Chapter Text
It was a ruse. All of it.
This curiously quiet past year and a half. The scarce appearances of Death Eaters across the wizarding world. The slow return to normal daily life.
Not that Draco minded, of course. Though his shoulders still carried the weight of his role in all of this, the bulk of it had lightened for a moment there. He could sit in the Slytherin common room with his peers and not have to humiliatingly hide the breathing exercises the healer had taught him when talk of the Dark Lord triggered his panic attacks. He could go home to the Manor and sit at the table with just two or three Death Eaters as his dinner guests, rather than the whole lot. The Dark Lord himself could come to visit and Draco would not be required to be in the room.
But it would be foolish to act as though everything had completely stopped. Muggles were still being murdered. The attacks were calculated now; just fewer and farther in between. Some of the most ancient wizarding families were being taken out, their bloodlines coming to a complete stop in just a moment’s notice, either because of their blood status or allegiances. Dementors stayed in the shadows. When they emerged, it would make the news. Then they would be gone again
It was sad how quickly the wizarding world had adapted to these nuances. Draco could hear them whisper.
“Yeah, it’s sad… but at least it’s not tragic.”
“Maybe we will be okay.”
“Maybe it’s over.”
Draco’s lip would curl instinctually. He knew the truth. It was coming. The time Voldemort had waited for was coming. Now that he had let everyone get comfortable, his reign of terror would be more significant. Just how he liked it.
And so there he was. Draco Malfoy was entering Hogwarts for his last year. It felt like a joke- like something scripted, as if he were a part of this whole production. Keeping up the ruse so no one would be ready when it all started again. He scowled at the smiling students all around him. They had no idea. No idea that the next Death Eater meeting was coming up and everyone would be in attendance again, at the same table Draco had enjoyed his childhood Christmas dinners at. It made him hate the innocent students even more than he already did. The First Years, the Fifth Years, his fellow Seventh Years. He would do anything to get just a minute's worth of their delusion. To feel relief for just a moment. To be unburdened by the sensation of not knowing.
“Draco, mate,” Blaise Zabini’s voice pierced through his train of thought so fiercely, he almost jumped. “What classes do you have tomorrow?”
Draco hardened his jaw once more, trying to hide the moment of vulnerability he had almost let cross his face. The result was a most unwelcoming glare directed at his friend. That is, if Blaise could still be considered a friend. Draco had started being distant to just about everyone at the end of Fifth Year, when the reality of his life had really set in.
Everyone else, however, took even more interest in him. Of course their parents had sent them off to school, telling them to ask the young Malfoy about what was going on in the Manor. Had he heard anything? Had he met Voldemort? What was to happen next? At that point, Draco nearly became mute. These were the last things he wanted to talk about, yet no one would talk about anything else. He had learned to perfect his hard stare and scare off peers, acquaintances, and even friends, one by one.
“Who’s pissed in your pumpkin juice?” Blaise asked, with an annoyed tone.
“You’re asking me about class?”
“Well, we’re at school, are we not?”
How could anyone worry about school at a time like this? Draco handed Blaise his schedule parchment absentmindedly.
“Bloody Salazar, see?” Blaise’s annoyance had escalated. “You and Pansy both have potions in the afternoon, why did they give me a morning class? I don’t want to smell those repulsive fumes the minute I wake up. Will you talk to Snape for me?”
“Snape doesn’t teach potions anymore.” Draco drawled.
“Yeah, but he’d still be able to switch me out.” Blaise looked over at him now. This time, his hard look was intentional. “Come on, he’ll do anything for you.”
This was another reason he had stopped speaking to everyone. They always wanted something from him. Talk to Snape for me. Buy a drink for me, I know you have enough. Tell your father that my father has done everything he’s asked for. Fuck me, so I can look more interesting to the rest of our classmates.
“Sure, Zabini. I’ll talk to him.” Draco sighed. Best not isolate himself entirely. If Blaise was going to hang around, he would let him. The last thing he needed was Blaise’s father communicating to Lucius that Draco was disconnecting himself from the Slytherins. If his father breathed down his neck any heavier, Draco was sure he would buckle under the weight of it.
His father. Draco had memories of Lucius that were good- happy, even. He used to read him bedtime stories and bring him out to the stables to see the baby dragons. He had taught Draco to ride a broom and to play Quidditch, things Draco still loved to this day. But those memories were so far away.
It seemed that the minute Draco had stepped into Hogwarts for the first time, he had lost his father figure. At least, his loving father figure. He had much reason to believe this was because of Harry Potter. With The Boy Who Lived finally living in the wizarding world, ready to learn magic, things got tense fast. It was part of the reason Draco had hated Harry so much. He blamed him for taking his father away from him. Ever since that first day on the Hogwarts Express, Draco never returned home to a father who was kind to him. In fact, it was as if his father had completely replaced the thought of Draco in his mind with some little toy Malfoy soldier. He would tell Draco what to do, what to say, and when to do and say it. While his mother tried to give him a normal school boy experience, Lucius always overrode her empathetic lessons with more clinical ones.
Narcissa would say ‘Treat women nicely,’ and Lucius would say ‘Don’t bother with those girls there. We will find you a wife we want you to have.’
Narcissa told him ‘Try out for the Quidditch team, dear,’ but Lucius had already robbed him of that chance, having bought Draco’s way onto the team with shiny new brooms.
Now, he wished he could go back to those trivial disparities. He wished he could go back to when Lucius was just mean. Draco could handle mean. But he feared his father. He feared him more than he feared Voldemort. More than he feared death. And his mother did too. The image of Narcissa flinching as Lucius called her name flickered across his mind, as it did frequently. That had been six months ago now, and Draco had not forgotten it for one second. In that instant, every desire to please his father had completely left Draco’s body. If he wasn’t so scared of the man, he would have dueled him right there. But there was no disrespecting your elders when you were a Malfoy.
A familiar voice once again sent Draco’s train of thought off the rails. It was so difficult for him to stay focused on one thing these days. He often felt the paranoia eating on his insides as he lay sleepless at night.
“Yes, tomorrow night. Tell Cho,” Harry Potter said. Draco turned around to scan the hallways before catching sight of that unkempt black hair. He was speaking to Loony Lovegood. “Tell her to bring her friends. But they will have to sign Hermione’s contract.”
Draco blanched. They were still meeting. Potter and his little Dumbledore’s Army were still meeting regularly to practice defense tactics. They hadn’t given into the illusion of “normalcy” or “safety.” For a second, Draco’s heart soared. Blaise’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to humility.
“Mate?” His voice was apprehensive. “What’s with you today?”
Draco shook his head, continuing on to the dungeons with Blaise. “Bloody tired,” was all he managed to mutter out. Not a lie, for whatever that was worth.
Still, his head was reeling. Hot off the anger of the oblivious Hogwarts students and the memory of his mother’s frightened face as she heard the voice of her own husband, Draco pretended he was a brave man for the moment. He had considered his options for ways out before. He was still a student- a child , though he had legally dropped that label months ago. If he wanted to get out, he would need to do so now. The longer this war went on, the older he would get, and the more he would be responsible for.
“There you wankers are!” Pansy’s voice greeted them in the common room, her arms around Draco quickly. To his surprise, the smell of her hair was comforting. It reminded him of when they had been intimate, though those moments had never been solace for Draco at the time. Distraction, at best. She smelled like sage and patchouli. Draco relished in the hug for a moment too long. “Woah, what’s up with handsy over here?” She pulled away from him to hug Blaise as well.
“‘Bloody tired,’ is what he said,” Blaise told her. “Personally, I think our friend’s gone ‘round the bend.” He made a cuckoo gesture with his fingers.
“Sod off,” Draco spat. “If I’m not allowed to be tired around my loving friends, I shall be tired elsewhere.”
He turned and made for the dorms, not looking back. Really, he was the opposite of annoyed. He needed to be alone right now, and he was grateful for the excuse.
“Oh, come on,” Blasie complained as Pansy let out a long ‘booooo,’ as if she were at a Quidditch match and Slytherin had just fumbled a point.
Once alone in his bed, he pulled all of the tapestries shut. Like a ritual, he let his occlumency walls down around what he had spent so much time closing off. It often helped him feel less guilty to do so when he felt entirely disconnected from the world. Behind these walls, were thoughts of betraying his father. Betraying the purebloods. Betraying Voldemort.
His mother did not have to tell him she was unhappy for him to see that. And since his father was not going to do anything about it, he felt he was the only one who could.
Admittedly, his options did not look good:
- Do what he knows to be wrong and follow in his father’s footsteps to become Voldemnort’s next plaything- a Death Eater. Inevitably, he would do this poorly, as he did not match their beliefs, nor did he think he could produce an Unforgivable Curse even if he took the right, albeit dangerous, combination of potions to do so. This would have consequences from his father and Voldemort himself. But he would be spared. He would still be a Death Eater.
- He could do what he knows to be right and join the other side of the war with the lot of his classmates whose parents weren’t Death Eaters. There were two outcomes here. The first was to be successful at this (unlikely) or fail and be killed. Not even his father could save him from the reach of a betrayed Dark Lord.
Living in shame with a psychopath as a father and another psychopath as his father’s keeper sounded like the worst fate one could have. He would choose death any day.
He came to this conclusion for the fifth time now. He had mulled these options over in his head many times over the last year and a half. He had even looked for more options to add to the list. There weren’t any. And though the answer to the riddle had not changed, he still felt a knot in his stomach as he reached the conclusion.
Usually, when he got to this point, he put his occlumency walls back up and carried on with his day. He would always have more time to think about it later. But time had run out. He had to figure out how to execute his plan- and fast.
As it would seem, to his grave misfortune, Potter might be the only one who could help him.
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Draco knew where to find the Room of Requirement thanks to his little stint in the Inquisitorial Squad in Fifth Year. In all honesty, he had foolishly thought it a way out at the time. Umbridge, though no Death Eater, ran with Voldemort’s loyalists. His extremely broken, extremely desperate line of thinking was that if Voldemort asked for any Hogwarts updates, perhaps Umbridge would throw his name into the conversation. Maybe then the Dark Lord would see at least he was doing something to further his agenda, especially inside the walls of Hogwarts, where it mattered most at the time. As if the Dark Lord ever took anyone’s efforts and patted them on the back. He had seen it a million times with his father. Complete one task and it was onto the next. That was, of course, if the Dark Lord was feeling generous. It was more often than not a million tasks at once, especially for the head of the Malfoy family. Draco could nearly laugh at how foolish he had been for thinking Voldemort would treat him any different. He was the one and only heir of Malfoy, of course.
Potter had only said ‘tomorrow night’ in his rendezvous with the Lovegood girl, so Draco hadn’t the slightest idea when to show up. He decided on right past curfew, since they wouldn’t want to risk any of the wrong eyes falling upon the hidden doorway. He leaned against the archway that led to the seemingly empty hallway. That way, he could simply be lurking; finding his own private spot to loiter about. Everything about his night had been painstakingly planned out and calculated.
Draco loosened his tie from around his neck, finding it was very hot in this section of the castle. Or perhaps it was all in his head. He wondered how long it would take the Slytherin group to realize he was gone. Where would they go looking for him first (if at all)? Was this the most idiotic idea he’d ever had?
He paced back and forth, rather erratically, perpendicular to the hallway. His fingernails dug into his own palms as he clenched his fists. He was so tense his neck was beginning to feel sore. Maybe Potter’s crew was already inside. That meant they would all exit together. That just wouldn’t do. Draco decided that if that was the case, he would simply abandon this plan and pretend he never had it. There had to be a way he could do this without Saint Potter’s help.
Footsteps coming his way stopped him in his tracks.
No, don’t stop. He told himself. Look mysterious. Menacing.
He continued to pace, straightening his posture a bit and biting his teeth together so his jaw would look sharper than ever. The footsteps shuffled to a stop.
“Malfoy?” Oh, bloody hell.
“Granger,” Draco replied as dryly as possible, turning to meet the witch.
She had a bag slung on her shoulder and was still in her school robes like she was simply headed to another class. She was shorter than he remembered, or perhaps he had gotten taller. Or he simply was not used to sharing a room with anyone who was not a Death Eater. Looking down his nose at her was much easier this way.
Of course, with his luck, it had to have been Granger that he ran into. He wasn’t sure what to think of that.
“Erm… what- what are you doing in this…” Her eyes flicked through the archway, where they both knew the Room of Requirement would be. “Empty hallway?”
His eye roll was nearly instinctual. “Oh, don’t be thick. I know about your little Dumbledore’s Army. ”
“You- you what?” Draco was impressed, to be honest. The only thing that gave away her fear was her stuttering. Granger’s facial expression remained entirely stoic.
“Give it up. I’m not going to snitch. I have better things to be doing.” He said through his teeth. Then he motioned down the hallway. “Well? Go on, go in.”
This is where his perfectly calculated little plan fell apart. What had he thought was going to happen? He would just follow her right inside? Would he rather it have been Potter that showed up? Or worst of all, Weasley? Granger was the least likely to hex him before letting him speak first, after all. Maybe this was the perfect opportunity. His perfect chance.
She was standing there, rocking back and forth on her feet, unsure of what to do herself.
“Fine. I’m going,” He gestured his arms out to his sides before finally turning on his heel and heading through the archway. Always the coward. Do you want to do this or not?
“Wait!” Granger called, barely letting him take more than two steps. Draco stopped and turned his body slightly; only just enough to catch her in his peripheral view. “Um, nevermind.”
He rolled his eyes with great force and muttered a curse under his breath. At her, at himself, he wasn’t sure. He continued on his way, ready to round the corner to the far staircase and immediately berate himself on such a pathetic spectacle. But as he passed the empty wall, the stones began to move.
Draco stopped and watched as the door to the Room of Requirement revealed itself. He had seen it twice before- once with the Inquisitorial Squad, when they had followed Lovegood here. And once when he had needed a place to cry and the second floor girl’s bathroom with Moaning Myrtle had already been occupied. The door always looked the same, but never what was inside. He wondered why it had opened for him now and what the inside may hold. He should peek in, just for a moment. Clearly he required something and the Room wanted to provide it to him. Just then, he looked back at Granger to see her teetering at the archway, her eyes just as curious to know what lay inside for him. She looked like a meerkat ready to pounce.
Draco sneered before rounding the corner and hurrying down the staircase, hearing the bricks move back into place behind him.
Always the coward.