Work Text:
It’s there again when Draco stirs awake; the melody.
If you can even call it a melody when it consists of only four notes. A tune perhaps. Or a sequence? Torture, either way.
Not the physical kind of torture — not like what knocked him into unconsciousness a few hours ago — but the mental kind. The one that creeps up on you when you least expect it. The one that seems innocuous at first but makes sure to follow you around wherever you go, popping up whenever you least expect it, determined to eventually drive you insane.
The first time he heard it was in Severus’ guest room at Spinner’s End. They’d just fled from Hogwarts hours earlier, both their lives changed forever after the death of Headmaster Dumbledore. No, not death. Murder. Assassination. Dumbledore had offered Draco help, had assured him his Order would be able to protect both him and his family if they wanted to, and then— then Severus had just… killed him.
Although it’s been almost a year since then, nine months to be exact, Draco is still plagued by the nightmares from that evening. Dumbledore’s lifeless body falling over the parapet, Hagrid’s hut ablaze in the dark, Potter’s judging green eyes boring straight into his soul.
That night, as Draco lay in his godfather’s guest bed trying to stop his mind from reeling, he heard it for the first time; those four notes. Subtle at first, as if only a figment of his imagination. Suggestive. Alluring. Tempting.
A G flat, an F, another G flat, followed by a drawn-out E flat to complete the sequence.
He hadn’t questioned its presence at the time, too exhausted from the tumultuous evening. Instead, he’d eventually let the melody lull him to sleep, taking him into a strange dreamscape of blacks and greens, of rightness and peace… and safety.
A whole month passed until he heard it again, and by then, he’d all but forgotten about that first encounter. This time, he was in his own bed at the manor, drained from another gruesome evening, horrified by what the Dark Lord had just made him do to his father’s friends, Dolohov and Rowle.
This time, he recognised it as soon as he heard it. Those same four notes, resonating in his head, distracting him from his distress and urging him to… what? Draco’s still not sure what it is the melody expects from him, only that it wants. That it wants him to… do something. To go somewhere.
To this day, Draco has never even contemplated complying with its wishes.
Some people go through life looking for trouble; others don’t. With a few exceptions — all of them involving Potter, of course — Draco generally falls into the latter category. It’s simply easier that way. He’s always had a thousand reasons to go about his day ignoring that melody’s enticing whispers. Not that it’s even a voice; more like an annoying ringing in his ear.
Merlin, how he has wished it’d go away and just leave him alone already.
Draco still doesn’t know what Dolohov and Rowle did to earn their master’s wrath that night, except that Potter must have somehow been involved. He always is whenever the Dark Lord loses his temper like that.
Like he did when he arrived at the manor tonight.
Draco makes a motion to shift on his bed and instantly regrets it. His body feels numb after all it’s endured, yet a fresh bout of pain shoots through him the moment he moves.
The Dark Lord had been furious when he found out Potter and his friends had managed to escape, so furious not even his darling Bella had been able to evade his rage.
Draco knows he must have passed out from the pain, because the last thing he remembers, he was still writhing under the Dark Lord’s wand on a cold flagstone floor, far past being able to hold back his anguished cries or the tears streaming freely down his face.
There’s no unyielding stone under him now, though, only softness and warmth. Draco can’t fathom why that is; the only people in this house who would care enough to transfer him into a bed are his parents, and they had both been writhing right there next to him on the floor. There is no way the Dark Lord had been any less cruel to them than he’d been to Draco, no way they had been able to recover quickly enough for them to carry Draco anywhere safe before he even returned to consciousness himself.
Yet, here he is, in a bed, surrounded by peaceful silence.
Except for the now-familiar melody once more echoing through his head. Those same four notes that have made a habit of harassing him at every turn since last summer.
He’s been trying to ignore it, but it seems the more he does, the more insistent it gets. His rational brain knows it can only mean trouble, that listening to it would be nothing but foolish. But it’s as if those four notes are being played on his own heartstrings, harmonising with his very core, and for every week that goes by, the more it feels like it’s grabbing onto his soul and tugging him to follow, attempting to lure him into something unknown and decidedly dangerous.
As if staying here isn’t dangerous? his traitorous heart supplies. Remember what just happened downstairs?
Draco knows it’s true, that staying here, accepting the status quo, could be just as life-threatening as anything awaiting him out there. Yet, he’s always preferred the known and familiar. Not that he’s a coward or anything, of course not. But why bother to step out of your comfort zone when you don’t have to? Why try weird, foreign spices when the traditional British cuisine is perfectly fine, right?
He may not know exactly what the melody is tempting him to do, but something tells him it’s a bigger leap of faith than he’s ever taken before. Possibly the biggest one he’ll ever take.
No, sorry, that came out wrong. It should have been ‘the biggest one he would ever take’ — as in, if he chose to take it. Which he’s definitely not considering doing.
Oh, come on, the melody seems to say. Why are you still trying to fight me?
It’s never spoken to him before, not like this. Well, it’s still just the same four notes, no words, but with his usual guards down, severed from the Dark Lord’s earlier ministrations, his core is no longer safe from the melody’s relentless attempts of persuasion.
Because I'm afraid of what I'm risking if I follow you.
And isn’t that the truth? Because Draco knows exactly what he’d be risking. Everything.
Everyone he’s ever loved is here within these walls; everything he’s ever known. It’s not like he can just abandon his entire life on a whim, right? Just because of some stupid melody that’s been haunting him for months? A melody that’s been keeping him awake and distracting him from what he’s supposed to be focusing on: staying alive; keeping his family safe.
I can’t just—
Draco, please. You know deep down this is not where you’re meant to be.
Draco’s heart picks up speed at that. Because he knows. He’s always known. He’s been trying to fight it for so long, but what if… What if the time for fighting could finally be over? One decision is all it would take; one decision to make this the day when everything changes. But could he really…?
Draco? the melody chimes, sounding smugger than any four-note sequence should ever be able to. You know you already made your choice, right?
Potter’s swollen, distorted face flashes before Draco’s eyes, and suddenly he’s back down in the drawing-room, looking into those familiar, emerald eyes. I can’t — I can’t be sure. His own words echo through his mind and then adrenaline rushes through his veins. Merlin’s balls. It’s true, isn’t it?
He made up his mind right then and there, didn’t he? While standing in front of Potter for the first time since that fateful night when the melody had first started to visit him.
And then… Draco groans at the memory. Then he’d practically just handed the wands over to the guy. To the enemy. Who the hell goes around offering wands to their unarmed enemy like that? No one! No one but a fool. And it’s not like Draco would ever be able to convince anyone — not even himself — that he’d put up an honest fight about it either. Merlin. As if he wasn't capable of standing his ground against Potter if he wanted to. Thank the stars Bella and the others had been too preoccupied at the time to notice.
Potter must have noticed, though, even if he never let on.
I wonder what he would say if…
No need to wonder, Draco, the melody croons. Beckons. You know you could always—
No, I can’t… I won’t…
But there’s no denying it this time. Somewhere inside, there’s a part of him that longs to go — that craves to go — into the unknown.
He gasps as the truth hits him like a punch to the gut. I have to… Before he knows it, he’s sitting up straight, regretting it immediately as pain overtakes him, forcing a hoarse cry from his already wrecked vocal cords. Everything hurts. Every bone, every muscle, every sinew, every nerve.
Draco blinks into the darkness, breathing through the pain as he takes in the vague contours of his surroundings. Well, at least I’m in my own room. That’ll make it somewhat easier, I guess. And if he’s lucky, dawn is still a few hours away.
He’d really prefer it if he was already long gone when—
“Shit!” Draco nearly jumps out of his skin when Menzy cracks into existence next to his bed.
“Oh,” the house-elf squeaks, wide-eyed. “Menzy is being terribly sorry for startling Master Draco, sir, but Master screamed and—”
“I’m all right,” Draco assures her, “Just pain from… before.”
His voice sounds hoarse, his throat raw and tender after all the Crucio-induced cries. Menzy studies him with a concerned frown, then snaps her fingers, making the night-light orb floating above his bed glow brighter. Draco instinctively squeezes his eyes shut to the sudden brightness, only to let out a pathetic whimper as all facial muscles involved in the squeezing seem to cry out in agony. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. When he tentatively opens his eyes again, Menzy greets him with a faint smile and a glass of water waiting in her extended hand.
The water feels like liquid heaven as it slides down his throat. One glass isn’t nearly enough, but he declines a second one nonetheless, afraid too much too fast could upset his insides. Who knows what internal damage the Dark Lord’s curses have been able to cause?
While the elf busies herself refilling the glass and putting it on the bedside table for later, Draco takes a moment to glance down at his body. Merlin’s balls. He’s still wearing the same clothes as the day before, only now rumpled and dirty, reeking of old sweat, blood, and dark magic. His disgust must be written on his face, because Menzy winces beside him and when he turns to look at her, she seems even more worried than before.
“Menzy wanted to help Master Draco get clean, sir, but He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named said…” She pauses, pulling on her left ear as she always does whenever she’s warring with herself over what to say. “He wouldn’t let Menzy help.”
“It’s okay,” Draco attempts a smile, causing another bout of pain to zing through him. “I’m sure you did what you could.”
Menzy has always been there for him. Through most of his childhood, she and Dobby were the only ones to keep him company, and after Dobby left, she’d become even more protective of him. It doesn’t matter that he’s of age now; she still treats him like a kid more often than not.
“Menzy did.” The house-elf nods vigorously, ears flapping at the sides of her large head. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named said to get ‘this fucking mess out of my sight’. So Menzy did.”
Her large, blue eyes sparkle, and Draco knows how pleased she is to have been able to freely interpret the Dark Lord’s words to suit her own agenda. Oh. But of course. “You brought me up here, didn’t you?”
Menzy flashes him a lop-sided grin and nods.
“And my parents?” Draco’s chest tightens at the mere thought of them. “Are they all right?”
It can’t be more than a couple of hours since he last saw them but, Merlin’s beard, they’d both looked so vulnerable. So broken. His strong, proud father; his regal, resilient mother; both helplessly writhing in pain right next to him on the floor. On their floor. In their own house. Salazar, how did it ever come to this?
“Yes. Master’s parents are all right, sir. They’re asleep, recovering”— Sweet relief rushes through Draco at her words, dulling his worries and numbing his pain. —”just as Master Draco should be doing. Now, lay back down, sir,” she adds with a stern look.
He wasn’t even aware he was moving.
“I can’t,” he blurts, urged on by the melody. It’s been almost quiet since Menzy showed up, but the news about his parents instantly cranked up its volume from piano to fortissimo in his head, and now… “I have to—”
He moves to climb out of bed, not really sure of what he’s doing, but doing it anyway. He doesn’t get far before his body protests, though, his feet not even touching the floor before he falls back onto the mattress, biting back another pained cry.
“Master Draco ‘have to’ do nothing but lie down and drink his potions like a good boy,” Menzy insists, big blue eyes filled with alarm. “Here.”
She produces a handful of phials from the pocket in her pillowcase and thrusts them into Draco’s hands. Draco fumbles with the glass tubes as he sits up, recognising Severus’ neat cursive on their labels. Calming Draught, Dreamless Sleep, Relixir, Essence of Dittany…
“No Pepper-Up?”
“Master Draco needs to sleep, not wake up.” Menzy glares at him, hands clenched to fists on her hips. “If Master Draco is being a good boy, Menzy will pepper him up in the morning.”
Draco doesn’t argue. He knows he’s got at least a couple of phials’ worth of Revitalising Potion left in his private stash. It will have to do.
He looks down at the potions in his hands. His aching body is pleading for him to down them all in one go, yearning for a chance to rest and heal properly before having to do anything else. The melody gives him pause, though. It has a firm hold on him now, and it’s tugging him in another direction entirely. Its eagerness is contagious and the longer it plays in Draco’s head, the more determined he gets.
Letting the melody lead him, Draco places the Calming Draught and the Dreamless Sleep on his nightstand. He needs to stay awake and alert for at least a few more hours before he can even consider taking them. He frowns at the phial of Dittany for a moment before laying it next to the others. Why Severus chose to include it is a mystery. The Cruciatus Curse never leaves any physical marks, so he must have had something else in mind. Whatever the reason, Draco is grateful for it. It’s a valuable potion. One that will probably come in handy sometime in the near future.
Right now, though, the Relixir is what he needs. A muscle relaxant elixir to ease the tension and the throbbing pain in his limbs. Something to help him move without wanting to cry out and crawl into a foetal position at every turn. But he must be careful not to drink too much. He still needs his body and his reflexes to work properly.
Menzy narrows her eyes as she watches Draco take a small sip of the purple potion. “Master Draco must drink it all to heal,” she admonishes. “Master must recover and sleep.”
Draco closes his eyes, feeling the potion work its magic through his body as he contemplates his options. He knows drinking the entire phial is out of the question, as is arguing with Menzy. She’s simply too stubborn, and for all the years they’ve known each other, Draco has yet to win an argument with her. What else?
All Slytherins know that no matter how many alternatives you’re presented with, there’s always at least one secret option lurking behind the official ones. It’s all just a matter of identifying it. Think, Draco. Think.
Opening his eyes, Draco’s gaze is drawn to the door on the far wall behind Menzy. Yes, of course.
“You’re right,” he says, making sure to follow it up with a defeated sigh. “I have to drink it all to recover.” He’d never stomach lying Menzy straight to her face, but this is not a lie. The trick is to tell enough truths to veil the existence of your ulterior motive, and he does need the potions to recover. “Just... Would you let me have a shower first? I feel bloody disgusting.”
There, another truth. He leans down to sniff his shirt for good measure and nearly gags. He really does smell dreadful.
“Master Draco needs not get up for that,” the elf says, giving him an indignant look. “Menzy knows how to Scourgify.”
Draco lifts his hands in surrender. “I know you do, Menzy, but I’d really appreciate an actual shower with running water if possible. Besides, I need to use the toilet so I’ll have to go in there anyway.”
Menzy still looks sceptical, too familiar with her master’s prank-filled childhood to let him off the hook that easily.
“Come on, Menzy. I promise I’ll take the potions as soon as I’m done.” Again, no lie. He does plan to take the phials with him.
Draco is careful not to break eye contact as he awaits Menzy’s verdict, his heart counting the passing of time where it thumps in his chest, in perfect sync with the melody. One, two, three, four.
“Okay.” Menzy gives him a brief nod. “What can Menzy do to help?”
“You don’t have to do anything. I can take care of myself, you know.”
Instead of using actual words, Menzy simply huffs and rolls her big blue eyes.
“All right.” Draco shakes his head with a fond smile. Merlin, he’s going to miss her. “How about you pick out a clean set of clothes for me then?” Another nod. “If you could just leave them on the bed, that’d be most helpful.”
“Of course, Master Draco. Anything else?”
“No, thank you.” He really just wants the elf out of his quarters posthaste, but Menzy’s disappointed look makes him reconsider. “Well, actually, come to think of it, I do have one other request, if it’s not too much trouble.”
Menzy perks up, ears flopping as she straightens her posture, ready. “Never trouble, Master Draco.”
Draco smiles. “Good. Then I’d appreciate it if you could get yourself back to sleep as soon as possible. We can’t have you all tired and useless come morning, now can we?”
“Of course.” Menzy grins. “As soon as possible.”
“Perfect,” Draco says, making another attempt to climb out of bed.
The Relixir has done its work. He’s still sore all over, probably mostly from all the bruises he must have gained from thrashing around on an unyielding floor, but at least the blinding pain is gone. He knows another sip from the phial would be able to remedy that, but he can’t risk it. Not yet.
Reaching the door to the en-suite, he turns to take one final look at his loyal elf. His heart softens as he takes in the content smile on her lips. She’s in the middle of levitating a set of green silk pyjamas from the dresser to the bed, and he lets her finish her task before talking.
“Menzy?” He swallows around the lump in his throat as she turns to face him. “One more thing.”
She smiles, expectantly, urging him without words or gestures to go on.
“Take care of my parents. Tell them I love them.”
Menzy frowns but nods. “Yes, Master Draco.”
“Thank you, Menzy.” Draco smiles, ignoring the burning sensation in his eyes. “Thank you for everything.”
And with that, he retreats to the relative safety of the bathroom.
As soon as the door is closed, he reaches over to get the shower running. It looks so tempting Draco almost succumbs to the urge to undress and get under the spray. But he doesn’t. Instead, he seeks strength in his newfound friend; the melody that’s been following him around for so long, patiently waiting for him to finally become ready to acknowledge it.
One look in the mirror explains the Dittany. Merlin, he’d forgotten all about that part of the evening. In the grand scheme of things, it seemed so insignificant, just a teeny tiny detail lost in the ocean of truly momentous happenings. Taking in the sight of his face now, though, he remembers. The crash, the sting, the blood. Countless shards of crystal Mother helped him vanish as soon as Potter was gone and she’d been able to retrieve her wand.
One dose of Dittany had helped heal the open wounds, but he knows from experience that more will be needed if he wants to avoid any permanent scarring. He still looks a right fright, angry red marks criss-crossed all over his features, but with the Dittany currently lying on his nightstand, he’ll be able to heal. Thank the stars Severus thought to send him that phial, or he would’ve been disfigured forever.
He wasn’t lying about needing to use the toilet either, and since Menzy still seems to be pottering around in the next room, Draco allows himself the luxury of taking care of his business before he sets to work.
With his mind in full execution mode now, he wishes he’d gone with his impulse and bought that bottomless bag he’d been lusting after in Diagon Alley that time. As it is, he figures his textbook satchel would be his best alternative, which unfortunately leaves no room for any excesses like moisturiser or pomade. Just a handful of the bare necessities make the cut, and with them clutched close to his chest, Draco presses his ear against the door, trying to determine if the coast is clear.
It’s no use. With the shower still running, it’s impossible to hear anything from the other side of the door. Menzy should be done and gone by now, but there’s no guarantee. All he can do is hope. Whatever time it is, he can’t afford to wait much longer.
He never thought to ask Menzy about the time when he had the chance, and with no wand, there’s no way for him to find out… except studying the night sky for signs of a breaking dawn — signs he hopes are still a long time away. With his luck, though, the sun can just as easily be peeking over the horizon already, and either way, there’s really no time to lose.
With the melody strengthening his resolve, he exits the en-suite, only allowing himself a brief moment of relief as he finds his bedroom empty before going straight for his wardrobe.
The satchel lies thrown in the right-hand corner where he left it upon his return from Hogwarts. With one hand still holding the toiletries, he upends the bag to let books, quills, inkpot, and parchment spill out over the bottom of the wardrobe. Menzy’s neat pile of clothes soon join the toiletries in the bag, as does the phials Severus sent him and the secret stash of potions he’s been keeping in his nightstand’s drawer. He only hesitates for a second before deciding to take the time to uncork the bottle of Revitalising Potion and take a swig of the citrus-flavoured amber liquid before moving on.
The potion leaves a familiar burn in his chest, a promise of energy and endurance joining the melody’s encouraging tones. A few more pieces of clothing from the dresser and his satchel is practically full.
He goes to push the drawer shut but stops as his gaze catches on an old medallion lingering in its corner. He hasn’t used it once since he got it, an old birthday present meant to make fun of his nonexistent absent-mindedness that’s been collecting dust in his drawer ever since. He hasn’t given it a single thought in years and frankly, he’s never understood why he's been saving it all this time.
Until now.
Draco’s heart races as he reaches out to pick it up. Could it really…? He has no way of knowing if it even works as intended after all these years, but if it does… Salazar. The serendipity is nothing short of surreal.
The metal is cool against his palm. The disc is no larger than a Galleon, and as he locks the clasp behind his neck, the attached chain is just long enough to leave the medallion dangling at navel height. Please, still work.
With the drawer finally shut, his eyes fall on the framed picture standing atop the dresser, an old photo of him and his parents from a happier time, long before everything went south. Draco snatches it without thinking, cramming it into the bag before securing the clasps. He pulls the strap over his head and hurries around the bed to kneel beside it, retrieving his old reliable Nimbus from its spot underneath.
A starry night sky greets him as he draws the curtains open to reveal the door to his tiny balcony. Perfect. Not allowing himself another moment to question his uncharacteristic actions, he sets his jaw and walks out into the chilly April night. He still has no idea of where he’s going, but for once in his life, he doesn’t let that uncertainty stop him. For some reason, he finds himself trusting the melody’s ability to guide him to where he’s supposed to be. The melody, and the medallion.
It’s not until he’s balancing atop the narrow railing that it hits him.
Oh, dear demon. I’m really doing this, aren’t I?
Yes. Apparently, he is.
Gingerly straddling his broom, he brings the medallion to his mouth and activates it with a whispered, “Quaero.”
It takes a heartstopping moment before it buzzes to life, then another as it searches the world for its target. When it finally rises from his palm to hover in the air before him, he gasps.
Southwest.
His wand is somewhere southwest. And wherever it is, there’s also… Potter.
Apparently, the melody shares his exhilaration because it decides this moment to be the perfect timing for a motivational key change. Draco can but agree. If he were a melody, he’d also want to raise his pitch a step or two right now.
Instead, he goes for the human version, kicking off and soaring into the sky, allowing himself a full-body roll before heading straight into the unknown.