The sun was setting over the silhouette of a distant city, painting the sky in hues of bright red. Draco stood at the massive metal doors of a recently abandoned industrial building, nervously scanning the surroundings. He saw no one. No muggles that ventured past the chain-link fencing marking the perimeter, no animals, no cars.
He ducked back inside and descended a short flight of steps near the entrance. The wailing wind blew through the vast space, echoing off the tall walls. The sun's dying light slipped through gaps in the ceiling, illuminating rusty remnants of machinery that littered the concrete floors.
"I've got it!" called out Ruth's voice from a far corner of the building.
Draco walked past the rows of machines, stepping carefully over protruding metal parts and debris, until he saw her—clad in her tasteless black hoodie, as always—through a window of a small enclosed area she called a "control room".
He stopped at the open door, watching her. She was tinkering with a panel of dials and switches, her rubber gloves coated in a thin layer of dust. A set of old documents lay on the table under the panel, though the font size was too small for Draco to read from where he stood.
"Took you long enough," he said to her back.
"Hush, you. I'm hardly an engineer." She turned to him with a grin. "It's as we thought. The emergency generator appears to be still working."
"Appears to be?"
"Is working," she corrected herself with a decisive flip of a switch.
Lights flickered weakly along the ceiling. The hum of machinery started to fill the space, overtaking the wind's mournful cry.
Draco cast a quick glance around. "You can turn it off now."
"No, I want to show you something. It's—"
"Turn the damn thing off!"
Her eyebrows shot up, and her hands rose placatingly. Muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "all right, weirdo", she flipped the switch, and it was dark and silent once again.
"What's wrong?"
"We're going to use this 'electricity' to shock someone half to death tonight, are we not? So forgive me for being extra cautious around it."
"Oh, Draco," Ruth drew out. "Electricity itself is harmless. That is, if you know what you're doing."
"Well, I don't know what I'm doing."
"It's fine. Just trust me." She looked into his eyes and asked in a more serious voice, "You do—trust me, right?"
Draco crossed his arms and gave an exasperated sigh. "Unfortunately so."
"I'm telling you, it's a good plan. You do your part, I'll do mine, and we'll be fine."
With one final glance at the panel, he nodded curtly and turned around.
They needed to find Harry Potter. Draco couldn't tell who was more unhappy about it—him or Ruth. Their unhappiness had different roots, of course. While she was sceptical about prophecies and preferred to deal with her enemies herself, Draco was more than fine with sending someone to fight his battles for him. It was this "someone" that bothered him. He'd give anything to never see that stupid, scarred face ever again.
To his dismay, however, Snape had confirmed it: Harry Potter was the key to defeating Voldemort. From his Death Eater sources, Snape knew that the Golden Trio was not, in fact, with the Order. From a different source, he surmised that they were on a special mission from Dumbledore. Snape didn't know what it was (and seemed quite bitter about it), but he was certain of its importance.
A special mission from Dumbledore. Just thinking about it made Draco grimace. Were they searching for some sort of genie lamp to trap the red-eyed monster with?
Regardless of his feelings, Draco needed to find the Chosen One and help him. He didn't have to stick around, though; he could just learn what it was they sought and go pursue it himself.
But first, he needed to find this Wonder Boy. To do that, Draco had decided to use the methods of the Death Eaters themselves—the Taboo. One had to admit, the idea was brilliant: the only people bold enough to utter the Dark Lord's name were either Order members or Order loyalists, and no one threw it around as carelessly as Potter. The only thing Draco needed to do was catch a Snatcher and find out exactly how the Taboo worked (as well as learn about recent sightings of the Trio, if there were any).
If only it was this simple.
Snape had warned him about the kind of people these Snatchers were. Hungry for money, desperate for recognition, and sometimes—as dangerous as Death Eaters. They travelled in groups of two or three and had no uniform, no mask, no distinctive features aside from a strip of dark red fabric tied around their left arms that often went unnoticed until it was too late.
He could do it.
Draco climbed the stairs leading to the top of the large vat, which stood midway along the length of the building, nestled to the left side. The vat was empty, as expected.
"Aguamenti," he whispered, drawing a horizontal "S" in the air.
A jet—no, not a jet, a whole wave of water surged from the tip of the Wand with such force that it nearly caused Draco to stumble and fall off the stairs. Even a week later, he was still getting used to the sheer power of it. It was not yet attuned to him as his old wand had been. This was why everyone preferred to buy new ones; no one wanted to wait for their second-hand wand to unlearn the habits of its previous owner or risk it never doing so. However, while a wand's memory was generally seen as a flaw, in Draco's case, it was actually a strength: the Wand was steeped in centuries of experience from some of the greatest wizards who had ever lived.
He wondered if he was the weakest of them all.
When the water filled the vat to the brim—which took almost no time at all—Ruth levitated several packs of salt his way. Draco caught each one, ripped them open, and poured the salt into the water, mixing it all together.
Apparently, pure water was considered a poor conductor of electricity.
Electricity. He shuddered at the memory of that red-haired Warden shocking him with a taser. Some of the muggle inventions were truly terrifying.
Draco climbed off the staircase, joining Ruth on the ground. With his wand pointed at the lower part of the vat, he stopped to concentrate.
A neat, ten-inch cut.
If he was not careful, the Wand could tear the whole thing apart, and that was not what he wanted.
A neat, ten-inch cut.
A neat, ten-inch cut.
He gripped the smooth shaft.
Obey me.
"Diffindo."
A neat, ten-inch cut appeared near the bottom of the vat. Slowly, the water began to trickle out.
Ruth shook her head. "This will take ages."
Draco almost didn't mind waiting this long, but perhaps it was best to just get it over with. Once more, he pointed his wand at the cut. The opening grew wider, and the water rushed out much more rapidly.
The two of them instinctively backed away from the puddle spreading quickly across the floor. They watched it in silence for a few moments, until Ruth finally spoke.
"Now to the fun part."
Draco thinned his lips. There was nothing even remotely fun about any of it.
Still, he followed her to the opposite wall. Running along it was a fat, smooth black rope, attached at several points along the way. Ruth retrieved a pair of large scissors from her equally large kangaroo pocket and stepped closer to the wall.
"A little disclaimer—" she said without turning; he heard amusement in her voice and hated her for it. "—please don't try this at home. Cutting power cords is rarely a good idea."
"Oh, bugger off, will you?"
She laughed. The scissors chewed through the cord until it snapped in half, the severed ends falling aside with a slight jolt.
Ruth ripped both ends from the wall and tossed them into the little pond forming in the centre of the building.
They then retreated to the control room, which stood on a stone platform, elevated by just three steps from the rest of the floor. Draco reached into his pouch and pulled out the two masks Ruth had stolen from the Headmaster's office.
They put them on, momentarily transforming into different people. Draco summoned a small mirror from the depths of the pouch to examine his new face. His mask differed from hers: hers only covered her eyes, while his concealed his entire face. Crafted from dark blue metal, the mask was adorned with golden patterns that danced across its surface. As soon as Draco donned it, his hair turned a dark brown, and his eyes, behind the slits, were enveloped in a mask-induced black fog. This fog was visible only from the outside and did not obstruct his view in any way. It was genius.
In darkness, it could even be mistaken for a Death Eater mask, which, he thought, might also prove useful.
Speaking of Death Eaters...
Draco tugged up the sleeve of his black cloak and cast a glamour charm over his Dark Mark, just in case. While the mask could provoke a moment of hesitation, sparking doubt about his possible allegiance to the Death Eaters, the Dark Mark would confirm it, narrowing down the list of suspects and potentially revealing his identity. And his identity needed to be kept not just as a secret, but as an oath.
"All right." His voice came out much deeper and completely foreign to his ears. "Let's go over the rules again."
"Oh, God," Ruth groaned.
"Just so you don't forget."
"How could I, with you drilling them into my skull every five seconds?" She met his unrelenting gaze and sighed. "Ugh, fine. No mentioning each other by name. No wandless magic, no guns. Use them only as a last resort. Blah, blah, blah... Did I miss anything?"
"You did," he said tersely. "If you do happen to use a gun, don't leave bullets behind. Without them, they won't suspect muggle technology; they'll think it's a new curse or something."
Pureblood wizards underestimated muggles and their weapons, and Draco planned to use that to his advantage.
Meanwhile, the water spread across the uneven floors, pooling more heavily at the lowest point, right where it rushed out of the vat.
They waited until the water reached halfway up the first step to the stone platform. Ruth turned to him.
"Now?"
"Now."
Draco stuck his small mirror to the side of the panel so that it faced outside, looking out through the window. He positioned himself snugly in the corner near the door, staying out of view, while Ruth squatted down under the panel, keeping her gloved hand on the switch.
"Wait for my signal," he told her.
"Yes, sir."
For the first time that evening, he detected a hint of nervousness in her voice. It was then that he realised—she'd been terrified the whole time, just like he was, if not more so.
Draco didn't know if that knowledge comforted him or unnerved him even more.
Before second thoughts could take hold of him, he began to speak.
"Okay, let's do this."
They locked gazes in the dark. She gave him a small nod.
"One."
"Two."
"Three."
"Voldemort."
Despite the wailing wind, Draco thought he could hear sounds in the distance—cracks of Apparition? How many?
Clang! Draco's breath hitched in his throat as he saw the huge front doors burst open in the reflection of the mirror. Two dark figures stood on the doorstep.
A gust of wind carried the words to him: "Come out, come out wherever you are."
It made him shiver.
The figures were definitely men. The first was bulky, but the second was simply huge, larger and taller by a head. They advanced, descending the steps. Draco heard a ring cling against the railing.
"Don't be afraid! We're not going to hurt you."
They hesitated at the last step, examining the water and turning their heads towards the vat, apparently locating the source of the leak. This was why Draco hadn't wanted to simply fill the floor with water; he needed a plausible explanation for its presence there. He calculated that they would be too focused on finding their supposed victims to waste time drying it up.
His calculations did not seem to fail him, for after a moment, the men stepped into the ankle-deep water and, calling for them to come out of hiding, proceeded further into the building. Closer to Draco and Ruth. Closer to the vat itself.
Ruth looked at him questioningly. Draco shook his head. Not now.
He waited for a third man to make a delayed entrance, but it seemed there wasn't one.
However, any brief sense of relief he might have felt vanished as the larger of the two men stepped into the moonlight. It was only for a split-second, but Draco saw it. The grey hair. The pointed teeth. The savage, almost bestial face.
He sucked in a breath (and was immediately grateful for the wind drowning out the sound).
The Snatcher was none other than Fenrir Greyback.
An impulse compelled him to do something foolish—to charge at the panel and flip the switch himself, or to attempt Disapparating despite knowing the Snatchers had likely cast Anti-Apparition charms as soon as they arrived.
Draco suppressed the impulse and shook his head again, his eyes on the mirror.
Just a little closer.
"Come out, you cowards!" barked Greyback.
They were getting closer. Slowly, stopping to check every shadow and every corner, but closer and closer still.
He could feel Ruth's impatience and nervousness without looking at her. But with Greyback here, Draco wasn't taking any chances.
So he waited.
The Snatchers moved forward, their steps heavy as they trudged through the water. Past the machines. Past the metal debris. Past the wooden boxes.
To the vat.
Draco looked at Ruth and nodded, mouthing, "Now!"
There was no need to tell her twice.
With a single flip of the switch, the abandoned building sprang to life. The sounds of humming and crackling mixed, filling the air in a second.
Draco watched as the two Snatchers froze, their bodies jerking as the electrical current coursed through the water and surged into them. The light from above flickered, illuminating their struggling forms. Draco couldn't help but wince as they convulsed violently, dropping their wands with a strangled cry. Yet, it wasn't entirely unpleasant—to see them stumble and finally crumple into the water with a splash.
Then, as discussed, Ruth turned off the power, and Draco flung open the door of the control room.
"Accio wands!" he shouted.
Without waiting for the wet sticks to clatter against the stone platform, he cast two perfect Stunners that landed directly on his targets.
The twitching bodies, halfway submerged in water, went completely still.
Draco levitated the wands into his pouch, careful not to touch them.
Ruth came out onto the platform as well. The two of them slowly turned to each other. Her curled-up crimson lips widened into a grin, and so did Draco's, beneath his mask.
She took off her gloves and lifted her right hand. Raising his eyebrows, he hesitantly mirrored the gesture. The next second, her palm connected with his, and—as a clap echoed through the building—he stepped back, confused.
"It's called a high-five, you silly."
"I'm silly? You're the one acting weird on an important mission."
She rolled her eyes and turned to go. He let her be the first to enter the water, following only once he was certain it had no effect on her.
As they approached the bodies, Draco didn't see them move. He hoped they weren't dead: there was still information to be extracted, after all.
Preparing to levitate their bodies out beyond the Anti-Apparition wards, he paused, staring thoughtfully at the Wand in his hand. His old one, quick and springy as it was, would never have managed to dismantle the wards. The Elder Wand, however, was proving to be full of surprises.
He raised it high in the air.
"Finite Incantatem."
The Wand sliced through the layers of magic like a knife through butter. The air shimmered briefly as the wards unravelled. He felt them dissipate.
Huh.
Was there anything the Wand couldn't do?
There was no time to ponder that. Cringing from the smell of sweat and blood, Draco gripped the Snatchers by their fingers. The instant he felt Ruth's touch on his shoulder, he concentrated on his destination and swiftly Apparated them all.
They appeared in the darkness of the farm barn. The same barn where they had trained for weeks on end.
It was a good thing that, upon leaving for Hogwarts, they had decided against lifting the magical enchantments from the farm, just in case they needed a safe place later. They weren't wrong, though neither of them had expected they'd be returning together, just a day later.
They'd been here the entire week, coming up with ideas and planning this operation. Draco congratulated himself on successfully avoiding the full moon, though, honestly, if he had known he'd be dealing with Greyback, he might have waited for daytime.
With a flourish, Draco strengthened the pillars and the ceiling, then deftly chained the Snatchers up, ensuring their arms and legs were splayed apart.
Watching the unconscious bodies like a hawk, Ruth retreated to the side, into the deeper shadows.
Having steeled himself, Draco woke the smaller man, immediately hitting him with Silencio. He didn't wake Greyback. They only needed one, really.
The Snatcher's eyes, smeared with black paint, flew open and darted around the room in a panic before finally landing on Draco. Whatever he saw must have filled him with actual terror, for the bulky man—within seconds—was reduced to a silently blubbering mess.
Draco raised his hands. "Shhh... Don't be afraid. We're not going to hurt you."
The sight of the man cowering and helplessly tugging at his restraints gave Draco a sense of grim satisfaction. Power. Control. That's how it felt. He meant it, though—he wasn't going to hurt him. There was no need for that.
"Legilimens!"
A myriad of foreign images, sounds, and feelings flooded his mind at once. Most prominent of all was fear. Through the man's eyes, Draco glimpsed a menacing cloaked figure in a black mask. It had no eyes.
For the life of him, Draco couldn't connect the image to himself. But that was of no importance, of course.
He tried to navigate the man's mind, seeking anything related to the Taboo, but the attempts were unsuccessful. The thoughts ran wild, and the mind was in disarray.
Draco lifted the spell.
So there were limits to the Elder Wand. For one, it did not turn a shit Legilimens into a good one. Interesting. Draco filed away this bit of information for later.
With no Veritaserum on hand, he had no choice but to persevere.
"How does the Taboo work?" Draco asked the man. "How do you find people who say his name?"
Without warning, he plunged back into the Snatcher's mind. He felt the man struggle in an attempt to avoid thoughts about the Taboo. But the more he tried not to think about it, the more he did. It was an old trick.
Draco began grasping at the memories. The Ministry halls. The chaos. The Dark Lord's red eyes. The snake. Dozens of other images.
Bit by bit, Draco pieced it all together.
On the night the Ministry fell, Voldemort summoned a select group of his followers—including people like Greyback and this pathetic nobody, loyal to the cause but unworthy of the Death Eater title. That was the night he placed the Taboo on his own name. Having gathered their wands, as well as those of the present Death Eaters, Voldemort tied them to the Taboo spell so that every time someone uttered the name on British soil, the wands would immediately alert their owners of the speaker's location. The Taboo enabled them to Apparate straight to that location, breaking through some of the protective enchantments.
Over time, however, the task of hunting these individuals was entirely delegated to the Snatchers to avoid burdening the Death Eaters with such unseemly matters. The Snatchers themselves were happy enough to do it, taking on other responsibilities as well: they did get paid handsomely for their captures. More people joined them after that night, though their wands did not react to the name being spoken. Now, this miserable lot operated from the Snatcher Camps, working in shifts.
Of course, it had to happen after the takeover of the Ministry. The Taboo was a country-wide tracking spell, just like the Trace. Neither could be replicated without the Ministry's resources, and neither, Draco guessed, could be cancelled beyond its walls.
That meant he couldn't tie his own wand to the Taboo, but that was not a problem. He could just take the Snatcher's wand and keep himself informed that way (despite being linked to a tracking spell, the wands themselves didn't appear to be tracked).
Having wandered further through the man's mind without finding any leads on Potter's whereabouts, Draco lowered his wand and observed Greyback's vicious form thoughtfully.
He didn't want to take any more risks by venturing into the mind of someone he knew. He'd have to wake him, too. Even asleep, the creature exuded danger. Draco's eyes stopped at Greyback's long yellowish nails with dried blood underneath them. No, there was no way he was waking him up.
That left him with nothing more to do; he needed to Obliviate them and leave them Stunned somewhere far away from here.
A voice, soft as silk and no less unfamiliar, came from the shadows. "Are you done?"
"I'm afraid so. They don't know where he is."
"Good."
"What do you mean it's—"
He didn't get to finish that sentence.
It happened so fast that he didn't register what had happened—not right away.
A flash of steel in the moonlight.
Painted eyes flying wide.
Mouth rounding in a silent scream.
Blade connecting with exposed skin.
Red bursting from the neck, staining the man's clothes.
It was only when Ruth moved to the second Snatcher that Draco snapped out of his stupor. With a flick of his wand, he sent her crashing back to the ground, her bloody blade slipping from her hand.
She recovered quickly, grabbing the knife and jumping back to her feet. Draco reacted instinctively, placing himself between her and Greyback.
"What are you doing?" she shouted.
He shouted back, "Me?! What are you doing?"
"Completing the mission."
Draco wanted to rip his hair out. The plan was to trail the Snatchers until they found Potter for them so that Draco could save him, earning his undying gratitude and trust. The plan was not to kill anyone they laid their eyes on!
"Mission?" he repeated, his voice incredulous. "What mission?! Do you have any idea what you've done? Now they will be more guarded, harder to fight—"
"So what? We can take them. Wasn't it easy tonight?"
"That's not the point! We can't just go around killing everyone!"
They stared furiously at each other. Draco had never before realised how serious she was, how much she hated them, how much she wanted to kill them all.
Spinning the knife between her fingers, Ruth took a step closer and spoke in a lowered voice that was no less strained. "This is war. The Dark Side is murdering people. The Order and that precious prophecy boy can't win if they don't kill and no one is willing to kill their enemies for them."
Draco kept shaking his head. "No. This is not what we came here for. We—"
A roaring laugh cut him off mid-speech, but it didn't come from either of them.
Draco spun around and stumbled back. Fenrir Greyback was awake and laughing. Still perfectly restrained but laughing and showing no fear before their masked personas.
"I wasn't sure," he rasped. "I knew it was your scent, but you were supposed to be dead, you know. So I thought it must be the clothes. But it is you, isn't it? Hiding behind that pretty mask. I wasn't sure but it was your weak, gutless character shining through that convinced me."
Laughter left his eyes. They were, once again, wild and murderous.
"Malfoy," he spat out the name.
Draco flinched as if hit with a curse. Even with each limb of his chained, the monster appeared to be fully in control, while Draco felt utterly powerless. His legs felt weak underneath him, but he swallowed hard and stepped back no further.
Nothing ever went according to plan.
He opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it, fearing his voice would betray just how terrified he was.
"You Malfoys always looked down on me," continued Greyback. "Wrinkling your pointy noses at me, sneering at me, treating me like a dog—"
Because you are a dog, Draco thought.
"—not so brave now, huh? But then you never were, were you? I can smell your fear. It's delicious."
He bared his teeth at them. Draco's trembling fingers held his wand tighter as he prepared to cast another Stunner.
"And you're right to be afraid, Malfoy. When the Dark Lord is done with you, he will give you to me. You and your lovely little friend. I will sink my teeth into your white skin, I will rip out your throat, and your heart, and your bowels. But I will not eat your flesh. No, no. I will spit it all out. You see, no one can eat something so rotten. Oh, and your parents..."
Draco's grip on his wand tightened. With his jaw set, he returned Greyback's hateful stare.
"Shut your filthy mouth," he growled.
"Oh, but I'm just getting started. Ah, your parents. I will have so much fun chasing Lucius through the woods on a full moon. A memory to cheer me up when I get old."
"I said, shut up."
"You know, I don't care for these fancy memory bowls, but I'd get one just to relive that moment. And your mother..."
Draco's blood was boiling, but his mask concealed his enraged expression.
Ignorant of that, Greyback did not stop. "Narcissa! She's a pretty thing, isn't she? I always wondered if—"
Draco didn't Stun him.
Discarding his wand, he seized Ruth's knife from her hands and charged at the werewolf. Lightning-fast, he struck him squarely in the chest. The sound of the blade piercing flesh was drowned out by a visceral cry of pain from the monster.
Draco kept stabbing blindly, his eyes unseeing. For the first time since putting on the mask, he felt the fog seep inside it, obscuring everything in sight.
He plunged the blade into Greyback's heart, twisted it in the gaping wound, and then thrust it into his neck, every strike as forceful as the first one. The knife sank into the werewolf's stomach, and into his hairy cheek, and into his eyes, crashing against the bones.
He didn't notice when Grayback's screams faded into groans, nor when the creature ceased making any sound at all.
When Draco finally stepped back, panting and sweating, his cloak was soaked in blood, as were his hands and his mask. The warm liquid trickled onto the ground, and the air was thick with the smell of it.
Nothing remained of Fenrir Greyback but a massive, gruesome mess, an unrecognisable heap of flesh and blood.
Draco couldn't tear his eyes from it.
He was finally catching his breath when Ruth tugged at his sleeve. He turned to her and found her expression impossible to decipher through the mask.
She was right. They had to do this.
Memory charms were not infallible. Voldemort could reverse them if he tried hard enough.
And try as they might to hide their identities, someone would guess them all the same. This time it was his scent, next time it would be something different.
Voldemort had his parents. Every time Draco took a chance on someone, he gambled with their lives. It was as simple as that.
How could he have forgotten that?
"If we take this path," Draco said in a low voice, "the world will never accept us as their heroes."
A melancholic hum. "The world has long given up on us."
Murder went against the moral code of the Order. It was clear to him now that he had to forge his own.
With another look at the dead bodies, he recited, "Now my hammer rages cruelly against its prison. Pieces of rock rain from the stone—"
She finished it for him, "But what is that to me?"
END OF PART I
A/N: A-a-and we're officially halfway through the story!
PART II will begin after a time-skip of several months. The story will take a darker turn as we follow Draco on his new path. On a brighter note, we'll finally reunite with the original ensemble cast, including the Order members, the Golden Trio, and many more.
I would love to hear your thoughts so far. What is your favourite chapter? Character? Quote?
Thank you for reading!