Harry Potter belongs to JKR
Trigger Warnings are at the End of the Chapter
Chapter 49
Draco appeared with a pop and glanced around the roof to make sure he wasn't spotted, then quick-stepped down the stairwell to Mary's flat and rapped on the door. Bruno threw it open almost immediately. Darren sat on the mouldy couch tapping away on his phone, cigarette trailing a thin tendril of smoke from an ashtray in front of him.
"Why the fuck didn't you answer your phone?" Bruno asked.
"It didn't work in Europe," Draco replied. He closed the door behind him and stepped out of the way as the boxer started pacing.
"Young hasn't seen her either," Darren said, then his phone rang.
"Yeah," he said as he picked up. His eyes narrowed as he listened.
"No, nobody's seen her for a week…hey. HEY. You'd better get over here," he said, "Bruno's flat…Yeah…Fuck that, you'll be fine; we'll work it out later…Okay."
Darren folded his phone and looked up at the other two.
"That was Quaid, he hasn't seen her either, but he says he fucked up," he said.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Bruno asked, fists balled at his sides.
"He didn't say, but he'll be here in twenty minutes," Darren said.
"Mother. Fucker," Bruno said as he smashed fist into palm. For once, Draco agreed with him.
"What's with the cane?" Darren asked. Draco looked down at the snake headed cane; in his haste, he'd forgotten to leave it at the Manor.
"Hmm?" he said as he turned the snake head towards the dealer, "What do you think?"
"Wicked," Darren replied absently as he went back to texting on his phone.
"Can you shut the fuck up?" Bruno said.
Draco bit his lip and Darren took a long drag; Bruno looked about ready to murder someone. Truth be told, Draco couldn't stop thinking about Mary either, but there was fuck all he could do until he knew more. The feeling of complete impotence as events happened around him was uncomfortably familiar; it felt like being back in the Manor during the war.
After what seemed like hours of Bruno pacing and Darren obsessively checking his phone and sucking down tobacco smoke, a buzz sounded from the intercom, and Bruno let Quaid up. The young dealer with hair bleached as blonde as Draco's stepped into the flat, his face ashen as he looked over the three of them.
"I think I fucked up," Quaid said.
"Where's my sister?" Bruno asked.
Mack Quaid swallowed.
"I don't know. All I know is… I was smoking in Konstantinov's cellar, you know, and I overheard a conversation between his dad and these two blokes… they were asking if you had any relatives," Mack said as he gestured to Bruno, "and I mentioned Mary. I was just trying to help out, I didn't know anything was going to happen."
"Fuckin' chimp!" Darren said.
"Which two blokes, Russians?" Bruno asked.
"No, they were English, older," Mack replied.
A chill crawled up Draco's spine and settled at the base of his neck.
"What did they look like?" he asked.
"I dunno, grey hair. Both of 'em were tall, thin-like, weird though," Quaid said, "they were working with Konstantinov's dad somehow."
Draco closed his eyes. Death Eaters.
"Fuuuuck," he said.
And they had Mary.
"Who are they?" Bruno asked.
Draco motioned for the boxer to wait.
"Why the fuck would they care about… wait," Draco said, thinking quickly as he looked at Bruno, then back to Quaid, "what else were they talking about?"
"I don't know, I swear, I realised I fucked up right after I said it so I shut up, and Konstantinov's dad yelled at us and kicked me out," Quaid said.
Draco looked at Quaid, then at Bruno, then to Darren.
"Should we ask for a sit down?" Darren asked Bruno. The boxer slowly pulled out his phone.
"Mary," Draco thought as he recalled her confident smirk, "Always good. Never good enough…"
"We don't have time for this," Draco said as he slipped his wand into his hand and grabbed Mack by the collar, "you and I are going to have a little chat."
"Whoa whoa!" Darren said, as Draco shoved Quaid towards the bedrooms, and Bruno moved towards him.
"Alone," Draco said as he held up a single finger towards the other two, "only to talk, I swear. I'm not stupid."
He continued pushing Quaid down the dark hallway to the room he and Mary shared, and all but threw him the last few steps. Draco ignored the still rumpled bed and locked the door behind him, then turned and drew his wand.
"Look at me," he said.
He pointed his wand directly at Quaid's forehead and the muggle's eyes crossed.
"Legilimens," Draco said, and he dove into Mack Quaid's mind.
The man's entire life was laid bare to Draco, and he quickly sifted through them like a picture album, searching for the memory of the conversation between the Death Eaters and Konstantinov's father. It was a jumbled mess though, childhood, working at the orphanage, being mistreated and bullied by the Russian gangsters.
"What the fuck!" Mack said as he appeared next to Draco in the memory, panic on his features. Draco spotted another thread though and chased it down, even as Quaid tried desperately to hide it from the invasive mental intrusion.
"He'll have weed and cash," Mack said to Konstantinov, his voice echoing in the memory, "it'll be easy."
Several people around them nodded, a few of whom Draco recognised.
"The fuckers who broke my wand. He told them where to ambush me," Draco thought. He wanted to kill Quaid right there, but refocused on Mary.
"Show me what I'm looking for," Draco thought, "show me where you told them about Mary."
The memories resolved into a palatial estate, in the evening. They zoomed in as Mack climbed steps out of a cellar, the young Konstantinov behind him. He opened a door into a kitchen; an older man sat at a heavy wooden kitchen table.
"Konstantinov's father," Draco thought as he recognised him from the boxing match. The table sported a bottle of vodka and a trio of small glasses, and behind the two other glasses stood a pair of individuals he'd hoped never to see again: Anton Travers and Rastaban Lestrange, both looking odd in dark muggle suits.
"Even so, this 'Bruno McKay' must have at least one relative," Travers said.
"What about Mary?" Mack said, and Travers froze as he locked eyes with Quaid.
"Who the fuck is this?" he asked as he started to go for his wand.
"He is my son's friend," the elder Konstantinov said in a thick Russian accent, followed by a string of harsh Russian words.
"Go," Konstantinov the younger said as he nudged Quaid in the back.
"Wait," Rastaban said, "Mary?"
"Mary McKay, Bruno's half-sister?" Quaid replied with a shrug, "err… that's all I know."
The memory ended with Quaid being shoved out of the house by Konstantinov's son. Draco sifted through more memories.
"Where do they put the people they take?" Draco asked.
"I don't know!" Quaid wailed, now thoroughly terrified.
"Who knows?" Draco asked.
"K-Konstantinov's son! He'll know," Quaid said, and his thoughts turned to the flat Darren had previously led him to, when they sent a 'message' after Konstantinov had Mary beaten and left in the hospital for backing out on a drug deal. Finally, Draco ended the spell, and Quaid stumbled back to sit on the floor at the foot of the bed.
"What the fuck?" the muggle said, but Draco pointed his wand at him again.
"Obliviate," he said, and Quaid's expression went blank, "confundo. I asked you a bunch of questions and you told me about the meeting with Konstantinov's father and those two others."
He paused as Quaid stared off into space. The possibility of Mary, a vulnerable muggle, captured and held by Travers and Lestrange made his stomach turn, but he forced his brain to think.
"Travers wanted her to get to Bruno… but if that's the case, why haven't they contacted him?" Draco thought.
Something didn't add up.
"Always good, never good enough," he thought.
It was the story of his entire existence. This time though, this time he had to be good enough; Mary's life hung in the balance. He slammed the door open as he walked back out to the living room and looked to Bruno.
"You're sure nobody's contacted you," he asked.
Bruno nodded.
"Yeah I'm sure. What did he tell you?" he asked.
"I think I might know who took her. Keep him here, don't let him talk to anyone," Draco said as he opened the front door, "keep calling around, and contact me if someone's seen her."
"Where are you going?" Darren asked.
"To find Mary," Draco said.
"I'm coming with you," Bruno said as he took a step.
"No, you'll only slow me down," Draco said, "I'll call if I need help."
He closed the door behind him over Bruno's protests and Darren whispering to the boxer. Once alone in the stairwell, he focused; he'd only been to Konstantinov's flat once.
"Destination, Deliberation, Determination," he thought, and apparated before the boxer opened the door again.
He appeared with a crack, and electronics and lights shorted out all around him with pops, sparks, and smoke.
"What the fuck?" Konstantinov said as he stood up from the couch, video game controller still in his hand.
"Petrificus totalus," Draco said, and the Russian froze on the spot, eyes wide.
Draco made a quick sweep of the small flat, then cast a colloportus spell on the door and turned to face the Russian.
"Where do those weird fuckers keep people they've taken?" he asked, "legilimens."
He dove into Konstantinov's mind, and the vision resolved almost immediately into a run-down detached house with boarded up windows. Weeds grew up the sides of the walls and in between the stones of the path, and the street was not much better. Travers stood opposite him on the front stoop, looking like he'd smelled something distasteful. Already Draco could feel Konstantinov trying to throw him out of his mind; he was much stronger willed than Quaid, and Draco redoubled his efforts, he had to see.
"And you're certain your people will be discrete," Travers asked.
"Da, of course," Konstantinov replied, "we already have some girls inside, want to see?"
Travers nodded.
Konstantinov led him into the dingy house and upstairs to the first bedroom. He opened the door part of the way to show Travers the interior. Several beds were set up in the room, three of which were already occupied by semi-conscious women wearing only simple grey smocks that barely reached their thighs, handcuffed to their respective bedframes.
The Death Eater snorted.
"Ras is going to love this," he muttered, "what's wrong with them?"
"Drugs, makes everything easier," Konstantinov replied.
"Fine, as long as it works," Travers said, "I want this operation producing by next week."
"Da, da, we do this all the time back home," Konstantinov said dismissively, "I give you two good managers to handle it."
The Russian strained to eject Draco again, and he held on; he only needed a few more seconds.
"The address," Draco thought, "Show me the address."
He mentally shoved Konstantinov to respond, and the memory zoomed out to the number on a rusted letterbox, then to a street sign a ways down the road.
"134 Butcher Road," Draco thought as he returned to Konstantinov's apartment. The Russian still sat frozen, a bead of sweat trickling down to his chin.
Once again, Draco cast an obliviation and a confundus charm.
"I was never here," he said, "you were playing games and your telly suddenly exploded."
Draco unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway, looked both ways to make sure he was unobserved, then closed the door behind him and took the stairs down to the street.
"Taxi!" he shouted as one passed. He sighed deeply in an attempt to calm his racing heart as sat down and pulled the door shut.
"One-thirty-four, Butcher Lane," he said. The taxi accelerated and Draco pulled out his mobile phone, then he fished out the knut Potter had given him. He might need help, but if there were Death Eaters, or even Snatchers there… Darren and Bruno wouldn't be able to do a damn thing. On the other hand, it was Harry bloody Potter. Tears started forming at the thought of being too late, and he pushed them away.
"Focus!" he thought, "For Merlin's sake Draco, for once in your life, be good enough."
He blinked a few times, pocketed the phone, and produced his wand to transfigure a message onto the coin. Twenty minutes later, Draco thought he recognised the neighbourhood from Konstantinov's memory, then he spotted the rundown house only fifty metres ahead.
"Stop here," Draco said. He paid with cash and walked the rest of the way. On the front stoop, he paused and listened, but all he could hear were the sounds of birds chirping and leaves rustling. A dog barked in the distance.
"No Aurors. Fucking Potter, maybe they won't even come," he thought. He tried the door, but it was locked.
"Alohomora," he said. The tumblers turned with a loud click, and Draco pushed his way into the dimly lit house; the scent of air fresheners and incense masked something far more sinister. Standing in the hallway was someone he immediately recognised; though he hadn't seen him in several years, the crooked teeth and beady eyes were unmistakable, and he and Draco simultaneously aimed their wands at one another.
"Flint. What are you doing here?" Draco asked as he faced off against his former quidditch teammate.
"What am I doing here, what are YOU doing here? Are you with Travers?" Marcus replied.
Draco thought fast.
"The fuck do you think, I'm wandering around the neighbourhood?" Draco asked as he took his wand off Flint for a second to pull his sleeve up and reveal the faded Dark Mark. Flint looked suitably impressed at that, and lowered his wand.
"What happened to you? Word is you're the Ministry's bitch now," Flint said.
"Yeah, well, appearances can be deceiving and they don't tell you everything, do they?" Draco sneered, "what the fuck's going on here?"
"The usual. Have you seen Travers?" Flint asked.
"Not recently, have you?" Draco replied.
"No. Nobody has, and that's the problem, innit. No word, no bloody instructions," Flint said, "Scabior's gone missing too."
Draco sneered again.
"You don't need to worry about that, I'm taking over for today. Get the fuck out of here," Draco said.
Marcus' ugly features hardened.
"You don't tell me what to do," he said.
Draco paused.
"Fine, I'm going and you can stay, I don't really give a niffler's nut," Draco said as he put his hand on the doorknob again.
"Oh fuck off," Flint said, and he apparated away.
Draco breathed deep as his heart pounded.
"Mary!" he thought. He raced up the steps, rounded the corner, and almost ran smack into a dark-haired Russian walking the other direction.
"Stupefy," Draco said.
At that range he couldn't miss, and the red stun bolt dropped the muggle to the ground in a heap. Draco listened for a second muggle; there were supposed to be two managers. He didn't hear any follow up sounds; hopefully it was only the one up here. He opened the first door, the one Konstantinov showed Travers, and stifled his disgust as he saw all six beds now occupied with drugged out and handcuffed barely clothed women, none of whom were Mary. The second room had only a stained mattress on the ground. He opened the third door and another room greeted him, this one with four beds, three of which were occupied by more nearly nude and handcuffed women, but in the fourth bed, he saw her. Unlike the others, Mary was gagged as well as cuffed to the bed, but she still wore clothing, thank Merlin. Draco ran to the bed, wordlessly releasing her gag and handcuffs on the way, but as he reached the foot of her bed, he spotted her eyes, wide open and staring.
"No," he said as he stumbled over the foot of the bed, "Mary!"
A familiar looking bruise marred the inside of her elbow. Draco reached out for her cheek, and recoiled as his fingers brushed ice cold flesh.
"Fuck," he thought as he fumbled with his wand.
"Rennervate," he said. Nothing.
"Come on, rennervate," he said, and again, nothing. Again and again he tried, even though deep down, he knew it was too late. Eventually, he fell to his knees, dropped his wand and lifted Mary's cold head and torso and held her to his chest. Cold but not rigid; he was hours too late, not days.
Never good enough
A keening wail of rage, grief, and frustration erupted from his chest as hot tears streamed down both cheeks.
Never good enough
All the time they'd spent together, the walks, the meals, the sex, plans for the future, the concert, the rugby match, the way she laughed, or rolled her eyes, how she stuck her tongue out while studying, or smiled when talking about the animals at the vet's office, everything, flashed through his mind. He knelt and cradled her body, his chest convulsing with sobs until he gasped for breath. The one person in his life who mattered, who took the time to know him, who actually cared about him-
"Hey," the woman across the room said, interrupting his grief. Numb, cheeks wet, he looked over to see her similarly cuffed to a metal bedframe; he could see right up her smock, "hey, I'm sorry. You knew her, right? I'm sorry."
Unable to speak past the lump in his throat, still clutching Mary's body, Draco nodded.
"Hey, get me out of these would you?" she asked as she rattled the cuffs.
Numbly, Draco picked up his wand and pointed, then paused as tears blurred his vision.
"Fuck it," he thought.
"Alohomora," he said, and the cuffs clicked open.
"What the hell?" she said as she rubbed her wrist. Then she seemed to gather herself and wobbled over to a night table where a syringe and a rubber tube sat, ready to use.
"Are you with the police?" she asked as she wound the tube about her bicep, "are they coming?"
He ignored her and continued to stare at Mary's lifeless eyes.
Always good, but never good enough.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered.
As if on cue, the front door of the house banged open.
"Aurors, drop your wands!"
"Shit," the sex slave said, and she quickly pulled the hose tight with her teeth and injected into the crook of her elbow. Draco stared at Mary's face and held her ice cold hand. Tears had splashed onto her cheek; he reached up and pushed her eyelids closed and wiped her face dry; the blue orbs had already started to turn milky, but with her eyelids shut, she could have been sleeping. He sat there, squeezing tears from his eyes and staring at her as another bang echoed: one of the bedroom doors had been kicked open.
"Merlin," someone muttered.
Draco thought about calling out, but he simply could not muster up enough willpower to care. Then he caught a shadow in his peripheral vison.
"Malfoy, there you are. What is all this?" Potter asked from the doorway.
"Saint fucking Potter," Draco thought.
"You're too late," Draco muttered, "This is your fault. You're supposed to stop them, fucking asshole!"
"Listen you bloody wanker-" Weasley said from the hallway, but Draco was having none of it.
"Fuck both of you!" Draco said over his shoulder, and then he turned around to look at Mary's slight body again, to memorise every curve of her face.
"Get the stones, there's no one here," Potter said, and then he took a step to Draco and stopped when he spotted the catatonic woman curled against the wall, needle still hanging out of her arm. He spent a moment diagnosing her while Draco tried to ignore him and Weasley.
"What the hell is going on here?" Potter asked, "where are the Death Eaters?"
Draco shook his head.
"Fuck off, alright?" Draco said.
He cast a featherlight charm on her body, but Potter stepped forward and put a hand on his arm.
"I can't let you leave," he said.
"You can go fuck yourself, Potter," Draco said, "I'm going, and I'm taking her with me."
Weasley and two other young Aurors, a big man and a woman he recognised from Diagon, now stood gawking in the doorway.
"Then I'll put a warrant out for your arrest in connection with… whatever this is," Potter said. Draco saw red.
"Fucking prick, you have no-" he said with as much venom as he could muster, but he was interrupted by a series of cracks from downstairs. Everyone froze.
"Malfoy? You still here?" someone shouted as Draco felt a stone drop into his stomach. He looked straight into Potter's questioning eyes.
"Rastaban," Draco whispered. Harry nodded and motioned the large man and the girl into the room, then pointed to the window.
"Wards," Harry mouthed as he vanished the glass and wooden boards. Two of the Aurors split up a few ward stones and slipped out the window while Potter and Weasley lined up in front of the door. Potter turned the knob and quietly pushed it closed, then held up a shield spell while Weasley held his wand high, ready to blast whoever opened it.
"Come out, come out, we just want to talk," Rastaban Lestrange said from what sounded like the staircase. A soft thrum went through Draco's chest: a magical detection spell. He considered taking Mary's body and apparating before the wards were up, but then the door and part of the wall exploded inwards in a shower of wood shards and he reflexively thrust his cane forward to protect himself and Mary from whatever got by Potter's shield. He ducked behind a bed as a furious duel erupted between Potter, Weasley, and at least three Snatchers.
"It's Potter and Weas-" one of the Snatchers called, only to be strung up by the heel and bound by Weasley. While they may have been nearly on par while they were at school, it was clear both Aurors had received additional training as they now fought entirely wordlessly, and it was all Draco could do to crouch down with his cane and borrowed wand and protect himself from the curses and shards of glass and plaster being blasted about.
"Press forward, it's only the two of them!" Rastaban Lestrange called, and another portion of the wall exploded; something impacted Draco on the side of his head. Dazed, his fingertips came away wet and red, and he looked up, through the revealed tiles and spraying water of a loo and the hallway and the staircase beyond, where Marcus Flint and the Death Eater himself stood, his wand whipping about. A piece of tile had struck Mary's forehead, releasing a drop of blood, almost black against her pale skin.
"This asshole is the one who did it, he's the reason Mary's dead!" Draco thought, and an unfathomable, all-consuming grief fuelled rage filled him from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He felt it; he knew what he had been missing that night on the Astronomy Tower, and he stood to take revenge on Rastaban Lestrange.
"Avada K-" he said, but then his wand leapt from his hand and clattered to the ground. He caught a flash of Potter's emerald eyes; the Boy-Who-Lived had disarmed him even as he and Weasley took on two Snatchers, Flint, and Lestrange in the narrow hallway. A roiling purple curse issued from the Death Eater and Potter deflected it straight into one of the Snatchers, who fell screaming to the ground. Then Draco was ducking and crawling for his life, reaching for his wand as more curses exploded around him. He turned around and cast from his arse.
"Serpensortia, impedimenta, excorio," Draco said.
The snake slithered out of his wand and was almost immediately incinerated, his second hex was deflected away, but the flaying curse struck Marcus Flint in the cheek. The former chaser dropped his wand and scrabbled at his face as he shrieked in a high-pitched, panicked voice, until Weasley stunned him down. Rastaban turned to shield against a barrage of multicoloured spells from the staircase; the other two Aurors had rejoined the fight, and he quickly went down under the wands of four Aurors. The final Snatcher dropped his wand and held his hands up, and Potter wordlessly stunned him.
"Get the portkey," he said, and the big man prised open Rastaban's hand to retrieve a bloody house key, then stuck it into a magical jar, while the rest of the Aurors collected wands.
Harry conjured a patronus, a blue-white stag, but Draco had gone numb again, staring at Mary's too-pale face, now marred by a small scratch. Dimly, he became aware of Potter issuing orders to the other Aurors.
"All my fault," Draco thought. If only he'd brought her to Europe, or told the Ministry earlier about O'Donnell's connection to the Death Eaters, or even returned home to retrieve the book from the Manor instead of staying, he would have been in time, and Mary would be alive.
Overwhelmed by his emotions as he was, the Fiend ripped through the fortifications he had erected as if they were paper. Draco tried occlumency, but there was nowhere to compartmentalize, no escape; grief, loss, and pain filled every pore, every corner, every thought. He needed a hit, or dreamless sleep, anything to stop feeling what he was feeling. He looked to the nightstand the prostitute still sat slumped against the wall next to, and walked over to her. He yanked the syringe from her arm, but it was empty, then he rifled through the drawers; maybe there was still some left.
"Hey," Potter said as he put a hand on his shoulder.
"It's all my fault," Draco thought.
"Leave me alone!" Draco shouted as he whirled around to point his finger into Potter's chest, "you… you fucking asshole! It's all your fault, you're supposed to stop them!"
At the periphery of his consciousness, he became aware of the other Aurors staring at him and he pointed with his wand hand at the big one from Diagon, then at Weasley.
"You could have stopped it, months ago, but you didn't," Draco thought, "it's your fault."
"All of you, it's your fucking jobs to stop these cunts before this shit happens!" Draco shouted.
He desperately needed a hit, preferably two full lines. He groaned and brought both fists, one still clutching his wand, to his temples. Then he turned to apparate, but the wards were still up.
"Malfoy, calm down!" Weasley said, and his was the absolute last voice Draco wanted to her.
"Oh fuck OFF Weasel," he said as he gestured wildly with his wand, "what have you done besides lurch from one bloody crisis to the next? You were a pathetic fucking failure in school, and nothing's fucking changed-"
"Stupefy."
Everything went dark.
Draco opened his eyes to the white ceiling of a St. Mungo's hospital room, then he immediately closed them again and hoped beyond hope it had all been some horrible fever dream. As he awoke fully, the terrible realisation of what had happened washed over him, and he sat up, resolved to raid his liquor cellar for a bottle of firewhiskey and then out to Darren's to buy an entire kilo of cocaine. He paused as he spotted a folded piece of parchment on his bedside table.
"When you're ready, come to the DMLE. You need to make a statement. -HP"
"When I'm fucking ready, right," Draco thought, and then his stomach dropped into his shoes, "oh shit… I have to tell Bruno."
Each movement brought more mental and physical agony. He slid to his feet, picked up his cane, checked that his wand and pouch were still with him, and weaved his way to the door. He was woozy, an after effect of dreamless sleep, though he didn't recall drinking any.
"At least you're not chained to the bed," he thought; it meant he wasn't under arrest.
He stumbled his way to the public floo, made it home, picked up a pair of bottles, stuffed them in his pouch, and then apparated to the roof of the flat in London. The late-afternoon sun nearly blinded him, and he turned away from it. He uncorked the firewhiskey and took a swig straight from the source before opening the door to the stairwell.
"You'll never hear her laugh again, you'll never take a walk through London with her again… she never even knew magic existed," Draco thought as he descended.
He took another swig; his throat burned and his eyes ached as tears streamed down his face, but he didn't care. Then he was at the flat and knocked on the door.
"Yeah?"
It was Bruno.
"It's me, let me in," Draco said. The door clicked open and he shoved his way inside. Darren and Bruno were both there, standing up. The boxer took one look at Draco's face and then he had him by the shirt collar.
"What happened?" he asked as he slammed Draco against the wall.
"I was too late," Draco said as he shook his head, "she's gone."
"Gone, what do you mean gone?" Bruno said as his slammed Draco against the wall again, and Draco shook his head again, "bullshit!"
"Don't tell me bullshit, I saw her fucking body," Draco shouted, then he grit his teeth, "she's gone."
Darren sat down on the couch with his hands on both sides of his head and Draco slid down to the floor, and took another swig of firewhiskey, then let his head hang between his knees.
"Fuck," Bruno said, his eyes bulging with disbelief first, which quickly bled into rage. He picked Draco's head up by the hair, "who?"
"The fucking… Konstantinov's people," Draco said; he didn't even care about the pain in his scalp, "and… fucking Mack, let it slip you had a sister. They were looking for leverage on you, but something fucked up."
Bruno let him go, and Draco slammed his own head back against the wall a few times.
"Could have left her at the villa in France to revise, and visited during breaks," Draco thought. He drank some more.
"These Russian motherfuckers, they shouldn't even be here," Bruno muttered as he pulled out his phone and held it to his ear.
Darren motioned for the bottle, and Draco handed it over to him.
"Tell your da that his fucking Ruskie friends just killed my sister," Bruno said.
Draco pulled the second bottle out of his pouch, then he froze as his eyes widened, but it seemed like neither Darren, who was busy uncorking, nor Bruno, focused on his phone conversation, noticed.
"Mate," Draco said as he waved to Darren, "I need a hit."
Darren nodded and held up a finger as he listened in to Bruno.
"Don't give me that shit-" Bruno said, then he paused, "fine, one hour."
He hung up.
"Martin's going to set something up," Bruno said. He pulled a black pistol from his waistband.
"I need a hit," Draco said, "fucking coke, I need it now."
Bruno paused.
"No fucking way, the state you're in, you're gonna OD and then we're all fucked," the boxer said and he turned to point at Darren, "don't sell him shit."
"Fuck you," Darren and Draco said in unison.
"You know I'm right," Bruno said to Darren, who threw his arms up.
"I don't have any right now anyway," the dealer said.
Bruno leaned over and snatched the bottle from Draco, sniffed it, took three large gulps and shook his head to clear it, then handed it back. Then he stalked to the hallway, and a door banged open and slammed shut. Draco heard some muffled shouting through the door, then Bruno returned with Mack Quaid at the point of the gun, his hands and mouth bound by duct tape.
"You fucked up," the boxer said as he shoved Quaid towards the loo.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Darren said as he stood up.
Mack Quaid was shaking now, his eyes pleading, making muffled noises through the duct tape.
"Get me a fucking pillow," Bruno said as he shoved Quaid into the loo, "you, in the tub."
"It's fucking Mack!" Darren said.
Bruno turned and levelled the deadly looking pistol at Darren Welch, who immediately put his hands up.
"Whoa, what the fuck?!" Draco asked as his eyes widened; he was far too drunk already.
"She was my sister and he was working with the Ruskies, after we told him not to, and he got her killed. You wanna get in the way?" the boxer asked.
Darren backed up and slowly retrieved a pillow from the mouldy couch.
"You're insane," Darren said as he extended an arm to hand the stained pillow to the gang enforcer, "he didn't pull the fucking trigger. Come on, not here. At least take him out on the water or something."
Draco took another swig of firewhiskey, and watched the scene play out as if it were a muggle film. Quaid refused to get into the tub, and Bruno whipped him with the pistol a few times until he went limp. With smooth motions that spoke of far too much practise, the boxer bent him over the tub, held his head down with the pillow, placed the muzzle of the gun against it, and fired two shots. Draco's stomach heaved at how Quaid's legs jerked then fell still, and he swallowed to keep the whiskey down.
"Great," Darren said. After the double bang of the pistol, a heavy silence fell over the trio, and Draco jumped when Bruno's phone rang.
"Yeah," the boxer said as he held it to his ear, then he made a circular motion to Darren, indicating they had to leave.
"Wonderful. What are we gonna do? We can't just fucking leave him here," Darren said.
"I'll take care of it," Draco said.
"How the fuck are you gonna 'take care of it'?" Darren asked.
"Same way I get all those potions and make all that weed," Draco said as he held Darren's gaze. He really did not give a fuck about anything anymore.
"We have to go," Bruno said as he fixed Draco with a stare.
Darren pulled on a windbreaker.
"Are you gonna shoot me if I don't?" he asked.
"Shut the fuck up," Bruno said, then turned to Draco, "I'll see you later."
The two donned their jackets and headed out the door. Draco locked it behind them, then slipped into the loo where Quaid's body still slumped. A trail of blood leaked out of him and flowed into the drain, his stupid fake blonde hair now stained red. Draco didn't like the prick, but he only made a mistake in the moment, to try and impress the people who constantly spit on him; he didn't deserve this, not even for being the one responsible for Draco losing his wand.
"Mary didn't deserve to die either," Draco thought as he drew his wand, "there's no fucking justice in the world."
He took one more look at Quaid's body, the soaked through clothes and trail of blood, stark red against the white of the tub, then waved his wand.
"Evanesco," he said, and vanished the body, the blood, the clothes, the pillow… everything, "scourgify."
He even ran the shower, clear water circling and guttering down the drain, to be sure it was all gone. Then he took another swig of firewhiskey and stumbled to Mary's room. He flicked on the lights and breathed deep. It still smelled like her, still looked like she might return at any minute. Rumpled bedsheets, clothes thrown over the back of a chair, books still open on the desk. Draco walked over and spotted her handwriting in her school notebook, pen laid down beside it, and that sent him over the edge. He fell to his knees and broke down completely, sobbing on the floor.
"It's all your fault," he thought. There were a dozen ways events could have played out differently, a dozen ways he could have saved her, if he'd only been less of a fool. At some point he managed to crawl to her bed and pull her pillow onto the floor with him; he didn't dare lie down on the bed itself. He clutched it tight to his chest and took deep lungfuls of her scent, knowing it would fade, but still trying to remember, to try and carry it with him forever. At some point he must have passed out because he woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. He pulled it out of the pouch and answered.
"We talked to Konstantinov. He's going to give us the two guys responsible," Bruno said, "can you make it?"
"They're not the ones responsible, it's fucking Travers and Rastaban Lestrange," Draco thought, "At least Lestrange is going to end up with the dementors."
"Make it where?" Draco asked.
Bruno gave him an address in Tilbury; it was near where he used to deliver the weed to Darren.
"Yeah, I can make it there," Draco said. He wobbled as he stood up.
"Shit, still drunk," he thought. He made his way to the loo and pointedly ignored the empty bathtub as he took a piss, then scrubbed his face. Dark circles under his eyes, crease between his eyebrows… his reflection reminded himself of sixth year. He stepped into the hallway and apparated, arriving in darkness, then patted himself down for splinches.
"Probably shouldn't have done that drunk," he thought. He stepped out of the abandoned warehouse to the salty smell of brackish water and walked along the dark, unlit road to the address Bruno had given him. The raw evening autumn air chilled his exposed skin, and the croaking of toads was no comfort. He spotted a rented car in the loading area of the abandoned warehouse and peeked inside to see both Darren and Bruno there, lit by a small flashlight set on the ground, along with two figures wrapped up in ropes and bound to metal chairs, dark hoods over their heads. His wrists ached as he recalled his own imprisonment. Draco stepped quietly into the warehouse and Darren patted Bruno on the elbow and nodded to him.
"Oi," Bruno said with a serious look on his face, "these are the two who did it."
Draco looked at the two hooded men.
"How do you know?" Draco asked.
"They fucking confessed, and Konstantinov said it was them, had to bail one of them out of jail," Bruno said, "we can take care of them now. I'll do it myself, but I thought, maybe you might want a chance too."
Draco looked back at the bound men. He wanted to be sure.
"What about Darren?" he asked.
"I'm taking the car back," the dealer said, "you can come with me, or you can go with Bruno, your call."
It only took Draco a second.
"I'm going with him," he said, pointing to Bruno.
"Yeah. I get it," Darren said. He patted Draco on the shoulder as he passed him on his way to the exit.
"Come on, let's get these two down to the boat," Bruno said. He undid the handcuffs binding them to the chair, then hefted one of them clear off the floor and started carrying him towards the opposite end of the warehouse.
Draco did not trust the boxer, at all; he drew his wand and aimed it at the back of his head.
"Coacto," he said, and Bruno stumbled to one knee under the weight of his burden.
"Tell the truth," Draco said, "are you planning to kill me?"
"No," Bruno replied without turning around.
"Confundo," Draco said, "Go on, I'll meet you at the boat."
Bruno looked around in confusion for a second, then stood up again and resumed walking.
Draco watched Bruno's back for a moment, then pulled the hood off the bound man. Panicked dark eyes greeted him, set in a face that was already bloody and bruised, but Draco still recognised him: the Russian he'd stunned down in the second story hallway. He didn't waste any time.
"Legilimens," Draco said, and he rifled through the man's memories, saw how he and his fellow partner in crime lured prostitutes from the street and forcibly injected them with drugs to get them addicted. How they brought in customers to have their way with them, and then returned the girls to the beds when they were done. How Travers or Marcus Flint collected money from them weekly, until one day the Death Eater brought Mary in, told them to hold on to her. How an argument ensued between the two gangsters. Draco could not understand them, but he figured out the gist… they were debating whether Mary should be injected or not. Eventually they decided to, and one held her arm down while she fought, and the other pumped her full of heroin. Draco's heart broke as her eyelids fluttered shut; she'd struggled so hard to beat the addiction. Over the next few days, they fed her and injected her and occasionally brought her to the loo, but they weren't sure what to do with her… the other girls all craved after a day or two, but Mary kept refusing.
"Oh Merlin, it's the compulsion I put on her," Draco thought. Then they increased the dose, half again what they'd previously given her.
"And she never woke up," Draco thought. He scrambled out of the man's mind with a gasp and stumbled backwards to fall on his backside.
"I was only trying to help! Merlin, it's my fault, just as much as anyone else," he thought.
He looked up. The gagged man was pleading with him again, but Draco ignored him and pulled the hood down, then hit him with a featherlight charm and made a show of carrying him as he doused the flashlight and followed Bruno out of the warehouse. In the dim city-glow, Draco could barely make out a small boat, moored at a wooden dock jutting out into the water. He nearly lost his balance as the small craft shifted slightly when he stepped onto it.
"Grab the line," Bruno said as Draco dropped the Russian onto the deck, next to the other one. He picked up the rope off the mooring as the outboard engine rumbled to life. The Russians squirmed in their bonds; their hands were still bound behind their backs, but the boxer kicked them both in the ribs a few times until they curled up and lay still.
"Don't move," he said, then he turned to Draco, "watch them."
Bruno revved the engine and took them down to the mouth of the river, and the ship started bouncing higher off the waves as they made the transition to the sea. Draco kept an eye on the Russians, but apparently Bruno's beatings had done the trick and they were subdued for now.
"Did you take care of the mess at the flat?" Bruno asked.
"Yeah," Draco replied, "there's nothing left."
Bruno nodded, and that was the end of their conversation until the sky started lightening. They had left land behind; only the flat line of the horizon stretched in all directions, as far as the eye could see. The boxer cut the engine and the boat rocked in the eerie silence, with only intermittent thumps as waves bumped the bottom of the hull.
"Keep watchin' 'em," Bruno said as he disappeared below deck. The two Russians, tied up, were unable to even get to a sitting position, but they did tremble in fear and mumble into their gags. Bruno returned with heavy chains which he dropped to the deck with a loud clank. He then set about winding the chains, clinically, efficiently, methodically, around first one Russian, then the other, and secured them each with a combination lock. Then he looked to Draco.
"What do you think, gun?" he asked. He paused as he regarded at Draco with dead, staring eyes.
"Yeah, too fast," Bruno replied to his own question. Then he looked around to make sure there were no ships nearby, picked up one of the Russians as he struggled impotently against the ropes and chains, and unceremoniously rolled him into the ocean. Draco took three steps to the railing. The heavy chains dragged the Russian down, leaving only a few bubbles breaking the surface to mark the spot, and then nothing.
"Right, this one's yours," Bruno said as he gestured to the other Russian still lying on the deck.
Still numb, and now with a headache as the hangover from the firewhiskey set in, Draco had no intention of physically lifting the Russian. He put his back to Bruno, drew his wand, hit him with a featherlight charm, then lifted him up with two hands and tossed him into the waves, letting the charm go as he fell. Draco watched as he, too, struggled impotently for a few seconds with his arms and legs bound, until the air bubbled out of his clothing and he sank beneath the waves. The pureblood stared at the water; no one would ever know two people had died here.
Bruno tapped him on the shoulder and placed something in his hand. Draco looked down to see a few stacks of crisp hundred-pound notes, each bound up with small strips of paper. He guessed there was fifty or sixty thousand all together.
"From Konstantinov, an apology, he said," Bruno said.
"That's it? He thinks he can just buy his way out of this?" Draco asked.
"I'm not happy about it either, but she's gone, and we killed the cunts that did it. Martin's da says Konstantinov wouldn't have done it on purpose since his son is right here, and the old man isn't going to start a war, so it's all we're gonna get," Bruno said, "you should be glad I didn't keep it all for myself, god knows I coulda used it."
The boxer turned around and restarted the engine, then let it idle while Draco fumed.
"Sixty thousand pounds, that's what he thinks she's worth?" Draco thought. He would trade his entire fortune, everything he'd made in the past year, to have her back. The stack of bills sat heavy in his hand, and the thought of tossing it into the ocean as well crossed his mind. Instead, he slowly tucked it into his jacket pocket. He expected he would feel conflicted about throwing someone overboard to drown, but it was more of a complete lack of emotion; he didn't care, at all.
"Probably because they weren't really the ones responsible," Draco thought, "Fucking Rastaban. Fucking Travers. Fucking Flint. Maybe you should add yourself to the list."
The thumping motor and the rocking waves allowed him to settle his mind a little bit, despite the headache, and he methodically put the Fiend back in its cage as best he could. After about ten minutes, most likely to confirm the Russians would not resurface, Bruno pushed the throttle forward and they turned back the way they came.
"Dragon pox pus, that's what you are," Draco thought as he pressed the stack of currency in his pocket against his body and bounced along with the waves to keep his balance.
"How the fuck did you find her?" Bruno asked.
"It doesn't fucking matter, I wasn't fast enough," Draco muttered.
Draco didn't sense any danger from the boxer yet, but from experience he knew that could change in a split second as he saw the gears turning in Bruno's head. His mind kicked into high gear.
"Konstantinov's son," Draco said, "Quaid told me he would know, so I went straight to his flat, got lucky he was there and…I have um… I gave him something special, something the military uses. Makes people tell the truth. Keep that to yourself, I don't want Martin or anyone else finding out about it."
"Hmm," Bruno said.
"Anyway, he told me the address," Draco said, "and then I took a taxi there, but I was too late."
Bruno stayed silent, but Draco kept an eye on him as he sailed them to a different dock, one with several boats and yachts lined up, and slowly steered them near a vacant one.
"Toss me those ropes," he said, and Draco hopped out and did as he was asked. The boxer tied them tightly to fasteners on the edge of the ship, and then he followed Draco up to the dock.
"I can drive you," Bruno said, "back to the flat?"
Draco thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. Seeing Mary's room again? The Fiend threatened to break free.
"I can't, not yet," he replied, "drop me…"
"Where can I go?" he thought, then it struck him, the one person he could talk to.
"Take me to the orphanage," he said.
He stepped up into Bruno's truck, and the enforcer started the engine, then paused.
"I should have thrown the bloody fight," he said. Draco wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he stayed silent, and eventually Bruno shifted into drive and pulled out of the parking lot.
Half an hour later, Draco stepped out of Bruno's truck and onto the path leading to the brick building where he had 'volunteered' for six months. He walked straight up to the front door, steeled himself for human interaction, then pushed inside.
"Drake," the receptionist said with a smile, "it's been a while, what brings you here?"
"Hi, Madeline," Draco said as he recalled her name just in time, "is Director Macmillan in? There's something I need to speak to him about."
"He just arrived," Madeline said, "come, I'll bring you."
He trailed after the plump receptionist as she led him through the familiar halls. She knocked on the frosted glass of Macmillan's door and then opened it.
"Director? Drake Malfoy is here," Madeline said.
Macmillan stood up and motioned for him to enter.
"Good morning Mr. Malfoy. Come in, come in," Macmillan said as he shut the door behind Draco, "how long has it been? how are you keeping?"
Draco sat down and took a shuddering breath.
"Not good. Not good at all," he said, and then he swallowed and shook his head, "Mary's dead."
Draco's face crumpled as he uttered the words, but there were no more tears; Macmillan's mouth dropped open, and Draco grit his teeth. The story tumbled out of him, how they'd started dating when he was still working at the orphanage, how she introduced him to muggle life, how she seemed to genuinely care when no one else did, how he'd used magic to help her beat her drug addiction, how she had asked to come with him to Europe but he had put it off because it would have been inconvenient, how he'd planned to introduce her to his mother and somehow build a life together, and finally how Death Eaters had arranged her kidnapping and imprisonment.
"I'm pretty sure they cocked it up," Draco said, "she was meant to be used as leverage against her brother. Just a stupid… meaningless… she was studying to be a vet…"
Macmillan offered him a box of tissues and Draco wiped his face and blew his nose several times.
"I should have checked on her, it would have been easy," Draco said, "cost a few more galleons, but… what the fuck was I thinking."
The director, who had stayed silent the entire time, started to speak.
"I know there are no words," Macmillan said slowly, "she was a troubled girl, but she had a good soul and cared deeply about those closest to her. I want you to know that everything you are feeling, and everything you're going to feel, is completely normal. It's going to take a long time, but trust in the fact that one day, you're going to think of her and smile instead of… feeling like this."
Draco shook his head as he stared at the edge of the desk.
"All this magic, power, money… what the fuck is the point?" he said, "I couldn't protect her."
"Didn't, is more like it," he thought, and though it was a bitter pill to swallow, he knew he couldn't truly blame anyone else for what happened to Mary; he'd had the opportunity to prevent it, multiple opportunities, and he hadn't.
"Have you informed the police?" Macmillan asked.
Draco waved him off.
"There's no need," he said.
Macmillan raised an eyebrow.
"I hope you haven't done anything illegal," he said.
Weighted body struggling and sinking down to the depths.
"He was the worst of the worst," Draco thought as he tried to justify killing someone in cold blood, "if he was a wizard, they'd send him to Azkaban for life."
Draco shook his head.
"The Aurors were there, half the house was destroyed," Draco said, "I almost bloody died too. The muggle police will be notified of something, I'm sure."
Macmillan waited for him to continue speaking.
"It wasn't really the Russians, either," he thought, "Rastaban was caught, but Travers is still out there, him and the rest of the Death Eaters."
"Fuck," Draco said. He was going to have to work with Potter.
A few days later, Draco knocked on the door to Mary's flat and tried the knob to find it already open. He'd spent nearly two full days in a drunken stupor, but he knew he had to be here for this and had loaded himself up with blood purification, hangover, a cheering draught, and a few other potions for the occasion, which allowed him to function well enough to pull on a jet-black button-down shirt and slacks. He heard rustling from the hallway, and steeled himself as he entered the bedroom. The windows had been thrown open, and sunlight streamed in. A pair of cardboard boxes had been set up on the bed, and Bruno, also wearing black, had emptied the contents of Mary's school bag onto the purple sheets.
"Oi," the boxer said with a sombre expression, "thanks for coming over."
"Least I could do," Draco mumbled.
They worked silently for a few minutes as Draco emptied Mary's dresser and lay the folded clothes into one of the boxes, while Bruno packed away her school books and other belongings. Draco picked up a calendar off the wall and noticed September 27th circled with blue highlighter, and a drawing of a small cake with a candle. His heart sank as he realised he'd completely forgotten, and had been in Europe during Mary's birthday.
"You absolute fucking twat," Draco thought.
It was just another example of how he'd failed her.
"Fucking Russians," Bruno muttered, "fucking Konstantinov."
He slammed the desk drawer shut, and a pencil clattered to the floor.
"They shouldn't even be here," Bruno continued, talking to himself, "gonna fucking murder every last one of them…"
"Bloody hell," Draco thought. If Bruno went on a rampage, he'd probably get himself killed, or start a conflict between Martin's gang and Konstantinov's, and that wouldn't be good for anyone.
"It wasn't Konstantinov, not really," Draco said.
Bruno turned around and glared at him with a mixture of warning and curiosity.
"The fuck are you on about?" the boxer asked.
"It was those two weird fuckers Mack mentioned, the ones Martin and Konstantinov's fathers are working with," Draco said.
Bruno stopped packing to stare at Draco.
"Who are they?" Bruno asked, "I know you know something, so don't bullshit me."
Draco bit his lip.
"Fuck it. Time to do what I should have done ages ago," Draco thought.
"Alright, I'll tell you what I can, but we bring Darren in too," Draco said as he flipped his phone open.
He called the dealer to join them at Bruno's flat, and then Draco and the boxer continued packing up Mary's life. It was all Draco could do to keep the tears in as they went through her belongings. They'd just closed the second box, the one with the non-sentimental items, and moved to the living room when the buzzer sounded. Bruno pressed the button to let Darren up and then pulled some beers from the fridge and uncapped them with a trio of hisses and clinks.
"Alright, spill," Bruno said as they sat around the small kitchen table, next to the window.
Draco took a deep breath.
"The Russians aren't the ones who wanted to kidnap Mary," Draco said, "think about it, Martin already told you Konstantinov wouldn't do it, and Konstantinov's son is right here, why would he put him at risk? Plus it was weeks since the fight. It wasn't until Mack told those other two that she went missing."
"I get it. Who the fuck are they?" Bruno asked.
Draco weighed his next words carefully.
"You can think of them as former members of… like a cult, but… elite military, who formed their own group," Draco said, "they're criminals, but not like us."
Odd, he now considered himself so close to these two muggles he could refer to them as 'us'. Bruno looked confused, and Darren scratched his head.
"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Draco thought.
"You still haven't told us shit," Darren said, "what are you trying to do?"
Thank Merlin.
"I need your help," Draco said, "and we've got to keep it quiet."
Bruno frowned and Darren raised an eyebrow.
"The guy who wanted to kidnap Mary, his name is Anton Travers," Draco said, "he's the weird fucker who Mack mentioned Mary to. He's one of the cunts responsible for what happened to her, him and his buddies. I can get you photos of them, all of them."
"How do you know this?" Bruno asked.
"I used to be one of them," Draco said as he pulled up his sleeve, "sort of indoctrinated, due to my father. I got out, that's why I've been trying to stay away from them."
"Okay so we find them, and then?" Darren asked.
"And then we get rid of them," Draco said.
Darren coughed, then cracked the window and tapped out a cigarette from the pack as Bruno looked at him like he'd grown three heads.
"Are you out of your fucking mind? They're working with both Martin's da and Konstantinov, and we don't even know who they are. We can't move against them, it's suicide," Bruno said.
Draco turned a palm up.
"You were about to go after all the Russians by yourself," Draco said, and Darren looked at the boxer with an alarmed expression, "anyway, if we do this right, nobody will know we were involved. Martin and Konstantinov will be fine too, but we need to get rid of these arseholes or more of us are going to end up dead, I guaran-fucking-tee it. Why do you think I'm so terrified of them?"
Darren waved his hands and shook his head.
"Okay okay, assuming we do agree to this… 'plan', whatever it is… what, exactly, do you need from us?" he asked, and then he pointed to Draco, "and if you give me some chimpy fucking answer I swear to Jesus I'm turning around and walking out that door."
Draco rolled his eyes.
"I need you to use your connections to find out where they go, where they spend their time," Draco said, "then leave the rest to me."
"You're sure these fuckers are the ones responsible for what happened to Mary?" Darren asked.
Draco nodded.
"Hundred percent," he said.
"Fucking mental," Bruno muttered.
Darren stubbed out the cigarette into an ashtray, then blew out the last puff of smoke.
"Martin doesn't like those arseholes either," Darren said as he lit up a second, "and I've seen some weird shit too. I'll see what I can dig up, and then we'll go from there."
"This is fucking stupid," Bruno said, then he shook his head and seemed to come to a decision, "don't get caught."
Darren merely rolled his eyes and blew a puff of smoke up towards the ceiling. The boxer looked at his watch.
"We should get going," he said, "meet you there?"
Darren nodded and stood up.
The dealer left first, and Bruno picked up one of the boxes (the other stayed in his room) and carried it downstairs. Draco waited with it by the front stoop until the Bruno's car arrived, then he packed it into the boot and sat in the front seat as Bruno drove them to the orphanage and stopped out front of the black gate.
"Be quick about it, I'm illegally parked," Bruno said. Draco nodded carried the box up the path and into the brick building proper.
"Would you mind bringing it to the storage closet?" Madeline asked.
He followed the plump receptionist into the orphanage and deposited Mary's clothing on top of the other donations, to be used by the needy orphans.
"They'll never know," Draco thought. He paused by the arts and crafts room on the way out and glanced through the window, but didn't spot Callista. Draco took a deep breath and steeled himself for what was to come.
Bright autumn sun shone down on vibrant green grass and birds chirped in the trees, contrasting with the hole in Draco's heart as he tossed his handful of dirt onto the coffin. The entire process, completely alien to him but apparently well known by the adults in attendance, was a blur. The priest, clad in some kind of ceremonial robes, said something about earth to earth and dust to dust, and eternal life and kingdoms, and then it was all over. Draco glanced around at the scant few people that had shown up: Bruno, Darren, and Alan of course. Director Macmillan was there, along with Steph, who held little Callista McKay's hand through the entire service. Pam, who had known Mary best from the orphanage, and her husband Mike Baker also attended. And that was it.
"Not even ten," Draco thought. Somehow it seemed wrong, and so completely appropriate at the same time; these were the people who knew her best.
He nodded to Darren as he tossed a handful of white flowers onto the coffin, and the dealer walked over.
"You're sure you took care of the you-know-what from the flat, right?" Darren asked.
Draco nodded, and Darren sighed.
"Seems fucked up he won't even get one," the dealer said. The bleach blonde had been declared missing and wouldn't have a funeral, at least not for a long time.
"That whole situation is fucked up," Draco said quietly as they stood off to one side, "he and I didn't get along, but he didn't deserve that."
Darren pulled a cigarette out of the pack with his lips, then flicked the lighter until white smoke puffed from his mouth.
"He wasn't cut out for this…" Darren said quietly, "we told him to stop, but he went to work for Konstantinov instead. It was bound to happen eventually, I just never thought it would be-"
Darren glanced at Bruno with an unreadable expression.
"What's done is done," Darren said as the boxer approached. The dealer walked a few steps away and continued smoking his cigarette. Behind Bruno, Draco caught a morose glance from Callista, Mary's half-sister, whose hair still made her look like a boy despite the black ribbon clipped on one side. Draco pulled Bruno aside as Alan walked over to Darren and bummed a cigarette off of him.
"Are you going to talk to Callie?" Draco whispered.
"I've never met her," Bruno replied.
"Isn't she your half-sister?" Draco asked and the boxer shook his head.
"Mary and I have the same father, she and the girl had the same mother, but we're not related," Bruno said.
"Still," Draco said, but Bruno shook his head again.
"I'm shite at this stuff, you talk to her if you want to," he said, "by the way, Martin wants to know if the next delivery is still on schedule."
Draco paused. Mary's body wasn't even in the ground yet.
"Bloody hell, is money all he cares about?" Draco asked.
Bruno blinked and then stared at him as if the answer should be obvious. Draco's expression darkened.
"Yeah, it'll be ready," he said. It was clear the Irish had already moved on, even Bruno, her own blood. Draco saw them for what they were then, truly saw them.
"I'm not going to be like that," Draco thought as tears welled up again; this time, he refused to let them fall, "I can be better, and I will. For Mary."
He walked over to Steph and Callista and knelt in the grass; she'd grown taller since he first met her. This close up, he spotted a telltale purple bruise on her cheek, mostly covered up by muggle makeup.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Draco said, and she looked up at him.
"I'm all alone now," she said.
"You'll be okay," Draco said, "give it a few years, a whole new world might open up to you."
She stared at him dully with red-rimmed steely grey eyes.
"Fuck you," she said.
"Callie!" Steph said as she yanked on the girl's arm and led her away. The orphanage staffer looked over her shoulder at Draco, "sorry."
"It's alright," Draco said as he stood and brushed grass from his knee.
He watched the orphanage staff and Callista pile into a van; he expected he would never see her again. With Mary's funeral complete, Draco caught up with the other blokes as they walked to the street.
"We're going for a drink. You know," Darren said, "come with?"
Draco shook his head.
"I've got to take care of something," he said, "I'll call you."
The said their goodbyes, and Draco hiked to the Leaky Cauldron. He didn't bother changing clothes in Diagon.
"Let them see I'm wearing muggle clothes again, and all black," he thought, though he received less stares than he expected.
Draco flooed to the Ministry and found himself thinking about Mary again as he passed the reflecting pool. She was a muggle; her name would not be etched into obelisk, but Death Eaters had been responsible for what happened to her just as much as anyone else. He checked his wand at Reception, then took the lift to the second level.
"Never thought I'd willingly walk into this place," he thought.
"Appointment to see Harry Potter," he said at DMLE reception, "Draco Malfoy."
His chest wanted to curl up as his mouth formed the words, but it needed to be done.
"Lieutenant Potter will see you in room four," the young witch said.
"Lieutenant? This keeps getting better and better," Draco thought. He opened the door to room four and, as it was empty, sat down at the simple desk. Potter arrived a minute later and closed the door behind him.
"Thanks for coming in, I'm sure it's not easy," he said.
"You and I have very different definitions of easy and difficult, Potter," Draco said, "let's get one thing straight. I'm not here because I like you. We're not friends, or even acquaintances. In fact, I can't stand you and sharing the same room with you is making me ill."
Harry's expression hardened.
"Are you finished? You're no picnic yourself, you know," Potter said, but Draco ploughed on.
"That being said, we do have a shared goal," he said, "I want all the Death Eaters in Azkaban, or dead, forever. So do you. My help doesn't come free though."
"You just said we have the same goal!" Harry said.
"Yeah, but it's not my only goal, and I don't have anything else to lose. You do," Draco said, "so in exchange for my help, you're going to arrange a pardon for my mother, and the elimination of the remaining reparations on my assets."
Harry shook his head.
"I should have let you cast that Unforgivable and thrown you in Azkaban for life," he muttered.
"What do you want, a thank you?" Draco asked.
Harry massaged the bridge of his nose and took a deep, slow breath.
"I can't change a sentence like that," he said.
"Then we don't have a deal," Draco said, "find a bloody way."
He fell silent and crossed his arms, and Potter's expression hardened.
"I could have your estate searched, I bet we'll find something interesting there," Harry said.
"Think I'm dumb enough to put anything illegal on my property? Go ahead and waste your time getting a warrant if you want, but I can guarantee there aren't any Death Eaters there," Draco said, "you'll just be wasting your time, and mine."
Harry sat back in his seat and regarded Draco carefully.
"Go on, think it over," Draco thought, "if you think I'm going to give you the muggles the Death Eaters are talking to so you can stuff that up like you did the casino in Scotland, think again."
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry about the girl," Harry said, and Draco felt his mask slip for a split-second, "but you did a good thing. You led us to a Death Eater and several Snatchers, and you saved nine muggles."
"And what do I get out of that, a pat on the back, job well done?" Draco said.
"I've put you up for an award," Harry said.
"Really Potter?" Draco said, "fucking award. What the hell am I supposed to do with that except pawn it off? I'm not putting my life at risk again unless I get something out of it."
Harry crossed his arms.
"I told you, I can't change the conditions of your mother's sentence or the reparations, but I will bring it up with Minister Winthrop," he said.
"You do that, let me know when we have a deal," Draco said.
"Fine, and your statement?" Harry asked.
"You'll receive my written statement from my solicitor by the end of the week," Draco said, "now, if there's nothing else?"
Draco was more than willing to help Potter for free, but there was no need to let him know that, at least, not until he had the location of a Death Eater…
"And if the bloody Chosen One is able to swing a deal for me in the meantime?" Draco thought, "Well, why not?"
As he walked towards the exit of the DMLE, he happened to spot Weasley staring at him over the top of a row of cubicles, a cross between curiosity and surprise on his face. Draco ignored him and headed home for a drink and a smoke and then sleep. He found himself longing more for sleep these days, since occasionally he could trick himself into dreaming of time spent with Mary. It would not come though, and Draco sat up against the headboard, reached over to the night table, and picked up the small box she had gifted him. He flipped it open to stare at the photograph inside, at Mary's face pressed against his, happy smiles on both their faces. Then he squeezed his eyes and wept.
Chapter 49 Trigger Warnings: Cursing, Implied Forced Drug Addiction & Prostitution, Execution, Drowning, Character Death