence of absorption — a soft minute of peace before all hell and hysteria broke loose.

Draco heard echoes of clinking glass, but it wasn't champagne-filled flutes. He looked up and several profanities crossed his lips. The countless chandeliers of sparkling jewels that had refracted the warm light of the inverted candles swayed violently.

Pansy shrinked beneath Graham as the smaller, reflective chandeliers began to crash from the ceiling like crystalized rain. Guests cried out as sparkling shards pooled at their feet and the ballroom was lit in nothing but an enchanted, blazing fire. Everyone took cover beneath their own spells and ran in hoards towards the gardens, but the towering doors quickly slammed shut, locking the guests in. Panic soared as Draco spotted Theo and Blaise frantically attempting to snuff out the rising inferno as it took hold of the drapes.

Draco searched frantically for his mother as he crunched through the broken glass and waved off falling chandeliers, sending them to batter the stone pillars. He only prayed his father was attempting to lift the apparition limitations from the manor as the hysteria grew.

No. Draco halted. No, that was precisely what was intended. Draco turned rapidly and cursed. He searched frantically from his father and attempted to keep the wards lifted, but it was too late. An elaborate trap realized a terrible second all too late. Cloaked raiders materialized with the sudden drop of protection. They appeared more quickly than guests could leave.

"Go!" He called over to Graham and Pansy. They quickly vanished with a world-bending crack as his father had surely lifted the apparition limitations.

Draco began casting with as much precision as he could manage. The intruders moved far too quickly, but through the blaze of their oxblood cloaks, Draco noticed their golden faces. He stilled as a touch of electric remembrance licked up his spine. Then he saw nothing else and felt little except his fury. The audacity and stupidity to hide behind masks in a crowd of their kind. The atrocities his own father had most likely committed in a mask.

He lashed out a wave of roaring blue light from his wand. It landed true upon a cloaked back and gusted him through the ballroom as it wove a chain of lightning around him. The man screamed in agony as guests screamed in terror. Draco held on to the sober light as his cold, drunken heart begged him to plunge into dark magic once more. He resisted. It took all of his willpower to resist the delicious urge when a rage swept through him, but he was an auror now. He couldn't. He would love everything.

A wave flooded the room and Draco whipped around to discover water crashing out of Theo's wand as he pounded a swell against the enchanted flames. The fire began to die, and with its final breath, the fire took all of the light with it. The ballroom fell into the blackness of night, and the screams heightened.

"Go! Get out!" Blaise bellowed to the remaining guests. The only witches and wizards that remained surely did so to fight.

Draco wished his eyes would adjust more rapidly to the moonlight as he casted blindly in the dark. He moved quickly through the shattered ballroom and the chaos of flying spells. He tightened a draping around a cloaked man's neck with a wave of hand. If the man couldn't escape the curtain's suffocating grasp — well, that was his own problem.

Draco spotted his mother across the ballroom to his right, near the towering windowed doors where the moonlight shone more brightly. She was casting mercilessly. Of course, his mother hadn't left. She would step on every last neck of those who dared to ruin her night and threaten her home. Draco's stomach immediately turned as he also saw the familiar flash. The damning green light of an unforgivable curse. He forgot all sense as he furiously strode across the ballroom. He wouldn't put it above a few specific guests on their side of the fight to indulge in dark magic, but he couldn't risk the killing curse being thrown about so senselessly with his mother in the room.

He tore through the center of the room. A gleam of gold turned to him beneath a windswept, bloody cloak. With a whisper, green light erupted from the stranger's wand. Draco attempted to apparate but his mind sloshed in resistance; too slow. He heard his mother's scream before he felt the impact. He closed his eyes and crashed to the floor as it collided with his chest.

There was no pain.

Draco landed with a grunt. He waited for the coldness of death but all he felt was a great weight of warmth upon him. Was he dead? Was this death? This didn't seem like an accurate occurence of death compared to all the times he had witnessed the killing curse. The room fell silent as he heard the cracks of sudden departures.

His mind recalibrated. No, he was currently thinking — he was a moron. He was definitely still alive. He realized he was still inhaling, and his back was aching. He also realized he must have been far drunker than he assumed.

He opened his eyes with a jolt as a body gasped for air on top of him. The woman rolled off his chest and onto her back. She came to her side as she coughed in a mad fit. What had she done? She had put herself in front of an unforgivable curse. Why wasn't this woman dead?

Draco's eyes widened as the woman pushed her cool brown waves out of her face. Her familiar clear, silver-fired eyes tearing at the corner. "Cassia?" He asked in disbelief.

The woman turned her face to him as she placed a hand on her chest and coughed once more. She struggled to catch her breath. She was in so much distress that Draco almost reached out to her — almost. "I'm never coming to your fucking party again," she rasped.

Draco reeled, mouth falling open. "How did you," he mumbled. "You should be dead." He stared at her incredulously.

Cassia stared back as if he had recited the weather forecast — like he was an idiot. She quickly removed her hand from her heart. "Relax, Malfoy. I shoved us both out of the way." She grimaced like she might regret it.

He shook his head defiantly. He knew what had happened. "No, it struck-"

"A thank you would suffice," she quickly retorted as her mother rushed to her aid. They shared hushed whispers as Draco pushed himself to stand up.

His mother stormed over and cupped his cheek.

"Stop," he groaned as she continuously slapped his face to confirm he was still alive. She breathed a deep sigh of relief and hugged him tightly before composing herself.

She knelt down and clasped Cassia's hand with gratitude. "Are you alright, dear?" His mother asked her.

Cassia nodded slowly with a reassuring smile that Draco didn't quite believe. Her cheeks were flush and she trembled as if whatever had occurred had fully exhausted her and taken a toll. Gwen Wolfgrove fluttered over, sweeping through the pools of broken gems. Draco kept his eyes steeled on Cassia as her friend helped her to stand and embraced her tightly. What had she done? Why had she done such a horrible thing as to risk her life for his? He tried to remember if she was truly in the center of the ballroom

Cassia met his glare quickly. Her mouth dropped as if she might say something, possibly provide an explanation.

"What a fucking ride," Theo sighed smoothly with a crooked grin. Draco stole his glare from Cassia as Theo strolled to him, spinning his wand effortlessly across his knuckles.

"Are you alright, darling?" Theo inquired running his eyes down Cassia. He gently rubbed her arms in a soothing manner. Cassia slapped his touch away and cursed.

Unbothered by her sneer, Theo called back to Draco. "Now that is how a gentleman should act, Malfoy. Take notes." He snapped his fingers before turning to Gwen with a more serious expression and a wordless, assessing stare.

"Who were those men?" Cassia asked, saving Gwen from Theo's inspection.

Draco answered her. "I don't know, but whoever they are wanted to cause a scene. Instill terror."

Blaise shook his head as he began to reconstruct the grand chandelier.

As light emerged within the ballroom once more, a collective gasp echoed through the walls. Draco waited, watching the peculiar lavender alight in her irises for the first time in nearly six years beneath the restored glow.

Draco finally followed her gaze upwards towards the ceiling, where the enchantment had once again been broken. The flying dragons now imprisoned within grey storm clouds that thundered. Crimson blood dripped onto the marble floors and seeped through the broken crystal. He watched as Cassia covered her mouth in horror. The words upon the broken ceiling burned into his mind.

He Rises