Chapter Text
Draco sighed in relief as the Manor came back into view. He'd forgotten how hot it was at home and was regretting going on a ride at all.
"Sorry, Ares, I know you wanted a longer ride," Draco said, patting his horse's neck consolingly. Ares tossed his head back as Draco dismounted and led him into the stable.
He spent a good half hour brushing him down before reluctantly heading back into the house. It wasn't that he hated being home, it was more that he'd been away at school in the big city and he'd forgotten how his father could get. Perhaps he did hate being home, a bit.
His mother was the only good thing about it, he thought, as he quietly entered through a back door and tried to think of where she might be right now.
Just as he reached the stairs, however, he heard his aunt shriek from the front parlor.
"Draco would know, wouldn't he? They went to school around the same time! Go fetch him!"
He didn't have enough time to run off and hide, so Draco turned with resignation when he heard footsteps.
Yaxley, one of his father's ranch hands, rounded the corner.
"You're needed in the parlor," the man said gruffly.
Draco nodded, and strode forward, careful not to brush the man as he passed him. Yaxley was a rough character, like many of the cowboys his father hired, and they all disgusted him. They disgusted his mother, too, and usually they stayed out of the house on her not-so-subtle request. Draco wondered what necessity had driven Yaxley into the house today. Whatever it was couldn't be good, he decided, pushing open the parlor door.
He promptly stopped in his tracks.
Four more of his father's men were there, and kneeling at their feet, hands bound behind their backs, were three people Draco had not seen in four long years.
"Draco!" Bellatrix exclaimed, clapping her hands like a child. "You must know – tell us!"
Lucius watched him hopefully as Draco slowly entered, pretending he needed a better look.
"Tell you what, exactly?" Draco feigned ignorance. "And who are these people?"
"That's what we were hopin' you could confirm for us, son," his father said, in a tone that made Draco want to vomit. It was a good thing he hadn't eaten lunch yet.
"I haven't a clue," Draco said, wrinkling his nose and raking his eyes over the bound and gagged trio. "They're dirtying up our parlor, though."
"But, Draco," his aunt said, frantically, "we think this is Scarhead, Ginger, and Mudblood – the heart of the Phoenix Posse! You went to school with them, didn't you?"
"Yes." Draco frowned and crossed his arms. "But I can't be sure this is them. That one's got red hair, I suppose, but there are a few dozen like him in that old shack across town. And what's happened to his face?"
He pointed at the one he was sure was Scarhead, covered in blood and dirt, and sporting a half-swollen face.
"Said he'd been stung, he did," one of Lucius' men said.
Draco snorted. That was an understatement.
"Well, I think it's them," his aunt said obstinately. "We should send for the sheriff. All members of the Phoenix Posse are wanted."
"We're not sure," his father hissed. "He won't like it if his time's wasted."
Bellatrix's face twisted in frustration. "Fine. Take these two," she gestured at Scarhead and Ginger, "and toss 'em in the cellar until that swelling's down."
His father's men roughly picked up Scarhead and Ginger, the latter of which had managed to work his gag out of his mouth and had begun to protest about unfair treatment, as well as make some crude remarks about their genitalia (or lack thereof).
"And the girl?" Draco could tell Lucius was amused at Bellatrix's ordering people about in his house.
His aunt hummed, a gleam lighting her eye. Draco shuddered.
"I think your foreman works very hard, doesn't he."
His father smiled with a gleaming flash of teeth.
"Of course," Lucius conceded, nodding in approval, and Draco fought back the bile threatening to rise up his throat. The Mudblood glared at him as he made his exit, but Draco couldn't have possibly made himself stay a moment longer.
He fled to his room, collapsed back against the door, ran a trembling hand through his hair, and tried to think.
It had only been two weeks since he'd arrived home from the big city. He had expected to return and learn how to run the ranch, have afternoon tea with his mother on occasion, and try to ignore his father's outdated and prejudiced opinions as best he could.
Instead, it seemed those opinions had grown and permeated nearly every aspect of life here. Or perhaps, Draco mused, it had always been this way and he had been too young to recognize it for what it was. He could clearly see now the way he had acted when he was in school had been a cruel, direct image of the behavior he'd seen Lucius display today.
For goodness' sakes, Draco had been the first to call the girl in the parlor Mudblood. Spat it out of his mouth at her one day in grade two when they'd piled into the yard, and the entire rest of the school had taken it up. He didn't even properly remember her first name anymore. It started with an H, as far as he recalled – Hermy? Herman? Neither of those were right, but he was sure he was close.
The only reason she'd been allowed at school in the first place was because her father was the town dentist, and nobody had wanted to tell him no when he'd asked. Not that he would've messed up anyone's teeth out of spite – he was a kind man, as far as Draco remembered.
Draco's own opinions had not changed until he went to live with his Aunt Andromeda in the big city. Lucius liked to say he'd sent his son to get educated, but everyone knew it had been his mother's doing. Lucius was country, born and raised, and hadn't seen much point to more education than what he'd got himself — and he'd stopped after three years, less than even their town offered — because he'd done well enough, hadn't he? Nobody could argue that, because he owned the largest ranch in the state, and perhaps even in all the western states combined.
But Draco's mother was from a family with old money, and good schooling was a standard and point of pride. It was one thing she would not budge on.
Draco wondered, now, if his mother had an ulterior motive in sending him to Andromeda's house, because she must have known who her sister married. Lucius hadn't, or else Draco never would've been allowed to go.
He quite vividly remembered meeting his aunt for the first time. His aunt had been holding a sign with his name on it, because there were so many other people milling about the train station – and that had been a surprise in itself – but it was nothing to when Draco had learned that the native man standing next to her was not her servant, but her husband.
Draco had been too shocked to say anything outright rude, but he most certainly had thought them.
He'd stubbornly hung on to his prejudiced thoughts at first, but the problem had been that he simply couldn't find anything to hate about his aunt's husband. The man was always incredibly patient and kind despite Draco's best attempts at obstinance.
By the end of his schooling, a large part of Draco had wanted to stay with them, dreading the thought of going back to where he came from, but Andromeda convinced him he might be able to do some good if he went back. That, and he did want to see his mother again.
He had not expected things to be this bad. It was practically outright war against the natives, who had been pushed further down the valley than he remembered, and Sheriff Riddle and his deputies, Wormtail and Lestrange, took every excuse to arrest anyone with any skin tone warmer than a suntan.
That was the reason he'd once called the dentist's daughter Mudblood: her father may have been white, but the woman who'd given birth to her had most definitely not been. Draco wasn't sure how he felt about the girl taking his nasty nickname as a title. He couldn't even think that word without regret and significant self-reproach.
Draco sighed and looked around his room. He felt calmer after a few minutes away from the parlor, and he felt sure about what he must do.
But first, there were a few things he had to find.
"Dobbs!" Draco called, stepping into the kitchen.
It was midafternoon, and the cook hadn't started prep for supper yet, but Draco knew the cook's son was usually within shouting distance. Sure enough, it was only a few moments before Dobbs' round face poked around the door frame.
"Draco!" Dobbs cried in delight, as he did every time he saw him. He grinned, causing his large ears to stick out even more.
As if there weren't enough things for Draco to regret about his behavior as a child, here was another. He and Dobbs had grown up together, but he had never been remotely kind to the boy.
Unintelligent was a kind way of describing Dobbs, and Draco should have known better than to treat him poorly because of it. Yet Dobbs never held anything against Draco. In Dobbs' eyes, Draco had never done a wrong thing in his life. It baffled Draco, but he was grateful for it now.
"Dobbs," he said, "did you know there's been some men thrown in the cellar?"
Dobbs shook his head, mouth gaping.
"Well," Draco continued, "I think it would be real nice if you took 'em some water, don't you?"
"Yeah," Dobbs said, nodding his head almost violently. "Very nice, Dobbs thinks."
Draco smiled, and held out a full canteen to him, careful not to shake it, although he was sure Dobbs wouldn't notice if an odd clinking sound came from inside it.
"Go ahead and take that down, then, Dobbs," he said. Dobbs took it carefully. "The doors are probably locked, but I think you'll be able to lift them up a bit and slide that in for them."
Draco knew it for a fact, actually. It had been his father's favorite punishment, locking him in the cellar, and his mother had often slid him this very canteen beneath its doors. When Draco was a little older, he'd discovered that he could stick his arm out that little gap. After that, he'd found his father's key and had it copied. Any time he was locked in, he'd slip his arm out, unlock the doors, and then sneak back in before his father was any wiser.
Hopefully, neither Scarhead nor Ginger choked on the key he'd stuck in the canteen.
Dobbs scurried off, pleased as punch at his errand, and Draco left the kitchen as well, heading for his mother's private sitting room. She was sure to be up from her afternoon rest by now. He found her sitting in her usual chair, embroidering some garment or other, and taking tea.
"Draco, dear, do come in," she said, setting her work in her lap.
"I really can't today," Draco said, regret heavy in his voice. "Ares wasn't happy with his short ride this morning. I'm taking him out to stretch his legs again."
"Oh," she said, in a strange tone, and then she paused for just a beat too long. "Well, be safe dear."
"As always, mother," Draco said. He was barely three steps down the hall when he heard his mother call out, "Your father's men take the cattle into the north pasture this time of day."
Draco smiled.
He stopped by the stables first to saddle up Ares, who eyed him sidelong when he entered his stall.
"You up for another ride?" Draco asked, teasingly, and Ares snorted at him. "Yeah, yeah, stupid question."
He led Ares outside and tied him to the hitching post, letting his mind run through his checklist of things one more time, until he was satisfied that everything was either in the small pack on his back, belt around his waist, or already in Ares' saddlebags, and then he walked over to the foreman's quarters.
The door was unlocked, as expected, but what he saw inside stopped him cold.
Draco had intended to get in, untie the girl, and get out.
He hadn't anticipated Yaxley's presence.
"What are you doing?" Draco called sharply, and Yaxley nearly jumped a mile. As he stepped back, Draco saw, to his stark relief, that most of her shirt buttons were still done up.
"Well, I mean," Yaxley's mouth worked back and forth, "yer father said – "
"I don't care," Draco said, in his very best authoritative manner. "Get out."
Yaxley squinted his eyes and grumbled beneath his breath, but shuffled toward the door. Draco took a few steps in, wanting to stay a healthy distance away from the revolting man, but he was still close enough to hear him mutter, "Shouldn't a been takin' my sweet time, shoulda been – "
Draco snapped.
He certainly wasn't the fastest draw, but he'd clocked respectable times, and his gun was out, trigger pulled, and Yaxley dead before the next word had a chance to leave his mouth.
The only sound he could hear was his own harsh breath, and the whole world seemed to slow. He lowered his arm gradually, his gun still smoking.
A groan finally caught his ear, and he jerked his head up to see Herman – he really had nothing better to call her – looking at him with wide, urgent eyes. They galvanized him into action once again. He holstered his gun, trying not to show how his hand shook, and drew his switchblade, quickly slicing the ropes that bound her.
As soon as she had one hand free, she ripped off the gag and half-whispered, half-shouted, "Are you crazy?"
Draco paused in the midst of putting his knife back into the pouch on his belt. "No?"
Herman glared at him. "You couldn't have found a way to kill him quietly?"
"I wasn't planning on killing anybody!" Draco hissed back. "I just wanted to save your damn life!"
Her mouth opened, and then closed. She glanced away, eyes looking at everything but him.
"I think you saved me from a lot more than that," she said, so quietly he wasn't sure he'd heard right, and then it was he who couldn't look at her.
"Did you have an escape plan?" she asked, a few moments later, and Draco's eyes snapped to hers.
"Oh – yes," he said. "My horse's outside."
"Excellent," she said, business-like, and marched for the door. Draco followed her and watched with amusement as she stamped on Yaxley's head on the way out.
He mounted first and helped her up behind him. Ares grumbled at the extra weight, but Draco knew he could handle it and spurred him into a steady gait. Gunshots weren't uncommon to hear around the ranch, but with his sounding off so close to the house, it was only a matter of time before someone moseyed on over to check it out.
Sure enough, they were barely over the rise of the first hill when a loud cry was heard, and Draco dug his heels in, urging Ares to go faster.
He felt Herman turning to look back.
"They've spotted us," she said, close to his ear, and not a second later he heard the shouts.
Anything he might've tried to say back would surely be swallowed up by the wind before she could hear it, and so Draco said nothing, instead pushing Ares forward. His horse was reluctant to pick up speed — that is, until the bullets began whizzing past.
The first struck the ground to their left, spraying the dirt up so high that Draco felt some hit his face. Ares didn't hold back after that, but the bullets kept coming.
"Do you trust me?" Herman practically yelled in his ear, and he nodded desperately.
Honestly, what did she think? He obviously couldn't trust the people who were literally shooting at them.
"Up there," she said, pointing at a hill sloping quickly up from the flatter ground around it. "Turn right at the tree."
There was only one tree she could mean, and when they reached it, Draco leaned in and tugged hard on the reins. Ares made the turn easily, and they abruptly found themselves in a narrow canyon.
"Again!"
In lieu of actually explaining, she reached around him and pulled on the rein, turning his horse sharply to the right again, into what at first appeared to be solid canyon wall, but once Ares was nearly completely turned around, they were in a small, hidden offshoot.
It was short, just long enough for them to fit, and they sat quietly, listening.
"How many?" Draco asked her.
"Six," she replied, as the first hoofbeats sounded from the main canyon, and they both waited with bated breath as all six galloped past.
Draco felt a little relieved, but he knew they weren't in the clear yet.
"Where to now?" he asked her.
"Well," she said, and Draco tilted his head back a little to see that she was smiling at him, "I think you've proven yourself. Want to meet the rest of the Phoenix Posse?"