Tea was taken in silence. Granger read a book at an erratic pace while Draco made himself busy with anything to spare himself the embarrassment of being near her. He managed to transfigure new clothes for her from scraps of old and left the den momentarily so she could change.

The feeling of loathing that accompanied her inevitable departure was quickly replaced by the immediate need for Granger to leave. The turning point had come after their unexpected kiss. His pride was wounded, every thought in his brain spoke to the utter contempt he had for himself, all compounded by the polite rejection he'd received after kissing her.

Why the fuck did he even do it?

It wasn't a conscious decision, though it was something he'd thought about, dreamed about in fantasy. But to hold her close like that was something he never imagined actually doing. The energy between them had felt charged, her breath pulled him in like a man dying for oxygen. Her curves against him, pressing against his chest. The sweet lips that he'd die to taste again.

It had never been a part of Draco's plan. Falling for Hermione Granger was not an option, but fall for her he did. It was a truth that felt bittersweet on his tongue. To Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger was essentially the last woman on Earth. Selfishly, he wanted her.

His desire was predicated by the fact that he'd never have her. He'd want and vie and desire all for nothing, but Granger would never be his. The more he gave in to the feeling, the more it would hurt him in the end.

The only thing to keep him from hurting more was to get her far, far away.

"We need to make you stronger. I won't have my hard work go to waste by you dying from exposure or getting attacked on your way home." Draco narrowed his eyes, "you will be leaving, won't you? Leaving the Forest and going back to wherever you came from?"

"No," Granger stated indignantly with a lift of her chin, "I'm in the Forbidden Forest on Ministry business and I won't be leaving until my work here is done."

Draco ran a hand down his face, how much longer would he have to endure the torture of her proximity? It wasn't that he didn't like being around Granger, quite the opposite, and therein lay the problem. Draco Malfoy was going soft, all for the beautiful and brilliant witch before him. He was powerless to fight the effect she had on him, distance was the only solution to keep his feelings at bay.

"And how long will that be?"

"At this rate, it'll take me all summer!" She huffed, pulling her hair back and over her shoulders where she angrily twisted it into a braid. "I have things to do and this detour has put me terribly behind schedule."

His temper burned within, she was the reason they'd gotten into this mess; the invasive species in his wood coming to disturb the native inhabitants. How dare he interrupt her schedule by saving her life? Retorts died on his tongue. The fight within her might have been what Draco liked about her the most, bringing it out was just a perilous dance with temptation.

"Now, if you don't mind." She motioned for Draco to join her and he did, obedient but not without a frown. Granger reached up and gripped his arm, coming to a shaky stand. He quickly offered his other arm and stood before her, allowing her to lean into him if needed, perfectly positioned in case she were to fall.

Tentatively, he took a step back, putting space between them so she might take a step forward. She did so with some effort and Draco couldn't help but smile to see her in a more normal state, walking again and on the road to recovery. It wasn't a road that was promised from the start and Draco felt lucky that they got here. Most importantly, Granger was okay, but maybe equally as important, Draco was also safe from repercussions. For now.

She was alive, which would save him from retribution by the Wood, where magical blood wasn't to be spilled within the bounds. The blood oath could not be broken — Draco felt it so frequently against his tongue as Granger interviewed him, that it felt almost natural now. It was annoying to be unfiltered, but also freeing in a sense. He could just say what he thought, and express how he felt without masking. For the first time in a long time, he was nothing but Draco. Not the Malfoy heir, not a soldier of destruction.

Maybe that's why he liked being around Granger so much.

"Feeling okay?" He asked.

She took slow steps. "A little shaky," she admitted, adjusting her grip on his arms.

"You're doing great," he looked down to watch her feet, "let's keep going."

"Let's," she agreed. He could feel her stare burning him as he led her in circles around the den. Draco kept his eyes low, any higher he would see her chest or, what he was really avoiding, those eyes and their depths he wished to drown in.

Granger had seemed so stunned after their kiss, but the outburst he thought would come never did. She didn't strike him, yell, or curse, she had said it was okay. She must have just felt sorry for him. It was the only logical explanation.

But still, he toiled with the fact that she had not pulled away. Draco replayed the kiss, remembering how Granger had stayed firmly in place, arms wrapped around his neck as he held her. If she had been so disgusted, wouldn't she have pulled away?

They took slow steps across the floor, eyes both watching their feet. It felt a bit like dancing, the way he would lift a foot and she would follow, stepping in time together as they floated across the floor. It struck Draco that it was not the first time she'd been able to search through what he kept in his den, but it was the first in his presence and he wondered how harshly she was judging him and the conditions in which he lived.

"Did you inlay the pebbles by magic?" She inquired as they moved around the kitchen table, stepping over the form of a snake inlaid into the Earth.

"By hand, actually," he smiled. "You'll recall I didn't have a wand for quite some time; had to stay busy somehow."

Granger stilled, shifting her weight between hips. Draco took a step closer, fighting the urge to wrap his arm around her back.

She took in a deep breath and let out a restrained sigh. "Would you mind if I sit?" She motioned to the table next to her, which was a mess with his texts and notes.

Draco pulled out a chair for her and she relaxed into it. He set to getting her some water but kept watch over her out of the corner of his eye. Granger was stretching in her seat whilst scanning the room, taking in her surroundings from a new vantage point.

"It looks homier in here now," she commented. Internally, Draco agreed. He'd been on a bit of a transfiguration spree making the wolf's den look and feel much closer to an actual home. The homiest it had ever been.

Draco leaned over her shoulder to set the glass in front of her, curious as to why she stiffened when his side brushed her shoulder. She tracked him as he came to sit on the other side of the table. Draco hated the feeling of being under her stare.

It was too ambiguous, making him both warm and chilled at the same time. He was thankful when she broke eye contact, sipping from her glass. Draco turned to the side to avoid looking at her again.

"Have anything for lunch?" she asked sheepishly after a moment.

Draco shrugged, his stores were pretty much empty, and he doubted there was anything left. He waved her wand, calling forth whatever sustenance magic could find. It would be nothing fancy, just enough to get her stronger and out of his part of the woods.

He reached across the table and took the water glass from her hand. Granger frowned, displeased with his manners. Her disapproval made his stomach twist in excitement.

"What're you—?"

He dropped an egg into the glass, boiling the water with a flick of his wrist. Draco let the wand rest on the table as he gripped the rim of the glass, sliding it back to Hermione carefully so neither would get burned. They both had suffered enough already.

"It'll be ready in fifteen," he informed her, "twelve if you like it soft."

"I'll wait, I prefer them hard."

As soon as the words were spoken, Granger slapped a hand over her mouth in embarrassment. It took a moment for Draco to catch on, but when he did his features twisted into a wicked grin.

"I didn't mean it like that!" she insisted, her face red.

Draco bit his bottom lip and looked at his knees to keep from making some innuendo back, though a million hilarities roiled in his mind. She'd already rejected his advances once, he didn't need to be the creepy kidnapper anymore than he already had been. So he gave her a pass, letting her stew in her own embarrassment as an awkward silence settled between them.

She thrummed her fingers against the tabletop, tapping them in time to a tune he did not know. Draco looked up when she stopped. He caught her staring and smirked when Granger quickly averted her gaze.

She bit her lip and Draco got lost in a fantasy in which he was her tooth, dimpling the soft surface. It was only when her mouth started moving he realized where his mind had gone.

"Huh?" he asked, having not heard anything she said.

"I said I know one thing that would make me feel stronger."

Draco followed her eyes to the walnut wand that sat before him, close enough for Granger to reach, and yet she hadn't. He picked it up and held it in his hand, contemplating her request.

The wand made Draco feel powerful, yielding to him effortlessly. The spells Draco had performed to heal Granger had drained him, but as the days stretched on and he spent more time with it, his magical core strengthened. He was starting to feel like a wizard again, reminding him of days when he was stronger. It seemed like a lifetime ago. It was something that he longed for, but it wasn't something that he needed to survive.

He'd been doing fine on his own all this time without magic, right?

He twisted it between his fingers, giving it a longing look before holding it out between them. Relinquishing the wand hit him at his magical core. His face twisted in pain and the words he spoke tasted like ash.

"Take it," he instructed, his body tight with the fears of what she might do with it back in her possession tormenting his mind. "Seems like you're going to be just fine so…" he swallowed back the bile that had forced its way up. "I guess I don't need it anymore."


It was almost too easy. After all his animosity, Hermione was surprised by how easily he was willing to give it up.

She reached across the gap, eyes meeting as she grasped the hilt of the walnut wood. An acceptance of his offering, though his eyes glinted with something else. His grip lingered for a moment before he dropped his hand to his side, eyes turning downward, ending whatever moment had just passed between them.

"Thanks," she muttered as she let the wand rest in her lap.

Her eyes returned to Malfoy, his look both distant and confused. His gaze didn't quite meet her eyes, lingering lower. Malfoy cleared his throat though his eyes wouldn't meet hers when he asked, "It's Bella's, isn't it?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed, not wanting to be reminded who the original master of her wand was. She'd had the option to get a new one after the war, but Bellatrix Lestrange's worked well enough, much to her surprise and also to her chagrin, so she'd kept it. The fact rarely came to her mind for it wasn't the wand who made the witch, but the magic that flowed from inside of her. The wand was nothing more than a conduit, just because they'd both used it didn't mean she was anything like her. Still, it wasn't a fact she liked to admit, not that anyone ever asked. Until now.

"Yes."

Malfoy's lip twitched, his face darkening. "Been on the other end of it one too many times," he explained, scratching at the back of his neck.

"But she's your Aunt," Hermione stated obviously. "Why would she have any reason to turn a wand on you?"

Malfoy rolled his neck, toying with the words that were fighting to come out of his mouth. Hermione watched him clench his teeth and struggle, but the pull of magic from their blood oath was too strong, too ubiquitous in his veins. No matter how hard he fought, he would answer Hermione anyway.

He sighed, staring blankly at the wall across the room that was adorned with scraps of parchment and torn articles from The Prophet with moving images of all kinds. Hermione wondered if the most deranged Lestrange was there, looking back at them.

"The Dark Lord enjoyed forcing family members, friends, even colleagues, to mete out punishments for him."

Hermione held her breath. It had always been a morbid curiosity of hers to know what it was like in the Death Eater ranks. From what she'd gathered from Malfoy, things hadn't been good. Why would anyone fight for a cause like that?

"Aunt Bella was strong and Voldemort's right hand. Every epic fuck up my family made, Bella sought His revenge for."

She stared at the wand in her hand. How many times had Malfoy been tortured with it? There must have been countless more victims. With so much dark magic channeled through the core, had the wand itself become corrupted?

Hermione stiffened. Bellatrix wasn't the only one to commit crimes with this wand. Her parents had also fallen victim. Did they, like Draco, know the sting of being betrayed by their own blood? Or had they not recognized her at all, despite her best efforts, to the bitter end?

"I'm so sorry Draco," she tried to choke back her tears, managing to do so but not without a sniff, "nobody deserves that."

Malfoy pushed away from the table. "Save your pity for someone who wants it," he spat.

She narrowed his eyes at him, scowling as he set to pacing the length of the room. "Why are you being like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like what?" She mocked, using his curt tone, "like, all angry and defensive! I didn't do anything to deserve how you're treating me!"

He raked his hands into his hair and held tightly at the roots. "You keep making me tell you all of my darkest secrets!" He ground out through clenched teeth. "How is it fair that I have to bare my soul for your judgment?"

"Fair? You want to talk about fair?!" She was taken aback by his accusation and found that she, too, had come to stand.

What did he know of fairness or justice? It seemed the only things he did know were rooted in cowardice, finding every loophole he could to evade justice. And when it came to the state of affairs between them, he had established the blood oath. He had healed her and saved her and kissed her and made her mind wander in a million directions that all led back to him, the enigma of a man she once knew. His actions were responsible for everything that had happened to him. If anything, Draco Malfoy had no one to blame but himself.

When Hermione made her way around the table, Draco quit his pacing and came to meet her. They stood, chest to chest. So close she could smell the peppermint on his breath.

"Life isn't fair, Malfoy." Though she didn't need to tell him, for he already knew. No one could survive a war and not walk away knowing that fact in the deepest part of their soul. "You live and you die and things happen in between. You aren't special just because some bad things happened to you."

"Oh, piss off. Would you say the same thing to your precious Potter? Or is he special because he served a higher fucking purpose, some martyr for a cause?"

At the mention of Harry, her blood began to boil. Except this time, she had a wand. Which she drew with no particular amount of flourish, but it certainly didn't go unnoticed by Malfoy who seemed to pale slightly at the sight.

"At least Harry never ran from his fate."

His eyebrows pinched together, his face hardened with anger. "I haven't either," he stated with conviction.

Malfoy's hand caught her wrist, squeezing until she thought she might drop her wand. "What're you gonna do, hmm?" His voice was predatory. "Blast my bollocks off? Send me to hell? There's no need, Granger, I'm already there."

She gave him a hardened glare. "Well, that makes two of us, then."

He sneered but dropped her wrist. He pushed past her and headed toward the bed. Hermione's heart twinged with guilt as he sat on the quilt and buried his head in his hands. Maybe it was the flickering light, but she swore she saw his shoulders shake.

The pull toward him was magnetic. Hermione was powerless to stop her feet from moving, her leg suddenly strong with her surging emotions. She sat next to him slowly and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, taking an honest account of her actions and finding how she had been wrong, "I've been taking advantage of the fact that you are magically compelled to tell me everything I want to know. It's not fair to have that power taken away from you. Every person should have the power to say what they want when they want. Magical interference to that freedom is a violation of basic human rights."

He was quiet for a moment, fists clenched in front of his eyes and still shaking slightly. "You're wrong," he muttered. "Some people don't deserve rights."

She scowled, retracting her hand, "I beg your pardon? Care to repeat that?"

"No!" He dropped his hands and turned to her. "Just go eat your fucking egg, Granger! I'm done with all your questions! I am so bloody ready for you to leave so I never have to see you again!"

"Say it, Malfoy!" Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, if he wanted to be a callous arse, she was going to make him own it.

"Some people don't deserve rights," he bit out, standing again to escape her.

Hermione turned red, the wheels of her mind spinning so quickly that she half expected smoke to come pouring from her ears. Haunted memories of being told that muggleborns didn't deserve magic flooded her mind. She was on him in an instant, the familiar point of his Aunt's wand at his throat.

"And I suppose you're the one who is fit to be making such determinations? Please, tell me, who exactly have you deemed so unworthy that you believe they should have no freedoms, no autonomy, no happiness?! Let me guess… mudbloods?"

"If you knew-," he wet his lips, "if you knew what I knew you would say the same!"

The look in her eye was murderous, the grip she had on his collar equally lethal. He gritted his teeth, trying to fight the words that crept up his throat like vomit, but Hermione knew they would come forth anyway. It was time to see if he really had changed as much as he claimed to or if the carefully crafted mask he had worn his entire life would stay firmly in place.

"Say it, Malfoy," the wand pushed against his carotid, "say who you mean!" she shouted.

He slapped her wand hand away with a growl. "it's me!" He cried, leaning his head back against the den wall.

"I'm the reason! The reason they're both dead! The reason Dumbledore and so many others died." Tears streamed down his face and he came to grip her shoulders, "It's me, I'm the problem, it's me!"

He buried his head against her neck, panting or sobbing, Hermione wasn't sure. She was too shocked at what he had said, what he was doing. The only natural response was to stand there, pat his back, and let him get it out.


He felt so pathetic. Here he was, crying on Granger, who was working to comfort him. Arms wrapped around him, delicate hands patted his back. He could barely catch his breath before he felt her take a breath to speak.

"Malfoy-," her voice was gentle, and the concern, or pity, there made him feel as tall as a goblin. He readied himself to hear her remind him that she couldn't harm or kill him without doing damage to herself. To his surprise, her words were more caring than that. "I want you to know that you could tell me if you ever wanted to talk about… well, anything. I'm sworn to secrecy, remember?"

"Of course I do," he sniffed, "but I can't. Living it once was bad enough, I'm not sure I could survive enduring it all again."

He stared at the floor waiting for her to protest, waiting for her to demand the answers she knew she could get out of him. Instead, a warm hand grasped his arm tentatively, giving a gentle squeeze.

"Alright," she muttered, before dropping the gesture. "I just thought maybe it would make you feel better if someone else knew. I can tell it's a heavy burden to carry alone."

Her warmth on his arm remained for a moment. When it was gone a small smile crept onto his features. When had he become so pathetically desperate for human touch that a simple graze of Granger's palm against his arm had him feeling stirred? Butterflies danced in his stomach, making him nauseous. He fought the urge to breathe in her scent and stepped away to face the wall, staring at himself in the mirror next to the bed.

The ragged man staring back at him was almost unrecognizable. Before Granger came around he would have known that man implicitly, but now it didn't match the way he felt on the inside. For the way he felt ever since she fell into his life a little over a week ago was nothing he had felt in years, or ever.

He would never be the same again.

The air inside was suddenly stifling, the space too confining, too comforting, filled with too much Granger and her doe eyes. He glanced over his shoulder with a pained expression, realization folding in the pit of his stomach. Draco Malfoy was in love with — or had, at the very least, some deep level of infatuation for — the kind, cunning, beautiful witch behind him.

Granger gave him space, returning to the table where she peeled and ate her egg before vanishing the shells with her wand. Draco worked to compose himself in the meantime, occluding until he felt calmer and more controlled. He made his way to perch on the end of the bed, elbows resting on his knees and eyes looking anywhere but at Granger.

The silence was suffocating. He wished she would break it and disappear entirely at the same time. Better chance of the first one. If there was anything he learned about Granger, it was that she, too, preferred talking to the silence.

"So," she hedged, "what happens next?"

Draco rubbed the back of his neck. Anything that happened next, he wasn't bound to like. He wondered what she had in mind.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

She crossed her legs at the knee, Draco watched as the hem of her skirt rose slightly on her thighs. It bunched further when she crossed her arms across her chest. Draco had to look at her face to avoid any indecent thoughts.

"What do you think I mean?"

Her stare penetrated him. Heat bloomed in his chest until his hands were clammy and his cheeks flushed. "Well, there's what happens next in the story and then there's what happens next between us."

She straightened her shoulders, "I suppose both need to be discussed."

Draco almost rolled his eyes; of course, she did… there would be no stone left unturned by Hermione Granger.

"We're never going to see each other again," she paused, "right?"

Draco nodded despite the acid that burned his throat.

He swore that Hermione frowned, but it was hard to tell in the dimly lit den. She came to sit next to Draco on the bed. "I still want to know everything." Her voice dropped to a low murmur, "And you'll feel better if you just get it off your chest, Draco."

His throat tightened — was what she was saying true? Or had he just turned into a pathetic sap since she came around, blubbering about his trauma and his feelings? The thought was accompanied by shame and Draco stared at their knees, a hair's width from touching.

He straightened, "I'm not some poor little victim for you to save, Granger."

"I never said you were." She chuckled, "If anything you were the one that saved me."

"Is that why you're being nice to me and acting like you care?"

His heart practically stopped when she reached for his hands and pulled them into her lap. Granger stared at him in earnest, his words so sincere that Draco almost believed them.

"I care because you're a real person, Malfoy. Maybe you've done some bad shit — hell, I've done some bad things, too — but that doesn't mean you deserve nothing but misery for the rest of your life."

Draco wanted to melt but fought to maintain his unaffected facade. There was just something about her, some force between them he was powerless to resist. She must have felt it too for her head came to rest gently against his shoulder.

He fought the urge to wrap his arms around her, to pull her close and hold her, and never let her go. It was stupid, foolish, but a part of him wished against the impossibility that somehow, someway, he could keep her. A wish of that magnitude would require divine intervention. He shook his head, resigned, fate had never been on his side.

Hermione squeezed his bicep and her bravery filled his bones. "Fine," he let out a shaky exhale, "I'll tell you."

They sat together, as Draco cleaned the skeletons out of his closet, reanimated they danced to the melody of the story he told. Hermione listened quietly, never leaving his side. Above them, the barren limbs of the mighty oak shook and a single bud began to form, the first to grow in three years.


Tarnished, Regulus's Cave, October 2000

"Regulus—," Draco panted, shifting from the wolf as he entered his cousin's home. "You'll never guess what's happened!"

He paused when he noticed that Regulus was slumped in the rocking chair, an almost empty flagon of mead dangling loosely from his fingertips. The man, whom Draco had never known to be tidy, looked especially disheveled — lank mats of hair hung in front of his face that desperately needed a shave. When they locked eyes, Draco noticed that Regulus's were bloodshot.

Regulus stood, staggering. When he caught his balance, he brought the bottle of mead to his lips and took a heavy pull, emptying the container. Draco had never seen him this drunk, or surly looking, before.

"Tell me, Draco," Regulus sounded bitter, far from the giggly drunk he'd met before. "What good news have you brought from out yonder?"

He took a step forward, preparing to catch Regulus as he swayed back and forth. Something inside him screamed to be cautious with the man before him. Regulus was powerful, performing all his magic without a wand, and knowing things beyond Draco's understanding. They had gotten close though, and Draco was too excited to share the good news — what he had been waiting all these years for.

"It's Mum," Draco said, "She finally came."

"Ah, Narcissa," Regulus chuckled. A darkness seemed to seep from him, crawling toward Draco. "Finally come to ruin things as always."

"Ruin?" Draco flinched. Mother's arrival was not a bad thing. How could Regulus say that?

The man took a few haggard steps toward him, Draco's nose was assaulted with the stench of alcohol seeping from his every pore.

"There are many things you don't know, dear cousin," Regulus mumbled, clapping Draco on the shoulder.

They stared into each other's eyes, Draco nervously waiting for what his unpredictable cousin would do or say next, and Regulus inspecting him quizzically, as always. The rough pad of his thumb ran over Draco's cheek before Regulus turned away, crossing the cave to the water spout in the wall. His steps were somehow more stable.

Draco followed and caught his arm. "If you're so wise, then why don't you teach me? Call it another one of your bloody lessons." His words were laced with venom — how dare Regulus tarnish his happiness with this kind of reaction?

Regulus wrenched out of his grasp. "You are a Malfoy." The words punched with insult. "Generation after generation with only a single heir — tight-knit families that stand as a united front." He spat on the ground before stepping forward and grabbing Draco by the collar "The Blacks," he shook Draco slightly, grip tightening, "our family isn't like that. We're all spiders in an intricate web of lies and betrayals. Do not underestimate the intricacies of your other side.

"It's called blackmail for a reason," he released Draco with a small shove.

Draco stumbled back, fuming. He straightened his collar with a scowl, "What the bloody fuck does that mean? Are you… blackmailing me for something?"

Tears pricked in his eyes, the thought of Regulus betraying him cut deep — Regulus had been there from the start, looking out for him and teaching him the ways of the wood. What had so suddenly changed between them?

"Blackmail isn't my favorite form of manipulation, but one I have experienced too many times. Just ask your mother about it."

Draco scoffed, "What reason would she have to blackmail you? We've all thought you dead for my entire life!"

"You've thought me dead your entire life," Regulus corrected before mumbling, "As if any of the thoughts in your head are original."

His blood was steadily boiling, "Half the time you are the voice in my head," Draco shot back. "My mother hasn't done a damn thing wrong. She came for me, as was always the plan. You're just jealous because no one in the family ever came looking for you!"

"Even if they came, I would have nothing but this, here!" Regulus had sobered, but not lost his wild edge. He had invaded Draco's space again, causing the boy to cower below the Lord of the forest. Outside, it began to rain.

"How have you still not figured it out yet?" A clap of thunder punctuated his words, "Why can't you feel the pull that this place has, the force that has kept me rooted here for decades?"

Draco shrank back, the raw power rolling off his cousin causing Draco's instinct to scream run. Regulus noticed the fear within Draco if the deep breaths he began to take were any evidence. When Regulus spoke again, he was much calmer, his voice soothing, almost loving.

"What I mean to say, brother, is that there is no such thing as black or white, good or bad, wrong or right. There is only a spectrum of gray with each person being capable of both good and bad at the same time."

Who was he talking about? Draco, Narcissa, himself?

"You can't judge a person's actions without having lived their life, without understanding what strings pull them like a marionette doll. Your family, the people you care about, the things you want for yourself, the things you've endured in the past, the forces of nature... Those are your puppeteers. And whether or not you want to admit it, they are in full control of your life. Any decision you make has been predetermined for you, whether or not you think you move on your own accord will have no bearing on what's to happen next."

As Regulus spoke, a burning feeling permeated Draco's chest. It was all a bunch of bullshite. He was a Malfoy, they were the puppeteers, not the damn puppets themselves. He stepped into Regulus's space, his words as sharp as the tip of a blade.

"Let's get one thing straight here, I'm my own master."

Regulus smirked, the older man leaning into Draco until he felt like he might fall under the weight. "That's where you're wrong, Draco." He whispered, "Think about it. Think about how you grew up, where you grew up, who your parents were, and who they associated with."

Images of the Manor, society, and the Dark Mark invaded his mind. The visions played in his head. Too haunting to endure, Draco began to occlude, though his mental walls shook under the weight of Regulus's assessment of him.

"What were you to do? Run? Where would you have been able to go? There's only one place in this world for people like you… people like me."

Draco opened his mouth to rebut, but Regulus carried on, talking more to himself now.

"What choice did you have? What choice did either of us have? We were fated to this from the moment we were born!"

He recognized the unhinged persona taking over his cousin and began edging toward the exit. "I'm not like you," his voice quavered and echoed off the cave walls, "I'm not some… some… sniveling blood traitor!"

"There's the Death Eater come out to play!" Regulus laughed and Draco flinched and he was surprised to feel his body coil with shame, "You're right though, you're not a blood traitor. You are worse than that, we are worse than that. We are scum, vermin, living like beasts in the wilderness! Give it up, lad! Give up the sense of superiority that has been embroiled in you since birth. Give up any hope you have of ever leaving this place!"

"What do you want from me?" Draco roared, blood pounding in his ears, "I've done everything you've asked! I've done everything she's asked! What else am I supposed to do?!"

Regulus seared him with a sympathetic look, one that cut through Draco's temper and left him feeling small and vulnerable.

"You have to start fresh, Draco. You need to be alone, to crawl deep within yourself to figure out who you are now, who you will be one day."

"Impossible." Draco spat. Hadn't he been alone already? Hadn't he suffered enough?

"Inevitable," Regulus corrected him.

He gulped, gray eyes darting around the room. "So I start fresh and what? Count leaves every day until I die?" The ennui would be enough to drive anyone mad.

Regulus cornered Draco with the cave exit just to his side. He gripped his shoulder gently and the words he spoke dripped with a sincerity, a magic, that was undeniable. "You have a purpose, boy," he whispered, drawing Draco into a hug. "Never doubt that. You matter so much more than you think you do."

Draco gave an apathetic laugh, stiff under Regulus's embrace, "What is it then?"

"You'll find it," Regulus skirted the question, pulling away and shooting him a wink, "time will show you with the help of a friend."

"Is that what we are now? Friends?"

"I wasn't talking about me," Regulus walked away but looked back before Draco could flee into the Dark Wood beyond. "Now, listen to me. Winter is coming and I want you to stay far away. Hunker down, and survive, but whatever you do- don't tell your Mum about me. Not yet. There are some things I need to work out first."

Draco sneered, "Why, won't she be happy to see you?"

"It will be a reunion to remember or maybe one to forget." Regulus laughed at the private joke, again reminding Draco that there were many things his cousin knew that weren't shared, information he wasn't privy to. It only served to bolster the walls building between them, the guards Draco fought like an animal going against instinct.

"Now, go, boy," Regulus had found himself another bottle of mead, uncorked it with his teeth, and raised it to Draco. "I'll see you when the last snow melts."

Draco paused before he transformed, studying his cousin who had gone misty-eyed. There was something Regulus wasn't telling him, something he couldn't quite place, but there was no time for more of his half-answers and riddles. He had come to trust his cousin, his brother, despite the mysteries that puzzled him. It was clear Regulus had some sort of plan, Draco just wished he was privy to the details.

There was no time, Mother was waiting and would be too suspicious if he were gone long. So the white wolf came forth, leveling Regulus with a stare as if praying their mental connection would allow him to read the man's mind. The wolfman continued to drink without a care and Draco left, feeling shut out completely.


The Next Step in Narcissa's Plan, January 2001

It wasn't easy to keep a secret from Narcissa Malfoy. Since childhood, she'd been able to read him like an open book, no magic required. Draco liked to think he'd become better at keeping things from her over the years, but at times it felt like not even Occlumency could keep her from knowing his every thought.

During their first month together, Narcissa spent every day weeping and fawning over him. Initially, it was nice and Draco basked in the maternal love he had been missing. Things, however, quickly became overwhelming as his mother never knew when enough was enough. She would poke and prod at all his soft spots, correcting him, instructing him. It caused his blood to boil. How could she swoop in after years away, with not an ounce of contact, and take over as if no time had passed?

He blew up on her – telling her how her absence burned, how it had been hard and cold and lonely. He shouted, he broke things, leaving the den looking quite a mess. Narcissa had just watched, stoic with only a hint of fear in her eyes – or was it recognition, as she watched her son act like the monster with whom she'd shared a marital bed? When the fit was over, Draco was left feeling embarrassed and ashamed. After that, the two struggled to put the broken pieces back together.

The next month was much more civil. They established a rhythm together with ample time apart to avoid another incident. Breakfast would be taken together, the morning spent occupying their minds with Narcissa reading and Draco laying stones. Tea was time for questions; Narcissa asked about his time in the Forest while Draco sought information about the outside. They usually left the meal quite upset — with truth and reality even more bitter than the nettle tea they sipped on.

Evenings were for work – it took a lot of it to survive. Draco had been ill-prepared to feed a second mouth for the winter. He was ever grateful to Regulus for teaching him more ways to survive. His mother was too fearful to enter the forest and relied solely on Draco to provide them sustenance, none of which was to her liking.

Draco would set off at dusk each day and wind through the forest, checking game traps, fishing, and stealing food from the centaurs along the way. In the wintery woods, Draco was just another creature rustling through the evergreen leaves. With his white coat, he was practically invisible. It felt peaceful to be alone.

His pelt kept him warm in the crisp night air. Strolling as a lone wolf felt almost foreign and he longed for the brother that had been by his side all summer. There was no doubt he was fine, Regulus was a tenured woodsman and could look out for himself, but that didn't stop Draco from worrying all the same.

The mighty oak came into view. Her upper leaves clung tightly to their branches, refusing to fall to winter, while the lower branches were barren — not something that had happened last year. Perhaps it was from all the warding he'd put over the place – but why the change, could that mean his protections were starting to wear off? He shook out his fur, attempting to dispel his anxiety with it. Draco gazed out over the bluff, searching one last time for a familiar set of eyes that might be watching, before he slipped into the den.

He found Mother, particularly restless.

"There you are!" she admonished him, as he transformed from the wolf and hauled a sack of food into the kitchen.

"I can't stand this awful hole much longer! I don't know how you managed out here alone for so long. It's truly a miracle."

"Go for a walk then," he drawled, pulling a hare from the sack and a sharp stone from his pocket.

Her nose wrinkled as Draco set to skinning the meat. "And be caught by a predator, unarmed and helpless? I think not!"

Draco knew she would find their accommodations to be subpar, but the way she spoke of the Dark Wood bothered him more than he expected. The Forest had grown on him, helped in part by Regulus and the lessons he shared. Hearing his mother speak poorly of it felt akin to a personal insult.

He knew better than to respond to her when she was like this, however. So Draco stayed his tongue, focusing instead on peeling back the flesh of their meal and how blood stained his hands. He wondered if that's what they would look like after killing someone.

"Things will be so much better when we finally leave this place," Narcissa informed him, blowing hot air into her hands whilst pacing back and forth. "I was thinking that we should go as soon as possible lest we die before the weather breaks."

Draco paused the stone mid-stroke. "Go?" He asked.

"Yes," she scoffed as if his question had been ridiculous, "you didn't think this was the last part of the plan, did you?"

Draco hadn't thought much about the next steps at all. He dropped the rabbit and wiped his bloody hands on his shirt. "And where will we be going?"

She patted his arm as if tending to a child, "Don't you worry about that, dear. I've got everything planned for us."

Her placating tone made his mouth taste of ash. He was so sick of being kept out of the fold, sick of being treated like a child. He wasn't Mother's little boy anymore, he was a man and deserved to be treated like one.

She prattled on about when it might be best to leave, questioning if they'd even survive the rest of winter if they stayed, but Draco wasn't listening. His mind had wandered to a different part of the wood. He thought of Regulus, living in the forest all alone. The thought of leaving him after everything he'd done for him made him sick. They were a pack — hell, he'd brought Draco back from the brink of death. It would be the utmost betrayal to abandon him now when they were just becoming closer.

He shook his head, "I can't go."

"Draco, we must! I fear there are forces at play here far greater than what we understand." If only she knew even a sliver of what Draco had learned, then she would know that her worry was wholly justified.

"It's not safe," she hissed, "I can't shake this feeling that if we don't go, something terrible is bound to happen."

Draco rolled his eyes. Now she was starting to sound like Regulus, forewarning ambiguous threats. The constant paranoia was like an old cloak, well-fitting and familiar, but he'd grown tired of it and longed for something new. Perhaps that something new should include leaving the forest.

His stomach was twisting into knots. "When?"

Her face was wrought with contemplation, no doubt scheming as she always was.

"When the last snow melts."


A Fated Occasion (And All Too Soon), Regulus's Cave, Forbidden Forest, March 2001

"What're you doing here?" Regulus stood from his rocking chair, startled as Draco entered his cave without warning one sunny afternoon in late March. "I told you to stay away until spring and, while we're getting there, it still seems too early, brother."

Water dripped from the hole in the cave roof where the snow was melting, Draco side-stepped to a covered part of the cave to avoid getting wet.

"I couldn't," he breathed. It felt imperative to tell Regulus what was bound to happen; so he could say he was sorry, so he could say goodbye. "Mum says we've got to go. She says it's time to leave the wood."

His throat tightened as he spoke the words and a sense of foreboding gnawed at his stomach. Regulus was quiet, contemplative, and composed — quite the opposite of what Draco expected his reaction to be. It almost stung to not see him more upset. Draco had thought Regulus cared, but perhaps he had been wrong.

After a long moment, "And you?" Regulus had made his way to the shelves that lined the cave wall. Draco's feet followed. Regulus became interested in a copper trinket, though Draco could feel his concentration solely on him. "What does Draco want?"

A million galleon question, but not one that required much contemplation. His life had always been planned for him. Draco had never been able to pursue his own desires, not after he'd become a teenager and certainly not since he became a man. He had been bred, raised, and trained for a singular purpose: to meet the expectations of his family.

"I want to make her happy, I want to do what's right." His voice wavered, betraying him. "So I have to go."

Regulus tutted, unconvinced. "You don't have to do anything." It was a powerful statement, but not one that Draco believed true. Draco watched curiously as Regulus lit a candle and began arranging objects on the shelf around it.

"You can stay." Regulus turned to him, "You don't need your Mum to be happy. You can be happy here, in the woods!"

Did he even want to stay? Draco wasn't sure. The thought hadn't crossed his mind until Mother had brought it up. Needless to say, he felt very conflicted. Before she arrived, he'd felt content, maybe even happy. Could he be again?

Draco swallowed. "With you?"

Moisture glistened in Regulus's eyes as he shook his head. "Your happiness can't come from another person — it has to come from within, Draco." Strong hands clamped on Draco's shoulders. Regulus's tears fell, unbidden. "If you look inside yourself, you'll be surprised with what you find."

"But what about Mum? What should I tell her?"

"You don't have to tell me anything, Draco." The cold voice of Narcissa Malfoy echoed off the rocky walls.

Draco and Regulus turned toward the entrance where she stood, straightening her robes as if this were a simple visit for tea.

"Mother!" Draco exclaimed. His nerves were on edge as if he had just been caught doing something wrong.

Regulus grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "You brought her here? After I specifically told you not to?"

"No!" Draco glanced back over his shoulder to his mother, who was eyeing the both of them with an indignant expression. "Regulus, I swear, she must have followed me! I never told her anything about you."

Narcissa scoffed before coming to join the two. She stopped underneath the hole in the cave roof, the water no longer dripping.

"There was no need for telling, Draco. I could smell him all over you the first night I arrived."

She narrowed her eyes at Regulus as he sidestepped away from Draco. "Hello, Cissa," he nodded to her in deference.

Narcissa wrapped her cloak around her, as if holding the fabrics close could contain the rage that coiled within her. A rage and a fury that Draco did not understand.

"How dare you," she hissed at Regulus. "How dare you bring him into this madness here!"

Regulus held up his hands, showing that he meant no harm. "It was this or let him die!" Regulus spoke passionately and his words sliced Draco unexpectedly. "What would you have preferred? I saved the boy and now he can live!"

"In a prison!" Narcissa challenged him.

"How is that so different from what you gave him?"

Narcissa and Regulus had come face-to-face in the passion of their argument. In the commotion, Draco didn't recognize what was coming next. From the depths of her cloak, Narcissa withdrew a golden dagger. Draco only recognized the glint of the blade as she brandished it. Realization clicked immediately, but he was too slow to stop her from burying it in Regulus's chest.

Draco felt his heart seize as Regulus let out a cry, all air escaping him. His dark eyes fell to the place where the dagger had sunk. Narcissa's hand trembled as she let go, stepping back with her hand outstretched to avoid his blood dripping on her clothes.

"No!" Draco shouted, rushing forward and catching Regulus just as he began to fall to the ground.

"Draco," he croaked, his body shaking beneath Draco's hands that pushed against the wound and willed the bleeding to stop. "Listen to me, boy."

Draco ripped off his shirt and tried to use it to apply pressure to the wound. Regulus coughed. The blood was soaking through the linen and saturating Draco's hands; he started to sob. He blinked rapid tears from his lashes, nodding as he clung to Regulus's every word.

"Never leave the Dark Wood, do you understand? You can never leave again." The warning, the instruction, was clear, but Draco couldn't understand how it could be true. Just months ago he had marked the perimeter. He'd been able to leave the forest then… Why not anymore?

Blood was gurgling in Regulus's mouth now, running down his cheeks. With the last bit of his strength, he reached up and gripped Draco's arm. "Be the Hero she needs," he croaked, the words coming out with his last dying breath.

The thing about death is that it happens slowly — every day you take one step closer — until it's finally time and then it happens in the blink of an eye without you even knowing. For Regulus, the light left his eyes quickly and he suddenly stilled. He was gone.

"Regulus!" Draco cried, his whole body shaking. "Regulus, no!"

Bloody hands came up to caress the face of the man who'd been there for him, who'd taught him, who'd loved him. His skin was already getting cold, pallor slipping into grey. Fingers gently closed his eyes and Regulus was gone to the world.

A strange feeling became imbued in Draco's stomach. Magic or adrenaline danced along his body until he felt restless with rage. Draco's head snapped to the side, eyes burning into his mother.

"What have you done?!" He roared.

"I did what I had to," she spoke with conviction, but her voice shook.

Draco came to stand, his voice ripping through the cave with anguished cries, "You didn't have to do that! He wasn't going to hurt you! He-"

"He was setting you up for a life sentence!" Narcissa grabbed Draco by his collar, her eyes were wild and frantic. "I'm trying to save you, son, so you can be free."

A horn blew in the distance, the unmistakable call of the Centaurs. Draco stiffened — was it a mere coincidence that the magical creatures of the Forest were mobilizing immediately after his cousin's death? His mind was a mess, emotions swirling in the shock of what just happened.

Narcissa turned to look at the opening in the cave. "We should go," she tried to pull him with her, "it's time to leave, Draco."

Draco was immovable, tears running down his face as he stared at his fallen brother.

"You're a monster," he whispered.

"Draco," Narcissa sighed, "there's no time for this. Let's just go. One day you will thank me." She began to head for the exit.

"Thank you?!" Draco thundered, his anger flaring in the throes of grief, "you think one day I will thank you?" Draco shook his head in disbelief.

His mother doubled back and tried to place a comforting hand on his arm. Draco wrenched away from her. They came to stand under the opening in the cave ceiling.

"You're a fucking monster!" Draco shouted, not even caring when Mother shuddered in the face of his rage. "I will never forgive you for this! I want you to go and never come back! I hope I never see you again!"

Tears streamed down Narcissa's face as she took a step back. Draco raked his hands into his hair where he pulled at the roots, sobbing, and trying to avoid looking at Regulus's fallen face. His gaze fell on his mother, her face guarded and apologetic.

She opened her mouth to speak, "Darling, I—," but Narcissa was cut off. A loud whistling permeated the air. The Malfoys looked to the sky for the cause of the noise and watched in horror as an arrow came whizzing through the air, down through the opening in the cave roof, where its journey ended by embedding itself in Narcissa's neck.

She fell to the cave floor unceremoniously, dead.

Draco shrieked, Draco cried, Draco cursed, but Draco could do nothing to save her. He fell to his hands and knees next to her, weeping and hiding his face. After everything they'd done to survive, how could it end for her like this?

It was enough to break him. The chords of his heart felt stretched to capacity as if he might die of a broken heart. But he didn't have the luxury of breaking. Draco was the last Malfoy, a soldier trained by mentors both good and evil; survival was ingrained in him.

What other choice did he have?

He took a withering breath, gathering all his emotions into a ball in his chest. He exhaled as he pushed them down, down, down until his stomach felt sick with the weight. It was enough to anchor his mind as Draco set his Occlumency shields into place, one by one.

In the blink of an eye, he had lost them both. He shook while standing above their bodies, lying unmoving next to each other. All his love, all his anguish, all his remorse was pushed far, far away until Draco was a shell of a man standing before them. Their blood soaked the cave floor.

He had to fight the unrelenting desire to run, but he couldn't leave them there. It wouldn't be right. No amount of occlusion would allow him to mishandle the rites they were entitled to.

They were cleaned, wrapped in furs, and adorned with every beautiful item Regulus owned. Mother would be first, the lighter to carry, and yet the heaviest load weighed on him as he made the hike to her place of final rest. Draco made the journey quickly, fearful that the centaurs were still afoot and with an arrow for him.

The white wolf was no stranger to digging. But burying his mother was a laborious task, both mentally and physically. His Occlumency waned after so many hours, though the shock was enough to keep him numb and to keep him going until it was done. It took from nightfall until the morning sun.

After, Draco transformed and laid on her grave. He wept, exhausted and grief stricken, his only comfort was the rays of sun that warmed his back. Tears fell for his mother until none remained. His heart sank again, thinking of Regulus; he'd better get going so he could bury him, too.

Draco spent a moment carving a stick before fastening it on a post.

Mother

He bent at the knee and kissed the marker. The reflection of his tear-stained face in the Reflecting Pond mocked him.

Goodbye.

Draco closed his eyes and out came the wolf, whose strong legs were ready to run and take him far away. Back to the cave he went, his mind tormenting him with every stride. He wished he truly were a wolf, things seemed much easier that way. All the bad things that happened to him happened when he was a human, anyway. From his experience, he was better off to be the wolf.

When he arrived to collect Regulus, Draco found that his body was gone.

He has spent hours, nose to the ground, tracking Regulus's scent all over the forest. It was strange, he was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Draco swore he covered every inch, but was never able to find a trace of him.

Draco was so far removed that he didn't hear the words whispered amongst the trees.

I'm sorry.

He returned home with aching bones and a beaten soul.

The wolf made a bed on fallen leaves below the oak tree and sang his sorrow to the sky. Howling grief and anguish into the dark of night until Draco felt nothing but utter loneliness.

He cried for his mother. The person who had given him life and always taken strides to protect him. Who raised him, who loved him. With both of his parents now dead, Draco Malfoy was an orphan.

He cried for Regulus, the man who had taken in him as a brother, looked out for him… saved his life. There were so many things Draco wished he could have asked him, so many words left unsaid. They all played in his mind until Draco forced them away with a deep state of occlumency.

Above him, the sky opened up, drenching the wood with a rapid downpour.

It didn't matter, nothing mattered. Now nobody knew he was alive. In many ways, Draco wished the sentiment were true, but he was too much of a coward to do the job himself.

The thought consumed him. He was someone he didn't know anymore, a ghost of his former person. Losing his family was the final stripping of his identity.

What did he want to be Draco Malfoy for anyway?

Draco Malfoy had no friends, and no family; death and destruction followed him down every path he took. The boy who was once a prince, was now nothing more than a savage beast, the thing he had fought against becoming for so long.

What was the point of it all?

The wolf lay at the bottom of the oak for a long time. Hours were spent bolstering his Occlumency shields that threatened to burst with the emotions they contained. He shoved every thought, every memory, every feeling down into the depths of his mind until barely a shred of humanity remained.


Elsewhere in the wood, a centaur awoke from a deep trance, wondering why her bow was drawn and why her quiver was missing an arrow. She straightened her eye patch and tucked away her things before galloping back to the village to finish her shift on watch. The centaur couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible, yet extraordinary, had just happened.