Hello Readers! I am back!
Firstly, I wish all of you a happy and prosperous new year!
Secondly, I cannot apologise enough for disappearing for so, so long. But I owe you all an explanation: the last few years, especially during COVID, were very difficult for me. I have lost a lot that was dear to me. I've had to build myself back up. It wasn't easy, and I just could not find the time to write this story.
I have, from time to time, returned to look at this story and I have read the wonderful reviews and messages that you all have left me. I am humbled beyond words at the love and support you have shown. It has helped me in my personal life, believe that please. I couldn't reply or post an update because... I just wasn't in the right frame of mind to do so. Once again, I am sorry for leaving you all hanging for so long.
I am better now. And I have decided to continue writing - I made you all a promise a long time ago that I will finish this story, and I intend to do so no matter how long it takes. I still have all the old notes and the plan that I had made for Wilfully, and I am going to stick to that. Writing this chapter took me a long time, but it's kind of like riding a bike, the character's voices have started coming back to me, and they do speak through me.
I do not know if any of you will want to return and read this story. It has been years, I know, but I do want to complete it. I cannot promise swift updates; I have a job, a family, responsibilities waiting for me out in the real world, but I promise to keep on writing as long as you will keep on reading. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask via review or message. I promise to answer them to the best of my ability.
So, without further ado, I give you Chapter 31 of Wilfully. Please do leave a review and let me know what you think.
Disclaimer: Everyone knows the Wizarding World belong to J.K Rowling.
WILFULLY: CHAPTER 31
Darkness had descended around Draco Malfoy.
He knew it was coming. He had anticipated it, prepared for it even, when he had agreed to work with Potter to dismantle the new Death Eater Cause. But can you truly ever be prepared for such pure evil?
xx
"Are you going to finish that?"
Draco turned to look at Ginevra, only to find her staring at the barely eaten sandwich in his hand. "No," he replied, bracing himself for what he knew was coming once he said what he was about to say. "I'm not hungry."
"You never are these days."
"You're starting to sound like my grandmother," he complained and received a swift elbow jab to his side as a result, causing a smirk to grace his lips.
It was a warm, cloudy afternoon and the two of them were slowly making their way down the road that led to the entrance of the St. Mungo's hospital. Ginevra had what was promising to be a tiring and potentially painful Healer's appointment and he had cleared up his schedule so he could be by her side throughout the process. The sudden mention of his grandmother did bring his recent trip to the forefront of his mind; he had been back home for almost two weeks now and yet the few days he had spent spying around in France continued to trouble him.
"Look at you!" Coline Lefebvre had tutted once she had pulled away from the delightfully tight embrace she had greeted Draco with when he had visited the Chateau d'Orchidée. "You're so thin. Are the house-elves not feeding you with proper food?"
"They are," Draco had replied with a polite roll of his eyes. "You always think I am thin, grand-mère."
"Come on, then. Let me fatten you up a bit over lunch."
He allowed her to lead him through a maze of hallways until they were in her favourite Tea Room, the very one with white, blooming tapestries that he had dined in with his mother, Blaise and Ginevra on New Year's day. The table was set with fine chinaware and as he took a seat, the first of the three courses appeared. Salazar, it was going to be a long meal.
Still, Draco obediently placed his napkin on his lap and reached for his spoon even as his stomach churned uncomfortably at the mere thought of eating. And the fact that his grandmother was adamant about discussing what she called the "Death Eater wave back in Britain" did not make his situation any easier.
"You would think that the Ministry would have equipped itself against such threats by now, considering they've fought two wars in the last three decades," she stated.
"I don't think anyone expected the Death Eaters to be much of a problem after the Dark Lord's demise," he supplied, almost hating himself for sort of defending the useless Ministry.
"That was foolish of them," she said matter-of-factly, breaking the shell of her boiled egg with a small knife. "Not that the Death Eaters are any smarter, what with their silly agendas of dominating the world with the power of magic."
"Careful, grand-mère," Draco warned dryly. "You're going to cause a scandal in the Pureblood society with words like that."
"The Pureblood society – what a load of poppycock!"
The fork slipped from Draco's fingers as he gawked at his grandmother in surprise. He had half a mind to pick it up and stab himself with it just to check if he was dreaming; surely, no one in his family would ever dismiss the Pureblood ideals that were essentially the foundation of his family.
Coline Lefebvre must have understood the reason behind his surprise correctly, for instead of admonishing him for careless table manners, she smiled at him. "Magic would have died out centuries ago if witches and wizards had not bred with muggles. If you study Wizarding genealogy, you will find that none of the Pureblood families are as pure of blood as they claim."
Draco had indeed studied Wizarding genealogy, at least the one that concerned the Malfoy family tree, and knew that her words had a ring of very, very distant and hushed up truth to it. But at the same time, the notion went against everything that he had been taught his entire life, which is why he felt the need to incredulously ask, "So, you don't believe that we are Purebloods?"
"We are of noble blood, mon cher petit-fils. That certainly makes us superior to most others, though I don't believe we need to assert that superiority by degrading muggle-borns and wanting to enslave muggles."
"If you believe that then why did you let father join the ranks of the Death Eaters?"
"Because Lucius wanted to," she replied with a careless shrug.
"And you did not disapprove?"
Coline's brows furrowed thoughtfully. "I will admit that I was not overly impressed by Voldemort – found him to be an obsessive megalomaniac, to be honest. But Lucius found his message to be very promising."
"A-And you didn't try to stop him?" Draco demanded, his incredulity slowly giving way to anger. She was Lucius' mother. It was her job to make him see sense, especially if she had herself managed to see the potential flaws in the path that he was going to take. It would have saved their entire family a whole lot of trouble.
"The desire to better your position runs in Malfoy blood," she said, as if that justified her own lapses in parenting. "In the past, some of your ancestors attained power by placing themselves close to the muggle royals while others worked hard to build the business empire that you now control. Lucius decided that following Voldemort was the way to do it.
"But things would have been so different for us if you had tried to change his thinking."
"Perhaps."
"Is that all you're going to say?" He asked, his voice coated with icy fury.
"What else is there for me to say?"
"You do realise, grand-mère, that you too are responsible for his failures."
Coline arched an eyebrow as if to say that she found his words to be offensive, but beyond that no anger seeped into her demeanour. She was oddly at peace with her own self. "Lucius made his choices and has to live with their consequences, Draco," she said calmly. "As do you."
A gentle tug on his arm snapped Draco to the present and he found himself being led into a St. Mungo's examination room by Ginevra. He quickly shoved his discomfiting memories away and focused his attention back on his duty to be a good boyfriend – which he did by grabbing onto her waist and helping her hop onto the examination table. She smiled at him gratefully, but he could tell by the slight shiver that ran down her body that she was nervous.
"Ginevra, please!" He said in a reprimanding tone. "I know my touch has that effect on you, but we're in a hospital."
His attempt at lightening the mood worked. She shoved him away with a laugh. "You think too highly of yourself!"
The ingenious response he was going to utter was interrupted by the arrival of Blaise Zabini, who arched an eyebrow at the sight of him, then coolly turned to Ginevra. "How are you feeling?" he asked, then without waiting for a response went on, "Great. If you'd ask your guest to step outside and wait in the waiting area, we can proceed with your treatment."
Blaise's cold attitude should not have been surprising, considering Draco had been nothing but an unavailable, uncaring and distant friend ever since this whole Dolohov fiasco had started. He had avidly avoided his best friend until the last Puddlemere Quidditch match and had continued to be absent after that as well. Still, Draco had naively hoped that Blaise would not take this too personally. "Mate–"
"Sorry, mate," Blaise sneered. "I'm working. Get out of my examination room."
"You two are being so stupid," Ginevra interjected. "Blaise, please–"
"It's fine," Draco cut her off. "I will be in the waiting area." He kissed her on the forehead and wandered aimlessly until he found himself at the mostly-empty main reception of the hospital.
With a sigh, he lowered himself into one of the uncomfortable chairs. He could not blame Blaise for his resentment towards him. He had been an unavailable friend in every way possible - he had preferred to be that. Blaise had a child on the way, and Draco could not risk pulling his best friend into the shit show that was his life. It was better if Blaise was pissed. Away. Protected.
"Monsieur Malfoy?"
Draco snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of a familiar voice. Jeremy Chaucer stood a few feet away, face pale and sweaty as he clutched his left arm, which was covered in repugnant red burns and green boils.
"What happened to you?" Draco couldn't help but ask as he stood up and sauntered over to the boy, eyeing his wounds. They looked terribly painful.
"Potions accident," Jeremy mumbled. "Je brassais du Felix Felicis, et quelque chose a dû mal tourner. Tout a explosé." I was brewing Felix Felicis, and something must have gone wrong. Everything exploded.
Draco raised an eyebrow, wondering why in Merlin's name was this boy trying to brew Felix Felicis. It certainly was not a part of the internship. "Let me guess," he said, eyeing the wound once again. "You added the Occamy eggshell before the Ashland egg."
Jeremy's eyes widened. "Oui."
"Well, that explains it. If not added in the correct order, Occamy eggshells can react with the other ingredients to form a poison."
"P-Poison?" The boy paled even more. "W-Will I die?"
"No. You will be in for a painful healing though," Draco responded. For once, he could not find it in himself to reprimand the boy for his foolishness in trying to brew a potion that was above his skill level. For had he not done it himself in the years ago? He could still remember when Professor Snape had found him whimpering in pain in the empty potions classroom after he had made the exact same mistake. He had been fourteen at the time, and Professor Snape had only healed him after telling him off for being a brainless buffoon. But then, surprisingly, Snape had actually spent the next few hours teaching him how to master Felix Felicis. "Is someone here with you?
Jeremy lowered his gaze, suddenly very interested in his shoes. "No. I am alone."
Pity welled up inside Draco. There was no one the boy could have asked to accompany him here. He was truly alone. "Come on, then." He said, "This arm won't heal itself."
And so, due to completely unforeseen circumstances, Draco found himself standing in a different exam room, watching Jeremy Chaucer pretend to be brave while the healer worked on his injury. The boy had lost everyone he loved and was trying to find his place in a shattered world - and he didn't even know how big of a pawn he was in games that were too big for him.
"So, you are telling me that the Ministry allowed the Chaucer murderer to get away?" Draco was sitting in the small but cosy living room of Solenne De La Croix's apartment in Menton, staring at his ex with a mixture of incredulity and disbelief.
"Oui," Solenne said impatiently as she shooed away her horrid looking cat away. The furry creature seemed to really enjoy knocking glasses and plates over.
He eyed her warily, wondering if it had been a wise idea on his part to enlist her help in his investigations. She was a top-notch investigative reporter, who had a number of sources in high places and she already harboured a suspicion about the constantly deteriorating relations between the magical and muggle communities in France. He could get information out of her, and she could reach some higher circles due to him - so it had felt like the right move to reach out to her, and well, subtly direct her to collaborate. She thought he was merely curious, and that he wanted to connect with her again (as friends, of course) and he could be charming enough to convince her of this. So it had worked.
"I have never had much faith in any government, but that is a bit far-fetched, don't you think?"
"No, eet iz not."
And apparently, she was right.
A few months ago, three muggles had entered the Chaucer family home and brutally murdered everyone there - Jeremy's parents and three siblings. Of the three suspects, two had been captured quite soon after the attack, but what the French Ministry of Magic had tried to keep hushed up was the fact that one of the suspect had escaped.
Turns out, it wasn't an escape. Or at least, that's what all the evidence that Solenne had collected pointed at. "Read this, and tell me you do not find it fishy," she said as she handed him copies of an official looking document which turned out to be an Auror report of the said escape.
The two captured muggles were to be transported to the Ministry of Magic by brooms, which made no sense at all. They could have been tied up and side-apparated, and if not that, a portkey would have been the quickest, safest option to transport the prisoners. Then, there were very vague details about how one of the muggles had jumped off the broom (why was he not tethered properly, and why was he not sedated?) and though the Auror in charge of him had searched everywhere, he could not find him (was he confounded? And where could the muggle have gone?)
"This is extremely questionable," Draco could not help but admit.
"'Zere is more," Solenne said, handing him a few more papers. "'Ze Auror, Ilbert Beaulier, quit 'is job, bought a huge mansion and moved to 'ze Bahamas only two weeks after 'zis escape."
Draco eyed the photograph of the huge beach house with its very obviously expensive marble exteriors and poolside. "I didn't know the French paid their Aurors so well."
"'Zey don't. Apparently, Beaulier won a lottery."
"How lucky."
"Eet waz, seeing dat 'e never participated in any lottery."
Draco hummed as he read the documents in his hand, impressed with the in-depth work Solenna had done. And she was right.
Beaulieu had never taken part in any lottery, and his name had been haphazardly added in the lottery's register a day after the winner was announced. Interestingly, a huge sum had been added to the lottery company's Gringotts vault – of which, the prize money had been moved to Beaulieu's vault and some remained in with the company. The selection of a winner and a bribe to cover up said selection pointed to the possibility that Beaulieu had intentionally helped that muggle murderer escape, and in return he had been paid off heavily by someone. That someone had certainly tried to cover their tracks and close all the loopholes, but they were sloppy and had concocted a ridiculously convenient story.
Not too convenient, perhaps. The French wizarding community had bought it. And Draco was only able to question the events that had taken place after Solenne had literally handed him the evidence she had collected.
"I don't understand," he said. "Why would anyone from the wizarding community want that Chaucer murderer to get away?"
"To promote hate," Solenne replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "After 'ze escape, hate attacks against non-magique rose by 21%. 'Ze rage has become an excuse to attack non-magique people, and ze Ministère is only covering eet up instead of stopping eet."
Draco thought back to his meeting with Edmond at the Ministère - how a group of hate-fuelled witches and wizards, who happened to be Lukas' friends, had set fire to twelve muggles in a restaurant in Lille not long ago. And how the Ministère was only fining these witches and wizards instead of incarcerating them, simply because they belonged to prominent wizarding families. "You know who would benefit the most from all this?" he said as he connected the dots. "The Death Eaters."
Solenne paled. "Le pensez-vous?" Do you think so?
"It is a possibility." He was certain that Dolohov and his miscreants had something to do with this prisoner escape and this rise in hate crime. The only problem was that there was no way to prove it. Yet. He leaned back, eyeing his ex with curiosity. "You have done some good research. How come you haven't published these findings in the paper yet?"
"Because I don't publish an incomplete story," Solenne replied. "'Zis cannot be passed off as speculation, Draco. I need proof that someone paid off Beaulieu."
"And how do you get that proof?"
"'Zat iz ze problem. I cannot." She slapped the arm of her couch, clearly frustrated. "'Ze most clear proof would be to find out where ze lottery money came from, but I tried talking to 'ze goblins and 'zey refused."
"They are secretive bunch," Draco supplied, deep in thought. The Malfoys had always had a somewhat amicable relationship with the goblins, owing to the treasures they had kept deep in their vaults and the transcations they had always trusted the goblin-kind with. Even after the war, that relationship had not tarnished because the Malfoy Corporation was a prominent client of Gringotts. Perhaps he could pay a visit to some of the more friendly goblins he conducted business with. "But let me see if I can get some information out of them."
She looked at him dubiously. "And why would 'zey tell you?"
"I am not saying they would, but it's worth a try."
"I think it is incredibly sweet what you did for Jeremy," Ginevra beamed with pride as she squeezed herself closer to him for warmth. It was not a particularly cold evening, but she was pale and tired after her rigorous healing session, which had not been much of a success if her and Blaise's expressions were anything to go by.
Draco did not ask much about it; he did not wish to ignite her worries and knew that she would speak of it in her own time. He did, however, wrap his arm around her shoulders and allowed her to put her weight on him as the two of them exited St. Mungo's. The sun had set and the sky was dark; the only light in the street came from the street lamps. "I was getting bored in the waiting area anyway," he shrugged nonchalantly. "But I suppose I will ask Yugo to check in on Jeremy. See if he needs any food."
"Draco Malfoy," she hummed. "You have a heart of gold."
"Ginevra Weasley," he retorted. "You have lost your mind."
"Perhaps," she agreed with a snort. The continued to walk slowly towards a safe apparition point. "You should talk to Blaise."
"Not this again–"
"The only reason he is angry at you is because he misses you," she went on.
"He has a child on the way, Ginevra. The last thing he needs is an insight into the Death Eater chaos brewing all around us."
"I know, but–"
"But nothing," he said firmly.
Her silence spoke volumes about her opinion on the matter: She probably felt that he was hurting himself by distancing himself from everyone, and maybe he was, but he could not involve Blaise in the horrors that he was tackling with the Death Eaters. Blaise had nothing to do with any of this. And he would protect his best friend from the miserable Cause.
"Come on," he tugged at her arm lightly as he pulled her into a small nook of an alleyway. "Let's get you to the Burrow."
"No," Ginevra stopped to look at him. "Let's go to the Malfoy Manor."
He did not mind that in the least, but she looked absolutely exhausted and in need of some classic Mrs. Weasley mothering. "Your mother will be waiting for you."
"Mum would hover around too much," she moaned like a little child. "Plus, I already told her that I'll be staying with you."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "You know, I work hard to make progress with your family and then you set me back by doing things like these."
"You're welcome," she grinned and held out her hand. "Now, take me home, Malfoy."
Something about Ginevra refering to the Malfoy Manor as home really warmed his heart, and he found himself taking her hand and placing a small kiss on the back of her palm. "Yes, ma'am."
xx
"Cosy, eh?" Dolohov asked, his lips curved into a twisted form that qualified as his version of a grin.
"That is one word for it, I suppose," Draco retorted, grimacing as another wave of loud, painful shrieks rang through the semi-empty Stinchar Manor.
The manor, named after the Stinchar Bridge that lay a few miles west of the place, was situated remote and deep in the Galloway Forest Park in Scotland. It's huge structure, which must have been a couple of centuries old at the very least, had fallen into disrepair over the years – though there was some life (and certainly some death) brewing in it now that it was to be the new headquarters for the Death Eaters, courtesy of Lucinda Podmore, member of the International Confederation of Wizards and a prominent member of Wizengamot, whose family had once owned this place. She, in her uttermost devotion to the Cause, had given the place to Dolohov for use.
Dolohov chuckled and continued to lead him down a stone hallway, towards the screams. "I'm sure it will look much better once Allard and Clopton are done with it. But these young ones lack the discipline we had, Malfoy. Bloody bastards keep on getting distracted."
As if the fates wanted to explain Dolohov's point, they turned round the corner and paused at the opening of an alcove. The opening itself was partially blocked by Allard, who was cackling like the lunatic he was with his wand in his hand, but the source of his glee was not at all hard to miss.
A girl, who could not have been older than twenty, was shackled to the wall with heavy iron chains. Only scraps remained of the short, floral dress she had been wearing, hanging loosely on her trembling frame, her bruised skin visible from the tears in the cloth. Her long hair, which must have been golden at some point, was covered in a mixture of dirt and blood. One of her eyes had swollen shut due to the beatings she had endured and the other one widened when she noticed Draco and Dolohov, her cracked lips parting in fear as she retreated back against the hard wall, the chains clanging with her movement.
"H-Help me," she whimpered, her voice hoarse. "P-P-Please."
A jet of light shot out from Allard's wand and hit the wall just above the girl's head, spraying sharp pieces of stone all around her. She let out a loud screech and curled up on the floor, trembling. "You do not address our leader with your filthy muggle tongue!"
Draco's gut twisted at the sight of her, but he could do nothing but stand there, his face impassive.
"Where's Clopton?" Dolohov asked Allard.
"Getting rid of those wretched pixies in the upstairs bedroom," Allard replied.
"Did Podmore stop by to deliver anything?"
"Yeah. Left some huge boxes over by the pantry area."
Dolohov glared at the more recent recruit, clearly angry at not being informed of the delivery. Such errors never took place during the Dark Lord's time, Draco could not help but muse. But then again, not everyone had the intelligence to manage a diverse group of Death Eaters like the Dark Lord did. Dolohov had his own way of dealing with his team, and that involved letting them have their fun while they did his bidding.
"Come, I will tell you what to do with the items," Dolohov said to Allard. "You can play with your toy later."
"Oh, we will," Allard grinned, pocketing his wand. "Crabbe is dropping by later, and we plan on having a party out of this creature." The girl let out a particularly painful whimper at that.
Dolohov glanced back at Draco. "Excuse me for a minute, will you?"
Draco nodded and watched as the two men walked away, discussing in hushed whispers about the mysterious delivery made by Podmore. He wondered what it could be, but found himself distracted by the sniffles of the girl. He observed her once again – the marks on her body, combined with what Allard had said made it quite clear that the girl had not only been tortured but also assaulted in the worst of ways.
His feet moved forward on their own accord, and he found himself kneeling before her. "What is your name?" he asked, noting the traces of countless tear tracks on her lightly freckled cheeks.
"A-Ava Fisher. I am a student a-at Durham University," she replied as she looked up at him, then continued to speak at a startling pace, as if she was hoping that he would help her out if he knew her life story. "I was out camping with my friends. I-I got lost during our t-trek and... these people found me. T-They are like magic. I-I don't understand, I don't understand what is going on. Y-You have to help me. P-Please."
"I can't," he murmured as he moved to get up.
"Please, mister." she grabbed the lapels of his jacket, her uninjured eye wide and pleading. "Y-You can undo these chains. I will-I will run away. I w-won't tell anyone what happened. I swear, I swear on m-my dad's life."
Draco considered it for a moment, but only for a moment. The poor girl was innocent; her only crime was that she was a muggle and had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She did not deserve this torture. But helping her in any way would expose Draco in front of the Death Eaters, and that was something he could not afford to do. A more noble man, someone like Potter, would have given up all the end goals to save this one innocent, but Draco was not that man. He had never been. He had no choice but to abandon Ava to her fate, which was sure to be filled with horror and pain. She was collateral damage.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled as he tried to shrug her hands away. "I cannot help you."
"No, no, no! You must. Please!" Ava held on to him with surprising strength. He wagered it was the last strength she had in her, her last, desperate hope at gaining her freedom. "I-I can't take this p-pain." She shook him lightly. "Y-You heard him. D-Do you know what t-they will do to me?"
"I do." He could imagine very well what Allard and the others were planning on doing to her. It made him nauseous.
"T-Then you must help me. P-Please," she was openly sobbing now, tears flowing down her cheeks. "I'll do a-anything you want. Anything. J-Just get me out of here."
It took Draco less than a second to make his decision. He pulled out his wand, and Ava shrunk back from him instantly, terrified of what he was going to do. But his eyes were roaming around the area. He grabbed a sharp piece of stone that had fallen to the ground as a result of Allard's curse and quickly enchanted it to be even sharper. Gently, he reached out and placed the stone in Ava's hand.
She looked between the stone and his face. "I-I don't want a weapon," she shook her head vigorously. "I c-can't fight them."
"I know you can't," he placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her in place. "But there is no way out of here. Except one."
She stilled, realization finally dawning on her. And her body started trembling even worse than before. "N-No, no, no..." she whispered. "T-There must be another w-way. P-Please, help me... You h-have to help me."
"I am sorry," Draco murmured as he stood up and walked back out of the alcove.
It was lucky timing because only a few seconds after Draco had returned to his original standing place, Dolohov appeared at the far end of the hallway and waved him over.
Draco walked over to the man without a single glance at Ava, his expressions schooled into one of disgust. "I was not aware that we are raping muggles now," he stated in a casual, uninterested tone, as if they were discussing the weather forecast. "I was under the impression that we magic folk are too pure and superior to mate with their wretched kind."
"We are," Dolohov responded. "It is good fun to torture them, but I myself would never stick my wand in that filthy hole."
"But you allow the others to do it?"
Dolohov shrugged. "Allard thinks it is the ultimate way to humiliate their kind."
Draco believed that Allard was as low as humans could get, but he did not say so. Instead, he sniffed indifferently. "I hope the muggle police doesn't come looking for her."
"Let them. The Stinchar Manor has been enchanted to be safe from both muggle and magic authorities."
"I am glad to hear it," Draco said as they entered what seemed to be a hall that had been decorated as an homage to the main hall in the Malfoy Manor. There was a giant long table in the center where Death Eater meetings would take place. It was covered with a number of reports and a huge map of all the important places in Wizarding Britain.
"Now, there is a matter I wish to speak to you about," Dolohov said as he took a seat at the head of the table and motioned for Draco to join him. The bastard; he would always try to find little, petty ways to assert his rank and leadership, even after Draco had made it very clear to him that he was joining the Cause on the condition of equality and partnership.
Draco took a seat to the man's right, humouring him for the moment. "And what matter is that?"
"I've been told by reliable sources from within the Ministry that Potter is planning on running some joint venture with the American Aurors to get more information about our Cause," Dolohov said. "I can't allow that to happen. The American Aurors have a history of being more... creative. Hell, even their muggles are expert at torture. I have been reading up on this thing called waterboarding in this muggle prison called Guantanamo Bay and it is absolutely ingenious."
Draco had no idea what this Guantanamo place was or what happened there. If he was being honest with himself, 'waterboarding' sounded more like a poolside sport to him, though if Dolohov was impressed by it, then perhaps it was better to not look into it. He had enough things in his life to make him queasy, thank you very much.
"I need you to find out anything you can about this joint Auror venture," Dolohov went on, unaware of Draco's line of thought. "And which of our American allies do they plan a crackdown on."
"And how exactly would I do that?" Draco asked.
"Get creative, Malfoy. Use your Weasley girlfriend if you must."
"She is not a part of this, Dolohov. We had a deal."
"Of course. I have warned our people to not harm Ginny Weasley in any way – and they won't. But that doesn't mean that you can't ask her and her Auror brother a few questions."
Draco pressed his lips together. He did not like that Dolohov had no qualms about using Ginevra's ties to the prominent people in the Wizarding World to further his means. It was irritating, though not entirely unmanageable; he could just discuss the matter with Potter and relay some pre-planned information back to the Death Eaters. "I will see what I can do."
Their conversation came to an abrupt halt at the sound of commotion outside in the hallway. The two of them shared a glance and then followed the sounds, wands at the ready.
The disturbance had originated in the very same alcove where they had been not long ago. Allard and Clopton stood over Ava's lifeless body, their faces registering a mix of shock and confusion. Draco's gaze shifted to the gruesome sight on the floor. Ava's wrists and throat were slashed, blood pooling around her in a grotesque display of death.
"What in Merlin's name happened here?" Dolohov barked, his eyes narrowing as he surveryed the macabre scene.
Allard and Clopton exchanged uneasy glances, unsure to explain the turn of events. Finally, it was Clopton who spoke: "Dunno. I found her like this."
Dolohov was a cunning, perceptive man, and he had no trouble deducing the situation. He pointed towards the sharp stone that lay not far from Ava's open palm, now coated crimson in her blood. "The bitch took matters into her own hands," he said, a dark satisfaction in his voice. No doubt, one dead muggle was one less muggle in his mind.
"Yeah," Allard nodded, kicking the stone so that it clattered across the small alcove. "It must have come off after I shot that curse at the wall earlier."
"Good riddance. Now you two will be able to work efficiently without distractions." Dolohov declared. "Dispose of her. And make sure there are no traces left. We don't need any unwanted attention."
The two Death Eaters nodded and pulled out their wands to levitate Ava's body.
Draco's expression remained stoic, a mask concealing the turmoil within him. He glanced down at Ava's lifeless form, and his stomach turned uncomfortable.
Dolohov's eyes flicked from the body to Draco. "That smart little minx," he muttered. "Went out on her own terms."
"I suppose," Draco shrugged indifferently. "I should be off."
"Yes, yes," Dolohov nodded. "Make sure you find out about that joint venture with the Americans. We need to stay ahead of Potter."
Draco gave a curt nod and walked away. As he made his way out of the Manor and into the forest, far enough from the place so that he could apparate, the weight of guilt and self-loathing bore down on him, and a sickening realisation settled in his mind. Though the others might see it as a suicide, he knew the truth – it was murder. Murder by inaction. The other Death Eaters had tortured Ava, beaten her, assaulted her, but it was he, only he, who had played a vital role in her demise by choosing not to intervene. He had intervened, had he not? By telling her that there was no hope. That she should kill herself. And by giving her the very weapon that would help her in doing so. He was a murderer now. And his hands, the very hands that had had the power to help Ava and save her life not an hour ago, were now coated red in her blood.
xx
"Draco, you're amazing!"
He let out a little grunt of surprise when Solenne De la Croix engulfed him in a tight hug and then pulled away to kiss both of his cheeks. "I did not know that the confirmation of a dark conspiracy will bring you such joy," he muttered, holding out a sealed scroll bearing the Gringotts crest for her to take.
It had taken a few days to charm the Goblins, in a figurative not a literal sense, and after some intense discussions and an investment in clandestine Goblin affairs, Draco had managed to secure the trail of the payments.
She shot him a look mixed with exasperation and excitement as she took it, and then plopped onto the couch of her living room. Her hideous cat, who had been lounging there, flew into the air in surprise and let out a loud mew. The feline protest remained unnoticed as Solenne continued to read the scroll, her eyes widening. "Ça m'en bouche un coin!" she said finally. I am speechless.
"Je sais," he said. I know.
The payment trail indicated that the money that had been used to pay off Beaulieu for allowing the Chaucer murderer to escape and the lottery company to cover it up had come from the vault of Vincent Crabbe.
Now, while Crabbe was nowhere near penurious, he certainly did not have the means to make such a huge payment. Most of his family assets had been seized by the British Ministry of Magic during his and his father's trial after the war. The money had been moved into Crabbe's vault under the guise of a business transaction conducted by Marc Pascal, one of the wealthiest businessmen in Wizarding France. Draco remembered the portly, moustached man well; they had sat at the same head table during dinner at the Leferbve New Year Ball – the very night when he had told Ginevra everything about his Curse. It would seem that Dolohov – through Crabbe, perhaps – had managed to bring over an influential wizard to the Cause.
"It makes sense," he said. "No one would have thought twice about any money moving out of Pascal's vault. The man probably squanders more than that on his annual vacations."
"Oui," Solenne nodded grimly. "But eet iz bad news if Marc Pascal is supporting ze Death Eaters."
"Of course it is. Pascal is connected."
"Too connected. Do you know 'is wife, Lucille Du Toit?"
Draco stilled, his eyes widening as he connected the dots. "She is the Head of the Bureau de la Justice Magique," he said. "Do you think she is involved with the Death Eaters?"
"She 'as to be, non?"
"Merde." He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. If was bad enough that Dolohov had made some deep connections in the British Ministry of Magic, but that he had succeeded in infiltrating the higher offices of the French Ministry was disconcerting news indeed.
It was news that made more sense the more he thought about it. If the Head of the Bureau of Magical Justice was a supporter of the Cause, then there was no way anyone would be able to discover the somewhat sloppy cover-up of the escape of the Chaucer murderer. And it would be easy to delay real justice to keep the wizarding world's anger aflame – an anger that was seeping into surrounding countries in the form of paranoia and hate. Merde, indeed.
"But 'zis is good, Draco," Solenne said, waving the scroll in her hand. "I 'ave proper proof now. I can finally write about 'zis conspiracy."
"You mean to expose them?"
"Of course. 'Zey will pay for what 'zey did." Calm and confident, Solenne wandered away to her small kitchen, muttering something about celebrating this with a glass of good wine.
Draco stood rooted to the spot, hardly paying attention to what she was saying.
He had come to France to investigate how deep Dolohov's reach was. Lukas, the moron, had admitted his alliances openly, though his father was not a part of the Cause – thank Merlin. Draco rather liked Edmond Lefebvre and would have been sorry to lose any respect for him. He had enlisted Solenne's help in chasing a few leads and now had discovered a somewhat clearer picture of how Dolohov's operation was funded and working. But was their discovery something that he wanted known to the public just yet?
Solenne would write the article and publish it in Le Cri de la Gargouille. What then? Everyone would know about the Chaucer conspiracy. Investigations would be conducted, arrests would be made, and the real culprits would still get away. Because Solenne did not know about Dolohov or the Cause and its operations in Britain. She did not have enough to even make those connections.
Unless he told her everything.
But even then, publishing the operations of the Death Eaters would only expose their workings, not put them behind bars. Dolohov and his damned miscreants would just go into hiding once again, and continue to work for the Cause from the shadows, waiting for the right time to strike.
Not before they extracted their revenge on Solenne. They would find her and kill her, no doubt about that.
No.
Dolohov and his mates deserved the worst hell, but not through the medium of the press. As much as he hated to admit it, Potter's way was the right one here. They needed to be tried before the Wizengamot and put away in prison, or preferably killed, so that they could not resurface again.
"... Eet was so great 'zat you wrote to me, Draco," Solenne's voice reached his ears. "And you 'elped solve my biggest story! I am so 'appy to see – Draco?" She had emerged back out of the kitchen, holding two glasses filled with red wine in her hand, to find him standing in the same spot as before, his wand in hand.
"No one can know about this," he told her calmly.
"What are you–?"
"Obliviate."
The wineglasses fell to the floor with a crash, attracting the attention of her mewling cat, that bounced around her nervously but could not come close enough due to the scattered shards of glass.
As Draco wiped away all of Solenne's memories related to the Death Eater activity and the Chaucer murders, undoing the investigative work that she had done for so long, he knew that he was robbing her of a story she was truly passionate about. It was theft of the worst kind, but it was necessary. As he watched Solenne sink to the ground, her expression blank as the magic altered her recollections, he could not help but think back to the last meeting he had had with his grandmother.
"Lucius made his choices and has to live with their consequences, Draco," Coline Lefebvre had said. "As do you."
She had been right.
Draco stepped out of the hearth in the kitchen of the Grimmauld Place's and brushed the soot off his shoulders. The place was empty. He checked his watch to ensure that he had arrived at their agreed upon time. He had. So, he went up the narrow stone stairs that opened up to the hallway beyond. Just as his foot reached the top, Ava Fisher stepped in his way.
Only it was not her. But her. Her skin was pale, her single unswollen eye completely lifeless. Long iron chains hung from her bruised arms and legs, and there was an open gash on her throat that was spurting out blood.
Startled at her sudden appearance, Draco stepped back and his foot twisted in an awkward angle, causing him to stumble. With nothing to hold on to, he fell back the few steps and landed with a thud on the hard floor of the kitchen. He whirled around to look back up at Ava–
Only to find the space at the top of the stairs empty. There was no one there.
The flames in the hearth roared green, causing him to flinch more violently than he would have liked, and Harry Potter stepped into the kitchen, carrying a bag of groceries in his ex-Griffindor paused to look down at him, a frown on his face. "What are you doing down there?"
"Fell," Draco muttered as he got to his feet, glancing once again at the empty space where he thought he had seen Ava not moments ago.
"Well, don't start complaining that my floors are somehow slippery," Potter said lightly as he deposited the bag on the table.
Draco grunted. His heart was thudding in his chest, and he did not trust his mind to come up with coherent sentences at the moment.
The lack of taunts and sneers must have felt odd to Potter for he turned around and looked at him closely. "Blimey, Malfoy, are you alright?" he asked, his voice filled with something that resembled concern. "You look ill."
That caused Draco to stiffen indignantly.
The incident with Ava, as he had tried cataloging it in his mind, had taken place over two weeks ago. And Draco had become nothing but a ghost within himself, numb but haunted. He did not eat, and he did not sleep. Whenever his body did physically succumb to exhaustion, visions of all of his victims mocked him in his nightmares. The echoes of his screams lingered in the emptiness of the Malfoy Manor, a haunting symphony of despair.
His health had deteriorated. His once-proud posture now slouched, shoulders weighed down by an invisible burden, and his clothes hung loose on his frame, made to look fit by the constant alteration charms that a concerned Yugo was kind enough to place on them. The lines on his face had deepened and dark circles etched beneath his haunted eyes.
He would go out and play his part at any Death Eater meeting when he was required, and he did meet up with Potter when they needed to plan their next steps. But other than that, he secluded himself from everything and everyone. Except Ginevra. But even her gentle murmurs and soft eyes did not provide his tortured soul any reprieve.
He had told neither Ginevra nor Potter about the gruesome details of the incident; they only knew that a muggle named Ava Fisher had ended up in the vicinity of the Death Eater hideout through sheer bad luck, and that she had been disposed off accordingly. Draco had told himself that there was simply no point in burdening them with the details; the girl was dead and that was the correct gist of the incident, but the truth was that he did not want them to know of the role he had played in what had happened. He might be able to ignore whatever Potter's reaction was, but he did not think he had the strength in him to bear Ginevra's - be it judgment or pity.
Of course, Ginevra had noticed the change in him. She had asked about it countless times, but he could provide her with no solid answer, and she had resorted to providing him comfort however she could. He was grateful, but even those feelings were often overtaken by sheer numbness.
"I met Dolohov this morning," Draco said almost mechanically instead of answering Potter's query about his health. "He now believes that a clandestine meeting is to occur between you and the American Aurors next Thursday in Dover."
Potter eyed him warily. "Alright, good."
"Are you certain that telling them the correct time and place of the meeting is a wise idea?"
"Dolohov's trust in you will solidify if he realises that you are providing him with correct information." Potter said. "I will inform the Americans beforehand and we will be on guard. Other than breaking off this meeting, I do not think Dolohov will be able to cause any real harm."
Draco nodded curtly. "I heard the Aurors raided Podmore's residence."
"For suspected enchanted muggle devices," Potter told him. "I had Ron fake a tip so we would have a reason to investigate Podmore. We found nothing incriminating on her, though, except for a carefully worded letter addressed to Aelred Travers, asking him about his latest project of revamping the patrols."
That was hardly surprising. Draco had already informed Potter that Aelred Travers, the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, was in cahoots with the Dolohov. "Travers is ensuring that the patrols stay away from Stinchar Manor," he stated. "Are you going to take any action against him?"
"As much as I want to – no," Potter replied with a grimace. "We have already targeted Podmore. Going after Travers will raise too many flags in Dolohov's mind. He might come to suspect you and I cannot risk that."
"Yeah."
Potter seemed to hesitate for a moment, then said, "Are you sure you are alright, Draco?"
Normally, the Twat Who Lived Twice showing some semblance of concern towards him would have had Draco spouting top-notch insults, but considering all that had happened over the last few weeks, he just did not have the energy in him to do so. Words no longer came easily. So, he just settled for a "Fuck off, Potty" and Flooed back to the Malfoy Manor.
He roamed the empty hallways of the Manor aimlessly, trapped in the labyrinth of his own guilt – his guilt of torturing innocents to prove himself to the Dolohov, of wiping away Solenne's memories and hard work, of ignoring Ava's pleas for help and not only allowing but rather paving the way for her death. The grandeur of the Malfoy Manor stood as a silent witness to the shattered soul of its heir, the gilded facade unable to conceal the ruin within.
Time passed.
Or perhaps it stayed still.
He could no longer tell the difference. He just wandered, consumed with never-ending thoughts of guilt, shame and self-loathing.
Ginevra arrived at the Manor at some point and greeted him with a warm embrace. The sound of her voice was welcome, as always, though when she told him that she herself had cooked dinner for the two of them and brought it with her, his shoulders sagged in anticipation of the exertion.
He did not have the energy to argue, so he allowed her to lead him to the Main Hall, where Yugo had already set two places for them at the giant dining table. Ginevra flashed him a warm smile as they took their seats, her radiance attempting to penetrate the walls that he had constructed around himself, yet the burden of guilt and shame held him.
Draco hesitated as he brought the spoon to his lips, the rich aroma of creamy tomato soup permeating the air. With a deep breath, he took a single sip. Though the soup was well-prepared with love, the taste clung to his tongue like bitter ashes. His stomach, unaccustomed to food these days, groaned in protest with a dull ache.
Concern flickered in Ginevra's eyes as she watched him push the soup around his bowl, but the words that left her mouth were filled with lightheartedness. "I know I'm not as good a cook as mum, but it can't be that bad."
He glanced at her and for a moment his heart bubbled with so much awe for the woman before him. Here she was, struggling with her own healing and haunted by her own anxieties, but here was, trying so hard to take care of him. It should be the other way around. "It is good," he said as he took her hand and placed a small kiss on the back of it, hoping to give her some happiness through his little praise.
It worked. She smiled again, only this time, her smile seemed to light up the entire room. Her fingers squeezed his for a moment and then she moved her hand to her own cutlery with a little giggle "Well, eat then!"
A ghost of a smile appeared at Draco's lips, the first one in weeks, and he turned back to his food.
A thick, crimson droplet fell into his soup – another, another. Brows drawn in confusion, he glanced up to see Ava Fisher. Her wounded form stood before him, the blood from her slit wrists dripping into his once-appetizing meal. His eyes widened, the hallucination merging seamlessly with the reality before him.
"Draco?" Ginevra's voice echoed as if from a distance, unaware of his torment.
His mouth worked for a moment or two. "I-I'm fine," he managed to say, hoping to convince his own mind the same. What he was seeing, could not be real – was not real. Ava was dead, her body disposed. Long gone. She could not, was not, standing here before him. Resolute not to dive into the sanity that his guilt was pushing towards him, Draco took another bite of his food.
Even though there was no blood in his soup, he could still taste its metallic tinge; his stomach revolted, but he forced himself to swallow. Not real. She was not real. She was dead. Dead because of him. Bile rose in his throat, an acrid taste of remorse, and Draco stumbled away from the table. He had only managed to take a couple of drastic steps when the violent retching began.
Ginevra's concern transformed into alarm as he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the polished floor. She rushed to his side, her hands reaching out to him in a futile attempt to soothe him. His body trembled with the effort to regain composure as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, the taste of blood and guilt lingering, and he looked at her in hopes to give her some consolation –
But it was Ava, not Ginevra, kneeling next to him, reaching out to him.
Draco let out a cry, startled. And even as he blinked, Ava was gone, only to be replaced by Ginevra, who looked both worried and alarmed at his state.
"Draco," she said. "What is it?"
Ginevra.
Ava.
Ginevra.
Ava.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The weight of Draco's choices pressed down on him like an insurmountable burden, and his facade shattered. The images of Stinchar Manor, of Ava's tortured form and the echoes of her pleas overwhelmed him, and he could not shut them out. He could not escape the haunting truth that he had allowed Ava to suffer.
Sobs wracked his throat and he clutched at his hair like a madman, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Draco, what's wrong?" Ginevra said, once again reaching out to him. She said something else too, words of comfort no doubt, but even though he could see her through his tear-streaked vision, her voice seemed to fade away into nothing, depriving him of the comfort she was trying to provide.
Alarmed, he let out a loud scream, a primal sound that reverberated off the walls of the grand hall. The vast space, the grandeur of the place, suffocated him and the gutteral scream knocked away whatever strength he had left in his bones. The world spun and then faded to black even as the hard floor came rushing to meet him.
xx
Darkness had descended around Draco Malfoy.
He was ruined. He was done. There was no way out. There was no saving him.
Of course, what he did not know in his utter misery was that a certain stubborn, beautiful redhead would disagree.
Quite a dark chapter, I know. But necessary to keep the story moving forward. But things will get interesting going forward, though for good or bad I cannot say. What I can say is that the remainder of the story won't be all dark. I have some fun moments planned for our beloved characters as well.
I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter; it was not an easy one to write, especially considering that I was writing after a very long time. Still, I hope I did it justice. You are the judge, my readers, so please do review and let me know.
Until next time!