Chapter Text
Sunday, the 2nd of May, 1998 - Draco
“Let me help you for fucks sake, please.”
Draco’s voice broke on the word, ‘please’. Prior to the summer of his sixth year at Hogwarts, Draco had never spoken the word.
From a young age, he had been taught that his name would open doors and grant him his wildest desires; begging was beneath a Malfoy. This was prior to the Dark Lord’s return, before Draco had been forced to take the Dark Mark. He had been called to replace his father in the ranks of the Dark Lord’s Army following the spectacle in the Department of Mysteries. The Death Eaters had not only failed to retrieve the prophecy, but they had also prematurely ousted the Dark Lord’s return. How was it that school-aged children had bested those that had been hand-selected for servitude by the Dark Lord himself? His family had been humiliated and was in need of redemption. Thus, Draco had been brought forward by his mother at Voldemort’s request. He celebrated his sixteenth birthday in the Manor’s grand ballroom though he was not dancing with his friends at a glorious celebration in his honour, as was the tradition with pureblood wizards; instead, he was on his knees as he underwent the Death Eater initiation, forever branded as a loyal servant. Following that night, he discovered how little power his family’s name actually wielded, and that, to be a follower of the Dark Lord, meant you had to learn to speak only when addressed, you had to submit, to obey with reverence and gratitude.
The word ‘please’ fell from his mouth easily now; sometimes he would speak it without realising it, nothing more than a whisper. He was just a shell of who he once was, but whether that was a good or bad thing, Draco was still undecided.
Draco found himself wondering how his world had gone to such shit? The absurdity of the present situation was just that, absurd. He never would have imagined that two years ago he would be standing in front of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger, pleading for the three of them to accept his help. He would have scoffed at the thought. However, things had changed, he had changed. Potter, no matter how much Draco disliked him, represented an opportunity for him to make a choice for himself, a choice to help.
Growing up as a notable pureblood heir, Draco had little say when it came to the expectations and duties required of him. Yes, he could choose what he wore, how he spent his free time, and what Quidditch team to support, but when it came to real choices, those were made for him. His entire life–who he befriended, who he married, who he was to become–was decided prior to his birth. The Malfoy’s belonged to the Sacred Twenty-Eight, a group of English pureblood families, who associated with a select few, intermingling only with those of the “purest” blood. His family did not have friends, they had alliances. His mother’s side of the family, the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black , operated similarly. While his cousin, Sirius Black, had been disowned for his association with blood traitors and Muggleborns, his aunt, Andromeda Black, had gone even further and had fallen in love with a Muggleborn wizard. Draco had heard stories of the outrage the relationship had caused, and yet, instead of bowing to her family’s expectations, instead of making alliances and worrying about blood purity, Andromeda had decided to further her own happiness, rather than the family’s. She had been blasted from the family tapestry and was considered dead to them. Now, Draco was being presented with the opportunity to make a choice of his own: bend to his family’s desires or choose his own happiness? Incidentally, it was a choice that would impact everything .
“And why should we trust you?” Harry asked as he attempted to wipe away the dirt that was smudged along his face and glasses. The Weasel eyed him suspiciously as he moved one hand through his auburn hair. He took note of how battle-worn the three of them were. Potter would probably be able to see better without glasses at this point, Weasley, well, he always looked like shit and Granger… Draco paused. He had never been kind to the witch. Throughout their earlier years, he had tormented her based on her blood status and her swottiness. He had even cursed her teeth in their fourth year. The last time he had seen her, she was writhing beneath his Aunt Bella on his drawing room floor–her and her screams still plagued his nightmares.
But now, as she stood before him, he wasn’t sure if he had ever truly noticed the witch; he had never seen her as more than a nuisance. Strands of her curly locks had escaped from her single braid, framing her slender face. In this light, he could make out freckles that dusted across the bridge of her nose, but it was her eyes that he really noticed. He could see flecks of gold in their brown depths. Had they always been there? And since when was Granger pretty? He watched as weariness furrowed along her brow and he took note of her defensive stance. She continued to eye him wearily, her arms crossed in front of her chest.
Draco’s eyes locked with Granger’s as he spoke, trying to convey the sincerity in his words. “I could have identified you that night the snatchers dragged you into the Manor, but I didn’t.”
“But you didn’t stop ‘Mione from being tortured, did you? Too much effort on your part, I guess,” Ron mumbled, earning glares from the entire group.
“And what would you have had me do, Weasley?” Draco snapped, breaking his eye contact with Hermione. “I had just claimed that I didn’t know who any of you were. All I would’ve had to do to regain favour with the Dark Lord, would have been to confirm your identities because I obviously recognized you three.” He looked back at Hermione. “I’m assuming the Stinging Jinx was due to your quick thinking. Nice effort but a first-year Hufflepuff could’ve done better, honestly.”
She was about to interject, but he continued his rebuttal to Ron’s remark. “Don’t you think it would’ve been a bit suspicious if I had defended a complete stranger? I apologise for my lack of a martyr complex; us Slytherins take pride in our ability to avoid unnecessary risks, unlike you Gryffindor heroes,” he scoffed.
Focus, Draco. Stop fucking antagonizing them.
He broke away from Granger’s vexed glare and turned back to Harry, “For two years, nothing I’ve done has been good enough for either of them…the Dark Lord or my fath-” he cleared his throat. “I’ve come to realise the world that the Dark Lord and my father want isn’t worth the pain. So now I’m here, choosing to betray my family and everything I’ve ever been taught in order to help you lot.” Now that Draco was finally admitting what he had been thinking for months, he couldn’t seem to stop his admissions.
Why the fuck was he telling them all of this?
“I had idolised my father and the future he had always described. He had promised power, that those of pure blood would conquer all,” he averted his eyes, focusing on the stone floor, “that I was better than the Mudbloods and blood traitors because we kept to the old ways.” Draco huffed and shook his head before raising his eyes to Harry’s once more. “My father poisoned my worldview.”
He was becoming exasperated with them. They seemed ill-inclined to accept that he was truly there to help them. Crabbe and Goyle will be here soon. Panic was starting to creep in. The time he had allotted to attempt to gain their trust was running thin. If he had any chance of saving his mother and himself, he had to convince them and do it quickly.
Words continued to tumble out as he went on, “It wasn’t until I watched a blood traitor thrive, a half-blood outfly me, despite never setting foot on a Quidditch pitch until arriving at school,” he added bitterly, “and a Muggleborn witch, the first I had ever met at that, best me at everything, that I started to see the cracks in my fucked up ideology. You three planted the seeds of doubt, and, honestly,” oh fuck this, “I… Thank you for that.” If this had happened a year ago, his pride would have stopped him from speaking—he wouldn’t have even attempted to help, but Draco willed himself to continue.
“I’m not denying I’ve been an arsehole. I was everything I was taught to be, cruel, malicious, and self-serving. Being those things didn’t prevent men from raping my mother, didn’t stop their demands, and sure as bloody hell didn’t stop them from ordering me to murder Dumbledore,” he spat viciously.
He took a deep breath, burying the rage the memory of Narcissa’s rape at the hands of Dolohov brought him. Draco forced it down, Occluding before proceeding, "I was told I had to atone for my father’s failings. Given those circumstances, I could tell that, despite the purity of my blood or the status of my name, I was fucked.”
A cruel laugh bubbled through Draco’s lips. “When I was forced to take the Mark I hoped, prayed to whatever gods would listen, that the future my father had promised me long ago would come to pass, that I would be rewarded with the glory so deserved of the Malfoy heir.” Draco turned his gaze to Hermione’s once more, hoping to find some semblance of forgiveness or even consideration for his flimsy excuse of an apology. “I’ve only ever been rewarded with pain. You’re not the only one who knows what Cruciatus feels like, Granger.” The mere thought of the curse made Draco’s right hand twitch. He had learned that his tremors were a result of permanent nerve damage.
He watched as the trio processed the information he laid before them. “Not identifying you three started this–whatever you want to call it–path to self-discovery? If you will allow me, I can help you. I know what you’re after.” He watched as their countenances shifted from wary suspicion to dismissive incredulity.
How the fuck do they still not believe me?
“How do you know what we’re after, Malfoy?” Harry questioned. Draco watched as he removed his cracked glasses attempting to clean them on his jacket.
“I overheard Aunt Bella speaking to the Dark Lord about a diadem hidden somewhere in Hogwarts. I have no idea what that gaudy thing means to him, but I do know where it is. I discovered it while I rotted away in that room throughout sixth year,” Draco sighed. “If they discussed an item located in Hogwarts and you’re about to search a room at Hogwarts, where I know the diadem is located, wouldn’t that be a bit of a coincidence? I’ll take you to it.”
There was a noticeable shift in their demeanors at the mention of the diadem as if the lost relic was the last piece of evidence they needed for his pardon.
Clearly, I should have led with that. I don't know why I thought they would appreciate a bleeding heart. Fuck me.
But before anyone could respond, the foursome heard footsteps approaching. Oh, fuck, that better not be those two fucking idiots.
“Quick, this way,” Draco hissed, as he ushered the group to a hidden cove behind the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He had never understood why the nutter was memorialised in the school. Why did he think the trolls wanted to learn ballet anyways?
“I thought I ‘erd voices.” He instantly recognized the voice of Gaspar Avery. Draco looked to the trio who were standing behind him in their hiding place, silently pleading to everything he held dear that none of them would pull some Gryffindor bullshit.
“I don’t fucking see anyone, mate,” replied a voice Draco couldn’t place.
“Well, maybe they left after they saw your sodding face, mate. ”
“Fuck you, Avery. Let’s keep moving. We can’t be here when they…” his voice trailed off as their footsteps faded.
Draco peaked his head around the tapestry and, when he deemed it was safe, the four huddled in the corridor once more.
“Potter,” he locked eyes with Harry, a last effort to make his point, “we are running out of time. Crabbe and Goyle were ordered to come collect it for him. We’re lucky that wasn’t them. Let me help you.”
“How do we know we can trust you? For all we know, you could be doing his bidding right now. Your actions over the years have spoken much louder than your words,” Hermione reasoned.
“Fine, honestly, I don’t even know why I’m here right now. I’ve told you everything I can. I’ve put my fucking life on the line just standing near you three. If the Dark Lord knew where I was, I’d be Avada’d on the spot,” he replied. No one responded. They simply glanced at each other, sharing those Merlin forsaken looks that would forever piss him off.
If they refused him after his confession, after being so pathetically vulnerable, he would be done with the Order, just as he was done with the Dark Lord. Draco knew he lacked the stamina for continued spurts of irrational bravery; his self-preservation would eventually return. Fuck them, redemption be damned . Just as he was turning on his heel, he stopped.
It was Hermione that spoke first, voice surprisingly firm, “Let’s go then. Lead the way, Malfoy.”
Draco was stunned, he had wanted them to believe him so badly, but truly hadn’t expected them to take him up on his offer. He had known that convincing Harry had been a longshot, but for Hermione to be the one to accept his offer first? Hermione, the girl he had ruthlessly bullied for most of their childhood, who had endured torture at the hands of his mad aunt. She was willing to trust him even after he had stood by and allowed his Aunt Bella to carve ‘mudblood’ on her arm.
Draco finally regained his composure and nodded, “Right, follow me.”
Draco spun around, his black dragonhide shoes echoed against the stone as he marched up to the wall that held the Room of Hidden Things. Walking past the wall three times, he thought to himself, I need somewhere to hide something, somewhere no one will be able to find it, he thought to himself. And just like that, the iron door that haunted all of his nightmares appeared.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Malfoy,” Weasley’s infuriated voice penetrated Draco’s thoughts. “If you betray us, I’ll have no issue with transfiguring you into a ferret again. This little heart-to-heart doesn’t change anything.”
“Weasel, I’m only here to stop being a plaything to a psychotic, half-dead man. I’m not looking to be your mate,” Draco sneered, his lip curling up in disgust. "Are you sure you can even cast the spell, not worried you may end up as…what was it again, a slug?"
“Both of you, enough!” Granger hissed, her hair seemed to crackle with magic as her temper flared. “This is not the time for childish rivalries. It is us versus Volde-, ugh," she stopped, remembering the taboo. "It’s us versus him!” she finished as she shoved Ron through the door after Draco.
“Where’s the diadem?” Harry asked, a sense of urgency in his tone as he looked around the room, surveying the endless trinkets that towered around him. Draco eyed his surroundings, still suffocating I see. It appeared to be the same as it had a year ago, cluttered with centuries worth of forgotten rubbish. Ron had become transfixed with what looked like a fanged frisbee while Hermione just stared in awe at the stacks of books, the unknown knowledge calling to her.
“Are you sure you remember where it is?” Harry asked, attempting to direct his friends’ attention back to the task at hand.
In the distance, Draco heard the ticking of a grandfather clock and the humming of a gramophone. If he strained his ears just enough he could hear the endless flow of the bronze eagle fountain. More than once last year, Draco had sat by it, enjoying the calming bubble of the water repeating its circuitous course. He had overheard a Muggleborn first-year claim that if you throw a coin in a fountain, you would get a wish. There was no telling how many Galleons now lay in the bottom of that stupid fountain, so many lost wishes.
Draco scrubbed a hand over his face before pinching the bridge of his nose, he huffed out an exasperated laugh at the realisation, I am finally going to get my damn wishes . After tonight, I'll be free from the Dark Lord, either by his death or mine.
“Back left corner is where we’ll find the diadem, it’s sitting on a bust of Merlin, near the, uh…” Draco trailed off. “Near the cabinet. Honestly, I probably never would have noticed it if it weren’t for the fact that I once punched the bust in a fit of rage.” The night he had discovered the diadem had been particularly dreadful.
Pansy had once again tried to insert herself into his business.
They were alone in the Slytherin common room together. Pansy had insisted on waiting for Theo and Blaise to return from serving another bout of detention with Professor Sprout after tormenting a group of first-year Hufflepuffs. Draco sat, head thrown back against the couch cushion, listening, rather unwillingly, as Pansy drawled on with her endless gossip. It was early April, and he was running out of time to fix the cabinet. His mother’s well-being was at stake, fuck, his life was at stake. Draco willed the clock to move faster as he cast persistent glances at the door, wishing it would open so that he could leg it the second the two gits walked in.
“Draco, I know I’m with Theo now,” Pansy purred, “but I still have your best interest at heart. Have you thought of bedding Tori? I think a good fuck would do you wonders, don’t you?”
“What?” Draco replied, snapping his head up, only really hearing the words ‘bed’ and ‘fuck'. He watched as Pansy realised he had once again been ignoring her.
“For Salazar's sake, Draco, can you spare me five minutes of your attention?”
“That would be a waste of my five minutes.”
Her brown eyes narrowed, “I am trying to help you get your cock wet. I know you get pissy when it goes too long without the proper attention.”
Draco fought the urge to snarl at her, choosing instead to stare at the clock, just five more minutes.
Pansy moved to place the water glass she had been holding in her hand on the table next to him. She stretched her lithe body across his lap. He heard a feigned innocent “oops'' fall from her scarlet lips as she tipped the glass. The cold water soaked through the sleeve of his white Oxford; the black ink of his Dark Mark all but bleeding through the fabric. Pansy had never taken well to being ignored.
He had his fingers wrapped around her throat before he realised he'd moved. He had acted on instinct. He had seen his father grab his mother similarly in his fits of rage. Pansy’s dark eyes widened in fear and her normally pale skin flushed red as she gasped for air under Draco's grip. Tears gathered in the corners of her dark eyes as she silently pleaded with him.
Draco threw her to the ground and sneered down at her, “What the fuck are you playing at, Parkinson? Does seeing this mark make you regret settling for Nott? Are you that desperate to see if the rumours are true?” Draco loomed over her, eyeing Pansy as she started to crawl away from him, clutching at her throat as she moved.
"Drac-Draco! Stop!" she screamed on the verge of hysterics.
Draco’s cold, grey eyes widened as he saw the fingertip-shaped bruises forming along her neck. He buried the regret building in his chest. He continued coldly, “Parkinson, you don’t deserve my attention. While you may be Theo’s current cock warmer, your golden cunt won’t be able to save you from the Dark Lord. When you interfere in my life, you are interfering in his plans. If you continue this so-called concern for my wellbeing, I’ll fucking kill you if he doesn’t beat me to it.” Draco smoothed his clothing, dusting invisible lint from his black suit. He stepped over Pansy’s crumpled form, leaving her crying on the common room floor. He made his way to the door, no longer caring to wait for Blaise and Theo’s return.
Fuck.
He was practically sprinting to the room now. There would be questions in the morning, as there was no way Pansy would keep her mouth shut about this.
Theo is going to be livid.
He released a breath as he finally crossed the threshold. As he made his way further into the maze that was the Room of Requirement, he delighted in the vast silence of the room; it was a welcome relief. Despite the deadline at hand, the room had become a safe haven of sorts. No one could find him there, it was just him and that bloody vanishing cabinet. As he moved, the cabinet came into view. Its menacing shadow engulfed him, and Draco felt the tears springing from his eyes before he could stop them. He released a broken scream that left his throat raw. He lashed out at the closest thing in striking distance, which happened to be a gods awful marble bust of Merlin.
“FUCK!” the room swallowed his anguished cry. He shouldn’t have touched Pansy. Yes, she could be an annoying bitch, but he had promised himself he would never lay a hand on a woman. Draco had sworn to himself that he would never become his father, that he would never engage in the abuse that was common among pureblood males. And yet, at the first crack in his sturdy fortifications, he had choked Pansy.
Merlin's head broke off, clattering on the ground; the noise shattered the silence. He felt the blood trickle down his hand, quite certain it was broken. Draco let out a frustrated sigh, I hope that wasn't cursed.
He bent down to pick up the head only to find a silver tiara that he hadn't noticed before. He grabbed the crown and turned it over in his hands, examining the utterly exquisite piece. He was momentarily entranced as the diamonds and sapphires gleamed in the torchlight, Ravenclaw’s maxim ‘Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure’ was carved into the narrow interior band.
Bloody hell, is that….
Draco instantly knew what he was holding in his hands: the missing diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. Under normal circumstances, Draco would have placed it upon his head knowing the legend stated that the wearer would be granted infinite wisdom.
Maybe, with the diadem, I can finally fix this damned cabinet.
However, the malevolent energy radiating from the diadem made Draco’s skin crawl. He was no stranger to Dark Magic–the crown’s magical signature was eerily reminiscent of the power he felt in the presence of the Dark Lord. That being so, he replaced it, and the bust’s severed head, on the small table; he refused to become a pawn again. He would rather reject the offer of immense power and choose freedom than fall for the lies of another powerful wizard. Taking one last look at the piece of jewellery, he sighed and mentally prepared himself for another long night.
***
“And you didn’t recognize the diadem for what it was?!” Granger accused, her voice pulling him out of his memory and back to the present.
Draco turned his head to see Hermione stepping up beside him. He wondered what she was thinking after everything he had confessed. Did she regret placing even just a sliver of trust in him now that she saw where he had plotted the murder of her beloved headmaster?
Draco could have gone to Dumbledore, he could have handed over the Dark Lord’s base of operations and maybe it wouldn’t have come to this.
“Of course, I realised what it was, Granger, but I could feel the Dark Magic rolling off of it. I have enough darkness in my life, no need to add any more,” Draco snipped, turning to lead them to the back of the room. “Now, if you lot are done with the twenty questions, follow me,” he called over his shoulder.
“Oi! When were you elected group leader?” Ron shouted after him. Draco turned to see his face flushed with anger.
“For fucking Salazars sake! Can you stop your moaning? I’ve made it abundantly clear that I am here to help you three! Did you not hear anything I just said or are you really that daft?”
“Mate, drop it,” Harry offered, sounding quite defeated as he looked at Ron. Potterfuck, ever the peacemaker. “I want this war over and done with, and if Malfoy can help us end it, then we need to give him a chance.”
“No need to get sappy, Potter,” Draco smirked. “Now, if you are done with your pissing fit, let’s go.”
Draco led the group, weaving through the stacks of books and other discarded items. Though it had been a year since he had been in the room, his feet still knowingly carried him toward the cabinet’s location. Merlin be damned. His steps slowed as the cabinet came into view, tall and foreboding as ever, it towered over them. It was just as Draco remembered with the same Dark Magic thrumming around it. The silver hinges were like vines, creeping up and out as if they were a Devil's Snare plant waiting to swallow its next victim.
“ Incendio !” The spell came from behind him, and he turned to see Granger pointing her wand at the cabinet before pocketing it back in her denim jacket.
“Hogwarts doesn’t need another entry point,” she muttered, looking up at him, a challenging look in her amber eyes.
“Agreed,” Draco responded as he pointed to the left, “your diadem should be over there.”
“Malfoy was right, I can feel it,” Harry said, unable to conceal the excitement in his tone. Harry took a step forward, closing the distance between them and the diadem.
“Merlin, Potter, didn’t know we had another Trelawney on our hands,” Draco responded sardonically.
“No, it’s different for him, Malfoy. What Harry is feeling is completely singular,” Hermione huffed at Draco’s quip.
“What do we have here?” The voice echoed throughout the room.
The four of them whipped their heads to see the looming forms of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle upon them, wands out.
Bloody hell. Why couldn’t they have been late like fucking usual?
“Two blood traitors, the Chosen One, and a Mudblood whore,” Crabbe taunted, a crazed smile crossing his face.
I bet Bella taught him that.
Greg remained quiet and as their eyes met, Draco wondered for a moment if it was regret that flashed across his perturbed expression.
“Oi, Mudblood, are Weasley and Potter’s cocks so soft that you had to bed a pureblood? Hope she wasn’t a virgin when you took her, Draco. No telling what filthy Muggle blood would do to your knob.”
Malfoy warned, “Crabbe, shut the fuck up, mate.”
But Vincent kept pushing, “Does Malfoy's cock exceed your expectations? Did you give him an Outstanding? He’s always had a soft spot for a good piece of arse.”
“That’s enough!” Ron snarled, spittle flying from his lips. Draco watched as his face twisted with anger, his blue eyes turning murderous.
“What’s wrong gingerfuck? Don’t like to share the Golden Girls golden cu-?”
“STU…,” Harry began to shout but stopped when Vincent doubled over, shrieking in pain. Draco looked at Hermione, a smirk on her face. What the fuck just happened?
“What the fuck did you just do to him?!” Greg screamed. “STUPEFY!”
Greg hurled the spell at Hermione, but Harry and Ron quickly blocked it before it reached their friend. Draco watched as Harry and Ron went on the offence, flinging spell after spell at his own friends, forcing Greg and a hoveling Crabbe to retreat. Hermione grabbed the diadem and Draco grabbed her hand, pulling her through the shelves towards the exit.
“Malfoy, STOP! We have to help them,” the witch begged as he dragged her away, but Draco refused to listen.
“I think you’ve done enough, Granger. We’ve got to get the fuck out of here,” he murmured, eyes darting as he moved.
“Draco, please!” He froze at the sound of his name.
Had she ever called him Draco before?
He turned to look at her as she pleaded, “We have to go back to Obliviate them, making sure they forget that they saw us here, and then we can destroy–” her words were cut short as a roar echoed through the room. They turned to see a pillar of fire rising from the stacks just beyond them.
“Granger, that’s fucking Fiendfyre! We have to move NOW!”
The aisles behind them were quickly engulfed by the waves of flames rising around them. Draco could not only see, but he could also feel the inferno spreading. The heat reminded him of the first task from the Triwizard tournament during their fourth year. Despite being in the stands, he recalled the feel of the dragon’s fire scorching his skin. Now, as the Fiendfyre threatened to envelop them, his only thought was to run.
That Incendio was unnecessary eh, Granger?
Draco began to run towards the exit, pulling Hermione by the hand once more. They weaved through the aisles, stopping only when their names were shouted from above. Draco looked up to see Harry, Ron, and Greg on brooms lowering themselves to allow the pair to climb on.
Crabbe was nowhere to be seen, and Draco knew that, of the group of imbeciles, he would have been the only one thick enough to cast Fiendfyre. Foregoing any questions about partner choices, Draco helped Granger onto the Weasel’s broomstick while he joined Potter. As they all raced towards the exit, Draco watched in shock as Granger threw the diadem into the cursed flames that were quickly rising, an eerie wail echoed out of the fire as the crown disappeared into its depths.
They tumbled through the door, and Draco slammed it shut, locking the fire in the room as he threw a quick Colloportus behind him. With the door secured, he tumbled from Harry’s broom, watching as the door shrunk, disappearing from view. He leaned against the wall, coughing, trying to clear his lungs of the smoke.
“Granger, the diadem, what the fuck was that?” Draco managed to say between gasps of air.
Her face was covered in soot and her hands were frantically trying to tie back her hair from where it had escaped what was left of her braid.
“Fiendfyre can destroy Horcruxes," she explained breathlessly.
“What the fuck is a Horcrux?”
“It’s how You-Know-Who planned his immortality. He transferred parts of his soul into objects, the diadem was one of them.”
“Ah, that’s why Aunt Bella was distraught when she thought you had been in her vault. There was one in there, wasn’t there?”
“Yes, there was. At least something good came from Crabbe’s lack of judgement.” She paused before continuing, “I’m sorry, Malfoy. I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” her voice thick, full of remorse, “I know he was your friend.”
Draco crossed his arms over his knees and looked back to where the door to the Room of Hidden Things had previously been. Despite it being Crabbe’s final resting place, Draco couldn’t help but find some peace in knowing that the room was now sealed, all of his memories consumed by flames. It was as if the Fiendfyre had cleansed the room, forging a new path for him in its wake.
"Malfoy, he cast the curse, lost control of his wand and it consumed him," Ron quickly stated. His voice wasn't full of his typical anger, and if Draco didn't know better, he almost sounded cautious, like he was afraid that Draco would turn on them following Crabbe's death.
He fortified his mind before answering, attempting to sound indifferent, "I know how it fucking works, Weasel. Crabbe was a git for even attempting to cast it. The Dark Lord’s inner circle doesn't even use Fiendfyre–it’s too unstable, even for the most powerful wizards.” With that statement, the four of them looked to Greg who was sitting silently by the wall, appearing not to notice the conversation at hand.
“Please, just stun me,” he whispered, finally acknowledging their presence. “I don’t want to fight, I have done enough damage to last a lifetime. Someone will find me when this is all over.” Draco watched as a small tear fell down Greg’s cheek.
Raking his hands through his blonde hair once, Draco sighed and pointed his wand at Greg.
“Stupefy,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. He watched as his former friend slumped over, head lolling onto his shoulder.
Draco lifted his eyes to the three Gryffindors. He watched as various emotions flickered across their faces–disbelief, shock, confusion. He understood that they were processing his actions, that his behaviour within the last hour contradicted everything they knew of him.
Draco almost smiled, acknowledging that for once, he had made a choice, the correct choice. However, during his moment of pride, he couldn’t stop the little voice that sounded too much like his father from pushing past Occlumency and whispering, you will fail them, Draco, as you have failed our family...
Draco ignored the voice and buried it once more. He then turned to face Harry. “What now, Potter?”