I own nothing. I condone none of the actions/thoughts/behaviors/sentiments of the author of this work's source material. This work is entirely fictional and for entertainment purposes only.
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BE ADVISED, THERE ARE MINOR ALLUSIONS TO SELF-HARM IN THIS CHAPTER. PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

"Mister Malfoy."

Draco could feel the cat in Minerva McGonagall stretch and sigh as he stepped into her office. The Headmistress had occupied the space for a little over a year; the vestiges of its former occupant were all but gone. It was brighter, warmer; the windows were open and uncovered. In each pool of sunlight, massive flowering ferns sprouted from the stone floor and swayed in a sourceless breeze. Draco swore he spotted a pair of orange eyes blinking at him lazily from within its branches.

As he walked to her desk, he shrank beneath the gaze of headmasters' past, their portraits watching him with incredulity. Draco averted his gaze when he came upon Dumbledore. He shouldn't-no, he couldn't-face him. Not even his likeness.

"I must admit, I was surprised to see you on my books for today. Do sit." Draco nodded, sliding onto the buttery-soft leather of the armchair she'd indicated. "How can I help you?"

Draco swallowed hard. He didn't know where to begin. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd sat one-on-one with the newest guardian of Hogwarts School. They'd had a long conversation before he was permitted to return, including what would be necessary from him the way of penance. He was sure the Headmistress only entertained that meeting because he hadn't personally murdered anyone. But his complacency had killed plenty.

He was first asked to fix what he broke, literally; that being the castle itself. McGonagall assigned him to cleanup and repair duties every weekend until he graduated. The major caveat of this punishment was that he could not use magic. He had to haul rubble by hand, scrub blood from stone, and learn how to mend what he could…from muggle books. Each Saturday morning he was the first in the castle to wake, and each Sunday night, he was the last to sleep. Well, to bed. Draco hadn't complained; he had to atone for the horrific things he had done. The things he sat by and watched silently. He relished every moment of pain, every second of exhaustion. Even when his classmates leered at him, insulted him-he said nothing.

"I-" Draco stammered, "I'm having these…these terrible dreams. Horrible, horrible dreams." He unconsciously rubbed his left arm. McGonagall's eyes zeroed in on the gesture, but she let him continue. "I keep seeing people. Dead people, I think. But not from the war…I don't recognize them. And these green flashes that look like-"

"Unforgivables?" McGonagall finished. He shook his head in confirmation.

"It feels so real. I mean, I saw things during the war, I saw…" his gaze grew long "...foul things. Just not these particular things. They're unlike any dreams I've had before."

McGonagall eased back in her chair and observed him for several moments before responding.

"You are looking rather haggard, Mr. Malfoy. I assume you're not sleeping because of all this?" he shook his head "Are you experiencing any other symptoms?" Her eyes returned to Draco's arm. He bowed his head.

"It burns." he said quietly.

"Right." Professor McGonagall steepled her hands and closed her eyes, falling deep into thought. After several silent moments, she stood and pulled her wand from her robes. "Roll up your sleeve, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco did what he was told, though hesitantly. His Dark Mark was a brand of dishonor, of hatred-it was a daily reminder that he was the enemy. Before he returned to Hogwarts, he tried to find a spell to remove it. Each attempt yielded nothing but extreme mental and physical anguish, while the mark remained unaltered. He'd even thought of getting rid of the arm entirely, and in the crudest of muggle ways. Draco had gone so far as to acquire something called a "saw" to do the deed. To be frank, the thought of the pain almost titillated him. He wanted to hurt, he needed to hurt. He needed to feel anything but unrelenting shame.

In the end, he knew his mother was clinging to her last shred of sanity. Hacking off his arm would absolutely have sent her over the edge. He hadn't entirely written off the idea, and so he hid the tool under the floorboards in his bedroom, spelling it with invisibility. At this particular moment, he wished he'd gone through with it.

He half expected McGonagall to flinch when the tattoo was fully revealed. The skull consuming the serpent; a threat magicked deep and clear into his flesh. She remained steady as she brought the tip of her wand closer to him. When it touched his skin, she whispered a few words- a spell he couldn't hear.

And the world went black.

—-

"Mister Malfoy? Draco? Can you hear me?"

A barrage of green lights. Up to his knees in corpses, he stood on a mountain of corpses. He couldn't breathe. Screams echoed around him…

"Draco?"

A cold hand traveled up his leg, a pallid, dead hand. It pulled him downward. Others shot up around him and began to pull, pull, pull him down into the heap of bodies below.

"DRACO!"

His eyes shot open. He was on his back, looking up into the concerned face of Professor McGonagall.

"Wha-"

She cut him off "Extrahere. A particularly strong revealing spell. Can you stand?" she offered her hand. Once he was upright, he swayed, but managed to stay on his feet. "What did you see, Mr. Malfoy?"

She guided him back into the armchair and conjured a pot of tea.

"Bodies. So many bodies. They were-"

McGonagall ceased her pouring, "...yes?"

"They were dead but…moving? I stood on top of them, and they were pulling me down. It was like…"

"...They reanimated." McGonagall finished. She handed him a cup and saucer, exhaling slowly.

"What does it mean, professor?" Draco asked, almost desperately.

"I can't say for certain. I can make some assumptions, based on what you've told me and what I know of the Death Eaters." She sipped her tea. "Your connection to Voldemort's magic is direct. It was he who gave you the Mark, and it is his magic that lives within it. I imagine you share that magic, and that connection, with whatever remains of his followers. While you have chosen one path, the others…well. They may not have chosen the same."

"Do you mean to say that I'm a horcrux, like Potter?"

"No, no, Mr. Malfoy. From what I'm gathering, and for my own sanity, I must believe that Voldemort is well and truly dead. I think that what you're experiencing is a telepathic connection to others with the Mark. You are part of something akin to a communication system. And these dreams…" she paused, unsure if she should continue "these dreams could indicate the emergence of something new. Or possibly…something old, remade."

Draco didn't need to guess what she was thinking. The idea came to him as naturally as breathing, and his entire body shuttered. "You think someone's going to try and take up Voldemort's seat?"

"It's possible. Although there is no known witch or wizard with even half his power. His only match was…" McGonagall's eyes traveled to Dumbledore's painting. The portrait offered a small, jovial wave in response. Draco kept his head down.

"That does not mean they couldn't do serious damage in the process." She cleared her throat. "How are you feeling?"

Draco hadn't touched the tea, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep it down.

"Fine. Just fine." he lied.

"I'd like to try one more thing, and this should help more than hurt. When we're done here, I'll call upon Professors Hiraeth and Joli. We'll see what we can do about this with our combined faculties. Come." She stood and led him to a far wall, blanketed in mirrors. With a flick of her wand, the wall opened, revealing what Draco knew to be the Pensieve.

"I assume you've heard rumors of this? All the rumors?" she asked. He nodded. "Right. Will it be tears, then, or do you think you can draw the memory out yourself?"

McGonagall smiled at Draco's horror. "Of course, draw it out, then."

"What memory, Professor?" he asked, his eyes now fixed on the rippling energy of the Pensieve.

"The one that's killing you, Mr. Malfoy."