The Laws Have Changed - Chapter 8
He was going through the motions again. At the worst possible time.
But any resolve he had was dashed the moment he thought he saw her outside the Room of Requirement, lying in wait with her friends, probably on Potter's orders. As he threw the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, he chanced a peek at her one last time before realizing that the red he saw was the more garish shade found on her oaf of a brother.
The damage had already been done though.
And so he stood there, letting himself monologue to Dumbledore about the brilliance of his plans. How he used the Imperius Curse on Rosmerta, how he got the idea of communicating with her from Potter and his silly little army, how the necklace and mead should've been given to the old man, and, of course, how he fixed the Vanishing Cabinet.
He felt a knot in his stomach when Dumbledore praised him again for his ingenuity before tossing out promises to keep him and his mother safe. Even in this life, the promises didn't matter. Not when his mother's certifiably insane sister and a werewolf who turns people for sport had been let loose in the castle.
He squeezed his eyes shut, pleading with whoever that would listen, that Ginny had heeded his advice. He knew she was stronger than most expected, but Aunt Bella was unpredictable and Greyback was a savage. He had no doubt in his mind what either of them would do if Ginny showed the slightest inkling of hesitation during a duel.
When he opened his eyes, his target was studying him with that goddamn twinkle of secrecy in his eyes. He was already aware that the old man's contingency plan was the reason why he had so much time to monologue in the first place. He knew the praise even in the face of death was meant to be something that would play at his pride and what if he just used that big, beautiful brain for the correct side?
He shut his eyes as he thought of her again.
In his first life, his desperation was a preservation tactic and his inability to complete his task was due to not wanting to take a life.
In this life, though, his resolve had crumbled because all he could think about was her. He wanted to come back in September and be welcomed by her with open arms. He wanted to kiss every part of her face while she laughed. He wanted to experience the thrill of sneaking into empty classrooms or secluded alcoves the way normal couples did. He only wanted to be by her side.
He knew what he felt for her was an easily identifiable emotion, but he still couldn't bring himself to even think it. Not when that emotion was one of the few luxuries he couldn't afford.
He opened his eyes when he heard his aunt's booming cackle coming up from below. His time was running out. She, along with the others, would be behind him soon; trying to encourage him to complete a task he realized he still couldn't do. Ginny had told him not to lose himself and it looked like he was able to keep that promise this time.
Suddenly, he felt a hand on his raised wand arm and he almost wanted to sigh in relief. He'd always had his suspicions that Severus kept his hand close to his chest, but seeing things play out for a second time confirmed it. His respected mentor was the reason why Dumbledore always seemed to be two steps ahead of the Dark Lord.
He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, hoping his guilt at forcing Severus's hand again was not immediately visible to the other parties present.
The old man looked at him; lips set in a hard line betrayed by the warmth in his eyes. "Have a little faith, Draco."
He narrowed his eyes in what he hoped passed for a glare as a means to conceal the brief look of confusion that had made its way through.
"Severus, please," the old man whispered.
Shock still found its way onto his face as he watched his former Headmaster be pushed like a rag doll from the Astronomy Tower by the force of Severus's Killing Curse.
Then he started going through the motions yet again.
He could feel himself be dragged across the school grounds, his aunt's laughter riding on the wind as she taunted Potter and his friends. He let himself be jostled around by his companions; even allowed his sadistic aunt to partake in one of the odd affectionate moments she liked to spare for him by letting himself be pressed to her in an embrace.
He would be home soon and the entire castle would find out what happened. He would be home soon and Ginny would regret ever letting him get near her. He would be home soon and she would come to hate him for what he'd done. He would be home soon and she would be on the other side of the bridge.
He would be home soon and he would have to face the Dark Lord.
She was finally, blessedly, alone.
Anxiety and guilt ravaged her stomach and she kept choking down bile.
Why didn't she just listen to him? He had warned her about keeping away from the Room of Requirement, but when Harry had come to her, asking for her help, she more than leapt at the opportunity. She was actually included in one of his plans without needing to rely on a technicality that would grant her entrance to his illustrious inner circle. She let herself happily drink a bit of that Felix Felicis; enjoying the little buzz liquid luck seemed to give her.
And so she rode on that high while she patrolled their secret meeting place, letting her newfound self-importance permeate the air around her.
Her illusion came crashing down when she saw him exit the room with his aunt and her friends. She swallowed hard when she saw how much worse he looked compared to the night before. His eyes seemed sunken in; purple and red stained the skin and she knew he was trying not to look exhausted. When he began to look around, she hid in an alcove lest he discover that she ignored his request.
When the darkness powder dissipated, she knew she had no choice but to join her friends and the Order members in staving off the Death Eaters accompanying him. As she battled with who she found out was one of the Carrows, she hated knowing that the only reason why she was doing so well was because of the luck coursing through her veins.
As they went outside, alerted to the fact that a body was found limp on ground, she knew. And when she saw it was Dumbledore, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop the sobs threatening to erupt from her. She knew. Even after Harry told her it was Snape, she knew.
The pieces had easily fallen into place.
His anxiety, his depression, his constant insistence that she stay away from him, his physical apologies, his verbal apologies. All of it came together like the complex puzzle she knew it was. Dumbledore's death was his catch-22.
She hated knowing Tom the way she did, but it wasn't surprising to realize that he'd given Draco such an impossible task with the perverse knowledge that he might fail. Hell, Tom probably wanted him to fail. He had forced Draco to the point of desperation and she had let herself get caught up in a difficult web yet again.
Harry was right all along. He knew Draco would only hurt people in the end.
She sat up, blinking owlishly at hearing that distant and mechanical voice yet again. She cast a Silencing Charm around her bed, hoping to prevent another incident like the one in the common room. She shook her head, trying to push its domineering presence out of her mind.
"I've seen Draco's Dark Mark and I know now that's not who he truly is," she said to no one in particular. She wasn't sure if she was trying to convince the voice or herself.
It doesn't change the fact that he's a Death Eater. He tried to kill Dumbledore. No good can come from him.
"Tom forced his hand! He was threatening to kill him and his parents! I would've done everything in my power to protect my family, too!"
So why didn't he talk to Dumbledore?
She exhaled, trying to not let her emotions get the better of her. "Draco's been raised to not trust Dumbledore. Although he might have been interested in completing his task at first, he came to realized how Tom trapped him. Besides, there would've been no way for Dumbledore or the Order to guarantee that Draco and his parents would've been transported to safety without alerting Tom. They could've died before we even had a chance to help them!"
Do you think he's going to want you after he finds out how much you liked helping Harry? Or how you let Harry hold onto you as he cried? You even let him kiss you when you both got back inside. Do you think Draco's going to want to touch you now?
She grabbed the waste basket next to her bed and barely had time to close the curtain before she let her nausea overtake her. The disembodied voice echoing in her mind was torturous as it exerted the highest amount of pressure yet.
It was preying on her feelings regarding both Harry and Draco. She didn't understand why it was so insistent that she needed to be with Harry. She never heard it when she had been with Michael or Dean, so why was it a problem when she decided to be with Draco of her own volition?
Draco had been as honest with her as he could possibly be — he told her he wasn't a good person, he tried avoiding her, he questioned her feelings about him. It didn't matter that Harry finally made his feelings known; she had already made her decision.
And yet something in her still allowed Harry to kiss her after Draco had escaped.
She heaved over the waste basket again, wiping spit away when nothing came out. She felt like the biggest piece of shit. Now that she had his attention, she was swept up in the moment and let Harry kiss her as a way to test her own feelings, but kissing him felt wrong now. She thought she'd be secretly ecstatic to know what Harry's lips felt like, but his gentle kiss inspired nothing in her. She was comparing him to Draco the entire time. Even in his gentleness, she could feel Draco's emotions passing through him. The way he touched her let her know that she would always be safe in his arms. He would never force her to do anything she didn't want to do.
Draco's still not going to want you once he finds out what you've done.
She took another deep breath, remembering the words he said to her last night.
"He said he wouldn't resent me. He gave me the choice to be with him next term. And I choose him."
The words were said as forcefully as she could muster and she collapsed onto her bed, sighing in relief. The pressure the voice exuded was gone, but it didn't stop her tears.
She moved the waste basket off the bed, switching it out with one of her pillows, wrapping herself into the fetal position around it. She let the sobs shudder through her body as she cried over her stupid little test and for knowing more about the kind of hell Draco had been put through that year. She needed him to be safe. She needed him to come back to her.
He needed to know that she was falling in love with him.
He had been so wrapped up in his shame, worry, and anxiety that he forgot that he wasn't to expect torture upon reporting to the Dark Lord.
In fact, the mercurial bastard was still just as pleased by the situation as he was during the first go around. The task had been completed, so there was no reason to begrudge his youngest adherent. He had simply been waved away, words of his father's imminent release from Azkaban floating over as he left the room.
It took him a while before he could finally be alone. His mother was insistent on looking him over, making sure that he wasn't injured or had no signs of torture. He stared blankly ahead as she continued her fussing, eyes unfocused as he let her words go in one ear and out the other.
"Draco!" she snapped, pulling his face to look at hers.
"Yes, Mother?"
She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, a sign that she was trying to bring up a careful topic. With the Dark Lord now living among them, coded language and nonverbal signals became more useful than ever. Good thing he inherited some of his father's subtlety.
"I see your appetite has improved."
His eyes were blank, trying his best to Occlude as a safety precaution, but the rest of his damn body wasn't quite so cooperative. His ears turned pink as he thought of her.
"I found a way to keep more of my meals down." The words were said as evenly as he could manage.
"Did Blaise or Pansy help you with this?" She was testing the waters now. He should've known better than to try to pull a fast one on his mother.
"No, this was something they couldn't help with. I found a way all on my own." If she pried anymore, he would be more than fucked. His mother was nowhere as skilled at Occlumency as he was. Learning from Aunt Bella was not for the faint of heart.
"Would your father and I approve of this method?" She was cutting it a bit too close now.
"Possibly. I'll have to see if it will continue to work next term."
His mother's eyes flashed in understanding and she brought him in for a hug. "If it will give me by son back, I hope it does." The words were whispered so no prying ears could hear.
"Me too, Mother. Me too."
He happened to glance up while his mother held onto him and was surprised to see his father already there. At least, he looked very similar to Lucius — white blond hair pulled back to show off the chiseled features of his face. The cheekbones had the height of most Malfoy men and the nose shared a similar aquiline quality to Grandfather Abraxas; but something about their skin seemed off. It was deathly pale, even in the low lighting of his bedroom, and the moonlight almost made the grayish tint glow blue. Or maybe the dark blue cloak he wore made his skin seem more ethereal than it actually was.
"Father?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
His mother pulled away, a deep frown marring her features. When he let his eyes linger back to where the man previously stood, he was gone. "Draco, dear, are you alright? You know your father is… detained." She almost whispered the euphemism. He would rather she said it for what it was. His father was in prison, with his timeline for release based on the Dark Lord's whims.
He shook his head as he replayed his thoughts. That's right; there's no possible way his father would be home without him or his mother knowing. "My apologies, Mother. I must be exhausted."
She narrowed her eyes at him, but knew better than to press the topic further. Now satisfied with her inspection, she went to leave; informing him that should he need anything, their family house elf, Fizzy, would still be able to assist as the Dark Lord would leave him be for now.
"Have Fizzy prepare a bath for you. It might help with your exhaustion and better clear your mind."
He gave her a small smile and a brief nod, silently implying how grateful he was. He must simply be in a state of shock and the promise of his father coming back home may have given him hope during a time when he thought he had nothing left to hope for. Yes, it was just his mind unpacking one of the myriad boxes it contained, forcing him to think of the man he had tried to protect by accepting the Dark Lord's task.
He eventually called out to the tiny creature after his mother left, requested a warm bath, fresh pajamas, and whatever food she could put together for him. The elf took a deep bow, welcoming the Young Master back home before getting to work on her tasks.
Soon enough, he was notified of his bath being ready and he gave one last instruction to leave the food and clothing by his bed as he did not want to be disturbed. One last bow and the house elf was gone, leaving him in the cold, bright marble and tile of his bathroom.
He stripped down in his dressing room on the other side of the expansive bathroom, taking the time to pause when he found himself in front of a mirror. His mother may have been right. His collarbones didn't seem to protrude as much, his cheeks weren't as sunken, his ribs were now only visible by way of lifting his arms, and his skin looked less gray and more like his normal pale, pinkish complexion. Still gone was the definition in his arms, chest, and torso, but he knew those would come back to him eventually.
He ran a hand over his face, trying to make sure that the image he presented wasn't an illusion. Maybe his insecurities made him become so hyper-focused on the bad that he struggled to see the good. Satisfied that what he saw was real, he sighed. His body was no longer something he feared and he knew why. She probably had no idea how much her compassion affected him.
He settled into the perfectly temperate water, fully submersing himself before floating back up to the surface. He closed his eyes and visions of her flashed through his mind — warm brown eyes, fiery waves, freckles like constellations, soft pink lips, smooth skin, boundless laughter, knowing smirks, tight hugs, and infinite kindness. He realized he wasn't lying when he told her that he wouldn't let her go if she decided to come back to him as the mere thought of her helped him relax more than he was expecting.
He tilted his head as his mind floated other thoughts his way. This time, his mind reminded him of Dumbledore's words to him before his death.
"Have a little faith, Draco."
What the hell did that even mean? He sat up and started chewing on his thumbnail when he heard it.
Calm, even, and distant as always.
"Congratulations. The third prerequisite has been completed."
His eyes went wide as he brought his hand down; the words seeming to echo in his ears.
At first he didn't know how to react. Ginny had told him he was in a catch-22, but he didn't think it would extend to those damnable prerequisites. Whoever or whatever was determining them had set him up just like the Dark Lord did. They would've known that he would've been more resolute in his plans right off the bat during this second life. He had been convinced killing Dumbledore himself was the only way to keep himself safe. So when the first two prerequisites involved his relationship with Ginny, it must've set up the third prerequisite to see if he would go through with his initial plan or if he would falter because of her.
Having just enough presence of mind to cast a Silencing Charm in his bathroom, he let Dumbledore's words wash over him again.
"Motherfucker!" he yelled, bringing his fists crashing into the water again and again, not caring about the water spilling over onto the floor.
His anger left him as quickly as it came, only to be replaced by silent tears; their stains running through whatever dirt submerging himself didn't quite remove.
The old bastard knew. Of course the old bastard knew. And he let Severus kill him anyway because it would've helped complete the third prerequisite.
The old bastard bloody knew.
A/N - Special thanks to EscapeInMyBookshelf for helping me brainstorm an important part of this chapter! ?
As always, thank you to everyone for reading or commenting! I'm fully one of those folks who will go back and re-read comments whenever I need some inspiration, so I appreciate y'all.