The drawing room at Lestrange Manor was dimly lit, the only sources of light being the hearth and two old-fashioned lamps illuminating the family portrait. As Bellatrix and Draco entered, the Lestrange brothers—sprawled on opposite ends of a large sofa—looked up lazily. Much to Draco's surprise, Corban Yaxley was also present, sitting in an armchair with a drink in his hand and a pile of documents on his lap. All three men had recently been broken out of Azkaban, same as Lucius, but they, admittedly, looked somewhat better than him: rather thin—Rabastan especially—but relaxed and confident. Not having to host the Dark Lord and being in his good graces probably helped.
Draco greeted them with a stiff nod.
"Yaxley," said Bellatrix. "I see you brought what I asked."
"I did," he replied. "But I must inquire—what do you need it for?"
"That should be quite obvious, shouldn't it? We're going to introduce Draco to some good old-fashioned muggle hunting."
Bellatrix patted Draco on the head, almost affectionately. He felt his face grow pale.
"And the Dark Lord approves?" Yaxley didn't bother to hide his scepticism.
"Of course he does."
She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and snatched up the documents. Draco disliked Yaxley. His ugly smile and that ridiculous braid reaching down to his tailbone. And how could he not, when the man had effectively replaced Draco's father—having been put in charge of the Ministry coup—and rubbed it in his face every chance he got? However, it did appear as if he, much like Lucius, did not condone unnecessary violence. And at this moment, in a room full of sadistic fanatics, this voice of reason was exactly what the boy needed.
"Really?" said Yaxley. "Yet I recall him saying we're to begin rounding up mudbloods after we take the Ministry."
Draco glanced at the papers, catching only the title before Bellatrix shifted closer to Yaxley. Muggleborn Individuals Under the Trace. The Trace. So, seventeen years and younger? Was Draco expected to murder his own schoolmates now? Would it be someone in his year, like Granger? Or Finch-Fletchley? Or that annoying Creevey boy? Or would it be little first-years whose names he didn't even know? He briefly wondered what was worse.
"You worry too much," said the witch in a low voice. Draco was relieved to find she wasn't addressing him. "Is Pius slipping out of your control?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm simply trying to ensure everything goes according to plan. The execution should be seamless. Clean. It wouldn't do any good if every Death Eater pursued frivolous distractions. Not at a critical time like this."
"But wouldn't you agree it's important to be sure of our younger recruits?" cut in Rodolphus, shifting forward in his seat. "To know they can follow orders without squeamishness? You were there when the boy failed to kill that old fart. You saw it with your own eyes."
Draco fixed his gaze on his shoes. He heard Yaxley sigh, relenting.
"At least do it quietly," the man said. "There are a few mudbloods on the list who've never been to Hogwarts. Their deaths are unlikely to be featured in the Prophet."
"Fine," snapped Bellatrix.
Yaxley stood up and, without taking the folder from her, flipped the papers to a certain page. She studied it for a moment.
"Come here, Draco," she said, her voice suddenly turning silky. "I think you should be the one to choose."
Draco swallowed hard as he reluctantly took the documents from her. It was good he wouldn't have to murder someone he knew, wasn't it? His eyes scanned the names and birthdates. The people on this list, they were just kids, not even old enough to attend Hogwarts. How was he supposed to choose?
He couldn't do it. There was no way in hell he could point his wand at a child and produce a successful Killing Curse. You have to mean it, after all. He would fail, and his aunt would kill him. His case was utterly hopeless.
A line caught his eye. 1980, 7th of August. A girl his age. He looked at the name but didn't recognize it. Why wasn't she at Hogwarts? Did her parents send her to Beauxbatons? Was that even an option for mudbloods?
No time to ponder. With the impatient gazes of the Death Eaters bearing down on him, he made his choice.
Draco, Bellatrix, and the Lestrange brothers stood on an empty tarmac road at the edge of a dense forest. According to the Ministry records, this was the location of the last recorded use of magic performed near the girl—or by the girl, the file did not specify. But now, there were no signs of life—no people, no houses, not even a distant city. Just the road stretching into the distance and the silent, looming forest.
"Well?" said Rabastan dumbly.
After Yaxley's departure, Bellatrix had simply glanced at the location, grabbed Draco and the brothers, and Apparated them here without a word.
"May I?" Draco asked Bellatrix, who wore a scowl on her face.
She thrust the papers at him, and Draco, with his wand lit, reviewed the girl's file. What he saw made him frown. The registered locations were scattered all over the country. It seemed the girl was travelling and didn't tend to linger anywhere. She was probably long gone before they got here. Good for her, he thought.
This was not a well-thought-out plan, and it certainly didn't account for this possibility. But that wasn't surprising in the least. Bellatrix thrived on spontaneity, often acting on impulse without a second thought. Even asking Yaxley to retrieve the Trace files was uncharacteristically methodical for her; Draco had half-expected her to lead them to some random Muggles instead. In this situation, Draco might have appreciated this trait, but he was all too aware of another one—her stubbornness. If they failed to find the girl, Bellatrix wouldn't hesitate to target another child. In fact, failure would only make her more bloodthirsty. She wouldn't stop until at least ten of the listed children and their families were wiped off the face of the Earth.
All Draco wanted was to go home and sleep.
Interrupting his train of thought, along with the pointless bickering between Bellatrix and her brother-in-law, Rodolphus pointed his wand at the forest and said, "Someone's there."
"What are you talking about?" spat Bellatrix.
"Look," he said. " Homenum Revelio."
Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes: only the caster of the spell could sense someone's presence. He repeated the spell to see for himself, and so did the others. Indeed, there was someone in the forest, not far away. He squinted into the darkness and discerned a gravel road a little farther down, leading into the woods.
He wasn't the only one. Bellatrix moved towards it, and Draco had no choice but to follow. As they passed the first trees, he suddenly had a very bad feeling. It reminded him of his first visit to the Forbidden Forest with Pot-head and that oaf Hagrid. His steps were careful and measured, his breath held tight. The rest of the group remained silent as well, though Draco was willing to bet none of them shared his uneasy premonition. Like predators stalking their prey, the three of them advanced with quiet, purposeful steps.
Not even fifty paces into the forest, they spotted a small fire burning in a clearing ahead. As they drew closer, Draco's gaze fell upon a ghastly contraption behind the fire—an oversized metal box mounted on wheels. Its exterior was a horrid shade of grey, adorned with unsightly metal panels that seemed hastily attached, devoid of any hint of elegance or refinement.
By the campfire, a girl lay sleeping on a folding seat with a backrest. She was slender and wore plain muggle clothes. Her dark, curly hair tumbled to her shoulders. She looked to be around his age. It was her.
A wide, triumphant grin spread across Bellatrix's face as they stepped into the clearing. The girl stirred in her seat, her eyelashes fluttering. Before anyone could speak, a voice cut through the quiet.
"Asleep already?"
A dark-haired young man—her brother, by the looks of it—emerged from behind the metal construction and froze, his gaze fixed on them in surprise. That same instant, the girl awoke with a start.
"What are you waiting for?" barked Bellatrix. "Kill them!"
The muggle immediately reached for his pocket, but Rabastan was faster. Wordlessly, he conjured ropes that bound the man's hands tightly behind his back, as well as his ankles. The muggle collapsed to his knees, awkwardly slumped against the large box.
Draco stepped forward and pointed his wand at the girl. His throat felt dry. She sat in her seat, unmoving, unblinking, with a weird expression on her face. Only... She wasn't staring at them. She was staring at their wands—she, herself, did not have one. Her eyes darted between their wands and the ropes binding her brother. She wasn't frightened nearly as much as she was baffled.
It was the gaze of someone seeing magic for the first time. She was, for all intents and purposes, a muggle.
It should have made the job easier.
Why didn't it?
Muggles were no different from cockroaches or beetles. Unintelligent. Unimportant.
Was he so harmless he couldn't even hurt a fly? Did he belong in Hufflepuff? The thought filled him with indignation.
"Avada Kedavra!" he shouted, his wand aimed directly at the girl's face.
Nothing happened.
In a surprising display of patience, Bellatrix approached him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and calmly said, "Try again."
"Stop it!" the brother cried. "What do you want from us?"
"Shut up, you scum," growled Rodolphus. With a flick of his wand, another rope sprang up and tied itself around the muggle's mouth, silencing him.
Draco tried casting the Killing Curse, and again he failed.
"You disgrace your family name," Bellatrix hissed in his ear. "Do. It."
"I think there's been a misunderstanding."
They all slowly turned their gazes toward the girl, each with an expression deadlier than the last. Unfazed, she continued speaking.
"You seem to have me mixed up with someone else. I—I never thought I'd meet another witch, you see. You've got to believe me, I mean you no harm. In fact, I am exactly like you."
She gave them an innocent smile. Oh, this stupid girl knew nothing.
"How dare you say that?" Bellatrix cried, enraged. "How dare you compare yourself to us, you filthy little mudblood! Crucio!"
The girl screamed and fell from the chair, her whole body shaking. A dozen ravens leapt from the trees, fleeing in terror. Not a moment later, the muggle's muffled cries joined hers.
"I would kill that abominable creature," said Bellatrix, lifting the curse. "Slowly and painfully. But tonight, it has to be you, Draco."
Draco stared at the trembling, crying girl, his wand pointed at her once more. Misery clawed at him as he forced himself to repeat the incantation, but, as expected, the wand produced nothing, not even a flicker of green light.
"I can't," he said quietly. "I can't do it."
"You will do it," said Rodolphus.
"Even a weak, pitiful excuse of a Death Eater like your father can do it." Bellatrix sneered.
A flash of anger flared within him, and he spun to face the three of them.
"The Killing Curse requires deep feelings of hatred," he said, his voice rising. "It is far too intense. What I feel for these creatures is only contempt. I think it is undignified and unworthy of ancient noble houses to feel so strongly about—"
" Crucio!" screamed Bellatrix.
Pain erupted through his body, consuming him in a second. The sensation was rather familiar, the memory of the last Cruciatus Curse still raw in his mind. His muscles seized as though they were being torn apart from the inside, every nerve alight with agony. To his credit, he did not collapse right away. He staggered, clenching his teeth to hold back the screams that clawed at his throat.
That was until Bellatrix locked eyes with him again. Her lips curled into a vicious smile as she twisted her wand, redoubling the curse's power. The torment became unbearable, and he hit the ground. He writhed, gasping for breath, his vision blurring. The pain only seemed to intensify, and his subdued screams broke free, echoing through the forest.
"You will show me respect, boy," said Bellatrix through gritted teeth, giving him a brief, agonizing respite from the curse. "And you will do as I say. Crucio!"
The torture resumed with renewed intensity. Draco lost track of time as the pain tore through him, unrelenting and all-consuming. His mind, as always, began to disassociate from his body. Was this why the prolonged use of the Cruciatus Curse could sometimes mimic the effects of a Dementor's Kiss? Could the soul abandon the body, unable to endure the torment?
And then it stopped.
Bellatrix launched into another tirade, but her words were a distant blur. Draco lay clutching the ground, his body still convulsing uncontrollably from the aftershocks of the curse.
His wandering eyes drifted to the muggle man. In his daze, it took him a moment to register what he was seeing. The ropes binding the man had loosened, just a little. Draco noticed a flash of a knife behind the man's back.
It was a hopeless endeavour. But in his current state, Draco wasn't about to stop him. Not that he wanted to.
With nobody paying attention to the muggle, he managed to slip his freed right hand into one of the many front pockets of his weird muggle trousers and take a hold of something. To Draco, the peculiar L-shaped black object didn't look like much.
Run, you fool, he thought.
Though he knew there was no chance any escape attempt could actually succeed.
What happened next, Draco could never have anticipated.
In one swift motion, the man aimed the thing at Rabastan, who stood closest to him. A loud bang echoed through the night, and Rabastan let out a sharp wail. Before anyone could react, the man turned the object on Rodolphus, and the same thing happened—another deafening bang, followed by a cry of pain. But before he could target Bellatrix, she spun around, her wand flashing as she non-verbally disarmed him. The black object flew into the darkness of the forest, disappearing from sight.
Draco looked up, his heart pounding, and saw the stunned faces of the Death Eaters. But what truly shocked him was the sight of Rabastan clutching his hand, blood seeping between his fingers, while Rodolphus's robes bore a dark, spreading stain that Draco suspected was also blood.
What on Earth was happening here?
The man stood, holding a knife in his left hand.
"Run!" he shouted to the girl.
She had also risen to her feet. From where he lay, Draco could see the frown of indecision on her face. She wavered for a moment, until a resolute expression settled over her—she refused to leave without him.
"I said run!" he shouted again, more urgently this time.
The man stepped forward, facing the three Death Eaters, with only a knife to defend himself. There was no fear in his eyes.
Bellatrix laughed that insane laugh of hers, the sound echoing ominously through the night.
"Avada Kedavra!" she said, not even raising her voice.
The man's body fell limply to the ground, the knife slipping from his hand.
His sister fell to the ground beside him, clutching his lifeless body. She pressed her face against his, her expression a twisted mask of horror, disbelief, desperation, and pain. Ragged breaths tore from her as she whispered, "No, no, no, no," desperately shaking him, trying to bring him back to life. But his body remained cold and unmoving in her arms.
Draco felt her shudder. Was he supposed to feel that?
Then the ground began to tremble beneath him.
With each laboured breath she took, ripples of energy passed through the air—and through his body.
And then she screamed.
It was a primal, gut-wrenching sound that pierced the night, reverberating with a force that seemed to distort the very fabric of reality. It wasn't merely a cry of anguish; it was an uncontrollable burst of raw magic. Draco watched in terror, frozen to the ground. Someone let out a shocked gasp.
The flames of the campfire rose higher and higher in a wild dance. The air crackled and grew intensely hot.
Draco felt a blinding, scorching shockwave of power that seemed to tear through space itself. The force flung him backward, searing through him with an unbearable heat.
Draco Malfoy was a dead man. He closed his eyes and resigned himself to his fate.
Somewhere in the distance, the screaming ceased. All that remained was the ringing in his ears, which eventually faded as well. The heat began to wane.
The next moment, it was silent and cold.
But it wasn't heaven.
Draco Malfoy opened his eyes, only to inhale the smoke that surrounded him. It made him cough his lungs out. His irritated eyes were watering. He fumbled for his wand, relieved to find it still holstered on his right leg.
Quickly conjuring a protective bubble around his head, he was able to breathe deeply and survey his surroundings. The smoke hung in the air like mist. His clothes were coated in a layer of ash, as were his face and hands.
He was about to Apparate away but hesitated, realizing he couldn't leave without Bellatrix—she would certainly murder him if he abandoned them. He moved cautiously towards the clearing, searching for her or the Lestrange brothers.
As the smoke began to thin, he saw no sign of anyone and heard only eerie silence. Eventually, he spotted a figure hunched over a body, shaking with sobs. It was the girl. And she was alone here.
The Death Eaters left. They ditched him. Probably Apparated away the moment they sensed the shockwave. Of course, they would, it's not as if they ever cared about—
Draco's foot nearly tripped over something. He bent down to take a closer look and recoiled in horror. Beneath his feet lay bones—freshly roasted, with strips of meat still clinging to them. Nearby, a wand lay smouldering, unmistakably Bellatrix's. He looked to the left and saw more bones and more wands.
They hadn't left. They'd been incinerated.
The smoke dissipated and revealed the scale of destruction. The tall trees that once surrounded the clearing were gone, leaving only charred stumps in their place. The metal box on wheels had been reduced to a pile of ash. The campfire, too, had vanished without a trace.
She did that.
Draco stared at the girl. She paid him no mind, still crying over her brother's dead body. Her shoulders shook silently.
The pair had been the only thing left intact after the explosion. The two of them and… Draco.
Why was he unharmed?
That was a question for another day. Right now, he needed to do something.
Against all sense of self-preservation, he approached the girl.
"You have to go," he said, his voice quiet and raspy.
She didn't seem to hear him. If she did, she ignored him.
He touched her shoulder, and she flinched, finally looking up. Her eyes were red with tears.
"You have to go," he repeated. "More will come. They might be on their way right now."
"I don't care," she whispered almost inaudibly and turned her gaze back to her brother.
Draco didn't have the slightest idea of what to do. He desperately tried to clear his head from confusion and dizziness. What were the facts?
One: Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan—the three most loyal supporters of the Dark Lord—were dead.
Two: The mudblood girl was responsible for their deaths.
Three: It was his duty to report this to the Dark Lord and, perhaps, bring the girl with him if he hoped to receive any mercy from his master.
But that was the issue, wasn't it? Mercy was not something he could count on. The Dark Lord would be furious, and Draco would be the object of his wrath.
A bitter cynicism filled his heart.
Even if he survived the Dark Lord's rage, what kind of life would await him? A life of walking on his knees, begging and executing orders—worse than that of any slave.
He didn't want that life.
And that was the moment Draco made a decision. He summoned the scattered remains of the wands, grabbed the girl and Apparated them both away.