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Chapter Text

A stream of hot water pounded against the scarred alabaster skin as Severus slouched against the stone cave wall of the alcove. Admittedly, he had spent entirely too long under the stream already given that war waited for no man but he did not so much as twitch at the thought. He would not be leaving yet. Comfort was a luxury he’d never afforded himself in the previous wars or even this one until recently. Now though, Severus found himself increasingly unable to deal with the acute pain of loss without something and their liquor stores were dwindling at the best of times. Sylvas was doing her best, but he could not run the poor elf ragged. Besides, whoever had taken to creating this makeshift war shower had created it perfectly by muggle standards. Most of the wizarding world didn't know, but he'd always preferred a muggle shower. Severus' lip lifted in a half-smile as he shifted against the wall.

Arthur. Without a doubt that muggle-artifact-lover set up this contraption. And quite skillfully. In all his time spent in the wizarding world, Severus could not fathom how more magical folk did not use muggle devices. For him, it was a matter of necessity given his consistent failure to heat things correctly. It had only taken several trips to Poppy for Albus to bow to his request of a muggle shower. Really, it shouldn’t have been such a big deal. Not using magic for simple tasks was a wonderful way to conserve it. At Hogwarts, it hardly mattered. Magic in the cave was a different situation. Severus had insisted they all limit magic use or face Death Eaters storming their one safe haven. Fifteen wizards all using copious amounts of magic in the middle of an isolated part of Scotland would certainly draw the attention of whoever was searching. Arthur, as always, found a way to harness a need and twist it to create another muggle device. For once, Severus was glad. This was a convenience rarely given to him.

To the rest, Severus supposed it was annoying but they smelled clean enough. Perhaps cleaner than usual. Muggles did get some things right, didn’t he know it. He’d grown up in a muggle house, a muggle neighborhood, and thus had a full collection of muggle “artifacts”. This shower was a beacon of remembrance, a way for him to recollect the small joys he had once had at Spinner’s End. 

“Thank you, Arthur,” he mumbled, eyes slipping closed as he jiggled the knob to warm the water.

The water went from warm to hot, nearing scalding. Dragging a long sigh from his chest, Severus felt distinctly lighter.

Steam puffed up from the wonderfully conjured drainage system and lifted into his sinuses, sweeping away his allergies and the musty scent of their hideout. Yawning wide and making no move to cover his mouth, Severus pushed off the wall and stretched his back beneath the water. Several loud pops ricocheted off the stone cocoon as his muscles released the hold they had on his joints. The feeling was nothing short of delightful.

Tipping his head back, thick streams of water ran through his now collarbone-length hair. “Divine,” he whispered to himself before running his hands over his freshly washed hair and groaning. It had been another long day but it didn’t matter. Nothing did beneath the hot stream. There wasn't even a facade to uphold. “Gods.”

His voice was tired and croaky, evidence of the tiring day now put behind him. He had yelled too frequently but it was hardly his fault that the Weasleys kept tripping over their feet and interrupting the very vital chain of command. Draco had had a fit when he found out Bill and Percy had tried to go out and interview the children of Death Eaters. This was after George had knocked over their cauldron of a highly experimental, incredibly dangerous potion. He spun around suddenly and shoved his face into the stream, rubbing off his annoyance. At least, he thought, they had the good sense to apologize this time. George was fortunate we had skele-gro on hand. Severus blew a shower of droplets from his lips as he wiped his eyes. E lsewise h e would have been without bones. 

A long-fingered hand settled back on the knob for the hot water. After glaring at it for a moment, he heated it up again before he turned his back to the spray once more. His skin turned red beneath the fingertips of the water.

This had become a sort of sanctuary in the past weeks.

There were very few things he took for himself these days. Gone were the stretches of time where he could hole himself up and fight from the shadows. Long gone were the nights spent alone, drinking whiskey to pass the time as his judgment day approached. The safe walls of the castle weren't there to hide him away and the only protection he had once had, Albus, was now his enemy. His life had changed, he was a leader. He’d faced Death and its scythe and lived. Twice.

Now he spent his mornings strategizing, his afternoons desperately brewing, his evenings discussing plans and arguing, and his nights gripped by terror and the shrill screams of his dying friends. The shower could be his for as long as he liked.

Five more minutes, he thought to himself, returning to his position on the wall. Then, I will tend to my duties.

The past few days had been fine enough, no one had died and that was a relief, but there was something itching at the back of his mind. Something he couldn’t shake, like a shadow. There was still the unspoken truth that Draco had died in his arms and Harry had been too slow to return but no one in the cave spoke of that night. It was as though if they never mentioned it, the blasted memory would dissolve into the ether. Severus let out a long sigh. Someday soon he would have to reconcile losing his only family members that night. But there was still something else.

Something was sucking the quiet calm from his thoughts, swallowing up logic, and leaving mountains of nerves in its wake. Even now in his shower, Severus couldn’t find the same sense of calm he usually had no difficulty conjuring up. Huffing an exasperated sigh, his dark eyes lifted higher to the top of the shower another four feet above his head where a steady, blue Lumos-light hung from his wand. It cast an eerie glow on the narrow space.

Staring at the light until the shape bloomed behind his eyelids, Severus closed his eyes and leaned against the stone.

He was playing a losing game. Without functioning as a spy, Severus had no concept of what was going on inside the circle of Death Eaters. Worse, from what he could gather, the new Inner Circle would be nigh on impossible to sway. Every single one of them were either delusional or in love with the Dark Lord. He shuddered at the thought. All avenues were closed to him which meant he was left with guessing. The idea of guessing was so vile to him, Severus felt the sudden urge to rip his brain from his skull and jump rope with it. That would be more productive than guessing.

Chiding himself to relax and enjoy the remainder of his shower, Severus called his wand back to him and extinguished the Lumos, now bathed in both hot water and darkness.

This wasn’t how he had expected things to turn out, excluding the fact he believed he would be dead by now. Severus had thought the whole Dark Lord debacle would have been over by now but then again, he’d believed Albus to be a do-gooder as well. He was beginning to fear that his insight into the future was severely compromised. Pushing the thoughts away with a cluck of his tongue, Severus settled into the dark warmth and let his troubles fall away.

Well over five minutes later, he stepped out swaddled in steam and a small towel slung around his hips only to come face to face with Harry who seemed to be asleep on the floor. Severus nudged him with his barefoot, hardly hiding the annoyance on his face as he narrowed his eyes.

“Huh?” Harry said.

So he was asleep. Harry blinked several times, making no move to straighten out the glasses on his face. It is a damn miracle he hasn’t gotten himself offed yet with how lazy he is about war and his own safety.

When he opened his mouth to scorn the brat, all that came out was a clipped sigh. Harry apologized to his back as Severus walked over to where he’d haphazardly cast his pyjamas and dressing robe across the lip of a freshly cleaned sink basin. Severus quickly dressed, never turning to look at Harry as he buttoned up the white, shimmering buttons to his black shirt or as he slipped the thin band of his pants over his hips.

Severus stood staring at the wall even as he finished, sliding his right arm into the robe and tugging it around him.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Severus drawled, looping the belt around his trim waist.

A strong drying charm hit him from behind, leaving only the bottoms of his feet wet where they were on the stone floor.

“What if I have something to say to you?”

Severus stood still, unwilling to turn around and show the hurt in his eyes.

Today had been a breaking point for many in the new Order of the Phoenix. He’d had to deliver the horrid news that Pomona Sprout had her throat slit in her sleep, another colossal loss to their side. If that news wasn’t heartbreaking enough, Severus had told the Weasleys that any recovery effort for Ron's corpse would be moved to a later time. He assured them as best he could that he himself would continue to look but that the rest of the Order was needed elsewhere. Lucius was growing in power by the day and the last Daily Prophet article had hinted at the creation of a new unforgivable that Lucius had “simply stumbled upon”. Searching for Ron as a top priority with this new information floating about was horrendously arrogant and a blatant misuse of resources.

The Order had not taken the news well. Fred had even tried to punch Severus, held back only by a fuming Arthur.

“If I have something to say to you, Snape?”

“Perhaps I do not want to hear it.”

“Hermione left.”

Severus’s lips tightened into a thin line. “If you are here to attempt to hurt me further, leave. I have no time for this sort of conversation. You were at the meeting as well. There is no safe way to continue to search for Ron. It is not my fault nor my problem if none of you have matured enough to realize there is a world to save and a war to win. I do not make decisions to...please...the lot of you. War waits for no man and I am not willing to sacrifice lives to retrieve the corpse of a man I cannot revive.”

Harry gave him a moment of silence before saying, “I told her that if she couldn’t handle what’s going on, she could leave. And she did.”

“Wonderful,” Severus spat dryly. “Does the know-it-all plan on returning?

“I…” Harry stuttered to a stop. Intrigued and more than a bit worried at the tone of voice, Severus begrudgingly turned to him. His cheeks were red and splotchy and the messy hair was flat. Already plump lips were swollen and bitten while his eyes were bloodshot.

“What’s happened?” Severus shot, his arms already encircling Harry and bringing him to his chest. “How long was I…?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“Merlin. I...apologize. The time, it slipped away. I will not be gone so-”

“It’s okay. You need it. I’m a big boy. It’s just...” Harry pulled out of the hug and shoved his hands in his jean pockets. “You’re really not going to like this.”

Severus rolled his eyes before resuming his stern glare. “It is war, Harry. What of any of this have I liked? Come on now, spit it out or must I threaten detention?”

The color drained from Harry’s face, leaving him even more mottled. Severus had, after a few too many pranks, finally resorted to giving detentions. And enforcing them. The last one served was by Bill who had been forced to sort all the star anise by size then again by weight followed by slicing up flobberworms. The man had nearly been reduced to tears by the end. As far as Severus was concerned, it served him right for dying his wardrobe Umbridge pink.

“No, no. No detention, thank you. It’s just...I antagonized her. I’d been in the bedroom waiting, you know, for you to erm...get out...and I could hear her just...bashing you.”

“I am capable of defending myself.”

“That’s not what- Yeah, I know. But the Weasleys like to feed into a pack mentality. I mean, they bloody grew up that way so it’s not hard to understand that they would naturally be inclined but ‘Mione was riling them up like back at...back at Hogwarts when I was-”

“You are rambling.” Severus had no desire to recall those hairy nights at Hogwarts when Gryffindor was on the prowl. Hunting.

Harry’s eyes latched onto his. It took all the effort he had not to dive into that open stare in a session of legilimency. Instead, he hissed out a tired breath. “Please, Harry. Your point.”

“My point is she was trying to get them to hurt you.”

Severus nodded gravely. “That is understandable.”

“WHAT?” Harry shouted. “That...that makes no sense! I fought with her, screamed at her outside, Snape and you’re telling me it’s understandable? ”

“Harry, she believes I am responsible for her husband’s death. The death of the father of her child. A child he never had the chance to meet. My decision to end the rescue operation has come several days too late but I...hesitated. I had hoped she would be further away from the agony but I could not allow it to continue.”

“Are you siding with her?”

“Hardly. I am merely stating that she is a grieving mother.”

“Well, that grieving mother left her kid here.” Cool air touched his lips as his mouth fell open. “Yeah. She left Rin.”

Severus paused before letting go of Harry and striding in a way that would have had his cloak billowing were he not in loafers and a dressing robe. He exited the bathroom in a flurry of movement, storming into the foyer kitchen area with enough rage to have everyone still awake cowering. No one, not even Draco moved, as Severus threw all the dishes to a floor with a clatter. Slamming a cauldron down onto the now cleaned surface, Severus began frantically chopping and stirring.

Harry came padding in, his quick, light steps betraying his presence. 

“Where the-”

“When was the last time Rin was fed?”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know.”

Exasperated, Severus yelled over his shoulder to the room. “If any of you know when Rin was last fed, do speak up.”

Silence.

Luna’s sing-song voice floated over to him. “I last saw her this morning being fed. Awfully full of wrackspurts for a little one. I tried to pluck them from her, but Hermione wasn’t too pleased.”

Neville followed up, his voice low and bordering on aggressive. “Rin was in her bassinet at lunch. I figured Hermione was just late.”

Enraged even more, Severus growled to Harry, “That witch may have left her hungry.”

“I’ll go check on her.” Harry pressed a hand to Snape’s back. “Can you brew this?”

“It will be difficult given the time constraint.”

Suddenly Draco appeared at his side.

“Mother taught me some shortcuts,” he said, high cheekbones going slightly pink. “Just in case.”

Profoundly relieved, Severus nodded to Draco.

“We best start. Harry, go.” The Gryffindor was off without a second glance.

The gray eyes looked at the cauldron seeking permission. Severus relinquished his grasp and went about gathering, grinding, and chopping. It had been a very long time since Severus had attempted to brew formula, even longer since he had done it for a witch. Rin's magic had manifested almost two weeks after her birth, complicating things. Ordinarily, an infant presenting with magic would rely on the natural magic transferred through breast milk though a formula using either of the parent's blood would be a fair substitute. Since Hermione had left and Ron was dead, there was no magic to be found. He and Draco would be guessing what the child needed.

If he failed, Rin could wind up a squib or dead from a reaction.

Damn that witch.

“Best not to think about it,” Draco murmured into the cauldron. “Rin’s a Weasley.”

“Ah,” Severus said. “Weasleys. A hard bunch to be rid of.”

“Mm,” Draco agreed. “Snape.”

He grunted in response as he flipped over a squishy flower blossom and sliced it in half. Dense violet liquid, incredibly high in antibodies, seeped into the bowl held beneath it. Severus wrinkled his nose at the putrid stench.

“I need to pair up with you.”

“That hasn’t been done in ages,” Severus said as he squeezed the last of the vile-smelling goo into the bowl. “Reasoning?”

“Please.”

Snape huffed. Discarding the blossom now turning to ash, he repeated the action twice more with new flowers. “Very like a Malfoy expecting manners to get you favours.”

Draco growled low in his throat.

“It has been a long time since I have attempted an Equal Brew.”

“My magic isn’t steady enough and my memory…” Draco cast him a sidelong glance. “It’s recovering.”

“I see. Very well, I will initiate.”

“Thank you.”

“Aequus Legilimens,” Severus said, extending his mental tendrils to begin the session without eye contact.

The Aequus Legilimens spell was a unique one, specifically designed for potioneers working on double brewer potions. Over the years, Severus had learned how to brew the majority of those recipes alone. The life of a double agent hardly left room for another person connecting themselves to his mind, let alone the fact that Dumbledore forbade the use of the spell. As such, he’d fallen out of practice with it and currently felt as though two molten pokers had been jabbed in his head. It was a highly complicated form of legilimency that allowed access to not only thoughts and memories, but present-time senses such as vision and sound. Aequus Legilimens was a complete, perfect form of connection. Another painful snap of lightning flashed across his mind as Draco's magic jerked away from him then lunged forward and attacked.

“Snape, fuck . Get...ahold...of it.”

“Shut...up,” he snarled.

The play between their magical cores crashed and fought for another few seconds before he was able to wrestle the white-hot spirit of Draco into submission. Exhaling sharply, he sliced his thumb with a smirk. Draco yelped and looked down.

“Very funny. Big old dungeon bat.”

“Now, we begin,” Severus said.

********************************************

“The next time I see that bushy-haired, nosey, know-it-all I’m going to-”

“Draco,” Severus sighed “Do shut up.” His hands were currently rubbing furiously at his eyes. Six hours inside the monster’s head was six hours too long. “I have heard enough of you.”

“I’ve hardly said a word!”

“Your thoughts are the loudest damnable thing in creation and I would have had an easier time using legilimency on a screaming mad troll than on you.”

Draco gasped in faux shock. “After all I’ve done.”

“After all you’ve… Draco! You ruined my best cauldron.”

“It was Neville’s actually.”

Severus growled, finally pulling his hands away from his eyes. They twitched in front of him in a way that had Draco’s gray eyes widening. He was ready to throttle him.

Before Severus took the opportunity to strangle the blond, Harry dropped gently beside him with a happy infant sleeping in his arms. Two glasses full of whiskey tottered in behind him, settling gently in front of each of the Potions Masters.

“Thought you both might need a little something to uh...ease those murderous tendencies.”

A brief glance passed between Severus and Draco by way of apology as they reached for their crystal glasses. Liquor was hard to come by at the moment, damn Minerva and her morals, and certainly not worth fouling because of a soured mood.

Sipping the whiskey, Severus nearly groaned. It was a good one. Rich and spicy with caramel slipping across his tongue, Severus swallowed a smile at the nip of alcohol racing down his throat. Beside him, Draco went to jelly. Perhaps Draco has this part right. It has been a particularly troubling day. It is already three a.m of the next. Draco groaned as he took another sip. Looking over to Severus, he regarded him cooly before smiling and looking away. Yes, we did remarkably well. Rin is fed and happy. Draco and I have discovered we can double brew, an option that perhaps I should manipulate to my advantage. Lolling his own head against the soft fabric of the gray couch, Severus decided against acting the part of a snob tonight.

“Harry, where on Earth did you find this?”

“Like it?” Harry’s voice hummed quietly over Rin’s head. “Neville picked it.”

A cacophony of spluttering erupted as Draco jerked forward. Red in the face, his eyes darted between Severus and Neville who was slowly approaching with a basketful of potatoes.

“Why Draco, are you attempting to communicate?” Severus quipped.

“Git,” he choked out, slapping his leg as he coughed. When his fit settled, he took a lungful of air and exhaled a long sigh. “Neville?”

Harry nodded, tucking a lock of flaming red hair beneath a small cap.

Draco slumped back on the couch. Properly flummoxed, he held his glass and stared at the herbologist with a twisted expression on his face and his mouth hanging open in the most un-Malfoy show of shock Severus had seen. Gray eyes framed by narrow fences of white lashes slid over to Severus.

“Did you know about this?”

“Longbottoms are not incompetent,” Severus drawled, more than happy to gloat. “Frank was...reckless...and too quick to take up his ideas. A Gryffindor. But that man knew his liquor. Bastard bribed me with a good glass of scotch after every insane stunt he pulled.” Almost .  

“Didn’t you say Neville was useless in school?” Harry interrupted.

“At potions,” he mumbled. “He was too soft then.” Severus shook his head, “A story for later, perhaps. I have spent entirely too much time inside that idiot’s blond head to think clearly now.”

“Just drink, Snape,” Draco snapped. “It hardly counts as a legitimate legilimency session anyway since you only get the top one percent of my mind.”

“Ah, but what a horrid one percent it was.”

The three sat in amicable silence. Harry cooed softly at the child in his arms while Severus and Draco took turns filling the quiet with the slosh of their drinks and the heaviness of their sighs. When Neville took the last spot on the couch next to Draco, no one even bothered to say a word. Easily, he was accepted into their ranks. He poured himself a generous drink and hummed a happy breath.

Severus smirked to himself. Never would he have believed he’d see a Potter, a Malfoy, a Longbottom, and a Snape casually drinking together. With a Weasley being quiet and peaceful. All of them, ridiculously content. A quick look around showed everyone leaning on one another, knees touching here, elbows brushing there. Draco was unabashedly slouched against Severus now, most likely taking in some sort of paternal love Severus was unaware he was giving off. Harry was the most upright but now had Rin pressed against his chest and an arm gripping Snape’s thigh in possessive protection. As for Neville, he had an arm draped around the back of the couch casually stretching as he drank.

Happiness has somehow found us. He snorted into his whiskey. And I have not murdered either a child or Draco.

To celebrate the occasion, he lazily snapped his fingers. Sylvas popped up on his lap, directly at eye level. Severus restrained a smile as the strange elf threw her arms around her neck and gave him a hug.

"Why Sylvas," he whispered. "It's only been two weeks."

"Sylvas does not agree with Master Snape's plan."

He chuckled as Draco raised a brow at him.

"All right, we will discuss it in the morning perhaps with Kreacher. For now, a  movie setup, if you will.”

Sylvas in her nice outfit clutched her ears and vanished with a smile.

Within moments, Severus and his three strangest students had their feet kicked up on the repaired end table from the cottage watching an animated film dance across a conjured movie screen. The rest watched the movie, but Severus found his gaze floating down the shoes on the end table. 

It was the Weasley's coffee table that had changed his mind. No, he thought. Not the table. Ron's Auror boots kicked up next to a scuff and a coffee ring. A sharp pain of grief carved a hole in his stomach but he quickly turned his attention to the feet on the table, wanting to burn into memory the first scuffs and spills of the table's life.

Draco's dress shoes shone brilliantly even in the dim light. The thick heels were already making a divet in the soft wood. Neville's socked feet were atop a pile of pastry crumbs from earlier in the day, pressing them into the minuscule cracks in the surface. Next to his own loafers, Harry's bare feet leaned toward him, touching slightly at the toes. The image was so startling, he nearly dropped his tumbler. At long last, he had a family. Friends. People who trusted him, listened to his plans, and believed in his ideas. The sight was overwhelming.

The whiskey was warm in his belly. The bodies pressed against him even warmer. A carefree smile cracked on Severus’s face as he took another look at his friends and family. They were alive and better than that, they were well. The world and its war might take them someday but for now, he had everyone valuable to him cluttered on a couch, caught in his long wingspan. He bit back a laugh. If only he could share this view with those trembling first-years.

Sylvas popped back in with candy-coated chocolates, popcorn, chocolate boxes, and entirely too much glee. Everyone took something, giggling from the alcohol as they did so. Severus snatched an entire green box of chocolates for himself, swatting both Neville and Draco away as they made to swipe some of his.

“You’ve had yours,” he hissed. 

Internally, he relished the broad grins they wore.

Shifting his focus to Harry, he offered him a warm smile. A hand squeezed his thigh in response. Harry mouthed a muted “thank you”. Severus nodded, before beckoning Harry close and kissing the top of his head. Draco grunted at the shift while Severus only rolled his eyes. It had been a long, tumultuous day and though the Weasleys had taken their leave and gone to sleep, Severus considered himself lucky to have this family.

Popping a chocolate-covered strawberry into his mouth, Severus relaxed back against the couch taking in the buzzing energy and magic around him. 

At long last, the war seemed to fade away. If only for a minute.

Chapter Text

“You know, if you thought about cutting your hair I wouldn’t be having this problem,” Harry said as he tried to remove the long, black hair from his mouth. 

It was really his fault, he supposed, for kissing Severus on the temple all the time but he couldn’t resist. He missed Severus. He was tired of nearly losing him. And besides, he would never admit that he was wrong. No sir. Severus would hang onto that one like a dog a bone.

“Honestly,” Harry half-mumbled as he got a good grip on the hair on his tongue. “It’s so long. ”

Severus sniffed. “You are the one who keeps insisting on molesting me.”

“ Molesting you? ” Harry laughed. “Severus, it was a kiss. Hardly-”

“It was unnecessary.” Severus paused mid-slice and purred, “I have it on good authority you enjoy my hair this way.”

Harry opened his mouth but Draco walked in, immediately interrupting.

“Boys, boys,” Draco chided, strutting in with two armfuls of strangely-shaped squash. “Is that any way to behave in front of the children?”

“Hey!” Neville shouted in unison with the twins. All three paused while Neville bit back, “ We aren’t the childish ones.”

Draco paused, eyebrows going to his hairline. Getting closer to Harry he mumbled, “When did he start speaking up?”

“Recent development,” Harry said. “Something about life-risking situations.”

Snorting, Draco rolled his eyes and dropped the food on the conjured wood countertop. “Good for him.” Turning around he raised both arms and shouted. “Good for you, Longbottom!”

Neville waved him off, keeping his eyes down on his latest delivery of ingredients and seeds.

“You’re unstoppable,” Harry said, unable to keep the smile from his voice.

“Ah, but you love me like that.”

“No, I hate you.”

“Sure thing, Potty. I understand. Keeping up appearances for Severus,” Draco said as he winked.

Harry groaned and bumped Draco in the ribs. Normalcy had finally returned to the blond after his brush with death and all it had taken was a night of getting pissed and watching Disney movies slouched against Snape. At least in the form of his behavior when people were watching. When he was alone with Harry and Severus though and the rest of the new Order had tucked themselves in, he slipped into such a deep melancholy not even the famed Malfoy mask was enough to hide it.

“Now listen,” the blond said as he opened his arms and let the squash roll onto the wooden countertop. “A few of these I grew in the shape of a skull since we all avoided death. We’ll carve them and light them up like the muggles tomorrow. But those molds were not easy to spell out of those stupid little pebbles outside so keep these,” he pointed aggressively at the five orange blobs on the table, “out of his soup.”

Harry bit back a laugh. “Got it, Dragon.”

“And this,” Draco said as a woven basket bobbed over to him “is completely off-limits.”

Trying to see what was inside, Harry casually peered over the edge only to be smacked on the back of his head.

“Hey!”

“Keep out of my basket.” He tsked. “Naughty, Harry. Does Severus know?”

Harry slapped a hand to his forehead. “Gods, give it a rest. Do you ever stop?”

Draco blinked, a blank expression covering his face for a moment before a wicked smirk curled his lips. “No.” Reaching up, he yanked out one of Snape’s hairs and took off running, basket zooming behind him. “Need this for a potion!”

“Ah!” Severus yelled, hands going up to his scalp. “I am going to hex that boy’s toenails so they grow ten feet overnight,” he grumbled into the soup, rubbing his head. “Then, I am going to hang him by them.”

“All bark today, hm?”

“I will bite if prompted,” Severus snarled, casting a glance toward Draco’s tent.

“Yeah, yeah. And I should know better than to prompt you.”

Severus let out an agitated sigh before setting the ladle off to the side. His hands came to grip the countertop. “What has gotten into him lately? He’s as bad as he was as a child.”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, looking casually behind him. Draco had been ramped up lately and that never spelled anything good in Harry’s experience. “I wanna say he’s happy, but that’s not it.”

“Mm,” Severus agreed. “Do you believe this needs more salt?”

Harry took the spoon offered. “Yeah, just a bit.”

“I am losing my touch.”

“Hardly.” 

The salt floated in alongside a few other spices as Severus’s long fingers plucked some thyme from its drying bundle. Harry watched with fascination as the spice ground down to a fine pile of dust between the pads of the pale fingers. Cooking had been a favourite pastime but of course, Severus, master brewer, was better at this too.

“He is as happy as I have ever seen him, Harry.”

“Excuse me if I don’t believe you.”

“Keep your voice down,” Severus chided, frowning at the orange-tinted soup. “Hand me another pepper.”

“Here,” Harry said, handing over a roasted pepper sans skin.

Severus began slicing. The rhythmic clack of the knife against the counter settled into the background as he spoke.

“Accept my word on this. Happiness is not a quality he has typically been exposed to, not even as a child. Smugness, Malfoy mannerisms, power, cunning, pain, those are the ingredients to the life he has understood.”

Harry scoffed. “Yeah, not even as a kid? Find that hard to believe. He wasn’t locked in a cupboard, Snape.”

“No?” The cutting paused as the eyes slid over to him. “Are you willing to bet your magic on that?”

Taken aback, Harry shook his head.

“I thought not.” One by one the pieces of the pepper plopped into the soup. “I spent more time caring for Draco than Lucius. Granted, most times I was forced to spend my evenings there at the behest of raving lunatics however, I was the sole individual who cared that he cried. No one, not even the house-elves at the Manor tended to Draco or his needs.

“We will all be fighting demons, Harry, and the Weasley enthusiasm you were introduced to is hardly the standard amongst pureblood families. You are correct in noting something is off with Draco.” Severus lowered his voice as he dipped the ladle into the pot. “Perhaps, if your father murdered you there would be less...judgment...on how he expresses himself. Leave his happiness be. The sorrow beneath is not yours to uncover.”

“Damn.”

“Quite.”

“I… You have my word that I won’t pry.”

Severus chuckled. “I am not lecturing you, Harry. It’s hardly any use with Gryffindors. Simply a bit of perspective. Now, is there enough salt?”

Harry nodded enthusiastically. 

“It seems I have not lost my touch after all.”

“You were the only one who thought that.”

Severus harrumphed. 

“Well, I ought to go check on Rin.”

Stiffening, Severus closed his eyes and grimaced.

“What is it? Is she all right?”

A burst of clean white magic bubbled around the soup as Severus cast a quick stasis charm.

“Outside,” Severus said.

The man didn’t leave an option. He pivoted and stormed out, cloaks billowing behind him. Harry cast a nervous glance around to see several freckled faces looking green around the edges. He turned just as quickly and jogged out of the cavern.

Severus drew in a long breath the moment Harry caught up to him, just at the edge of the wards.

“Rin is gone,” Severus said. “Hermione came by this morning while you were at Hogwarts with Minerva. She will be rejoining us shortly, with an apology, but feels that although you and I have more than cared for Rin, a hideout is not the place to keep a child.” His features soured as he looked up at the sun. “I rather...enthusiastically...agreed and made it quite clear that I was in the process of seeking alternative arrangements for the child were Hermione not to return.”

The obsidian eyes trailed down to Harry’s, remorse coloring them dark.

“I am sorry.”

He wanted to be mad. More than anything, he wanted to be mad. To kick over a table, spill the soup on the floor, to scream, and shout, and bang his fists against anything that could break. But he couldn’t.

This wasn’t the place for a small child no matter how much either one of them loved her. Rin was an easy target. Unable to defend herself and equally unable to call out for help, Rin was practically waiting for a Death Eater to stroll in and kill her. They wouldn’t have even needed to raise their wand. A pillow would do.

“I’m...not?” Harry said.

Both dark brows disappeared into the curtains of black hair framing Snape’s face as his eyes widened. The hand clutching his wand relaxed and he slyly put the wood back up his sleeve.

Harry huffed out a rickety laugh. “It couldn’t have lasted. Gods, we’re at war. Not really the time to jump into child-rearing.”

Still, Severus said nothing but his brows had settled. He squinted his eyes at Harry, giving the distinct impression that he didn’t trust a word coming from his mouth.

“Do you know where she’s taking Rin?”

“Ms. Granger mentioned her parents in Australia. The...dentists.”

The cool breeze that had been blowing through the cave for the better part of the day, freshening up the stagnant air, ruffled the knotted mop of hair atop his head and dried his eyes as they started to tear. Definitely out of apparition range, then.

“You are taking this...remarkably well.”

“I’m an adult, Severus. An adult without a Horcrux. What am I supposed to do?”

Severus cocked his head to the side, a strangely contemplative look pulling his features taut. “Exactly as you are doing.”

The breeze picked up into a stiff wind, pushing Severus several steps closer to Harry who closed the last few feet and wrapped his arms around the trim waist. A steady heartbeat drummed against his ear as he nuzzled into the warmth.

“Suffer on my own,” Harry said with a slight curl to his lips. “I wish she didn’t have to go. That I’d already killed the bastards. If the world was safer she… I wish I could have said goodbye.”

Two very long, very warm arms encircled him. “Hm. It seems to me, you must only say goodbye if you do not intend to meet her again. Have we not sworn off the death-defying stunts?”

Harry huffed a sad laugh.

“She will be fine, Harry. Hermione cares very greatly for her.”

“I know, I know,” Harry said, pulling out of the hug and shivering. “Cave?”

“My robes do not appear so foolish now, do they? I believe outside is acceptable.”

“You big prick.” Harry wrapped his arms around his middle. “I know she cares, but I just don’t trust Rin to get what she needs from ‘Mione’s parents. No offense to them, obviously, they did a great job with her. It’s just… I don’t know. She left without formula and with Rin having two magical parents, Hermione needs-”

“No advice on how to mother her child. Ms. Granger is intelligent, do you think she has not consulted every book written on this subject? Harry, she does care. I would not have allowed her to endanger our goddaughter. To that point, she’s taken up my offer of brewing formula for Rin. The responsibility will be mine and Draco’s. Does that assuage your concerns?”

“If I say yes, can we please go inside?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Harry Potter, trying to shut me up. How horribly unsurprising.”

“Hey! I’m not- wait!” 

The man dressed head to toe in black had already made his way back to the cave. By the time Harry’s feet pushed him forward, the shadow of Severus had been swallowed by the mouth of the cave.

************************************************

Hours later, after an incredibly raucous dinner full of energetic Weasleys and one unusually quiet Malfoy, Harry found himself closing the back cover of an ancient tome. Dully thinking Hermione would have been proud of him, Harry brushed a thumb over the title. The only word untouched by the decay was “obscura”. He made a guttural groan to himself as he placed the book on the small rock that was supposed to be a table. Glancing around, he grimaced. It wasn’t much of a library, more of a rock closet, but it did provide the necessary quiet to get some work done. There was no short supply of things to study and tactics to discover. Harry tapped the cover. She would be proud. Spent another whole night up researching. Flicking his wrist toward a forgotten glass, he downed the last of the old firewhiskey and sighed. If only they knew what we were actually doing locked up in here all night. The sorts of spells we're searching. 'Mione would you still be proud?

In the dim candlelight, the green eyes took on a sad hue.

Somehow, he’d found himself at the forefront of the research operation alongside Draco and Severus. No one else even had access to the library since it was a liability. Severus had always been protective of these books and half were from Draco's newly inherited Grimmauld Place. Harry had slipped in with Draco and Severus out of willingness, familiar, and loyalty. Very few among them had as much experience battling against the Dark Arts as the three. Even if Hermione had been around, she would have been little help to them. The gap between practical knowledge and book knowledge widened considerably when it came to the Dark Arts. You just had to know what was useful or not. A spell to rip someone’s legs off? Not. A spell to fill someone’s lungs with blood? Definitely.

So, Harry found himself along with the other two musketeers dutifully spending his free time researching. 

If someone had given him a time turner years back and shown him the image of his mop of hair reverently and willingly bent over a book half in a different language, he would have laughed. "I don't do research, Hermione." Harry breathed in the smell of old books and musty cave. He'd spent more time with his nose in a book looking something up since leaving Hogwarts than in the rest of his life, and maybe even Hermione's, combined. If Harry had glimpsed the spells he was jotting down and memorizing, he would have tried to arrest himself or kill him. He was going to be an Auror someday, wasn’t that always what he said? What a joke. If the Aurors knew half of what I've done... He gave a final caress to the cover before fluffing his hair. Those days are almost over. For now, I still have a few more bad guys to get rid of. Dark Lord. Albus. Lucius if Severus doesn't rip his throat from his neck first. Dropping his glass rather hard on the stone next to the wood, Harry leaned back into his chair.

“Oh, Merlin,” he sighed, rubbing the tension from his brows. “Better live long enough to forget this.”

Casting a quick tempus charm, he winced. After midnight. Again.

It was becoming a bad habit, one he had seamlessly traded with Severus. Harry sagged into the chair, resembling a shrimp as he sunk further into the cushions. At sixteen he’d thought Severus mad for stretching his days long into the night and managing to wake early enough to teach children when he could have tucked himself into a nice, warm bed but as he sat staring at the old book, he realized it was hardly a choice. War made demands. Leaders had to listen. And pawns had to play. If Harry didn't do his roles, someone's blood could be the consequence.

"Don't know how he did it," he grumbled before yawning.

With a heavy groan, he shoved himself from the chair. At this point, a quick snack would hardly matter. He was already late to bed and no amount of explaining in the morning would wash away that fact. Severus would have cast a charm to note when he returned anyway. At least I'll be able to say I took care of myself, Harry thought as he imagined a steaming cup of decaf and some biscuits. 

Padding into the kitchen, he ignored the flickering light of candles and lanterns strewn about the rest of the cave. Percy was awful about extinguishing them. It wasn’t until he was halfway through preparing himself a cup of decaf that he realized Percy had gone to bed earlier than normal. Harry had watched him wave goodnight. Jolting at the sudden, light touch of a hand on his shoulder, Harry spun around.

In the pale light stood a haunted-looking Draco.

“You’re up late,” he whispered, removing his hand as though it was burning Harry. “Sorry.”

No quip? I deserved at least that. Jumped like a rabbit.

“Yeah, finishing some reading,” he said, testing the waters.

The grey eyes sparkled. “Something light, I hope?”

Harry’s mouth went dry. No. He’d been busy reading about all sorts of torturous, lost Dark Arts that some barmy fool felt necessary to immortalize with quill and parchment. The neat handwriting stuck to the back of his eyelids as he recalled the book. Severus would have called the man a maniac for the way he slashed his “t’s” with extra enthusiasm when discussing death. Harry had grimaced at the composed, calm writing throughout. No, not light reading at all. But that had been genuine hope in Draco's voice.

Is he tired of this too? Gods, if he wants this to go back to normal as much as I do... Harry stopped himself. Draco had died. Apparently at the hands of his father since that was all Severus or Draco would say. Before that, he had been on the run, barely sprinting past the edge of being slaughtered. He'd lost his mother. His friends. Blaise. If anyone wanted back to normal, it was Draco. He'd had something to lost and lost it. Harry tempered his voice.

“Uh...not really light. Per se.”

The sparkle vanished from Draco’s eyes as his face fell. “Ah. Well, I guess I’ll just-”

“Fancy a drink?” Harry asked before Draco could get any further. Now he was sure, something was wrong. Damn Severus and his advice. Harry was a Gryffindor and Gryffindors pried.

“Of coffee?”

“No, well sure. I mean, we’ll split the decaf and then go to something stronger? I have some biscuits.”

The pinched nose scrunched. “You are a weird one, Potty.”

“One to talk, Dragon,” Harry mumbled. More clearly he said, “Go sit. I’ll wait on you hand and foot like you’ve always dreamed of.”

Draco was dead quiet. Trying his best to ignore Draco’s sudden stiffness, Harry brushed the spilled coffee grounds from the counter before banishing them. 

“I think I’ll stay here,” Draco softly said. After another moment’s pause he added, “You know, to make sure you don’t botch something this simple.”

“Yeah, all right.”

Okay, Dragon. What's going on with you? The last time you were this needed was six months after we left Hogwarts. Showed up at the cottage sobbing about Snape and you wouldn't leave my side for five seconds. Harry wiped down the counter with water. The flashbacks you had made mine look like fun dreams. Draco had a rough several months when Hogwarts let him leave and her protecting arms were retracted. Lucius was a right bastard then too, you know. Sending Howlers and Death Eaters to attack any second he was alone. He dumped the grounds into the glass french press. What's got you so spooked this time?

Draco hovered so close beside him that the hairs on their arms touched. Harry could feel precisely when Draco inhaled, when he exhaled. A jittery tremor seemed to shake him the entire time, brushing arms hairs in a way that prevented Harry from adapting to the presence. His rhythm didn’t falter as he went about pouring hot water into the press, stirring and casually waiting. Every so often, Draco would whimper and cover it poorly with a cough as he spun to look toward the dark corners of the cave.

There had been many nights like this when they were out hunting dark wizards, evading Lucius, and trying to find Severus. Nights where Draco was afraid and in desperate need of comfort but unable to let a single wall down. Would I bet my magic on that? He thought back to Snape's words. No, I wouldn't. Abuse ran rampant in that house and the odds that it began only when the Dark Lord returned were slim to impossible. Draco had been destroyed much in the same way Harry had.

“Wanna pick your cup?” Harry asked.

“I’m not five,” Draco snapped but his eyes were already dancing higher on the shelves.

He leaned forward and plucked the cup Harry had asked Slyvas to bring from the cottage, thinking specifically of Draco. It was a simple mug, the bottom half painted white, the top half and interior black, but in the middle of it sat a small, silver dragon. Harry had found it on a spontaneous trip to the flea market years back and immediately snatched it up thinking of the blond prat. Since then, Draco rarely used another mug in his presence. Harry hid his smirk. He’d planned on giving it to him this Christmas.

“How full?”

Draco snorted at a response and thrust his cup forward.

“Right, nothing under halfway. No cream, no sugar. Not like the Great Harry Potter, I know,” Harry mocked to keep the tone light but Draco had no smile on his face. “I’ll have you know, I take it black.”

“You started when Severus died.” Draco’s eyes tracked the steam rising from the cup. “Malfoy memory.”

Harry had a distinct feeling he’d said the wrong thing, stepped into territory Draco wasn't ready to traipse through.

Instead of continuing to shove a foot in his mouth, Harry pulled a face caught between a close-lipped smile and a grimace and started walking toward the couch.

“Is outside okay?”

“Draco, it’s freezing!” Harry spun around. Upon seeing Draco, he backtracked and said, “Sure, outside’s fine.”

The downturned lips wobbled before pulling themselves back into a neutral expression most would misunderstand as disgust. They twisted again, this time exposing pale pink gums and excessively white teeth. 

“Don’t pity me, Potter.”

“Malfoy.” Harry bit back, “I’ve never pitied you.”

Draco huffed. “Not even when you carried me to the cottage? Felt a lot like pity.”

“It felt like,” Harry growled, stepping closer to Draco. He knew his friend well enough to know when he needed a good fight. “Like your bony arse couldn’t be bothered to walk and that I’d have your death on my hands if I didn’t.”

“You know my leg was broken. Don’t give me that prissy shit.”

“And I know you want a fight. I’ll give it to you, Malfoy. When have I backed down from you?”

Draco’s expression soured. 

Then Harry remembered too. It had been in the forest when he was wildly out of control.

“Shit, Dragon. I’m sorry.”

“Let’s just…” he waved his hand. “Stay in. Silencing charms though since that fat mouth likes to blab.”

“I do not have a fat mouth.”

“But you do blab.”

“Can I ever win with you?”

A smirk touched the corners of Draco’s lips. “No. You did ask to be put in Gryffindor.”

“So that makes me lose?”

“Yes.” Elegantly settling into an armchair covered in battered leather, Draco crossed his ankle over his knee and balanced his cup on his knee with only one finger. “How well did the great, noble house of Gryffindor treat you?”

Anger sparkled in the grey eyes but Harry always appreciated Draco’s ability to exact revenge immediately. He’d never had an ounce of patience in him. Retaliation was executed without a breath of a pause. Harry supposed he liked it better that way.

“Fair,” he grumbled.

With a yawn and an apology, he trudged over to the chair sitting kitty-corner to the leather one. None of the chairs were exactly pristine but this was among the better ones. He rubbed his thumb over a patch of stuffing. Not even Draco had been able to transfigure the rocks and piles of leaves into anything resembling a new chair but this was better. He hummed quietly to himself as his mind trailed off.

All a little battered right now. The stuffing scratched the pad of his thumb. Maybe that’s why I like it so much. Maybe that’s why everyone likes it. Somehow, the chairs had retained their original smells. Some brought up memories of hopping in leaf piles with Draco and going for cool walks between hunts. Others reminded Harry of his first days at Hogwarts, the rain and wet stone. Perfect furniture wouldn’t fit in. Just make us feel like shite. Come back from battle to what, sit in a fancy chair? That’s rubbish. He kept rubbing, twice left, twice right. Might keep these for the cottage or at least figure out how to make one. Probably cast a scent charm on it.

“So help me Merlin, are you thinking about dragging one of these back to the cottage?” Harry’s head jerked up. “Fuck, Harry.” Draco continued, scrubbing his free hand down his face and scratching his stubble. “You’re such a problem .”

Harry grunted in protest.

Grey eyes fixed on him as Draco drew a long breath in and then sipped at his drink, never removing his eyes from Harry. Behind the curtain of silver there was a war. Desperation darkened his expression. Fear twinkled as though a sliver of moonlight was caught there, casting long shadows where sunlight used to sing. There was a touch of something more but before Harry caught it, Draco looked down suddenly choosing to stare into the black depths of his decaf.

There weren’t any words for a long while. The two sat, drinking casually and pouring more coffee every few minutes while the popping sound of the fire occupied their ears. Neither were sitting particularly close to it but the flames still cast flickering light and shadows across their blank faces. Harry blinked as he watched the darkness play across the sharp angles of Draco’s face. He had his mother's lithe elegance but his features were Malfoy through and through. Even so, it was startlingly to see so much bone on Draco. His jaw, long and angular, could cut diamond and his straight nose seemed almost to bulge next to his protruding cheekbones.

Severus had mentioned getting him on nutritional potions if he didn't improve soon but now Harry understood. He had lost weight. Quite a lot of it given the curve of collarbone peeking out from the unbuttoned dress shirt. He took a slow, subtle breath in as he tipped his head back and traced the bumps and ridges of the cave ceiling with his eyes. Draco was suffering. That much was certain.

How Harry had managed to miss it for as long as he had was hardly a mystery to him. His eyes had been focused on Severus and frankly on himself. Living without the Horcrux was...strange. He felt hollow. At other times, like he was only halfway there. The deep rage that had coloured his entire life, especially the past decade, had left suddenly and abruptly with his heartbeat. He couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness. There was a mind, a soul that was gone and Harry felt like he had lost something integral. Something important. Worse, he couldn’t help but feel that something had stuck with him from the veil.

His voice croaked as he broke the silence.

“Do you remember anything?”

Draco hissed but Harry wasn’t going to apologize.

No one else had been dead and come back except Voldemort and he wasn’t exactly the shining example of health. Harry had been awake several nights wondering if it wasn’t the Horcrux that damaged his soul but if the death itself was the thing to taint him. If that were the case…

“I looked. When I came back, I ordered Kreacher to get every book he could on wizards that came back.”

Harry’s mouth went dry. “And?”

Draco’s eyes went vacant as he stared off, his chest stilling. Slowly, they crept back to Harry. “Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy. Tom Riddle.” He drained his cup and set it on a nearby table. “It was only the three of us. Not exactly ideal to see our names next to his.”

“Severus can’t know,” Harry blurted.

“No one can. Are you insane? Those weasels are convinced I’m the reason Ron’s dead. What do you think they’ll do when they find out I share a core trait with the Dark Lord? They’ll eviscerate me! Snape...” The thin blond brows twitched in a minuscule frown. “He wouldn’t… I don’t know but I don’t need that overgrown bat staring at me more than he already is. Like I grew a bloody third head or some shit.” Draco held up a hand when Harry went to open his mouth. “Don’t defend him. You know he’s giving you the same stink eye. It’s not our fault we died, you know.”

A small laugh escaped Harry. “Dragon, it’s exactly our fault. I made an unbreakable vow and you lied to him.”

“Well, shit. I guess you’re right.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

“Sod off. You know what I’m saying. People are looking at us like we’ve already plotted their deaths.”

“Oh, haven’t you? Because I’ve-”

“Dammit! I’m serious, you twit.” Draco groaned and waved over the firewhiskey. “Can’t talk to you about anything. You sure you came back with both brain cells?”

“Positive.”

“Have Snape run a diagnostic on that.” Pouring a more than generous amount of whiskey, Draco grimaced as he knocked back half the glass. “Gods, that’s vile.”

Harry sniffed tentatively and reeled back. “Neville’s was better.”

“Don’t let that stop you,” Draco drawled, a tight expression on his face. “You’ll need that when I…”

Narrowed green eyes followed a polished shoe as it dropped to the floor. Draco’s knees were splayed as wide as the chair would let him and his face had turned away from Harry, letting the flames kick up worrisome shapes on his face.

“I heard from Father this morning.” 

Harry tipped the bottle to his lips as Draco pulled a piece of folded parchment from the left pocket of his slacks. He held it up without looking at Harry but his jaw had gone tight. In the dim light of the candles and the fire, his throat pulsed with rage. His blood pushed at the skin and to Harry, it looked as though it were trying to escape.

“What I am about to tell you absolutely does not leave this room or us. No one can know about this, not even Severus. Not even if he asks. I’ll obliviate you if I have to, understand?”

“Yeah.”

“No, do you understand? I will leave if you cannot keep your mouth shut.”

“I get it, Dragon. I get it.”

Draco’s head snapped to him, eyes hard and appraising. After a long look, he seemed to judge Harry worthy of hearing the contents of the letter and sighed.

“Fine. But don’t make me regret this. You had a Horcrux you could blame before. This time, there’s none of that.”

“I know, trust me. I’m not really in the business of betraying your trust.”

“Not yet,” Draco mumbled.

The paper bobbed over to Harry, unsteadiness forcing a frown on Draco’s face. Though coming back from the dead had fixed the deep undercurrent of broken magic in Draco, he still struggled along his recovery. Harry had caught him earlier the previous day cursing over a broken mirror that would simply not mend itself together.

“It’ll be back,” Harry said. “Severus is working on a-”

“Stability draught, I know. Who do you think his main test subject is?” Draco flicked his finger with a tight-lipped smirk.

“Ow!” Harry yelped as the paper smacked into his forehead and knocked his glasses loose. "What was that for?"

“Being nice is harder than being me.”

“Sod off,” Harry grumbled, rubbing his forehead. “There was a stinging hex in that and you know it.”

Draco coolly blinked his eyes before clasping his hands and setting them in his lap. Quickly occluding the thought that Draco really did look the part of the Malfoy heir, Harry turned his attention back to the paper now on the floor.

Picking it up, he startled when a lock of black and white hair fell onto his lap. Darting his eyes up to Draco, he found the Malfoy mask firmly in place. That was hardly a good sign. Harry swallowed his nerves and began to read.

Draco,

As disappointed as I am in your revival, I must applaud you (or shall I say Severus?) for out-manipulating death. Perhaps you are not a total failure of the Malfoy blood after all. Does that not deserve a reward, my son?

I went to the liberty of removing these from Narcissa. Regrettably, the outcome was not favourable. During our final encounter, she resisted me and begged for your life instead of complying with my final orders. You can imagine how I handled her, Draco. With a strong hand. Snivelling waste of space, that woman. It is hard to believe she came from the house of Black. Not to worry, Draco, I am well-acquainted with your own brand of stupidity and it is not so feeble as hers. There is Malfoy blood in your veins and you would do well to remember that. I hardly see any use for your lily-livered constitution but the Dark Lord and Albus assure me there is ample room for you among our forces.

Enjoy your reward, Draco. Only the two of us Malfoys have seen the end of the Black line snuffed now. That alone ought to be cherished. 

The memories will be viewable once before they deteriorate. It is a shame the memories of the dead do not keep as well as those of the living, mm? I implore you to keep the lock of Narcissa’s close to you as a reminder. There is another present. More valuable but it will take some time. Do keep your eyes open but do not forget, I killed you once I am certainly capable of doing so twice.

Do not try to resist me as she did.

I will have my way.

~L.M

You may be interested in knowing, I have your Ronald Weasley. Proof to follow.

Harry read the note then read it again. By the fourth read-through he was shaking his head and trying desperately to control the quick rise and fall of his chest. Narcissa hadn’t just been slain, if Lucius’s tone was anything to go by, she’d been tortured. Images of horrid, sexual violence flooded Harry’s mind as he recalled Snape’s memories from his days in the mirror. Lucius was a perverted bastard and Harry didn’t need to see the phial of blue to have that confirmed.

After a pause, he asked what happened.

Draco took a long breath in but didn’t exhale until he spoke.

“He raped her. Cast the cruciatus while he did it. Beat her bloody, she could barely see at the end but he made sure...she could still see him and...and know he killed her.”

Cold grey eyes burning with winter fire and pain begged Harry to hold his gaze in a quiet, don't let me suffer this alone . Pulling on his Gryffindor courage, Harry held Draco’s stare and let him share the final memories of Narcissa as he spoke. 

“She didn’t even stop begging when he cast the killing curse, almost rebounded like yours. Love of a mother and all that. Never stopped begging for him to let me live. She could have though. Stopped begging.” The clipped voice was low and hollow. “Mother let him use her hoping he would spare me. She never…” Draco licked his lips and dropped his gaze while Harry let out a hissing breath through his teeth. Those were images he knew he’d never recover from. 

“I never saw that woman bow to anyone. She listened to Father and of course obeyed him on the surface, but Mother was a Black and she used to tell me at night or when I was troubled that Blacks don’t bow to anyone. She slipped him laxatives, hair-dulling potions, even a few False Flu tonics to make him ill but he never knew. If she loved him at the start, it didn’t last long. I never saw it.”

Sinking further into the chair, Draco’s legs pushed against the sides as his arms flopped over the armrests. Dark circles clung to his eyes and for the first time in a long while, Harry felt like Draco was allowing himself to be seen again.

“She was so strong, Harry. Mother fought off doxies without even using a potion, just smacked them around until they were too scared to come back. Nothing scared her, not even Father at his worst. Not even the Dark Lord , for fuck’s sake. She was such a strong witch and no one knew. They only knew her as Father’s property. ”

Draco sighed, his whole body stiffening as he suddenly gripped the hand rests.

“My fucking reward was to see her die, Harry, because she was trying to do something good. Merlin. If I had just…”

“Stayed there?” Harry asked. “Done his bidding? Draco, what the fuck do you think she would have wanted? I didn’t know her hardly at all but I know she’d be sick if she saw you taking the blame for this. It’s not your fault that Lucius is a sick bastard.”

“Harry. I left her there. I...I just left . Maybe if I hadn’t been such a goddamn coward and stayed and protected her-”

“You would be dead, Draco. Don’t fucking…” Harry let out a short, growling yell as he erected more complex silencing spells. “You’d be dead! I’d be scraping pieces of you off the floor of the Manor and then I’d be dead. Draco… Dammit, Draco!”

Slamming his hands on his chair, Harry jumped to his feet and stormed over to the blond. He shook the letter from Lucius in front of Draco’s face.

“This means one thing and only one thing. Lucius wants to kill you, he would have killed you eleven years ago too. It’s nothing more than a way to use your fucking heart against you to get you in his company so he can eliminate a threat. You threaten him, Draco, because you’re just like Narcissa. Strong-willed and stubborn, compassionate, and so powerful it makes his skin itch. For fuck’s sake, he killed you! He killed you in the most torturous way possible and you’re still here. You didn’t even think to go after him, did you? Did you?!”

“No.”

“Exactly. Because you knew how much danger it would put your friends, your new family in if you went and did that. That’s called love, Draco. You learned to love from Narcissa and Snape, and Lucius has no clue how to fight love. He doesn’t know what to do with you and he never did.”

Harry tossed the letter in Draco’s lap and frowned.

“You’re so damn good, Draco, and you can’t even see that that’s why he wants you dead. Fucking shit!”

He groaned as he dropped into the chair. The palms of his hand looked up at him, open and empty. Draco was right in his grasp but constantly fluttering away. Always thinking he was unworthy, unlovable. Fucking expendable. He had to save him.

“It’s ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, lowering his voice considerably. “You’re so dumb sometimes, Dragon.”

His hands clenched into fists. 

“Harry.” Draco’s voice shook. He cleared his throat. “Damn.”

“Yeah, damn.”

Willing his hands to relax, he turned his eyes away from Draco and looked at the edges of the fire.

Soot clung to the stone floor and embers burned red hot around the edges of the logs. They were supposed to use non-magic methods to light and stoke the fire but Harry was tired and the warden, Severus, was fast asleep. He grabbed his wand, far too close to exhaustion to trust wandless magic, and muttered a quick spell to encourage the flames to crackle. Warmth oozed from the fire like a living thing, licking up his legs and kissing his cheeks, leaving rouge imprints behind. 

A soft sigh flared his nostrils. Burning wood filled his breath and Harry closed his eyes, taking several slow breaths and relishing the smell. When he’d been locked in his cupboard, he could still smell the fire the Dursleys ran during the winter. Cheap as they were, Vernon hardly let them turn the thermostat up but Harry was always cozy under the stairs. Always warm. And when he smelled the smoke announcing the arrival of fall and winter, he was happy. Alone, but happy.

He combed a hand through his hair. Sometimes, he almost missed those soft memories.

“So,” Draco said, his voice cracking like a log as he broke the silence. “So they’ve got Ron, then.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Lucius isn’t really the kind to make empty threats.”

“No.”

“Proof to follow though? That’s vague even for him. And he didn’t even try to mention Dumbledick.”

Draco huffed out a laugh and Harry smirked at the fire.

“It means he’s up to something, probably big. Doesn’t want to tip his hand but he’s an awful poker player, Harry, and I mean awful. Loses every time. Too arrogant.”

“No kidding? If he tipped his hand I didn’t see it.”

Draco laughed again, this time the sound was closer to genuine than sardonic. “That’s why I’m here, you twit. Is that one brain cell working overtime?”

“How did he tip his hand?”

“He’s being vague about Ron. That’s how, no wait, don’t give me that look. I know what I’m talking about.”

“Well then tell me, because I’m lost.”

“One brain cell, you’re asking too much,” Draco said, tapping his head.

“Dragon, come on. ”

“All right, I’ll take sympathy on poor Potty. He tips his hand by being vague because the sodding lunatic can’t help but brag when he’s sitting on something. In this case, that something is Ron. Molly took-”

“You fucking knew?”

“Oh who didn’t? Molly took Ron to him that night to get him...well...not dead and father saw an opportunity to both use her for espionage and use that red-headed idiot as a…” Draco frowned deeply as his lips tightened into a thin line. “Look, I don’t like this. I really don’t like this and I’m not saying it’s true so don’t tell anyone until I do. I intend to talk to Severus about Ron in a few days. It’s just a hunch.”

“Well,” Harry waved over a bottle of liquor, took several swigs before pouring a glass, and then flew it over to Draco. “I have it on good authority your hunches are normally dead on.”

“Good authority, my arse. It’s only because I’ve saved that Gryffindor head of yours that you know my hunches are right,” Draco sniffed, offended.

“All right, all right. Just tell me. He’s...he’s my friend too.”

“Lucius is going to resurrect him. The proof he’s going to send is a fully puppeteered Ronald Weasley doing exactly as Lucius and the Dark Lord command. And if he’s successful, then we might have more than one corpse to fight. He’ll resurrect every loss on that battlefield, ours and theirs, just to destroy us.”

The glass tumbled from Harry’s fingertips with slow certainty, careening towards the ground. It crashed into hundreds of slivers. Each one returned to the original stone it was transfigured from and rattling against the stone floor.

“I did this,” Harry whispered. “I...fuck. Severus is going to...Fuck.”

“I know. That’s why I want to tell him alone, give him a few days first. I can’t… I know what this is going to do, Harry, but he’ll know better than anyone who the Dark Lord and Albus will want to resurrect. And, you’re going to hate this more, but we might have to reverse Imperio Molly.”

“No. No! I won’t stoop to-”

“It’s not stooping if they use our friends, our family to kill us, Harry! It’s common fucking sense, it’s a last measure. I know that. Trust me, I know that.” Draco sighed, his hand shaking his glass. “I hate this, but they’re forcing our hand. We aren’t going to win this anymore by playing clean. That was Albus’s way to make sure we lose. War is dirty and we’re going to have to play in the mud a little too.” He paused. “Just you, me, and Severus, okay? I won’t have anyone else knowing about this. No one else has to go to Azkaban.”

“No,” Harry said. “I agree. Fuck, I hate this. I just always thought…”

“That you could save the world with a scar, a smile, and good intentions?”

“Yeah, does sound a little barmy when you say it.”

The two lapsed into silence, quietly drinking their whiskey and listening to the fire. They spoke sporadically about anything and nothing, though Harry was under the distinct impression that Draco was still avoiding something. 

“I never thought,” Harry started after the fire had dwindled and they had run out of things to say. “That we’d be here.”

“In a cave?” Draco asked. Numbness dripped from his voice and for the first time in a while, Harry could hear how frightened he was.

“No. I mean, fighting Dumbledore. Lucius. I never thought in my worst nightmares that he wouldn’t be dead by the end of Hogwarts. It’s been decades.”

“He’s one old fucker.”

“Yeah,” Harry said dryly. “When Severus died, I lost my world, you know? But the hope of him, fuck even the idea of finding him dead, it just…”

“Strung you along? Yeah, I know the feeling.”

“Your mum?”

Draco nodded. “It would have been nice to end all this before she died. Prove that I wasn’t Father.”

“She knew.”

Draco grimaced and brought the tumbler back to his lips.

“Severus is back but now… I’m just not sure, Draco. They’re going to double down and try to take him from us, try to take you, and me, and probably Rin if they knew she was alive.” He paused, looking at the amber liquid in his fixed glass. “I’m not a soldier without the Horcrux anymore. I don’t even know what I’m fighting for. Just feels like I’m trying to minimize death. Stop the damned trio from taking more from me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. What...fuck. I’m sorry, never mind.”

“No,” Draco said, “Ask your question.” He huffed, “Don’t start being a coward now.”

“What am I supposed to fight for? What are you fighting for? Tell me something because I really don’t know what to do anymore. I’m just...scared.” The last word dropped heavy into his lap.

“You shouldn’t be but I can’t tell you why,” mischief glinted in his eyes. “Not yet, at least. Hang on for a little longer. Your stupid, stubborn arse should be capable of a few weeks of waiting. I know you’re not perfect like me, but-” Harry rolled his eyes and groaned. “But I think even you can muster up some patience. For the cause, or whatever,” Draco finished waving his hand and then banishing his glass. “What I’m fighting for? Merlin, you’re asking questions like that bitch Skeeter now.”

“Didn’t she die?”

“No, no. That was Nexley. He was her supervisor.”

“Are you going to answer?”

Draco regarded him with a strange look before lifting his eyes and sighing heavily.

“You’re not going to drop it.”

“No.”

“Bastard.”

“So why are you fighting?”

Draco’s face took on the strange expression again, both hardening and softening, pinching and relaxing, twisting in disgust and lifting in hope.

“So people like Neville don’t have to toughen up just because. So our generation can stop trying to make their parents, whoever’s side they were on, proud. Severus will kill himself five times over if some blond idiot doesn’t jump in front of him now that I did get from my Father. And you, Merlin’s tits, you’re just as bad. If I don’t have a wand aimed at your throat, you’re liable to jump out a window thinking you can fly. Dreamer.” Draco made a disgusted sound in his throat. 

“I’m a fighter. Father and Severus both made sure I knew how to fight. You might be the Chosen One, but I was the boy-who-was-damned. One way or another, I was born into a world that already wanted my head. Both sides of the war dreamt of my death or my service and I didn’t have the luxury of having friends who could help me or protect me. Not for a long time. I’m fighting because I know how. There shouldn’t ever be another boy-who-was-damned.”

Draco frowned but Harry found himself completely speechless. How was it that he always had his head so far up his arse that he couldn’t see the rest of the wizarding world had suffered as much if not more than he had?

“I’m going to bed, Potty.” 

Several loud cracks followed Draco’s rise to his feet. His long legs carried him several feet away from Harry when the polished dress shoes scuffed to a stop. He looked suddenly so like a Malfoy it caused a shiver to race down Harry’s spine. All hard lines, hidden fear, and pristine manners, Draco stood glancing over his shoulder not quite at Harry but in his general direction.

“Thanks.” His shoulders raised several inches before falling back down. “Harry, thank you.”

The blond hair, trimmed into a messy undercut flipped forward as Draco squared his head, shoved his hands in his pocket, and walked into the darkness of a cave. Harry stared into his half-finished bourbon.

Merlin help him, it was going to be a race to kill Lucius.

Chapter Text

It was cold. Brutally so for the first days of December. Winter hadn't officially fallen yet it seemed the arctic decided to waltz its merry arse down early. Which was fine by Draco. He always enjoyed the cold season. December. He frowned as he glanced back at the cave getting smaller as he walked. It was a special month, the only time Lucius was ever kind.

Draco crunched across the frosted grass and dead leaves covered in perfect ice replicas of themselves as he tugged on a thin pair of dragonhide gloves. The cold had never bothered him. He blamed it on Snape’s cloaks making him warmer than was natural. Narcissa thought him plain mad, he smirked at the thought. She would shuttle him out the door to go ingredient picking with Severus to give Lucius a break from the elements. Draco's expression pulled down as he remembered his father grinning and dancing out the door any time Draco asked to go out. Narcissa would swat at him, warn him that every January he came down with a cold but Lucius only laughed and taken left with Draco on his hip for long walks through the snow and when he could walk, they strode side by side. Draco growing taller every year but never sacrificing his December.

Some years, Severus even managed to weasel him out of Hogwarts early.

As the years dragged on and the world became more unbearable, Draco learned how to slip away from the masses and vanish off into the dark and dreary. It was comforting. Quiet. A useful skill when the world became too chaotic to bear. Hogwarts gave him plenty of practice. Everyone tailed him, pestered him, asking ridiculous things about Harry, the Dark Lord, and his status as a Death Eater even at 11. He'd put his efforts into shaking the shadows.

He’d gotten quite good at it.

When he had arrived at Hogwarts, he quickly learned that everyone would leave him be when it was cold. He could sneak off at any time of day or night and walk the grounds without a soul to bother him. He would slip into the arctic air. Soak up the chill in the air and let it touch his bones. Simply be Draco. Many dark evenings had been spent leaving deep footprints in the snow. Crabbe and Goyle didn’t follow him and didn't mention it, chalking it up as a weird Malfoy mannerism. Blaise didn’t head out with him. Snape left him alone. Not even Harry had the guts to stalk him through the freezing nights. 

No, those nights had been for Draco. Red-nosed, eyelashes covered in snow and ice, Draco and his ghostly features blended into the winter nights. He could disappear. Slough off the responsibilities and airs he’d been forced to carry. He could be alone with himself and the stumbling trajectory of his thoughts that always carried him to a pair of nameless gravestones tucked behind a thatch of trees on the back of the castle’s property. The marble headstones, chipped and weathered, still glinted in his mind’s eye as though a full moon was staring down at them. They were alone together, just the three of them. White as a dying star, brilliant as the first snow, and touched by pain so deep they needed the freezing breath of winter to paralyze it.

A puff of warm air fogged in front of him.

Those were the days. Cold air rushed up his pant legs as he briskly carried himself away from the cave. Things have changed, haven’t they? Can’t be alone. Father isn't about to be kind this winter. And everyone is too ruddy attached to each other.  A small frown tugged his brows down. They don’t understand. The edge of his deep emerald scarf fluttered up, flipping itself over his shoulder. I’m not like them. I need to be alone. Lonely.

The need to be alone was a cosmic release for Draco. Without a cold landscape to dart off to, there was nowhere for him to be himself. Everyone demanded something of him and he was more than willing to comply, to carve out pieces of himself and hand them over like trading pieces because he was a Malfoy and a Malfoy’s reputation was built through relationships, debts, and duties. But he had been born without an ounce of Malfoy coldness or Black cruelty. Draco had been born soft with a heart the size of the moon. Acting as the person he had been molded into took its toll.

An itching began at the back of his throat. Coughing a few times, Draco took a slow breath and calmed himself down. The stakes had only grown more severe in the past decade. Specifically, since Harry decided his giant head could save the world.

He cast a sideways glance at the pumpkins sitting below a layer of ice and snow. Too many people are relying on us. How could it possibly end well now? He rolled his lips together and quickly moved past the garden. It can’t. Someone will lose. Pulling lip balm from his pocket, he ran it over his lips breathing in a cold, minty breath that threatened to fill his lungs with ice. Someone has to lose. There are too many dreams now. He cast a look over his shoulder. Waving his hand, the footsteps pressed into the crunchy grass disappeared. Harry doesn’t even know that he can’t fix everything. Idiot has no clue someone will lose. He huffed. It'll be me. I always lose. Images of Blaise and Narcissa flashed through his mind followed shortly by Lucius killing him.  Merlin, what I wouldn’t give to go back to Hogwarts. He snorted. A tall pine caught his attention and he cast another glance over his shoulder, again washing away the footsteps that had gathered. Simpler times. What a rubbish joke. 

It wasn’t much different now, but enough to spark a hint of longing in him.  

Hogwarts was far away, not only in distance but in accessibility. He couldn’t head back there to visit those nameless graves even if he wanted to. The war had taken that from him just like it had stolen away Narcissa. Goosebumps rose the pale hairs along his arms as a glacial gust smacked against his side. 

North storm then. His grey eyes turned up to the sky as he continued walking. Father loved Northern storms. Mother hated them. The Manor was like ice. Draco had loved it. He and Lucius would run out of the Manor and patrol the grounds, perhaps even duel without intent. It occurred to him several years back that perhaps what he liked so much about the cool brush of winter was that it affected his father so strongly. Changed him. Made him soft and kind. He became a father when a chill touched the air. N ever even making Draco so much as feel a tremble of upset.

He missed those times most, knowing well he shouldn’t. There had been rampant abuse, terrible nights, and things Draco should have never been exposed to, but Draco yearned for those days. The days when Lucius would swoop into the house like a shadow and scoop Draco up in his arms and take him to winter landscapes, the most beautiful he’d ever seen, and a snow-decorated Hogsmeade. Those moments when Lucius took him by the hand and led him around their grounds in long blue velvet cloaks beneath the moonlight gave him such immeasurable happiness it poured over into his adult life.

Until he died and he realized, really understood, it was gone. Lucius had killed him.

He would not see his mother again. Those warm days cuddled in Lucius's arms by the fire had left. Hogwarts could not have him. Malfoy Manor would eat him limb from limb if he ventured too near to it now. 

“Gone,” he whispered. The force of the wind ripped it from his mouth. “Never had it to begin with.”

The pine passed on his left as he looped around it and banished the last of his footsteps. 

Warm wood pressed into his palm as he pulled his glove off and gripped his wand. It was now or never. He could either go or stay.

Every day for the last two weeks, he’d gone out for a walk. Each one, he added between ten and twenty minutes on the back end. Subtle enough for no one to notice but large enough to get the job done. He wasn't the Slytherin Prince for nothing.

Squeezing every ounce of cunning into his plan, Draco had manipulated everyone’s perception. No one asked where he'd been going or what had taken him so long. It was normal. Now, he had quite a long stretch of time before anyone came looking for him. With any luck, he could get away with being absent for three or four hours. Any more than that and he was asking for trouble on multiple levels. He'd probably be dead if he was gone that long.

Not stupid enough for that. He looked up at the endless, grey sky. It’ll be a beautiful day there. Father would like it. He always thought the clouds brought out my eyes. He scoffed. But he killed me. Puts a damper on things.

Draco pulled a pendant from beneath his shirt with his wand hand, tucking the wood between different fingers as he thumbed the smooth silver snake coiling around a metal hook. It was hot beneath his touch. The snake, annoyed from being touched, moved slightly and slithered toward the back of the pendant out of reach where it could nap in peace. Draco drew in a tight breath. Where the snake had been sat an old scrying mirror made from two pieces of ancient heirlooms. One sat at Malfoy Manor where he had grown up and the other lived on the wall of an unused bedroom four stories up at his home, Grimmauld Place.

“Black and Malfoy,” he whispered.

It was ridiculous to keep wearing the blasted thing after everything he’d been through. His mother wasn’t alive and the mirror wasn’t going to help remedy that problem. And his father had successfully killed him, a fact he was still grappling with. Neither one was about to scold him if he took it off. No one in the cave would blame him. 

Aside from himself.

Whether he liked it or not, and it was a definitive not, Draco Malfoy was the final son in two bloodlines. The last one to carry those names and that blood. He frowned down at the mirror. His reflection was distorted and he looked narrow and pointy. 

What was he doing? He pressed the mirror against his forehead, ignoring the metallic hiss of disapproval from the serpent. Weeks ago he had finally succumbed to the curse his father bestowed on him, slipping into the darkness with Snape’s voice saying goodbye and fully convinced he would not come back. But he’d woken up on Snape’s lap. The ceiling of the cave and the snoring professor were the best sights and sounds he’d ever experienced. The titanic awe over what happened would not leave him. Somehow, he'd managed to wrangle a second chance out of life.

So what was he doing now, throwing it away?

Draco sighed and looked into the mirror. He drew a small “b” on its surface and followed it with a lowercase “m”. 

The snake awoke and cast him a wary glance before tightening around the engraved jewelry and eclipsing the mirror once more.

“Which will I be today? A Black or a Malfoy?” 

The question was warm in the frigid air and hung in a cloud before the wind swept it away. Going through all he’d gone through just to go back burned him. Terrified him. Looking down at the reflected sky, Draco pinched his eyes closed. Tears pounded against his eyelids, fighting to be released as he bit down on his lower lip. 

He was eight when Father gave him the pendant. 

A great, jeweled hand glinted in his memory. Lifting high and blotting out the light of the chandelier of candles in the study, the hand had flipped. Rings and rocks winked before coming down hard against the back of his head. He had been familiar enough with the gesture to know to duck but far too young to do anything about it. Not that age ever helped that issue. If physical violence was met with force, spells were brought out. And potions.

Draco grimaced.

A small part of him hoped that Lucius would be out, visiting one of his villas or off galavanting with some new woman. That was as likely as Draco sprouting wings and learning to fly. Not necessarily impossible in the grand scheme of things, but hardly an outcome he expected. No, Lucius would be at the Manor. 

Things were going too well for him. While Severus was right about the deadly trio retreating to lick their wounds, Lucius would have been fixed with some skele-gro and a strong episkey and back to his arrogant self within a week post-battle. If Severus had a weak spot, it was expecting the worst from Lucius. The overgrown bat always cut him slack, gave him kindness where he didn't deserve it. He and Severus had gone head to head several times in screaming matches, Draco taking the side that Lucius was more dangerous than Snape thought and Severus offering up a very unhelpful counterargument consisting of the phrase, Do not act like you understand Lucius. You are a child. Draco thought the counterargument would have changed when he grew up, but it remained the same. He figured that they’d spent too much time together in the Inner Circle. Maybe Severus had been too near for some of Lucius’s dumbest moments to ever believe him capable of scheming. But Draco knew. His father was far more intelligent than anyone gave him credit for and Draco knew better than most exactly what he was able to do. 

Now, he was scheming. He could feel it in his bones. Rotting like Mother’s corpse. Lucius was up to something and no one was going to check on him. No one could. 

Potty was too afraid. Without the Horcrux, he was functioning like Neville’s old toad. Lost, soft, and afraid of his own magic. Severus was hardly any better. The hit of losing Ron fractured something inside him. He had a saviour complex the size of their cave and then some. Losing that Weasel did something to him. Draco hadn’t figured it out quite yet, a blemish on his intelligence, but he was close to it. 

That left the rest. Weasleys who were bent on vengeance. One who was under the Imperius. Neville, who despite having gained courage, still got dizzy every time the Dark Lord was mentioned. Luna who was half-here, half-gone. A bad trip on an illegal pink potion was to blame for that. None of the new Order was exactly qualified for this.

Only he, Severus, and Harry were skilled enough in the first place and of the three of them, only he would. He scowled as he looked down at the mirror.

What a time to miss Ron. He would have been damn helpful right about now. Shaking his head, he sucked in a cold breath. What are you scheming, Father? What have you figured out?

Draco tucked the pendant away and looked skyward.

This was it then. He was going to do it.

Tightening his grip on his wand, he floated up a large piece of birch bark he tucked away last week. Transfiguring it into paper, elegant swirls of cursive danced off the tip of his wand onto the page.

Potty,

Your Gryffindor curiosity brought you here, I’m certain. To save bark and magic, I’m at the Manor. Hopefully, I will return before you miss me but if I don’t… I will leave my memories in a phial tucked under the painting in my old room. Winter landscape, pines covered in snow. Bring Severus if you want, he’ll know where it is.

Keep your big head out of trouble.

Dragon

Draco looked at the letter. At least now if he died someone would have access to his memories. Casting a breakaway spell on himself, Draco staggered several steps before hitting a tree. His hand shot out and stabilized the rest of him as the world spun. Breakaway spells were notoriously dangerous but he had cast it before, years back on the run, in the event that he died and Harry needed closure. Now it seemed he was doing it again for more or less of the same reason. If he did die, those memories would float to the location in the mind’s eye. The limitation being a pathetic one-mile radius.

It was good enough.

Floating the letter up and casting the necessary protection spells on the transfigured parchment, Draco ran his fingers over the scar his father had given him on the base of his skull. Thin and long, the jagged Malfoy heirloom had peeled open his skin that day. Lucius made no move to ever heal it and went so far as forbidding the elves to help. Draco had walked around with blood staining his hair for a week. 

The scar had faded but never left. A token, Lucius had said. To never forget how weak he was. It sliced up through his hairline, stopping just before his ear.

I’m coming back, Father. He stepped out of the wards. You can scare the rest off, but you will never frighten me again. Draco closed his eyes. I died, Father. By your hand. Now, I’ll be your ghost. He settled himself. I will haunt you until I’ve killed you. Grey eyes snapped open like lightning. Storm clouds rolled across his vision as the Malfoy mask settled over his features. I am your ghost. Draco vanished with nary a crack.

Chapter Text

Malfoy Manor had changed since Narcissa’s death.

Every plant she had once doted on had joined her in an early grave. Half of the topiary lining the grounds looked ready to be turned into kindling and the rest were nowhere to be seen. Draco's pale brows twitched. The flowers were completely gone. Glancing behind the building, Draco’s face soured. A large pile of ash remained where the greenhouse had proudly stood for decades.

Lucius had destroyed anything that Narcissa had touched. Loved. It was hard to believe he had ever loved her but Merlin, had he. According to Narcissa. Draco supposed he had seen bits and pieces scattered throughout his childhood but the constant threat of the Dark Lord blotted out any of those memories. Maybe when he wasn't up to his neck in peril they would return.

Draco’s eyes slid back to the Manor.

It was ugly and grey, more than usual now that all signs of life had been scrubbed from its grounds. There was a sickness sizzling in the air, vibrating off the angry stone building. He didn't like it, not one bit. The Manor used to be hospitable, warm during the winter months and covered in decorations but now it was imposing and bare. Naked for the world to see its intent. The welcoming home of his childhood had gone. Barely noticing he was a sore against the pale winter landscape, Draco stood, wand in hand, feet away from the apparition point struck by the starkness of the Manor.

The last he had seen it was the night Severus had nearly been killed by the Dark Lord. The night he had run from his father. It had still held the semblance of a home at that point. The Christmas before, garland draped across every prominent point and all the corners held twinkling lights. Twelve years had passed since then and the house wore its age painfully. 

A heavy shuffling snapped him back to attention. He ducked behind a half-dead shrub with the agility of a wizard used to being chased. The scraggly thing would hardly be enough cover from a full-grown wizard but he’d come prepared. Malfoys were always prepared. Blacks always expected the worst. Snaking his hand into a pocket, he paused as a small, bald head bobbed into sight. A house-elf tottered back to the main doors with arms full of potatoes. 

No house-elf magic today? Father must be in a poor mood. The elf dropped the sack with a surprised shriek before wrestling with it, grumbling and cursing the whole way. Has some barmy witch sold you on a prophecy again? Unless... No. He couldn't possibly be expecting me. Lucius would occasionally forbid the elves from using magic to rile Draco when he had been particularly nasty as a child. Watching the house-elves putter about, struggling through their tasks always wore Draco down and brought him to apologize for his behaviour. He narrowed his eyes. "There are always consequences, Draco. They will not always belong to you." His lips flattened into a thin line. It had been a good lesson, one that stuck. His failures could hurt others more than himself. Draco swallowed down the memories. Sentimentality could kill him. He couldn't be expecting me.

At last, the elf secured the potatoes and began shuffling again. A ghost come to end your reign. All signs of interest and emotion had vacated. Leaving his features cold and apathetic, the swirling blizzard within retreated far into his chest. I am not here to kill you today. Not unless I can.  His eyes jerked down to his polished shoes as sour reluctance crept up his throat. Not unless I have to.

He looked toward the sky. It was snowing.

The tracks he had pressed into the frost-covered ground would be covered in a matter of minutes. A touch of luck, hm? Draco tossed Harry’s invisibility cloak over his head and darted in after the house-elf. I will take it.

Wooden doors slammed shut behind him, echoing through the entrance hall and the house-elf scurried off down a passageway leaving Draco alone.

Now, the fun began. 

Clean as usual, the marble tile of the entrance hall glinted in the dim light. The small red flames from a tall chandelier flickered in the white floor, looking entirely too similar to Snape’s blood. Grey eyes lifted, darting off to the side involuntarily as he remembered watching from a doorway as Severus was levitated into the Manor. The door off to his right hummed with energy. His energy. Twelve years back Severus had been levitated into the entrance hall, dripping blood across the pale tiles. Lucius’ cruelty was no great secret but when Draco had looked into those crystal blue eyes, he had seen sorrow so deep he wasn't sure he understood it. The growled words "he must live" still clung to the memories as though Lucius had said them to him and not the Death Eaters surrounding him. 

The doorway shimmered and Draco sucked in a sharp breath. If he could possibly forget the danger of returning to the Manor, the terrified residual magic holding his own signature wouldn’t let him forget.

Squinting his eyes, he shuffled back several steps from that door as a gaggle of house-elves limped to the service tunnels. They were mumbling. Malfoy house-elves didn’t mumble. They didn’t speak . Dobby had been lucky to escape with his tongue for how much he talked. In truth, everyone had a soft spot for that elf. He rolled his lips together. Whatever they were saying was lost to the piddly drip of something against the tile but he could make out a few concerning words.

"Master expects him...unnecessary. Young Master must...Master's study."

A second elf slapped the other on the head murmuring something about the importance of family and loss.

Sniffling, a third house-elf dabbed her eyes as she quietly blubbered, "Master is too kind! To kill-"

Both elves hushed her and dragged her into a service passageway as she cried.

The tunnel door banged closed on their conversation while Draco cursed himself for not using magic to gather more information. If he had trusted Lucius half as much as he had back at Hogwarts, he would have cast a quick spell to eavesdrop but something about all of this smelled sour.

His nose scrunched. No, something did smell sour.

There was a sharp sweetness permeating the air. Blood. Swinging his gaze back to the door, Draco realized a touch too late exactly where he was standing. If he oriented himself according to that night, he was standing directly where Snape's body had been held as Lucius called in every healer known to wizardkind. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to the ceiling. A fat crimson drop pelted the top of the invisibility cloak.

Flinching, he staggered back in an attempt to get away from the blood, slipping over something slick as he did. Just barely managing to halt his footsteps before he took off at a sprint the way he had twelve years ago, Draco grit his teeth. He was better than any Auror in the field after having to take care to watch Potter and not dumb enough to let his fear manipulate him into stumbling about like some uncouth idiot. Lucius would expect that from him. Everyone would. Skeeter had made sure the world saw him as a coward.

Draco steeled himself. He was not some careless Gryffindor about to run around with his head cut off because he was afraid, of all things. Gripping his fear tightly, he wet his lips and swallowed hard. Reluctantly, he brought his eyes to the floor that had squelched beneath his shoes.

Trailing from his polished boots to where he had been standing a moment ago were two crimson drag marks. 

This was not how he envisioned his mission starting.

Blinking at the mess, Draco's skin began to tingle with nervous electricity. Glinting in his memory were hundreds of glass orbs full to the brim of blood. They lined the walls of the Riddle House, serving as the Dark Lord's greatest treasure. The names of their owners hovered in a dark gold script just in front of them, connected to the bottles with a thin gold line of magic. The last time he had been dragged there, he'd caught the name Severus Snape standing proudly beside his father's just outside the bedroom.

He stared dumbly at the smudged blood on the ground.

It was all too similar. The static of old magic in the air, the smell of Snape's blood, the hum of his own terror mirrored that night with such crisp perfection Draco held still as though stupefied. That was Snape's blood on the ground. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that his orb had been retrieved, cracked open, and spilled across the marble of Malfoy Manor. Red continued plopping to the ground.

Draco's heart stuttered in his chest as he sloughed off his suit jacket. What have I gotten myself into? The black jacket thumped behind him, still underneath the invisibility cloak. This isn't father's work. He would beat anyone who desecrated his precious marble floor into an unrecognizable pile. His jittering fingers began to unbutton his dress shirt. It's the Dark Lord. His blood. His partner. His...revenge. Draco peeled the warm shirt from his snowy skin and held it gingerly in one hand. If he's here, I'm dead. Father is one matter but He is another. The solution was obvious, his expression pitiful and pinched. He shuddered. Half-nude and standing in the entrance hall, he was freezing. Cold air crept across the vast planes of his thin, sculpted chest as he cast a blazing eye toward the drafty door.

I'm not getting out so easily as I got in. No elves to help me there. He grimaced. The door would only open if he used magic and that would alert everyone in the Manor including the Dark Lord presuming he was somewhere within the stone walls. Would you look at that, Potter?  A blazing inferno of disappointment curled in his gut. You were right. I should have let you and Snape do the heavy lifting.

He shook his head, his lips twisting in bitter upset. I'm not going to make it out of here. Father expected me and the Dark Lord set this... his eyes roamed over the dripping blood and flickering candles ...contraption up. Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, Draco refrained from cursing the skies and eased his feet from his polished boots. I'll tell you what, Potty, he thought, shuddering as his socked feet touched the frigid marble, I'll try anyway. You love hopeless endeavors. His shoulder hunched protectively forward as he squatted down to clean the blood. Quickly, he jerked his shoulders back into the perfect posture and mindlessly tugged his non-existent sleeves into order. Fuck. Why can't you be here with me right now?

Opening up his shirt, he snarled down at the clean fabric. Egyptian cotton. Potty, if I live you'll owe me for this. The humour didn't touch how deeply he despised his choice of actions. 

Flipping his shirt inside out, he first wiped the bottom of his shoes, careful to make sure no crevice had a trace of red before turning his attention to the smear and growing puddle. It was ugly work. The blood seeped through the fabric and pressed hot against the heel of his hands. The damned puddle coloured the entire back of his ivory shirt in a blot that resembled a flower torn in half. A medi-therapist would have a wonderful time with that one. The colour drained from his face as Snape's blood stained the underside of his neatly trimmed nails. Draco hissed in disgust. Horrendous images of how the Dark Lord had gotten this blood filled his mind and if he didn’t cover it with revulsion, he would succumb to the abject horror of the situation. 

The shirt swept over the last of the red marks, leaving only a small puddle roughly the size Draco believed it had been in the beginning. Anything less and Lucius would have known someone cleaned it. Draco swallowed down the bile inching up his throat as his knees groaned from the awkward pressure of rising. He was left standing under a stained invisibility cloak with a bloody shirt in hand.

You've cleaned his blood before. The words were not as reassuring as he’d intended. Come on. They need this. He reluctantly slipped one arm through. Cold blood pressed against his pale back, turning his stomach with revulsion. Harry needs me to do this. Drenched fabric pressed sloppy kisses to the taut muscles of his back, leaving open-mouthed stains as he pushed his other arm through. Severus needs this. He pulled the front closed. The shirt stuck to his dry skin. If I don’t, no one will. Shaking fingers buttoned flat, faux-pearl buttons. The blood was already warming though the stain still felt distinctly wet. I have to. He closed his eyes and tucked in the destroyed shirt, smoothing his hands down his chest before pulling on his suit jacket. No one else can come here. He drew in a long breath as he closed his jacket and tugged his sleeves down. He fought to find order amidst the chaos. No one else can put up with this nightmare.

Taking several steps toward the door, Draco removed himself from the scene, the constant drip ending midway through his cleaning. A floating bloodstain would have to be remedied, but it could presumably wait until he was somewhere less monitored. Like an upstairs service tunnel. A hollow moan of pain echoed from the rafters.

Don’t tell me the bastard’s come up with a sound system now. The voice called out feebly for Harry, then for Draco. Dammit all. It was Severus. He pressed the knuckles of his hands against his eyes, unable to use his still-bloody palms. Dark Lord thought of everything. Severus screamed out for Draco again and the cavity of longing deep in his center expanded as he wished he could have saved Severus sooner. 

It was bad enough having to be back under these circumstances but to have the pain of that night so blatantly expressed spelled trouble. His concentration was fractured at best. At worst, he was lost to the torrent of guilt, shame, and grief bombarding him like a freezing waterfall.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath. 

Pulling his hands away from his eyes when shapes began dancing on his eyelids, he smeared them down the sides of his ruined shirt.

The Dark Lord is here. He must be. 

It was the only conclusion he could come to. The candles had once been white but now they were spelled. Black with deep red flames, they were arranged in a pattern that mocked the pattern of Snape’s blood. As though the Dark Lord himself had carefully mapped and plotted each point of contact. No doubt with Lucius's help.

Draco sneered beneath the soft fabric.

That bastard could rot in a mirror for all he cared and he would have liked nothing more than to stomp up and throttle him but Lucius was playing a different game. He was expecting Draco. Magic had been forbidden. Which made it trackable. If he were to cast a Lumos, Lucius would likely be alerted. Thank Merlin he hadn’t been stupid enough to try a glamour first or clean up the blood with his wand. Like Potty, his mind supplied. 

Then Lucius or the Dark Lord or someone had set up the entrance hall to look and smell like it had that night. The sharp tang of iron hung heavily around him. It left no doubt. Lucius was expecting Draco to return.

And he had.

Draco frowned. Already this had flipped onto its side. In another half-hour, if he wasn’t careful, he would be face to face with a Malfoy hellbent on purifying his bloodline. Again. Or worse, the Dark Lord who no doubt had plans for precious Draco. He ran a tongue around the inside of his teeth. 

It wasn’t exactly how he had wanted to spend his Thursday.

“Merlin. Fuck me,” he groaned to himself.

How Lucius had even anticipated his arrival was a conundrum for another time. If he escaped intact and with information, he would have time to ponder the issue. The matter remained that he was now caged in Malfoy Manor, a home that was opened and closed solely by magic with potentially not only his father but with the Dark Lord himself. Harry was going to kill him and if he didn’t finish the job, Severus would torture him and then kill him. He huffed to himself. Kill me to resurrect me just to kill me again. I’m being a right fool.

Fools didn’t last long in Malfoy Manor.

I don't have bloody time for this, he scolded himself as he gave one last, pitiful look to the blood on the floor. I've let myself be distracted enough. There was no room for more mistakes. A sharp look turned his eyes dark. It was time to begin.

He slipped away from the foyer and crept up the large stairs. A blob moving through the rest of the dark mansion, he moved quickly with the spryness of his youth. Lucius had been a tough man to please even then. Especially then. The long cane shimmered in his memory as he rounded another corner, disappearing down another empty corridor. 

Every step ached in his bones. He was betraying the Malfoy name, the blood in his veins. Several portraits whipped by as he all but ran past his childhood room. The pain of leaving it behind cracked like lightning down his spine. He wanted to stay. To dip his hands into the magic of his home and bring it back to its glory. Let it pulse around him as it once had. Pain flashed in his eyes as he rounded another corner. If his father expected him, he would expect his nostalgia too.

Draco had a plan. And it didn’t involve indulging his father. Yet. 

It took far longer than he would have liked before he was able to locate an unused, and more importantly unwarded, closet to duck into. Cracking the door, Draco pushed his lithe body through the sliver of darkness. The door clicked behind him. Draco let out a quiet sigh. A moment of safety in the bear's den. The darkness was perfect, absolute. He ran his thumb over the butt of his wand sticking out from his pocket. What a horrendous sequence of events. Beaten, chased, cursed, and murdered by his own father. Only to crawl back to Manor to take more abuse. 

A shiver trembled his shoulders. 

The blood from his shirt had grown sticky and cold, crackling in some places like ice. Its constant presence was not unlike the heavy hand of his father constantly squeezing his shoulder and pushing him into places he rather not be. The Dark Lord’s slitted nose and glaring red eyes came to mind. A phantom smell, musky and rotten filled his nostrils as he gripped his sides in an attempt to soothe himself. 

Don’t. Don’t remember him. H is eyes were going red, brimming with tears. You cannot remember him here. The smell remained. He is not here! Do not, Merlin, don’t go back there. His fingers dug into his thin sides. You’ll die if you do. Father doesn’t suffer fools. He waits for the suffering to begin. Draco narrowed his eyes, staring at a point off in the darkness. You cannot let him start with the upper hand. This is not a Gryffindor operation. 

Almost not making a sound he said, “Harry isn’t here to save you.”

Draco relaxed his hold on himself and reached up, grabbing the buttery fabric of the invisibility cloak. Tugging it down, he hissed in disapproval as he ran a lighter along its length. Bad news. Of bloody course it was. He could never catch a break.

The stain was significantly larger than he anticipated. Without water, it wasn’t going to budge. Even with water, it looked as though it could be magically adhered to the surface of the cloak. Lucius’ handiwork was as clear as day. Draco scraped at the melon-sized spot of blood but it refused to peel, crack, or make his life easier in any form. That was the last of Harry’s protection. Stormy grey eyes looked down through the darkness at the cloak. He had already tucked his lighter away but the cloak was so brilliant it shimmered regardless. Harry’s cloak. He couldn’t even bring himself to smirk at the bloody thing. The memories of Harry saving his arse were too haunting, too prescient now. 

"Dammit," he whimpered. "Dammit."

Harry couldn't help him now.

He bit his tongue, an old habit to stop from crying. Draco rarely wished for things to change. He was accustomed to drawing the short stick and suffering the sorrows that went along with that but as he held the soft fabric in his hands, he wished he could change this. He wanted Harry. His partner. 

Harry wasn’t here though. He was safely tucked away at the cave just like Draco had planned. His fist bunched in the invisibility cloak. Harry had a life worth living. A little goddaughter who looked perfect in his arms and made Snape glow in a way Draco thought impossible. Gods, Harry had Snape. A husband, a soulmate . After twelve years, Harry had a reason to keep his hands clean. There wasn’t even the Horcrux pushing him to protect, to fight, and to destroy anymore. He had died and come back with a second chance in a world that wanted him to succeed. 

Draco would never push Harry back into that darkness. Besides, there wasn't much for him in the world. It certainly made its favoritism known. What was left for him?

His lover was dead, or worse, coerced into helping the dark trio and being kept as a pretty pet. Blaise never really stood a chance, not since he stood by Draco. Whatever love Draco had for him had eaten a hole in his heart like acid. He hoped he was dead. It would be better that way, he thought miserably. Death. Now that was something Draco Malfoy was familiar with. Tonks, his Auror cousin, had died during the Battle of Malfoy Manor and he’d be lying if he hadn’t hoped they could reconnect. That dream had busted with the glass.

The world still despised his icy complex and pinched aristocratic features. The Daily Prophet posted weekly articles about his various sins and failures as a man, as a son, and as a wizard. Evidently, the wizarding community devoured any and all negative news about the Malfoy Heir's fall from grace. Aurors still hunted him on Lucius’s orders, not that they needed much of a nudge if public opinion was anything to go by. Fenrir passed Draco’s scent along to every pack on the island before he died and the rest of the Dark Lord’s mindless minions prowled every night in search of the lost blond boy. What a treat he was. A promotion waiting to happen for the Death Eater or Auror that caught and killed him. A special spot was reserved in Azkaban, he was sure.

He was unwanted. It hurt too much to continue this way, losing everyone he loved.

Narcissa was dead. Slain for trying to help Severus. Draco had nearly gotten Severus killed. He had lost his position at Hogwarts, the only good thing that had ever happened to him. Ironically, he enjoyed teaching. He’d gotten there on his own merit. And it had been ripped away because of a name. Not even just his last. "Draco" was more despised than "Malfoy".

Ron was dead, a loss he’d never expected to hurt him so acutely. It had and he’d wept curled up and alone in the middle of his bed. Everyone in the damn cave had a bunkmate except him. No, Draco sauntered off to bed every night to be surrounded by crippling loneliness and the haunting voices of the dead. It hurt. The solitude wasn’t chosen and he didn’t want it. He craved a warm body to lie against, to cry on, to lean into when the nightmares jolted him awake with sharp cries and powerless killing curses. 

There was only silence.

Just like now. Stillness. Solitude. Silence. Draco screwed his eyes shut in a pained wince as he brought the invisibility cloak to his forehead.

I want my partner. This case is too hard to do alone. A tremble shook his hand. It shouldn’t have been this hard. A quick in and out. A rumble of magic roared on the floor above. Lucius was close. The Dark Lord was probably closer.He wasn't supposed to be here. It was just one person I expected. Just Father. Dust fell onto his head as something heavy hit the floor above him.  I knew the risks. That’s why I took the chance. His abs clenched and seized as he fought against the anxiety quickening his pulse.

Potty, I’m in over my head. Security is too tight. Father expected me. The Dark Lord is here. I have no bloody idea how he knew but the bastard knew. He must have called in the Dark Lord or...Merlin, I don't know anything anymore.  He bit his lower lip as it turned upside down. Harry. Fuck, I know you can’t hear me at all. Fuck! You’ll only see this when I die and the memories get released but I… The tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. He shook more fiercely as the cold blood pulled away from his back. Snape’s blood. Harry, I’m so scared. He’s going to kill me. Gods, I’m going to die.

His fist clenched until it shook and then relaxed its hold on the fabric as resignation set in. Malfoys didn’t pout and they certainly didn’t wish on shooting stars like muggles in the hopes things would change.

I’m sorry, Potty. If there was a choice… There had been and he’d picked. This was his mission, his decision. Harry couldn’t have gone and neither could Severus. The rest wouldn’t go. That left them in desperate need of information and no one able to go get it. Cue Draco Malfoy. No one will miss me, Harry. You and Severus will for a time, but you have each other. Blaise, Mother...Merlin, Ron. He pulled the fabric away from his forehead. It has to be me. 

Draco pulled himself together. He smoothed a hand down his chest, tugged his suit into order despite the blood hidden under the jacket, and squared his shoulders. There were two things left to do. Find the cause of the magical commotion overhead and go back through the door near the entrance. Both moves were incredibly risky but unless he wanted to waste the rest of his time running down empty hallways, he would have to submit to his father’s plan. Arrogance had always been his weakness. Draco would bank on his cunning and trust that it could outmaneuver even his father. If it couldn’t, he would need to die before Harry stormed in with Severus in tow to find him. 

That was exactly the sort of brazen idiocy the Dark Lord, Albus, and Lucius were banking on. He wasn't going to let them get hurt this time. It was his decision to go retrieve information and the consequences were his alone to bear. The lesson from his childhood rang through his mind like cathedral bells. He could protect them. Harry, Severus, he could protect them this time.

Placing a hand on the cool glass knob of the door, Draco flooded the closet with light. A ring of white glowed around his shadowed silhouette as particles of dust floated like snow through the air. Draco peered down the corridor, pupils gone to pinpricks. Despondent, Draco breathed in a slow breath and nodded to himself. A sullen thought rolled through his head. At least I'll die at home. 

Glancing down at the sullied fabric, Draco pulled it over his head. At the very least, he could use it to sneak through the corridors and avoid the elves. Or anyone who didn’t know what to look for. He stepped out of the closet and began his search once more.

Nearly an hour later, and after far too many flights of stairs, he ended up only a few corridors away from his starting point. It was a narrow and horrendously tall stretch of the Manor. Few candles lit the area casting a network of shadows across the walls and the portraits lining it. Unfortunately, his room had only been a corridor away leaving him familiar with the creeping sense of unease native to these walls.

As he slunk down a particularly narrow corridor, a babbling brook of voices swept over him.

“Yes, my lord,” the high voice giggled.

“If you do not stop that-”

“You’ll what? Kill me?” The woman cackled manically and the sound forced Draco to freeze. That was Bellatrix, a woman who was supposed to be dead. A woman he had seen perish. “Really, Lucy-”

“One more bastardization of my name and I will slit your throat myself.”

Bellatrix pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“Having a half-dead whore around is hardly conducive to the spirit of fun.”

Draco’s eyebrows twitched. Half-dead? She certainly sounded more alive than half-dead. Images of ghosts, inferi, and vampires cluttered his mind. 

“I like to think of it as half-alive!”

“Of course you would.” Lucius’ voice was growing closer.

"Really, you need to lighten up. You're always so...bitter and posh." She laughed again and the sound sickened Draco. "You should be happy the Dark Lord is back and reviving the old Inner Circle."

"Hardly," his father muttered. "Slithering maniac.

Draco held his breath. Lucius wasn't excited? A budding headache pressed at his temples. None of this made any sense to him. 

"What?" She singsonged.

"I am as happy as the rest."

His father lied. Lucius Malfoy, the worst liar known to wizardkind had lied and spoken ill of the Dark Lord.

Bellatrix seemed pleased enough, diverting the conversation elsewhere. “Is Ronald coming along? The Dark Lord-”

“No,” he hissed, the clack of his cane stopping suddenly. He must have been nearly at the juncture of the corridors. Their shadows stretched to the bend.

“My Lord,” she purred. “There’s no reason to be so...put off. I don’t bite. Well, not too hard anyway.” The screaming cackle was back, making Draco and no doubt Lucius cringe.

“I do not discuss matters of the Inner Circle with you, Bellatrix.”

Draco had to suppress his shock. If Bellatrix was no longer within the Inner Circle, things had certainly changed. He narrowed his eyes. Half-dead and outside of the Dark Lord’s closest confidants. Not to forget his father's insult.

“That is not my fault. It is the magic’s fault. The spell wasn’t complete!” She screeched. He watched the shadow of his father’s cane come down on her.

“Mind your place.”

“My place is at the Dark Lord’s side.”

“Not. Any. Longer,” Lucius grit out. “You have outstayed your welcome.”

“No,” she breathed. “No! Lucius, you can’t. I was the first . He wanted me!”

Her voice grew louder as her heels clicked away from Lucius. 

Draco looked at the end of the corridor. He was too close and there was nowhere to duck out of sight. They were going to come toward him no matter what now.

“I haven’t even seen the Dark Lord. I have half a mind to think he’s dead and you are stringing me along.”

“You want the truth?” Lucius roared. Draco pressed against the wall, trying to become as small as possible. Lucius rarely let his temper show. The Malfoy mask kept every wicked intention hidden but if he was letting it drop, a shower of suffering was about to happen. Draco did not want to be caught in the crossfire. “The truth is, Bella, he wanted a test subject,” Lucius shouted.

“He couldn’t,” her voice wavered. Unsure. “Lucy, you son of a bitch. He wouldn’t!”

As the two argued back and forth, sweat dripped down Draco’s temple. The last time he had felt this uneasy under the invisibility cloak had been when he and Harry were slipping the anti-Imperio potion into the Great Hall. That had turned out alright, he reasoned. Though he’d really never want to be pinned to the floor with the great Harry Potter snogging him ever again.

Eyebrows shooting towards his hairline, a devilish smirk spread across his face. That was exactly the answer he was looking for. An idiot’s answer to an intelligent dilemma.

Using the shouts as coverage, Draco slowly made his way down the floor until he was on his back with his feet tucked as close to his legs as he could manage. He was much taller than Harry and his feet would jut out of the bottom like a crushed bug if he didn’t bring them up. It was a horrendously vulnerable position but it would hardly matter if he was caught. Looking backward down the hallway, he kept an eye on the shadows shuffling closer as he frantically tucked all the edges of the invisibility cloak beneath him. The stain which was once overhead was now pinned between his right arm and the wall as hidden as he was. It was as good as he was going to get.

Sliding a hand to his wand, he took a steadying breath. Harry, he thought as Lucius rounded the corner in his long, elegant silver robes. Harry, if I die keep your dirty little hands off my books. He looked remarkably well, a bad sign if his power reflected his health, though his nose was no longer perfectly straight. His long white hair came down mid-way down his back now and was cinched neatly in a ribbon at the base of his neck. Cold blue eyes led the turn of his head down the corridor.

Old habits. Lucius cast a quick scan with his hand, turning back to the moaning Bellatrix several steps behind him. Draco narrowed his eyes. He’s a good actor. If he expected me, he wouldn’t be surprised to see my signature and if he didn’t, he wouldn’t show me a sign. Lucius unsheathed his wand from his cane and cooly regarded it. The Malfoy patriarch pointed his wand toward the ceiling. His legs slipped wider and a touch of a smirk wrinkled the side of his lips. Draco knew that posture, that expression of perverse joy. Lucius’s eyes widened, revealing a ring of bright white around crystal blue irises.

He’s going to kill her.

Bellatrix stumbled after Lucius screaming at the top of her lungs and begging him to see her worth. For a moment, Draco wasn’t sure what he was looking at. A dark blur vaguely Bellatrix-shaped lunged toward Lucius. The shadowed hands twined themselves in Lucius’s silver robes. She wasn’t even flesh and bone. Bellatrix Lestrange was a living, breathing shadow.

“Please, Lord Malfoy. He loved me! He does still, I am sure of it.”

“Does begging make you feel any better, Bellatrix?” Lucius pressed his wand beneath her throat and titled his head back so he was glaring down his nose at her. Draco’s hackles rose. Bellatrix certainly deserved this but Lucius seemed almost excited. No matter how much he disagreed with her, Draco reasoned that Lucius should still not want to kill someone on the same side. He squinted at the pair. Something wasn't adding up.

“Our Lord has never loved you. He has never loved a single person, Bella, and not a part on you. Did you think this,” he said, gesturing toward the rounded curves of what would have been her bosom “was going to entice him? Hanging your tits in front of him was pathetic grovelling and he suspected as much. Severus... now there is an arse he’s loved. But he’s never even fancied a shag with you, has he? He's never fancied a fuck with any woman.” The shadowed woman’s curls bounced as she wept. Draco swallowed. This was not something he desired to hear. “Ha! You made-up bitch. You've grovelled for nothing.”

Draco had never heard his father speak that way to anyone. His remarks could be cutting, wickedly sharp, but this was overtly antagonizing and needlessly cruel as though he truly hated her.

“No,” she cried. “No, it isn’t true!”

“It is, my poor, useless whore.” Lucius grabbed her chin with his free hand, sneering down into the black mass of shadow and spitting. Draco flinched. This was absurd. Lucius always acted refined. This was uncharacteristic in every sense. The image he had of his father fractured as he watched Lucius slap a hand across Bellatrix.

"I cannot tell you how long I've waited, Bellatrix."

Lucius cast a look over his shoulder toward Draco so quickly he nearly missed it. Draco held perfectly still, hoping he hadn't seen him but their eyes had connected. His father had looked right at him.

"Wh-what?" She whimpered as Lucius held firm on her face.

"Have you never noticed? The Dark Lord forbade me from meeting with your company in December. All of you."

Dawning blossomed on her face before she opened her mouth and screamed. It was so completely unlike the Bellatrix Draco knew that his head spun. Who were these people? He wondered briefly if they could have been a mirage but decided it required too much power.

"Useless cunt, ” he spat. “Do you know why you were called here?”

“To discuss the future.”

Lucius tossed his head back and laughed. “Yes, and you were too stupid to understand what that meant. Discussing the future with me,” he punctuated. "And now, you've been informed of my...ailment."

"He'll kill you for this."

"Will he?" Lucius's face went dark. He let go of Bellatrix and kicked her to the ground. “I persuaded him into believing he owed me. Is that not fair after the battle?”

“No,” she whispered.

“I must say, I will cherish this moment. Avada-”

“No!”

“-Kedavra!”

Green light jetted from his wand, striking the shadow and bursting it into a cloud of smoke. Lucius coughed as he waved his hand in front of him with a grunt.

“Annoying even now,” he growled.

Draco blinked. That was more information than he had ever hoped to get. Though admittedly, not a single morsel of it made sense. Even if he didn't understand it, Severus and Harry could study it and glean something from it.

Lucius tapped his Dark Mark. “Bellatrix has been dealt with.” He turned his head down the hallway toward Draco whose grey eyes glared from beneath the fabric. Cool blue caught his line of sight before jerking back to the black stain on the ground.

Then Draco heard something he never imagined he would. Lucius put a hand to the remnants of Bellatrix and whispered so low if Draco were anyone else he would have missed it. “I know what you did to Severus. He did not deserve that.” He banished the dirt and looked down to his hands. “I could do this, at least.” A strong hand lifted to caress the petals of a small white flower with an ever smaller yellow cup at its center. Lucius frowned, something Draco rarely saw. The expression was misplaced on his father and it turned something in his stomach. Something like pity.

He didn’t like seeing his father hurt. Despite everything, Draco hurt when his father wore that frown just like his mother had.

Lucius cupped the flower with a sigh.

Draco was lost. His father appeared remorseful. Bellatrix was dead, again. None of it made an ounce of sense. Blue eyes turned back to him and this time, he was sure his father could see him.

Cold twined around Draco’s arms and legs. His stomach dropped. It took every last ounce of restraint not to violently shiver and shake the invisibility cloak loose. Lucius could not know he was lying on the floor. The only demarcation, the stain, was still pressed between Draco’s arm and the wall. It wasn’t infallible, though Harry liked to believe so. There was a spell that could detect presences regardless but Draco had assumed his father was still too weak to cast it nonverbally.

Lucius turned down the hallway, purposefully slowing his cadence. For each step, Draco’s heart thudded five times in his chest. Every instinct in Draco’s body screamed to flee, to get away. Lucius had always been dangerous but now Draco wasn't even sure who he was dealing with. This version of his father was unknown to him. A complete mystery.

Long silver robes hugged every sharp angle on Lucius’s body. He had filled out, grown muscular. His shoulders pressed against the fabric and any litheness he may have held dear fell by the wayside to this new physique. Muscular prowess. Another morsel of information. Another threat to Draco’s safety. 

What he wouldn’t give to have Ron back him up now. To see Harry’s stupid head of hair round the corner.

But he was alone.

Alone with Lucius Malfoy, the most dangerous man in the world to him. The man who had slaughtered his mother, trapped Severus in a mirror and relentlessly tortured him for a decade. He had led the charge against his own son in an attempt to skin him alive and had taken over the Ministry to better terrorize Draco. He’d pinned him down twice as the rest of the Inner Circle took their turns. Lucius had beaten Draco with fist and cane and curse until he couldn’t breathe only to deposit him like a used toy at the steps of Hogwarts where Severus would rush to his aid. Clean him, heal him, and send him back to the Slytherin dorms with a pocket full of potions knowing full well that in a week’s time when Lucius was bored he would call his child back to play again.

And Draco took it.

To do anything else was suicide. 

When he had rebelled against Lucius, it had only gotten worse. Seventh year was filled with portkey accidents and a pale, tired Harry doing his best to keep Draco alive. That bastard took to touring Hogwarts at the faux behest of Albus every Friday, exchanging various objects around the castle for portkeys to Malfoy Manor that would trigger only when Draco touched them. The first time, he had grabbed the soap in his shower and been deposited into the middle of a Death Eater meeting. Promptly receiving more crucios than any wizard should have been able to survive, Draco blacked out when the fists descended, coming to only when Harry fed him the very last of his stabilizing potions.

He’d stayed up for five nights, crying in Harry’s arms for every single one of them.

The Manor loomed in his mind. Shadowing his days, the glistening marble tiles haunted his daydreams and the tall ceilings with their distinct crown molding made frequent appearances in his nightmares.

Lucius had killed him.

Now, he was back at the Manor not five feet from Lucius again. So close he could smell the stench of the wizarding cologne. His jaw dropped. He hadn’t remembered to forgo the cologne himself. Lucius would be able to smell the muggle scent the moment he came within breathing distance.

Draco clenched his hand around his slim wooden wand. It was all he had left. He had botched his preparation by wearing the cologne, fallen into a trap and stained the invisibility cloak, and became distracted by Bellatrix when he should have escaped. Cozying up to the wall even more, Draco looked up at Lucius.

His father.

He couldn’t mean it. Even after all the pain he’d put him through, he couldn’t mean it. Hatred flowed through him, burned like acid in his veins and ate away at any peace could find but he couldn’t punch the spell out. He could scream and kick and fight against the malevolent bastard in front of him but it was still his father.

Draco bit his lips to stop the tears. He could never mean it after what happened at the Battle of Malfoy Manor. The thing he had yet to share with a soul.

While he beat his father in an attempt to kill him, the man’s hands had settled on Draco’s thighs. A crooked smile spread across his lips as he whispered, It’s okay, Draco. It’s all right. Kill me if you wish. That was what haunted his nightmares from that day forth.

Lucius had known Draco would feel guilt and he had tried to ease it. He had been a father.

It hadn’t been the only time either. Draco couldn’t brush it off as an act of delirium.

Lucius had combed Draco's hair more than Narcissa. Paraded him around as his pride and joy. He bounced Draco on his lap and laughed with Narcissa and Draco both. Christmastime came and with it, the narrow window of Lucius’s good mood. Every year without fail, from December first through the end of the month, Lucius became soft. He praised Draco. Showered him with gifts and affection. There were still yellowed notes of pride and kindness stuffed in an old trunk at Grimmauld from those days. Some of Draco’s fondest memories were of sleigh rides with his father across the snow-covered grounds of Malfoy Manor. Even when he was on the run, Lucius had left him be when December rolled around.

Draco had watched the bastard take a nasty hex to protect him when the clock ticked over to midnight one year. Every Death Eater huddled around him and Draco escaped successfully. It would have been easier if he’d never loved him at all.

He spared a look down to his wand. There would never be enough intention to power the spell. His last line of defense had never existed in the first place. Draco blinked, turning his gaze back to his father. The killing curse was inaccessible to him so long as those memories existed. So long as Draco believed that Lucius had loved him, if even for a moment.

As Draco lay on the floor of his childhood home, he realized with painful clarity that he would never be able to kill his father. There was no hope of escape if he was discovered now. A terrible sense of shame washed over him. What would Severus think? After all these years, Draco was still looking up to his father with wide eyes. He would think him a fool.

Lucius stopped suddenly, his shined boots close enough to Draco’s eyes that he had to cross his eyes to see them. Draco snapped back to the present, leaving his philosophizing and daydreaming to another time. 

Clearing his mind hardly mattered now that Lucius was stopped. The cologne would give him away before his thoughts did. But the elder Malfoy seemed captivated by something on the wall. His eyes were glassy and wet. The hardness previously in them, gone completely. His shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh as he reached a hand out. The wide hand paused several feet above Draco before continuing to its prize. 

Draco followed his father's gaze to the wall. His body physically lurched as he saw what his father was so intently staring at. A portrait of himself hung between his sixth and seventh years when he’d come of age. Lucius’s face contorted in pain as he ran his hand across the silver frame. He brought his fingers up to the canvas and smiled weakly, the light not removing the pain in his eyes. Draco looked on too, remembering vividly when he had actually sat for that portrait.

It had been December.

In the portrait, he sat on a chair made of ice, covered in snow. His cheeks and nose were pink, accentuating all the sharp features passed down through the Malfoy line and his eyes were as grey as the vast expanse of sky above him. The Malfoy jewels he wore across the back of his knuckles and looped around his neck made him look like a King. That was the point, he supposed. It was a coming-of-age portrait for the Malfoy heir. If he didn’t look like a King, something was wrong.

He vividly remembered Lucius smiling behind the artist, giving him an uncharacteristic thumbs up as Draco tipped his head back.

Lucius brushed his fingers across the scene and closed his eyes, scrunching them shut in apparent agony.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “My son.”

Cold blue eyes opened and slid down to Draco from the portrait as he removed his hand. Through the silvery fabric, grey eyes met blue. Unsaid questions bloomed and died in Draco’s lungs as he held his father’s gaze. Strong, aristocratic features looked down at him and Lucius suddenly seemed like a looking glass. One and the same as Draco.

The Malfoys held still, an unspoken storm of parental love and the undying loyalty of his son bringing rain to their crystal eyes. Lucius’s chest did not move nor did Draco’s. He was older, but the story was the same. Deep hurt was etched into his features as clear as day. How had he missed it before? Lucius’s pale brows trembled lower in an expression of sorrow before he exhaled sharply and stormed off.

Draco’s mouth dropped open as he stared up at the ceiling and let out a loud huff of disbelief. Lucius knew he was there the whole time. Why was he so sad? Draco blinked quickly, scattering the tears welling in his own eyes. Had Lucius always been so hurt?

Pretty flowers decorated the ivory ceiling, forming an entire forest of carvings. It had been his mother’s request to be surrounded by them and so Lucius had carved every ceiling with his own magic as a wedding gift. Draco frowned. He was wearing a daffodil. His father had let him live. Narcissus. It was December now. The first. He closed his eyes. What is happening?

An old piece of parchment dropped to his chest atop the invisibility cloak. Sitting upright and disentangling himself from the fabric, he grabbed the yellowed paper. Parchment that old was untrackable. It was half the appeal of ancient books. The magic in the pulp repelled spells after a certain amount of time. That alone gave it more credibility than normal. The Dark Lord and Albus could not track it nor could they monitor what had been written.

In tight, elegant cursive it read:

I did not kill Narcissa.

The letter was not written by my own hand.

Those memories were manufactured.

Ronald Weasley’s corpse is locked in the basement where the Dark Lord and Albus cannot enter. They are unaware he was brought to me. 

For one year, I have plotted, schemed, and betrayed every Death Eater to have this opportunity to speak with you. I will be in the study if you are interested.

Draco read the note. Then read it again. 

“Unbelievable,” he said under his breath. “Shit.”

He looked away from the note, letting his arm drop to his lap. Would he go? Lucius’ apology still hung in the air. It stuck to the walls of his mind like a prominent art piece at a gallery, lights shining down and a little plaque below that read “he cares”. Sitting next to it on a shelf was the broken expression of his father made even clearer by the deep wrinkles exposing the truth. Lucius cried often. What he did never sat well with him at all. Draco slouched against the wall. Lucius was suffering.

Draco folded the note in half twice, brushing his thumb over the scratchy parchment. If he excluded the murder of his mother and those terrible memories the two of them were not so different. He had performed his fair share of dark magic with Harry. And he had certainly stood idly by as Harry went on a murdering rampage, nearly eviscerating everyone who looked at him strangely. Was that not compliance in the same way Lucius was familiar with? 

In fact, he had his father to thank for saving Snape’s life in a backward sort of way. Lucius had ultimately flown in every last medi-wizard to care for Snape and drag him back from the brink. He shook his head. If Snape hadn’t survived, Harry wouldn’t have survived. Draco would have had no one and he could thank his father for preserving his little family. 

The more he thought about it, the more his father’s attacks seemed off the mark as though the goal wasn’t Draco. Not really. Just an inch to the left. The ground in front of him. The mirror above him, which rebounded a spell and knocked down one of Lucius’ own. Draco’s mouth opened slightly. The beatings too and the abuse no longer added up. Draco was beaten by his father but rarely suffered at the hands of the Dark Lord, the only two times he did, his father was by his side. Stoic. Quiet. Calm. Firm , Draco’s mind supplied. He could recall his father whispering to look at him, look into his eyes. And he had, ever the obedient son. Now, he couldn't remember the actual events. Only his father's unchanging face. He had saved him from that too.

How in Merlin’s name did he end up here? Sympathizing with the man who murdered him. A claim the note did not deny.

He grabbed his pendant with his free hand. A choice, that was what he had to do next. He could side with second-hand information about his mother and take the easy path of detesting his father and leaving safely. Or he could listen. Draco glowered at the paper. Albus was a cruel son of a bitch. Manipulating memories and murdering Narcissa just to frame Lucius in Draco’s eyes was hardly an afternoon for him after everything he orchestrated with Harry and Severus. The internal strife between Draco and his family left him vulnerable as he was the calmest of the trio this time.

It all boiled down to his most hated question. Would he pick petty vengeance like a Black, side with his mother’s suffering without question? Or would he pause and listen like a Malfoy and decide the truth for himself? 

Black or Malfoy. He swiped his thumb over the snake which hissed softly. Walburga didn’t like him much. She kept calling him that traitor’s son. Black or Malfoy. Yet he was never up to snuff with the Malfoy lineage. He was too soft, too gentle to fit in. Black. Or. Malfoy. The annoyance hummed like static in his brain, tinnitus in his ears. He’d asked himself this question too many times growing up but he knew.

He’d always known.

Draco dropped the pendent as finally, the mirror shattered. Pieces of reflective glass hovered for a moment before hugging together in the shape of a letter. The snake twined itself around the newly formed heirloom as Draco let out a rough sigh. 

I am a Malfoy. Draco let out his breath in a surprised huff as he touched his necklace. A Malfoy after all. The large “M” shone on the serpent as Draco looked down at it. Draco Malfoy. He tucked the parchment in his pocket, folded the invisibility cloak, and gathered his legs below him. The idiot with the worst luck possible. Leaving his portrait, Draco scowled and shoved his hands in his pocket.

It was time to have a chat with Lucius.

Chapter Text

“I’m telling you, Severus. There is something wrong!”

Harry had gone red with indignation. He had spent the greater part of their morning attempting to convince the overgrown dungeon bat that yes, there was and problem and that Draco, that idiot, was at the center of it. While they collected snowflowers, he carefully laid out his evidence. Explaining meticulously that Draco only took his coffee with three sugars and cream on days he expected to die and that he had taken it that way at five a.m, a full hour before he normally woke. The bugger sat and watched the sunrise, mumbling something useless to Harry about lovely the colors looked. He even offered Harry one of his croissants.

Severus ignored the irrefutable evidence.

Just like he was ignoring Harry now as they walked back to the cave with their bountiful harvest of snowflowers and the neige powder from their leaves.

"Would you just listen to me?"

"Harry!" Snape snapped. "I have had enough. Draco took his coffee with sugar. Yes, I am aware thanks ever so. I am certain with this newfound knowledge I will-"

"Come off it," Harry said, jogging to keep up. "You know as well as I do that he doesn't stray from routine. Did I tell you that he cleaned his best suit?"

"Three. Times."

"Well?"

"Well, I think that it is hardly evidence, as you call it, that he is in mortal danger. Drop it."

"No. I won't. He's going to die, Severus. You're a fool if-"

A puff of snow skipped ahead of Snape as he jerked to a stop. Harry stopped, forcibly closing his mouth.

"If. What?"

"If you think he's just going for a walk."

"I am a fool, Harry." Snape turned his head to the side, exposing a red-tipped nose and a throat completely scarred and bare. "I should have brought you to a medi-witch for the mind the moment you were resurrected."

It slapped Harry across the face. How...how dare he? I know Dragon. He isn't okay and he's been screaming in my head all bloody morning. I don't need...I don't need a medi-witch because I'm concerned about my partner. I know when he's planning to not come back. Gods, half the time I was the reason he was like that. I'm not gonna miss it now because we haven't gone out in a year!

Severus was already moving away. He didn't even want to hear Harry's response. Without thinking it through, Harry lunged forward and grabbed Snape’s cloak, eliciting a surprised choking cough as his boots stepped back and began slipping on the snowing. All the petals of the snowflowers floated into the air, vanishing into glitter and coating Severus thoroughly as his hands went to the clasp. His boots still had not found any grip and now he was titling so far back Harry wasn't sure if he could even recover his balance. Harry let go immediately.

“Sorry.”

Severus continued coughing, violently swatting Harry away as he went to reach for him.

“Right. Done enough harm.”

Trying his best to let Severus manage himself, Harry walked a few paces away, grumbling under his breath about how if Severus had just listened to him in the first place this wouldn’t be happening. He wasn't loony. Something was wrong and Severus should have just listened. If Severus had listened to him. Well, that would have been a wonderful change of pace from the last few weeks. Really, it was half his doing for blowing every small accident out of proportion but it wasn’t his fault that they were in the middle of a war and everyone seemed to be trading opportunities to die. That wasn’t his bloody fault at all.

And he wasn’t being a mother hen. No, not at all.

He winced, kicking a rock that was frozen to the ground. So what if he was clucking about a bit? He was entitled to having friends who were alive. Draco had died and if that didn’t give him a bit of room to nag, nothing did. 

Gods, he had lost him. 

Harry leaned his shoulder against a tree. The hollowness of that fact ebbed like the tide. Some moments it retreated, leaving warm sand and sunshine while others it rushed in and gave him no room to breathe. Harry swallowed around a knot in his throat. He had lost Draco because he had been incapacitated. Under the influence of a Horcrux and so far gone not even Severus could reach him. He shuddered. He had led Draco right to his death.

A puff of hot air clouded in front of him as he looked over his shoulder.

Severus was still coughing behind him, now sprinkling it with hoarse swearing. His cheeks had gone bright red and Harry worried about the vein popping out of his forehead but if Severus was swearing, he was fine. Harry shivered again. It was freezing out. How Severus and Draco weren’t ever affected by it was beyond him but he certainly was. Sniffling, Harry pulled the sleeves of his jumper lower and made sure his walls were up. If Severus caught wind of this train of thought, he’d lecture him on his victim complex five ways to Sunday. 

Except for this time, it is my fault.

No one could convince him otherwise. The people trying, Luna, Neville, and the Weasleys didn’t exactly have the ground to do so. The ones who mattered were as silent as stone. He frowned. This wasn’t how this was supposed to play out. It was war, that much he understood. Loss happened. But Draco? That was never supposed to happen. That wasn’t even supposed to be possible. Draco was almost immortal in Harry's eyes. Cool and suave, nothing bothered the Malfoy heir, not even his turbulent youth and disastrous young adult life. Of course, that was a well-manicured ruse Harry had grown to see through but Draco remained in his eyes as untouchable. Death would be too awe-struck to claim him and if it tried, well, Draco could smooth talk his way out of that.

But he hadn’t.

And now Harry had a strange voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Draco’s telling him he was going to die. That there was no way out and that he needed Harry. Snippets of an apology filtered through alongside the phrase that was currently haunting him. I miss my partner. Harry’s face scrunched up in frustration. Draco didn’t miss anyone, not for a moment. He had once told Harry if he let himself think that way, he would never recover. Which meant that Draco either didn’t think he would have to recover because he would be dead or because he was so trapped, he was forced into missing Harry’s help. 

If he needs my help, he’s in a right pickle.  

“Harry,” Severus rasped as he joined him. “Were you trying to kill me?”

Severus stepped in front of Harry’s eyes which were currently zoning out in the distance. 

“No.”

“Well, next time might I suggest you do not yank on a man’s cloak like that? If you want him to live, that is.” He coughed again as he rubbed his throat. It was dry and crunchy in a way Harry thought breath shouldn't be. "Honestly, Harry. What is the matter with you?"

Harry closed his eyes and muttered another apology. Severus was not happy. If the red line of chain marks on his throat was anything to go by, he didn’t have reason to be.

“Fortunately or unfortunately for you, I have survived your assassination attempt.”

Laughing lightly, Harry opened his eyes to a grumpy but smirking Severus Snape. He would never tire of that face. Severus was softer around Harry, the hard edges relaxing enough for him to nearly be considered docile. Nearly.

“You realize that we will have to wait until the next snow to grow those snowflowers?” Harry nodded. “Which means you will be explaining to the Order why three of their potions will be out of commission until the next snow.” Again, Harry nodded.

“Those seeds cost me fifteen galleons.” Harry tried to force his face into a neutral expression but his cheeks were creeping up in a visible wince. Severus cocked his head, sneering slightly before rolling his eyes and sighing. “You are a thorn in my side, you know. But I do love you.”

“Love you,” Harry mumbled back feeling both happy and shamed at the same time.

“You are going to go buy those seeds and I am choosing who you will go polyjuiced as this time as your punishment.”

Harry bit back the smirk forming. In the last few weeks, Severus had taken to using polyjuice and errand running as a form of punishment. When Neville had burned his dittany, a question Severus was still pondering, he had gone out as a fat, wrinkled old man who looked to be on death’s door with long hair sticking from his ears and nose. The glee lighting up Severus’s face was unmatched. 

“Sounds pretty fair, I guess,” Harry said.

“More than. I am being generous. It must be the holidays.”

“Not if that weird collection of hairs is anything to go by.”

This time a pale smile slipped across Snape’s lips and his eyes twinkled with barely contained mirth. Yes, Harry was in for it with that look.

Then, the tension crept back into the air.

Severus rubbed a long-fingered hand against his throat as he glared at Harry. The tip of his nose had gone red just like his high cheeks. Slowly, he unraveled a long woolen scarf from his neck as he moved away from Harry. “Come, walk with me.” Harry shivered. He really was cold and the gears in his mind had begun to stick. Severus offered Harry his black scarf with a raised brow. Harry begrudgingly took it as they began to walk.

“What is the matter with you lately? I will not allow you to dodge that question.”

“With me?” Harry asked, knowing full well what Severus was talking about.

“Harry.”

“Nothing,” Harry said as he wound the scarf around his neck once more. “Nothing’s gotten into me, you glowering git.”

“Is that so?” Severus drawled. “Because I do not recall you ever being so...cautious. Potter’s do not tread lightly or cluck-”

“Oi!”

“Or cluck.” Snape finished his sentence with a harsh glare in Harry’s direction. “They run headfirst into danger and file the paperwork later. Or was that not how you managed the Triwizard tournament?”

He was quiet. There was nothing to deny.

“I just…” he started but trailed off. 

How in Merlin’s name was he going to explain that he was pretty sure Draco’s voice was in his head? Without coming off as completely barmy.

“Harry, I do understand how...stressful...this time is. The holidays can be rather painful after such an enormous loss. We...There is a notable absence. Not much time has passed since-”

“It isn’t about that,” Harry bit back, reflexively wrapping his hand around his wand.

“No? If you believe that then you are not only lying to me but to yourself.”

“I’m not lying to anyone. I just don’t understand why no one will listen to me. You know Percy told me I’m acting hysterical?”

“Has it crossed that rash Gryffindor mind of yours that perhaps you are?” 

“You can’t be serious,” Harry gaped. Severus’ jaw twitched as he set his eyes ahead and continued walking with Harry. “You are. Why in the bloody hell do you think I’m acting hysterical? Just because I think my friend, my partner is in trouble? That’s hardly a reason to call a wizard who has been attacked by maniacs his whole life hysterical. I’d think you’d be glad I’m taking an interest in everyone’s safety.” 

“Harry, it is not a sudden concern with everyone’s safety. It is a blatant lack of drive to do anything that lets any one of us stray into your perceived territory of danger. He is on. A. Walk. I’ve checked the wards,” he clipped. “Need I remind you it took an hour of convincing, which I did not need to indulge, to leave the cave to gather potion ingredients? And that you only allowed me to leave on the basis that you join me, you blood-sucking leech.”

Harry winced. Not a shining example of a mentally stable person, sure.

“In my defense-”

“Nothing. There is no defense for arguing with me, a former Death Eater, on the perilous nature of plucking petals within my own wards. I believe I am well-equipped to handle myself.”

The venom dripped from his voice, poisoning Harry with parasitic shame. 

"To be clear, you do not control where any of us, Draco included, choose to go. Especially not your dominant," he nearly growled the word and Harry's ears heated. "We are not your sheep, Harry. You do not need to herd us into the cave at the first sign we may need outdoor air."

Harry flinched. He had been going overboard in recent days. A few days back it was Draco who broke his clipboard tracking the comings and goings of the new Order because he wanted his walks to be uncharted.

“Are you even aware that you destroyed any forward progress I was making on this damnable potion because of a feeling? ” He grit out the word as though it were dirty. “You are well beyond the need for coddling and I have an entire camp worth of woe’s to navigate. Harry, I am your mate but that does not make me partial to your stupidity. People are allowed to move freely without your inspection.”

“But-”

“I would be a fool to overlook Draco’s absence but I have checked the wards as I have every day for the past few weeks. No one has left. No one has entered. His magical signature still reads as on the premise and he deserves privacy. The boy has died as well, you blasted idiot!”

“No, he doesn’t! He doesn’t get privacy!”

“And why ever might that be? So help me, Merlin, if it is another cock-eyed idea about how he is-”

“He’s up to something!” Harry screamed.

“Goddammit , Harry,” Snape shouted back, immediately slapping a hand to his face and growling. “Enough of this! We are not at Hogwarts.”

Several red heads poked out from the entrance of the cave. Their yelling was travelling and he was causing a scene. But he was stuck in the thick of it now.

“He’s smart, Snape! Everyone always thinks he’s just arrogance or looks but the prat finished just below Hermione."

"No one has ever thought that, you dunce! Everyone in this cave, everyone at Hogwarts is fully aware of how intelligent that little weasel is. While you were off galavanting-"

"Trying to kill the Dark Lord."

"-through the halls of Hogwarts attempting to get yourself killed the rest of the faculty and staff were focused on the grade boards. Perhaps you were to convinced that young Draco was up to-"

"He is up to something, Snape!"

"Oh, Snape am I now?"

"You're Snape when you're a acting like a wanker. And when you refuse to believe that Draco is in danger. He is going to get himself killed. If you can’t see that… well, maybe you are a fool. Did you ever think about that?”

Harry stopped dead, realizing exactly what had come out of his mouth. He cursed himself inwardly. There wasn't even a Horcrux to blame. He was just being a right arsehole.

The crunch of snow beneath Snape’s boots filled the silence until Severus hissed in a long breath and exhaled harshly. Stopping several feet ahead of Harry, he kept his back turned.

"That is twice now you have called me that. I will not ask you to refrain from using that...term. The next time you will be hexed."

Harry nodded despite Severus being unable to see him. The black-clad shoulders slumped slightly as Severus shook his head.

“You are a child, Harry. I will not entertain this idea any further.” One dark eye turned to look at him. “If you bring me proof of any sort, I may be convinced to listen to you but I will not tolerate you acting as though he needs a nanny because of some childish obsession revived from the dead. You must give me more than how he takes his coffee and that he has cleaned his suit.” 

Severus narrowed his eyes. 

“I will not have the new Order comb the grounds to disrupt his peace because a certain Potter cannot fathom the need to be alone.” He turned his head away from Harry, leaving him feeling about as small as the rock he’d kicked earlier when he finished his lecture by saying, “Harry, I need proof. I cannot go on whims, you understand. I am...” A leader. Someone who has consequences and can't favor their mate. "Slightly indisposed at the moment."

His throat went dry as he nodded and said, “I understand.”

"Perhaps you should...take a longer walk."

Harry smiled. Permission to hunt for Draco himself was good enough. If he couldn't find him, then there would evidence enough.

"Severus, I...thank you."

Severus nodded sharply and vanished around the back of the cave presumably to go collect something else. Harry bit back the urge to ask where he was going. It really was getting out of hand.

Turning toward the sky, he frowned.

Dragon, you’re going to have to give me something. Another thought. Pain. I don’t know. He breathed in the heavy scent of Snape wafting off the scarf. I can’t convince him if you don’t help me here. And he’s right. I’ve been...too quick to the draw lately. If he listened every single time I had a feeling, he wouldn’t have a minute to sit. Neither would the rest of them.

Harry’s green eyes clouded over. Normally, being wrapped in anything of Severus’s would fill him with warmth and joy but today he was only disappointed. He was failing Draco. The prat was out there somewhere and in need of his help, but Harry had no proof. The thoughts weren’t even enough to share via legilimency. They were only the whisper of a possibility.

Please, Dragon. If you need me, tell me.

“I can’t do anything otherwise.”

Harry shoved his hands in his pocket and reapplied the warming spell. It was time for a walk.

Chapter Text

“Absurd,” Draco whispered to himself, as he descended his last staircase. "It's absurd." 

He'd been muttering the same word to himself the whole way down to the study but he couldn't stop. He also couldn't stop the blasted shake of his head every time he touched his fingers to the note in his pocket. The words looped around his thoughts in a silver script, lazily dragging his mind around every single interaction with Lucius. And the undeniable fact that he had protected Draco on numerous occasions. Severus. Harry. Even that reckless Weasley he was protecting. The words tugged on his navel and gently tore apart his understanding of the past decade. Of his whole life.

It made sense, dammit. In a backward, only-would-happen-to-him, sort of way the whole situation made sense and that he couldn't wrap his head around.

The words on the parchment made more sense than anything else he'd seen, heard, or read since the start of the war. It should have startled him. Should have terrified him but instead, it stoked the warm ball of love deep in his heart that had been screaming this isn't real for as long as he could remember into a furious fire. Slytherins didn't have the luxury of believing in love, family or otherwise, but Draco always had. Now, it seemed, he wasn't so far off the mark after all and the knowledge was a soft blanket across abused skin. 

Staring down the last of the long corridors, he shook his head at the wide wooden doors. Lucius Malfoy, the man who had killed him and who an hour back he was willing to try and murder, was sat behind those doors. Asking, not demanding, to speak with Draco.

“Absolutely absurd,” he said, his voice little more than a murmur.

A shadow eclipsed his eyes. He cast a quick scourgify on his shirt. He wanted to be presentable and it would hardly matter now if Lucius knew he was using magic in the home. If Bellatrix had been around perhaps the Dark Lord had been too earlier. It would explain the setup. Draco fiddled with his cuffs.

Lucius had never looked so ragged. 

Witnessing his father in that state had snapped something in him. He wondered if it was patience but it felt more akin to tolerance. Violence had never been his first choice but his hands itched for the Dark Lord's throat. He wasn't supposed to look like that. No one was supposed to make his father feel that way. Draco huffed out a sigh. He loved him after all.

Lucius lifted the mask and Draco had glimpsed the truth. What an ugly truth it was. Sleepless nights, worried mornings, and pain beyond Draco's comprehension bled swallowed all the light on Lucius's face. Draco had seen beneath the mask before in Decembers past. Always Decembers, he thought bitterly, but Lucius had never looked as distraught as he had moments ago. 

The image of his father’s face pinched in agony and colored dark with regret would be as impossible to scrub from his mind as the tight scrawl of that note. Draco had no choice but to believe Lucius. The raw brokenness contorting his visage sold Draco. The pain left no room to argue. Note or no note, he would have come to the study regardless.

Something was plaguing Lucius Malfoy and Draco needed to know what so that he could kill it. End it. Fix it. 

All he had to do to find out was walk down the corridor.

Draco shook his head, physically unable to take the steps down the final stretch of marble. He killed me. Hardly a month back he killed his only son and now here I am, waltzing through Malfoy Manor sans cloak. He didn't even explain that in the note! He grabbed the fringe of blond hair covering his forehead as his eyes bugged. Harry is right. I’ve gone and lost my mind.

Lucius's downturned lips and heavy frown as he whispered "I'm sorry, my son" flashed through Draco's mind.

Why did he have to make that face? Every ounce of hatred had disintegrated as though blasted away by a bomb. Only the shadow of anger remained. He’s sorry. He didn’t...he didn’t kill her. How could he have with how much he loved her? Draco slid his eyes shut with a wince. He couldn't reconcile the love he felt every December, the adoration he had just felt flowing off his father in knee-buckling waves as he looked with pride and sorrow at Draco, with the fact that he had undeniably killed him. It ached in his stomach as though he had eaten only potions and scant bits of bread. As though he were on the run.

Draco took a whistling breath through his nose. There were many opportunities where Lucius could have killed him then. A fruit tree full of ripe opportunities. Draco had slipped and the spell whizzed an inch past. He was woken by a misfired spell. Lucius's curse intersected with another Death Eater's before they reached him. Every opportunity Lucius had he blundered. The elegant, infallible Lucius Malfoy, couldn't land a simple hex on Draco's ankles. There were times where Draco had been captured, the scar on his calf was clear evidence of that but wasn't it Lucius who got the group so smashed Draco could escape? Didn't he insist on retying the knots? And weren't they looser?

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes to stop up the tears wanting to form. The evidence was irrefutable. But Merlin, did it hurt. The memories were tainted with sorrow. The manic expressions Lucius wore had morphed into deep self-hatred and the snarled spells, evidence of them being from him without consent. Draco pressed harder into his eyes as red bursts of geometric shapes danced on his eyelids. He wished to go back to his childhood. To all those Christmases gathered around the fire sharing stories and laughter.

Goddammit. Why is now the time I miss him? He released his hair but kept his eyes closed a moment longer, envisioning a laughing Lucius in his mind from when he was young. Gathered around a Christmas tree with Narcissa and Draco curled in his lap. The smell of fire clung to his robes and his long hair was like silk against Draco’s face. Why now?

His brain supplied a sarcastic, You have always missed him but he was reluctant to believe it.

The topic of Lucius Malfoy was a tricky one at best for Draco. Not even Harry broached it anymore. Initially he had, but after their last fight two years ago, he’d dropped it and never mentioned it again. Probably because it had nearly killed him and almost scared the Horcrux right out of the idiot. And according to reliable sources, the prat was throwing up slugs periodically for a week.

Draco shuddered as he thought back to that fight. More evidence that he had never hated his father and his father had never hated him. That he had spent his time protecting him however he possibly could. He grimaced. The emotions fueling that fight were roused again though this time, they were driving him to the study.

That fight had been remarkably bad even by their standards.

Even the fifteen-year-old version of himself would have been appalled by his behaviour and he hated Potter then. Harry had meant well. They’d searched through another abandoned villa of Lucius’s in an attempt to find Snape’s corpse or some unremarkable dark witch. It had been the day of the winter solstice, horribly cold and endlessly dark. Draco had entered his father’s old room since he refused to let a non-Malfoy into sleeping chambers only to find a small gift. An ancient, twenty-four-hour pocket watch charmed to stop at the exact minute a dark attack could strike waited atop an emerald pillow next to a note that simply said “Happy Christmas, Draco”. He nearly cried when he'd seen the emerald bow wrapped around the silver box. Lucius never missed a Christmas.

Most of the gifts were heirlooms of a sort and they cluttered up Draco’s satchel but this one had jabbed him straight through the chest. His father was either still watching his back or mocking him. Worst of all, the bloody thing had been wound already and was working. Draco saw it the minute hand trembling five minutes into his future. He’d stuffed the thing in his pocket and kept his senses alive, narrowly missing a killing curse shot from a trap lining the wall exactly five minutes later just as the watch had predicted.

When Harry asked how he’d dodged it, Draco apparated out of the villa into their hotel room without answering.

Like a child with a sweet, Harry followed and began pestering. Not even Harry with all his intuition and experience could tell there was a trap and he hungered to know how Draco been prepared. Questions slowly began circling to Lucius. 

Draco looked down to the wooden door of the study and leaned against the cool wall. It had been a disaster.

“You think you’re awfully clever, don’t you Malfoy?”

“Malfoy?” Draco hissed. “Of all the times to call me that, today is not one of them.”

He was too near to tears and wanted nothing more than for Harry to go to sleep and leave him alone with his good bottle of whiskey and the watch. Christmas always hurt. The wound was torn open every year as somewhere a little box found him. How could he believe his father wanted him dead with a gift like this?

“Sod off. I saw you pick up that present, you know. For someone who ‘hates his father’ you accepted it without much protest. None, if I remember correctly.”

“You followed me?” Draco snarled. It was unbelievable that after all this time Harry still refused to trust him. It burned through Draco that Harry had spied on him. That was his moment between him and his father. No one else. "You fucking....you fucking rat."

“Seems I had good reason to. He’s helping you, isn’t he?”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare, Potter.”

Draco's hands had already balled into fists. He wet his lips. There wasn't even an answer he could give if he wanted to. Was his father helping him? The gifts... They had certainly helped him. Especially today. Harry narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms at his chest. Please, Harry. Not now. Back off. Just...just back off. He swallowed around his anger. I don't want to talk about it. If he did, he would never be able to shut the door. He would start remembering the good times. Just like he always did around the holidays. 

And then he would be in real trouble.

“He’s helping you.”

“He isn’t! Can we just let it go? We finished looking. Let's just go to sleep and get back to Hogwarts in the morning."

All Draco wanted was to lock and ward his door in the dungeon and cry. He wanted to hold his stupid little watch which had already saved his life and put it on the mantle with all the other gifts, get bloody drunk until he forget his name, and sob without any Gryffindors looking over his shoulder wondering what he was up to.

"You took the bloody gift!"

"Just because I took it doesn’t mean I’m in league with him.”

“Oh, yes it does. Why would you take the bloody thing?”

He couldn't understand. Harry would never understand those gifts.

“You’ve got it wrong.”

“Explain it.”

“No.” Draco was losing his composure. Everything was too stressful. Too loud. Too bright. He needed to be alone. And he didn't need to explain any of this to Harry. “I know I’m a Malfoy and the son of Death Eater but I deserve my privacy too. This isn’t a zoo exhibit. Just drop it.”

“Prove me wrong then. Why did you take it? Fuck, if the Dark Lord left me a stupid fucking watch-”

“It isn’t a stupid watch!” Draco yelled, ripping it from his pocket and furiously shaking it. "And he isn't the Dark Lord. He's my father!"

“It’s from Lucius Malfoy!” Harry shouted back. “Of course, it’s a stupid fucking watch.” 

“You’re wrong. This...this is a Malfoy heirloom. It detects dark magic spells before they’re even cast. My great grandfather-”

“A Malfoy heirloom? Then it’s even more crap! For you to act like that name means something is all the proof I need. The world laughs at Malfoys, Draco. They’re cowards, the lot of ‘em. Especially Lucius. He’s a joke! A tragedy of a life and a waste of magic. You’re acting like you look up to the smarmy bastard. Are you really so fucked up you can’t see the truth anymore? Malfoys are a joke. They’re only useful to the Dark Lord because there’s nowhere else they can go. Your mum is the only reason-”

“I am a Malfoy! This isn’t just… he isn’t the Dark Lord. He’s never...you don’t understand. He wasn’t always like this and this watch means something to me!” He was screaming in earnest now, unable to stop the trainwreck from happening. 

“Father has never missed a Christmas,” his voice popped as he shook the beautiful watch in Harry’s direction. “I didn’t die today because of Father’s gift. This...this tells me maybe he still cares. I’m allowed to believe in that. I’m allowed to think that maybe even though he’s fucking destroyed me that he might still love me even a little bit. I love these presents, dammit. I do!” His voice cracked again as he slipped the watch into his pocket and cast a wandless protection spell on it in case Harry got any ideas. “You don’t get to tell me that I should hate my father. He’s my father.”

Harry was quiet, his eyes thin slits behind the glass. Draco’s reaction wasn’t going to help him any in convincing him that he wasn’t working with Lucius and Harry’s Horcrux was clearly acting up. He knew he should step away, calm down, but Draco couldn’t. Not on this. If Harry just left him alone everything would be all right.

He turned away from Harry slightly, chest heaving. It was the least he could do to prove he wanted this to end. On a good day, he couldn’t handle being talked to about his father and this was not a good day.

Then Harry, clearly trying to diffuse the situation, moved his chess piece to the wrong square.

Laughing Harry said, “Next you’ll tell me he’s the memory for your Patronus.”

Draco’s head swung slowly toward Harry, his pupils blown wide with adrenaline, eating up the cloudy grey skies until only a sliver of silver was left. Blond hair fell across his pale skin as his sneer gave way to a tight-lipped grimace. Every molecule of his body thumped with his heart which was working on punching its way out of his ribcage. White magic began crackling around him, bursting from the base of his neck where the rage was gathering its forces.

“He. Is.” Draco growled, nostrils flaring.

Harry paled. “Oh shit,” he breathed.

All the windows in the hotel burst, sending shards of glass through the air. Harry brought his hands up for cover but Draco didn’t move, not even as the shimmering glass sliced his skin. For the first and only time in Draco’s life thus far, he saw red. He must have been a sight because Harry’s Horcrux slipped into the back seat as he staggered away, grinding glass into a fine powder beneath his boots. His lips fumbled around apologies as he backed away. Draco could only hear the roar of blood in his ears. The world and all its rules was lost to him.

Draco attacked so blindingly fast Harry’s only reaction was a widening of his eyes as five hexes hit him in quick succession. Sneering down at his wand, he threw it to a back corner of the hotel room. Useless. It was a useless piece of wood that gave him no satisfaction in this matter. A loud roar ripped from Draco’s throat as he lunged forward, cracking Harry across the jaw and kneeing him hard in the groin. If Harry grunted, it was lost on Draco who could hear nothing beside the crunching of bone beneath his flesh as he drove his fist into Harry’s side until his knuckles bled.

Pushing him against the wall, Draco pinned with nothing more than hip bones and muscle as he delivered the last of his hits to Harry’s abdomen. The final one released a mewl of pain from Draco as something in his hand gave. Pulling back, he held Harry by the throat before landing one good albeit incredibly painful hit to Harry’s strong jaw and letting go.

Harry crumpled.

Draco followed him to the floor.

Straddling him, Draco curled a hand into Harry’s black tee and lifted his limp body from the floor until he was inches from Draco’s face. One green eye looked up to him, tears dripping from the corner and joining the blood.

“Get one thing right, Potter, just because...just because he has beaten me and used me and held me down while the Dark Lord has ruined me he is my father. My father. You, Potter, don’t ever get to talk about him like that.” Draco spit down on Harry’s face. 

“‘M sorry,” Harry slurred, a piece of tooth rolling down his chin. “So-sorry, Draco.”

Draco sniffed. How long had he been crying? 

“You don’t know everything. He was good to me, Harry. He was. It wasn’t all bad. It never is, is it? My only good memories…” He shook his head furiously. “He laughed, he cried, he danced. Fuck, we used to play in the snow and go for bloody sleigh rides around the grounds.”

Putting Harry down, he wiped the tears from his face and stood. Harry rolled onto his side, coughing up blood and promptly vomiting. A strong breeze blew in from the destroyed windows across Draco’s wet cheeks, sending a shiver down his spine. Vaguely it registered that Harry was groaning. 

“Don’t ever talk about him again. Not to me.”

Harry groaned as he dropped into a splayed position on the floor.

“If you do, I’ll kill you.”

Draco walked over and grabbed his wand. Looking back to Harry who was writhing in clear discomfort, Draco cast a massive glamour over the room and said, “Heal yourself. I won’t. And don't fucking bother me.” He disapparated and headed back to Hogwarts, leaving Harry to his mess.

He immediately locked himself in his room upon getting back to his quarters. Shooking back two shots and swallowing one very large swig from the bottle, Draco dropped to the floor in front of his fireplace. Carefully, he placed the pocketwatch on the stone hearth with its face to him as it balanced. The little hands spun aimlessly. Draco huffed, his eyebrows knitting together. He wouldn't die today but if that was so, why couldn't he breathe?

Draco thumped his head against the wall of Malfoy Manor.

Rubbing a hand over a razor-thin scar on his forearm, he blinked at the mirror mounted on the wall across from him. Their jaws were the same, that much was certain. Sharp enough to cut. Draco fluffed back his hair. The same straight white hair that turned blue in moonlight. Draco sighed.

He looked so like his father these days it was a wonder more people didn’t slip and call him Lucius. Severus had once or twice, stilling as soon as he had but pride swelled in Draco’s chest despite him knowing it shouldn’t. He had always valued being a Malfoy. From the time he was young, Draco felt it was integral to his person in a way the Black name never was. Narcissa tried to encourage him to appreciate her bloodline but they were too cruel. Too eager to hurt. Malfoys were different, weren't they? The portraits never said an ill word of anyone.

His reflection frowned. 

Lucius had hurt him. The frown dragged deeper. He had physically hurt him. Draco had never cried from his father’s actions, not until he’d heard his mother had died by his hands. Now that swirled chaotically in his eyes like a blizzard. He narrowed his eyes, glowering at his reflection.

Draco prided himself on his acuity. No one else was as able to decipher intention as he was. The undercurrent of emotions, the depth behind a glance, and the motivations of even someone like Snape were crystalline to Draco and, he presumed, Lucius. It was never lost on him that his father’s blue eyes were desperate. Every time that jeweled hand cracked against Draco, the blue eyes cringed. Pain struck through them as fast and vivid as summer lightning. When sadistic smiles and gruesome words painted Lucius’s face bright, his eyes were dark and despairing. Draco understood every apology Lucius had ever given him and there had been many.

Mirror Draco’s intentions were just as clear. He looked as miserable as Lucius had.

Staring into his grey eyes, Draco huffed at himself. He had his father’s pointed, aristocratic nose. The same wide-open eyes, pinched at the corners and as light as the arctic. His lips even pursed the same way when he was annoyed. He fiddled with hair when he was nervous. Popped the top button of his shirt with his wand tip. Even cocked his head when he heard a lie. Draco saw very little of Narcissa in the mirror now. He was a carbon copy of Lucius in nearly every way.

It was how he was certain. Absolutely sure of the one thing those blue eyes betrayed. Lucius Malfoy did not want to hurt his son. He never did to begin with.

A feeble smile reflected in the grey eyes before he turned to look down at the necklace. All remnants of the Black mirror really had gone, leaving behind a shimmering “M” which the snake proudly curled around. He brushed a thumb across the snake, larger than before having absorbed the metal. It hissed lightly, flicking a metallic tongue in his direction before twining more tightly around the letter.

Draco narrowed his eyes at his reflection. The mirrored necklace gleamed in the candlelight of the hallway.

Twenty-seven years. Well, only seventeen since I’ve had it. Harry would say he knew I was one indecisive prat. Images of getting ready for galas together floated through his mind as he struggled with which robes to wear. Took me seventeen ruddy years to figure out whose line I’ll carry on. Well, Father, it’s yours. After everything...it’s still Malfoy. Draco wrapped a warm hand around the cool metal. I am still a Malfoy. Just you watch, I’ll clean our name yet. Something soured in his stomach. Even if you can’t. He tucked it under his shirt. Time to see Father. Nodding to himself, he pushed off the wall and started down the hallway. Just us Malfoys.

Chapter Text

Lucius stood at the far end of the study, his silver cloaks catching the pale light of the snowy skies. A crystal tumbler filled with several fingers full of amber whiskey caught the light of the warm fire as the glass sat elegantly in his hand. Most of his face was eclipsed from Draco, turned toward the massive windows stretched in front of him, but a blue eye glinted in the low firelight. He brought the crystal to his lips as Draco peeked his head into the study, pausing before taking a long drink and returning back to his practiced posture. Draco regarded him through the crack with narrowed eyes.

His hair had been let down. Combed, it hung in straight white lines midway down his back. It draped across his strong chest with a brilliant sheen, dragging the focus to wear it parted around a small daffodil pinned against his robes. He had not taken the flower off yet.

The door creaked as it swung open and Draco pushed through. Lucius twitched his head back in his boy’s direction but made no other move to acknowledge him. Draco stood stiffly, his hands nervously toying with the seam of his pants.

Together, they stood in silence admiring the gentle storm outside the study windows.

It had been ages since Draco had been back within this room but it had lost none of its grandeur. The study still smelled of pipe smoke as though Lucius would turn and reveal one hanging from his lips, puffing little clouds of smoke, and the vaguest scent of Narcissa’s perfume clung to the dark corners of the room. Musty books lined the walls, each one with their own secret and many with a greenhouse flower pressed between the covers. Little gifts from Lucius to Narcissa. Draco could still remember every time his father strode into the room and presented her with one. Narcissa never lit up more than when she placed the fragile things between the pages of her books.

Draco’s eyes skipped across the familiar spines. A hello to many old friends.

Twinkling blue, pink, and green lights caught his attention as he looked to another wall of shelves. 

A proud tree decorated with lights and a spattering of ornaments Draco vividly remembered crafting with his father stood proudly in a corner off to the left. It was lovely. Not a very tall pine, Lucius had always hated the large ones since he insisted they lacked character, it filled the corner with a sense of cheer and merriment. A deep longing to have been there to decorate it flitted across his heart as he looked up at their star, a muggle bear Draco had found one year in London and sobbed about how lonely it would be. The small little bear, black with a tuft of white on each ear, was wrapped and sitting atop the tree come Christmas morning.

Draco held the warm gaze of the brown eyes and suddenly wanted nothing more than to nab it and run to his room.

Instead, he looked down to his polished feet. The flames of the hearth shone brilliantly across the tips of his shoes. Off to his right, the fire burned as it always had; eternally kept at a low roar. The logs painted changing, ocherous lines up the wall while intricate shadows danced at Draco’s feet. Two chairs were arranged nearby, his and his father's. Narcissa's was nowhere to be seen.

Amidst it all, stood Lucius Malfoy, his gaze distant but sharp. He ran a tongue across his lips, wetting them.

Draco shifted slightly. This was a rare moment and an even rarer sight. His father was calm. No, Draco thought as he frowned. He's resigned.

Lucius drew in a deep breath and Draco did the same. 

“Draco,” Lucius said, his eyes staring at the snow falling outside the massive windows. His hand tightened around his glass. “You came after all.”

“Father,” Draco croaked. “Would I have been a Malfoy if I didn’t?”

Lucius snorted. A shadow of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. “I suppose not.” He paused, his silver-clad shoulders rising and falling with a heavy breath. The blue eyes did not leave the window but they grew glassy. After several heartbeats had passed, he asked, “Did it scar?”

Draco wished he could swallow his tongue.

“Yes.”

His father sucked in a hissing breath with a shallow shake of his head. Silence caught them again while the snow kept falling. Draco tracked several flakes with the hopeless thought of being lost with them and lying in the snow, laughing with his father as they discussed star clusters like they used to.

The silence shattered.

“Badly?”

Draco grit his teeth. It was asinine that this was the conversation he was having with his father. The man who had slain him a month ago. A chorus of voices, all of them still nurturing the idea that Lucius loved him, begged him to listen. To speak. 

He reluctantly answered. “Yes.”

“I see.”

Lucius brought the glass to his lips and drank deeply. Shadows from the fire played across his sharp jaw. Without warning, Lucius turned to face Draco and he was struck with a moment of pitiful clarity. Lucius was a man, one who was hurting. The deep anguish carved lines through his regal face and although a barely raised eyebrow was the only expression displayed on his manicured Malfoy mask, the canyons cast a tormented look across the hills and valleys of his face. Draco’s mouth parted slightly at the sight as those arctic blue eyes pierced straight through him and rooted him to the spot.

They flicked down to his chest, first narrowing and then growing impossibly wide. A thin line of white flashed around Lucius’s irises before he schooled his features back into impassiveness. Draco suppressed his shock at his father’s reaction and his hand instinctively went up to the necklace. It stopped halfway there.

“Merlin,” Lucius said, blinking in surprise. “You chose.”

He looked down to the shimmering “M” cuddled between the twining shape of the serpent with a weary smile.

“It…was a long time coming.”

Lucius raised his eyes, sheer gratitude turning them wet. “Was it now?”

Draco closed his mouth and gave a jerky nod as he looked into a corner. Anywhere but that open, vulnerable face.

When he looked back, Lucius was settled into the chair, balancing the glass on his thigh with fingertips. 

“I had always hoped,” he murmured, his voice blending in with the creaking logs. “A Malfoy?”

“A Malfoy,” Draco affirmed, his voice equally as unsteady.

Lucius set the glass against the leather arm of his chair as his thumb traced along the decorations carved into the crystal. Crackling pops jumped from the fire, filling the tense air with the sound of home. Draco swallowed around the lump in his throat. He was no fool. Lucius may have been many things, but he’d always respected Draco’s intelligence regardless of the time of year. The question burning the tip of his tongue wouldn’t start a fight at this point. Lucius was astute himself and most likely knew the question was about to come.

“How did mother die?”

Lucius stiffened. “Albus.” The name rumbled from his throat, heavy with sorrow.

Draco fought against closing his eyes. It made sense without another word of explanation. Albus saw people as chess pieces and never hesitated to knock one from the board. He wasn't going to press, given the static of depression clinging to Lucius but the man offered another surprise. An explanation.

“He used polyjuice without my consent while I was at the Ministry. When I returned…” He drained his glass and filled it up without pause. “She had been slain and arranged on my bed for me. As a warning. I had stepped out of line.” Lucius stared into the fire for so long Draco wondered if he wasn’t hoping to give himself early cataracts to blind the image. “The memories you were sent belonged to him.”

Draco found himself rasping out an apology. His father blinked.

"Out of line."

Lucius nodded. "I suggested the light was unable to retaliate after such losses and that it would be a wiser move to collect ourselves, leaving you be. My folly was mentioning you by name. He had wanted to raise a counterstrike in an attempt to kill you and Severus. I called him a fool and vocally opposed his plan by labelling it as 'asinine' in front of the Inner Circle." He sipped on his drink as his face grew sour. "I implied you should be spared. Albus did not find it amusing that I..."

He trailed off, leaving Draco with the distinct impression that whatever Lucius had said about him he had paid for in spades. Narcissa's death was Dumbledore's style but there was more to the horror flickering in his eyes.

“I buried her beneath the greenhouse and…” he waved his hand in the direction where it once stood. Snow covered the top of the ashes. “...ensured her safety with Fiendfyre.”

“You hate that spell.”

“I do.”

The silence buzzed with questions Draco couldn’t ask. Why fiendfyre? Why on Mother? Did she not deserve to rest with the others in the family plot?

Lucius sighed. On any normal day, he would answer Draco’s questions before he managed to formulate them but his eyes were vacant, staring out at the rubble of the greenhouse as he struggled to keep up with the slow-moving conversation.

Eventually, he spoke.

“Fiendfyre renders magic, past or future, impotent. I am sure that old sadist taught you as much at Hogwarts.” Draco did not like where it was heading, especially not considering his father’s eyes were now as glazed as the donuts Harry insisted on buying every time they went out but he nodded.

“The Dark Lord is raising the dead.” Draco’s blood stopped moving. Turned to ice. “Quite effectively, as well. The only way I have been able to impede his progress is by keeping the corpses he intends to use locked away or by casting Fiendfyre on the bodies.” A long pause left Draco listening to the furious sound of his heart roaring in his ears. “I could not allow there to be any possibility that Narcissa would be one of the unfortunate souls. I could not allow her to be…used.” His eyes slid closed. “Not any longer. She despised the Death Eaters despite having married one. What sort of husband would I have been if…”

He never finished his question, only drank again from his glass.

It threw Draco off-kilter. He shuffled around awkwardly, kicking the door with his heel and slamming it closed the final inch. The resounding boom ringing through the study made him wince but Lucius did not even move. Looking at his father sitting frozen in time by the fire, Draco decided that something was wrong. Really, seriously wrong for him to be so despondent. 

How many minutes had passed since he had trailed off? The manners that had been drilled into him as a child surfaced. Small talk.

“First snow of the year?” Draco asked. 

Lucius gave a small bow of his head indicating yes. 

That was hardly an answer. It practically shut down his attempt at conversation. Draco still wasn’t convinced that the Manor was not his enemy and he was here for reconnaissance. Out-cunning a Slytherin was difficult, but if he didn’t try he would be a sham of one himself.  

“Late. Normally it snows before December, doesn’t it?”

A blue eye moved toward him before looking out the window.

Draco continued to prod.

“Do you remember, we used to build snowmen and you would make them chase Mother around throwing snowballs?” A delicate smile that looked equal parts painful and fond touched Lucius’s face. “It’s been a while since we discussed the constellations with coco too, hasn’t it?” The smile slipped right off his face, falling to the carpet.

“It’s December now,” Draco said, pushing.

Lucius sat up taller in his chair. “So it is.” The blue eyes blinked over to him as he arched a white brow. “You are a smart boy. A man now. Apologies. I ought to treat you as such.”

The word rolled so easily off his tongue. Draco tightened his lips into a thin line. That man never apologized. What was he playing at? Lucius exhaled harshly and set his drink off to the side on an end table.

“Would you care to sit?” The question was grated out, dragged against rocks.

Nothing. Lucius was radiating raw desperation. He’s playing at nothing.

“You’re hesitant. That’s good.” A hint of pride coloured his voice. “My wand is on the table to your left.” A muscle in his jaw ticked as Draco felt the world start to spin. “It is yours if you would do me two favours.” 

Frowning as his hands went cold, he shot a disbelieving look over to his left. Surely, Lucius Malfoy of all people would not be unarmed next to the son he had killed, a proud soldier of the rebellion. It must have been a ruse. A distraction.

Despite his hesitations, he looked. 

Draco first paled and then went numb head to toe, fearing for a moment that he would topple over as small black spots dotted his vision. He struggled to absorb what he was seeing. It was impossible. Impossible.

Atop a table near to the entrance lay the long, elegant cane of his father. The glittering emerald eyes of the snake bored into Draco. His father’s wand, his life was within arms reach. Draco pressed a hand against the wooden door to steady himself. This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

His pink tongue shot out to wet his lips as he touched the sleek wood of the cane. No wards, no curses, no tricks. Simply his father’s life offered up on a platter. Draco plucked the cane from its resting spot and jerked as old magic licked at his hands. He’s charmed it to be an heirloom? What in the bloody hell is going on? It looked into his eyes as he held the snake up to his face. Not even as a child had Lucius allowed him to inspect it. With good reason. A wand as powerful as his was likely to have its own opinions on how it ought to be handled. But as Draco held the cane, he wondered why it felt so melancholic.

It was sad, that much was clear. Joining the emerald eyes were several drops of the palest sapphire Draco had ever seen. They were ice, brilliant in contrast to the black wood. The snake had wept. Lucius’s wand had changed. That was unheard of.

“I do not ask lightly.”

Draco’s hand tightened around the cane. “This was your father’s.”

Lucius huffed out a weak laugh. “I burned that dark thing the moment he perished and lied to everyone who would listen to me this was the same in a grab for power. No, that is from our dear friend Ollivander.”

“It isn’t elm?”

“Full of questions, aren’t you?” Lucius’s voice was light, playful, and it made Draco want to scream for the lost years. “Hawthorn.” Draco suppressed a gasp. The same wood had chosen him all those years back. “Eleven inches ¾. Supple. Dragon heartstring core. It should suit you fine.” He turned his head to the window again. In the time they had already spoken, the sun had gone down. “If you choose not to burn it.”

Another diamond had surfaced on the serpent’s head. Draco ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it lightly.

“I won’t burn it.”

One blue eye pinned him to the door. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. I would never do that.” Lucius smiled and turned back to the window. “Your favours?”

“Join me by the fire first.” He waved over an empty glass and filled it with amber liquid. “Share a drink with your father.” A white gold pocket watch glinted in the low light of the study. “You still have forty minutes before Harry and Severus are expecting you back. And I am…unsure…of the Dark Lord’s whereabouts. There is still time.”

How was it Harry and Severus never found themselves in these sorts of conundrums? Not an hour back he was fully convinced his father was going to gut him and hang his entrails around like Christmas decorations. Now, he was about to sit and sip whiskey as one of his oldest, least attainable dreams played out. Of course, there would always be time for the gutting later. Not to discard that he now had his father’s wand in his possession. Ridiculous.

Draco approached cautiously, coming around the outside of the chair cozied up next to Lucius. The Malfoy patriarch tipped his head back, regarding Draco out of permanently stern eyes. In the low light of the fire, the lines surrounding his mouth were dark. More displeased than normal. The shadow of a sneer pulled Lucius’s lip up as he raked his eyes over his son. Draco stood, unconsciously arching a mirroring brow. For the second time that day, Malfoy patriarch and Malfoy heir turned into a looking glass.

“May I see?” Lucius hissed.

He didn’t hesitate. He should have. Severus would have slapped him on the back of the head and Harry would have questioned his sanity but Draco simply unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt and maneuvered the massive black scar on his shoulder into view. Whatever sort of reaction he’d expected was not what he got.

Lucius’s eyes fogged and in the pale blue irises, Draco could see the jagged lines of his injury. Lucius looked for several long moments, his chest neither rising nor falling until at last the pale eyes jumped to Draco’s. Never in his life had he witnessed such heartbreak in an expression. Maybe he really had loved him. Lucius brought a wide, jeweled hand to cover his mouth as he dropped his head and screwed his eyes shut.

He was sorry. Truly sorry. 

Draco pulled his shirt back to rights and closed the buttons while Lucius sat with his guilt. Harry is not going to believe this. He settled gently in the chair, idly looking over at the two glasses of whiskey on the table. Lucius wasn’t even acting the part of a good host. That in and of itself was startling enough but the words that followed cracked Draco apart like a hammer would glass.

“Draco…I am so sorry.” Cold winter eyes lifted to his as Lucius grabbed a glass and offered it to Draco. “Please. Drink. I...should not have asked. It isn’t my place.”

Draco reached to take his drink, accidentally brushing his fingers across his father’s. Lucius recoiled as though burnt, turning quickly to his own drink.

Before he could even stop the words, Draco said, “If it isn’t your place to ask, whose is it, Father?”

His jaw tightened. “It has been thirteen years since you called me that.”

“Father?”

He nodded once, sharply.

“Suppose I’ve grown out of hating you.”

“I wonder about that.” His eyes darted down to the necklace. He shook his head to himself, looking off before turning the full weight of his gaze to Draco. “You look well.”

Merlin help him, he was trying. The why might be unknown, but Draco would be a fool not to soak up the niceness of the moment. This had been a dream of his since he was a child, drinking with his father by the fire as though the rest of the world had already burned and risen from the ashes.

He was not going to squander it. If Lucius was trying, Draco would too.

“Well, dying does wonders to a man.”

“What?” Lucius startled, spilling whiskey across his robes. His eyes didn’t leave Draco who was pressing himself deeper into the chair at the sight of Lucius ignoring the settling stains. “When? No.” Draco raised both brows. Was that really a question? “You were on your feet moments later. No, I thought it…” He blanched as he struggled to regain his composure. “I did not mean it. Draco, I could never mean that spell.” His Adam's apple bobbed as his free hand went white from the force of gripping the arm of the chair. “Not with you. It was a bluff to distract the Dark Lord and Albus. They demanded that I… It was a feeble attempt at redirecting their attention away from you. I could never have enough intent to power that spell, certainly not that iteration of it, against you. Is that why you…?” 

Lucius looked away at the fire, rolling his lips together and grunting a quiet “mm” to himself. A deep frown creased between his pale brows, showing his age. He took another drink of liquor, holding it before swallowing. His eyes twitched in a squint as he jerked his head slightly to the side. Draco knew those expressions. That was the face of an angry Malfoy. Draco kept his mouth shut. Lucius had been a loyal Death Eater for many years but lying was not his forte. He was genuinely surprised and horribly upset.

“I did die,” Draco finally said. He damned the way his voice trembled. “Eleven days after the battle.” A warm hand landed on his back. It hesitated before rubbing soothing circles. Draco rolled his eyes shut. “It hurt ,” he whined despite his dignity. The hand continued its motion as Draco committed the feel of his father comforting him to memory. This was beyond a dream.

“I know,” Lucius soothed. “You were brave to endure for so long.”

“I had to. Ron and Harry…they needed it more than I did.”

The hand paused before moving up to his shoulder and gripping hard. 

“Draco. Look at me.”

He obeyed. Lucius was close, only a few inches from him and the sharp smell of mint and cologne washed over him with a plethora of joyous winter memories. He smelled of cinnamon and peppermint hot chocolate underneath it all. The breath of December and the smile of winter.

“I could never mean that spell. You are important.”

“Because I’m a Malfoy.”

“No.” Draco was listening now. “You have a good soul and a caring heart. You are a healer , Draco. That is why your wand is hawthorn. The world is better with you in it. You are important because despite what I have put you through, despite the Dark Lord’s assaults on your mind and body, despite all the suffering you shine brighter than any Gryffindor could hope to. You are Draco Malfoy.” He nodded sternly.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy,” he softly corrected. 

A twitch of surprise galloped across his father’s face. Instead of composing himself, Lucius let a gentle smile spread in its wake as he backed off and brought his hand to his lap. Crossing his leg, he let the smile dim to a smirk.

“And you are my son. I would like to think that counts for something in the grand scheme of things. The world may look to you for change.”

Without warning, Lucius became stern again. His jaw worked as though he were chewing on something and his nostrils flared. “I would not have used that alteration on any soul, let alone yours. I suspect Albus directed the intention. He has been feeding me power throughout battles. Will follows magic, as you well know. If his magic had powered the spell, perhaps he could exert his will.” He sighed heavily. “This is exactly what I feared last winter. I understand if you don’t trust my information but-”

“I do. Not because I trust you implicitly but you are a rubbish liar and I know Dumbledore well enough. Twinkling-eyed bastard. He wants me dead, no doubt. I’m a nice, fat barrier between him and Harry.”

“You could stand to put on some weight.”

“Yes, well. I did die and that sort of thing is a bit draining.” Draco clacked his mouth shut. “I’m sorry. It’s still...fresh.”

“Do not.” Draco arched a brow at Lucius’s raised hand. “Do not apologize to me. I murdered my son,” he spat. “I deserve no kindness from you.”

Draco leaned back in his own chair, crossing his leg at the knee like his father. “Harry’s taught me a few things about forgiveness. And kindness.”

“That is hardly a surprise.”

“Father.”

“Do not.”

Draco looked at his father’s trembling hands and the cane leaning against his own leg. “Father, I can forgive you. Just this once, free of charge.”

Lucius regarded him with wet eyes before closing them. “Are you interested in hearing my favours? You may keep the wand regardless. I have no need of it after today.” He looked at it softly before saying, “I would rather it land in good hands.”

“Tell me.”

Pale blue eyes flicked to Draco, exposing a world of torment. 

“I ask that you listen to me. There are memories you must see though I am no great legilimens and would require your assistance. I have hardly earned the place to advise you or have you listen to stories like a child and I would not ask if it did not matter to your understanding of your life.” 

He glanced down at the watch. “We have enough time to finish and send you home before the Dark Lord or Albus are aware that I’ve crossed them or before Severus has noticed your absence. I fear there may not be time to inform you of the gaps in our strategies but if you are interested, my portrait has been informed. I admit, our forces are rather weak after the battle. Albus is still recovering from your spell, a wonderful piece of magic that was. He is feeble and his magic, completely incapacitated. The Dark Lord is feeling the burden of his network now. You should be safe for a few weeks yet.” He paused. “That is the lesser of the two favours. I ask simply that you hear me out.”

“Hardly an ask. I’m nearly as curious as Potty.” When Lucius didn’t respond, Draco clarified, “I’ll do it.”

“Mm.”

Lucius nodded imperceptibly and fell quiet. Leaning forward on his knees, he set the tumbler off to the side. The long white hair cascaded forward, framing his face and catching the light of the fire turning into crimson sheets. He looked ethereal. As though nothing could hurt him and death would never come.

“And I ask that when we finish you use my wand to kill me.”

“What?” The word barely made it into the night. “No. I won’t. I couldn't-”

“Please, Draco. I cannot be lost again come January.” Dawning spread its sickly red fingers across Draco’s mind like a warning light. Lucius held his gaze before closing his eyes tightly. More quietly he added, “Please, let me die having been kind to my son. Once. I cannot hurt you again.”

A labyrinth of hairline fractures spidered across Draco’s glass heart. He held very still as though he could hide from the monster of suffering looming over him. 

“I’ve never...I’ve never killed anyone.”

Lucius looked physically pained as he sprung back. “I apologize,” he said hoarsely. “I had assumed that…” He shook his head to himself. A twisting, agonized smile crinkled the corner of his tired eyes. “You are pure, Draco. I am proud of you.”

He nodded once before letting his smile sour. Deflating, his elbows landed back on his knees. The proud features dropped to face the expensive rug as he clenched his hands together. Draco stared at the top of the neatly coiffed hair. Deep inside, he could hear the quiet tinkling of breaking glass. Then Draco saw it. Tears, caught by the firelight, were plopping to the rug. 

His father was crying.

And his glass heart exploded. Sending shrapnel in every direction, it ruptured any notion of a safe route of escape. He would kill his father and he would do it gladly because this Lucius Malfoy loved him. This Lucius felt remorse. This Lucius was proud of him. He was scared, in pain, and trapped. This man was not just Lucius but Father. The weight of decisions he never wanted to make pressed on him and Draco understood without even hearing the story. He was his father’s reflection, after all.

“I’ll do it.”

Lucius’s head snapped up, glittering streaks trailing down his cheeks. “No. I couldn’t ask that of you now.”

“Father,” Draco said, reaching out and grabbing Lucius’s forearm. “Let me. It’s...war.”

He was only half sure of what he was offering but when Lucius let out a gasp and lunged forward, breaking both of their crystal tumblers to hug Draco, he’d never been more sure of anything in his life.

Strong arms crushed him, squeezing him more tightly than anyone had ever hugged him in his life and he staggered back from the force. He threw his arms around his father, grabbing fistfuls of silver robe and pulling him closer. This was the only one. The first. The last. Tinged with dark desperation and unspoken apologies. Draco thumped his head to his father’s shoulder.

“Draco. Draco, I love you.”

“I…” He was melting from the inside out. Draining into a hole of sorrow. Dying. “I love you too.”

Lucius hugged impossibly harder. Draco let him. They stood, pressed chest to chest for several long minutes that vanished too quickly for Draco’s taste. He would have been content to spend the next several hours of his life wrapped in his father’s arms. Cared for and loved. Protected. 

But Lucius began to pull away and Draco was forced to lower his arms, now shakey from the muscle behind the embrace.

Clearing his throat, Lucius tugged his robes back into alignment and walked over to the fire.

“Do you know what the most important thing is to a Malfoy?”

“Power.”

“No,” Lucius picked up an ornate carving made of jewels and humming with magic. He turned and smashed it on the far wall. “It is not objects or wealth either.” 

Joining his father by the fire, Draco took the offered piece of wood from the jeweled hand. It looked rather ugly. No magic. Poor craftsmanship. He struggled to imagine it on the shelves of Grimmauld. No Black would keep it. No pureblood, not even the Weasleys would proudly display it the way Lucius was.

“What is this?”

“Open it.”

Draco did and a lovely song plucked out as a small bird chased a thestral around a track covered in snow. His grey eyes followed the animals around their course with childish wonder. There were even small pines decorated in garland, red bulbs, and snow. 

“It’s lovely.”

“My father was a sadistic shitheel who valued pain over progress. He tainted the Malfoy name with dark magic. I have endeavored to never forgive him for that though he had not always been that way. A run-in with a pureblood idealist potioneer combined with his tendency to stoke bar fights ended his compassion. That was in my third year.”

Lucius gestured to the music box in Draco’s hands.

“He carved that for me when I first left for Hogwarts. A token of our favourite season. Mother went on holiday for the whole of the winter months, no tolerance for the cold that woman, leaving Father and myself to our own devices. I cherished those months.” He sighed deeply, almost fondly. “Malfoys value family above all else. Not for bloodline or magic’s sake or any reason the Daily Prophet will feed you.

“Centuries of Malfoys decorate these walls. All of them sharing one ideal: family above all else. Each of us has come to our conclusion as to why, as you will someday. My devotion to my family was simple.” His fist clenched atop the mantle and Draco narrowed his eyes. A storm was coming. “I wanted something to protect. I had power and wealth, the ability to do whatever or whomever I pleased without consequence, but I met Narcissa and the only thing that mattered was keeping her safe. Having a family and protecting it from the cruelty of the world I had experienced became an obsession.

“Clearly, I failed.”

Lucius’s jaw tensed. The music box felt suddenly weighty in Draco’s hands. As he went to put it back on the mantle, Lucius waved him off.

“Keep it. It is one of the few objects in the Manor unable to be charmed. I would like it to...survive.”

“You’re expecting it won’t?” Draco asked as he slipped it into his pocket.

“When the Dark Lord feels that I have been struck down, do you think he will leave the Manor be?” Draco shook his head. Malfoy Manor would be a conquest.

“I will not allow him to sully this place. It is our home . As many wretched things have taken place in these walls, it is still the place every Malfoy has been born and raised. I will protect it at the very least if I cannot do anything else.”

A righteous effort, Draco thought. He couldn’t help but agree that he too would be willing to put his life on the line for the Manor. Must be a poison in the Malfoy blood.

“The Dark Lord will ruin anything I have not protected for not following his order to kill you. I have already unplotted several of the rooms in the Manor and filled them with heirlooms but he has been visiting too often for me to secure the rest. As one man…” he roughly exhaled a breath.

“Big place,” Draco murmured.

“I have warded most of the other precious objects with Severus’ best spells. It will take quite a bit of doing for anyone besides myself to dismantle them. I have spent a great deal of time manipulating the ancestral magic in these walls over the past week in preparation for Tom to try and seize the Manor.” A closed-mouth sound of wonder hummed through the air. “I wonder if anyone will be allowed back. It is of little importance at the moment. There will be time after the war ends for the Manor to be reclaimed.”

“By me, you mean.”

“If you so desire.”

“I won’t burn it to the ground if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I am implying nothing.” He crunched over the crystal shards to the window where pale, reflected light from the snow colored him blue. Clasping his hands behind his back, he stood quietly for a moment. Draco left the mantle, a queasy feeling in his stomach, and joined his father at the window. “The home will accept you.”

“You’re certain?” His voice was far shakier than he would have liked, betraying how much he wanted to bring life back into the Manor the way he remembered it.

A ghost of a smile moving across Lucius’s lips was the only answer Draco received.

“I have prattled on enough.” Draco wanted to shout. No, you haven’t. Tell me more. Keep talking. Anything to avoid the inevitable promise at the end. “I defied Tom three times and would have very much liked to leave his company.”

“Tom?” Draco barely breathed the name. 

“Tom,” he said more assertively. “Druella, Narcissa’s mother, would have very much enjoyed my becoming a Death Eater but I was less than keen on the notion. Tom’s charm had worn thin. He was becoming cruel, unforgiving.”

Lucius stiffened, his lip curling into a sneer. “Like my father. Evidently, Tom had split his soul one too many times by the end of that summer. My peers, Severus included, were too infatuated with the attention he showered them in to notice but I had seen a man lose his morality before. I was unaware at the time, but the first six Horcruxes had already been created. Nagini and Harry came later, as you are aware.”

Draco turned to Lucius who was as still as stone. The white snow paled his complexion further but the tension attached to his shoulders made Draco uneasy. Lucius was unnervingly quiet. Slowly, the words seeped into Draco’s mind. It did not add to seven Horcruxes, but eight.

“Father.”

“There were eight Horcruxes.”

Panic crackled like static in his head. “Severus only removed six. Is there-”

“I dealt with the eighth myself.” Lucius touched the daffodil pinned to his chest. "I suppose I removed Harry's as well."

Draco swallowed. "Yeah. Did you-"

"I believed he would recover. It was not so entrenched in him." Lucius shook his head to himself and continued his story. “My first attempt to leave demonstrated the impossibility of the situation. Simply put, I was cornered. And the Horcrux only added to the futility. Would you care to see it for yourself? I hear you are quite an accomplished legilimens now.”

The ticking of a nearby grandfather clock filled the space, pressuring Draco into agreeing. There was hardly a choice in the matter. Lucius needed him to see.

His vision was filled with trusting winter eyes as he whispered, “Legilimens.”

**********************************************************************

At first, Draco wasn’t sure where he was and then it struck him like lightning. Malfoy Manor, in his father’s suite. Already then, Draco understood that Abraxis had died.

Lucius had his arms around a frantic Narcissa’s waist. She was much younger, as was his father, but there was a severity to both of them that Draco knew as normal that was not yet present. Draco had a terrible feeling that he would be learning where that had come from shortly. 

Taking in as much as possible as quickly as he could, he noted a distinct absence of rings from their fingers. Unmarried. Lucius was grimacing, his eyebrows squeezing together in a look of pity as Narcissa pushed against him, incoherently begging for something.

“I am sorry, my love. There is no choice. He will take you as his.” A rush of pain flashed through him, making Draco shudder at the mirrored sensation. “I have seen what he is capable of and I will not allow that to-”

“No, Lucius. No! You can leave him. Leave Tom to rot. Oh, you can’t join him. It will destroy you. What of your heart? You are too gentle for this sort of work. It will break you. Lucius, oh my Lucius. What will become of your heart?”

He flinched at this. Sour regret poured through the memory. Draco blinked hard at what he was seeing. A terrible tremble shook his father but he managed to hide it as he rubbed firm circles across Narcissa’s back.

“Cissa, I cannot. Shh, I cannot. I must accept.” Lucius bowed his head so their foreheads were touching as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I will find a way to kill-”

“No! You can’t. Oh, Lucius. You can’t. It’ll ruin you.”

She was crying openly and the warm tears were trailing down his bare chest. If Draco hadn’t been so stricken by the knowledge that Lucius was promising to kill the Dark Lord, he may have been unsettled knowing his father was half-naked.

“I can stand to be ruined. I am a Malfoy.”

“That doesn’t…that doesn’t mean anything, Lucius!” She screamed, small fists beating against his chest. 

“My dear,” he said. “It means everything.”

Her forehead fell from his head to his chest as she openly sobbed. Draco’s stomach shrunk in on itself as Lucius tucked her under his chin and pet her long hair.

“I will protect you, Cissa. This is just a short stop. We have our whole lives to escape him and live peacefully, won’t we? Tom is already acting strange and senile. Why, just yesterday he forgot how he takes his tea and decided he took it with cream. The bugger doesn’t even drink it!”

“Lucius.”

“I will protect you, Narcissa. With my life.”

Her shoulders shook more fiercely.

“Now, my love, I must go.”

“No! No, Lucius, you can’t. You’ve already enraged him too much by refusing to bring him a child for the ritual.”

“He has found one without me. I must…attend to matters. This I can remedy.”

Narcissa wailed. “You're already becoming cold! No, Lucius. Not for me.”

Lucius closed his eyes and the memory went dark, focusing only on the soft scent of Narcissa’s shampoo and the soft skin beneath his hands. “If not for you, what sort of man would I be?”

He kissed the top of her head and pulled away, casting several complex spells to keep her quiet and rooted to the spot in his bedroom before leaving her there sobbing.

The edges of the memory rippled.

Draco was propelled forward with a strange sensation of trying to hold his father back. A gentle heart? Something burned in Draco's mind.

The soft, not yet sibilant voice of Tom Riddle greeted both he and Lucius as he dropped into the next memory.

“Ah, hello Lucius.”

“Tom.”

The man narrowed his brown eyes. “How many times have I asked that you call me “My Lord”, Lucius?”

“Six.”

“I expect you to comply as I expect you to greet me with bended knee. A bow, if you will.”

Tom waited, a smarmy smile on his face.

Lucius straightened his back and said, “I see. I believe Tom will do.”

The smile fell.

“Crucio!”

An agonized scream ripped from Lucius’s throat as his knees cracked to the stone in front of Tom Riddle.

“Bow, Lucius.”

Lucius yelled as Tom held the spell but he would do no more than stay on his knees. The spell dragged on until Draco was pacing, wishing he could intervene. How had his father held out for so long under the cruciatus curse? His back arched until it cracked and threatened to snap forward but Lucius kept himself from bowing despite the fire flooding his body. 

“Bow!”

His screams continued, alternating high and low pitch as the torture continued. Each breath brought new sounds, some high and cracking, others low and broken. The veins along the sides of his neck stood out and he turned crimson to the very roots of his hair. His nails dug into his own flesh but still, he would not bow.

Draco’s eyes darted between the contorted figure of agony, his father, and Riddle, understanding very suddenly how things must have spiraled out of control. Lucius could not have been much older than twenty if that. His young, taut frame looked so similar to Draco’s if he had not had the long mane of thick, straight hair Draco could have been fooled into thinking it was his own memory. Lucius jerked forward, barely opening his eyes and glaring at Tom as he lurched toward him again. He would not bow. 

Riddle made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and cut the spell.

Lucius vomited and dropped to his side. Tremors of agony curled in his muscles, sending aftershocks of the spell through him as he groaned. Draco could feel them haunting his own limbs as Lucius twitched.

“Malfoys are a proud family, aren’t they?”

Shuddering violently, his eyes rolling back for a moment, Lucius went limp. Riddle cocked his head as though watching something as menial as a first-year do homework. Draco instead looked on as his father jolted himself awake. Crystal blue eyes looked up as he sneered.

“Very well. If you can stand, I will allow you entry into the Inner Circle of Death Eaters.” Lucius closed his eyes, holding a groan back in his throat. “I will warn you, Lucius, any longer and you would have died from that spell. Rising to your feet may be…challenging.” He smirked, resting the tip of his wand against his chin. “Perhaps, even impossible. Yes. Impossible.”

“If I…cannot?” Lucius rasped, already working to get to all fours. He flopped back to his side with a hiss of pain.

Riddle leered down at Lucius.

“Narcissa is mine. And I will take the pleasure of killing her with the cruciatus when I am tired of her after I dispose of you.”

“No,” Lucius gasped.

“You have wasted ten of your sixty seconds.”

Draco expected Lucius to argue. To draw his wand, yell, or even resort to fists. Malfoys never acquiesce to anyone.

“Two. Minutes.” He snarled, unmoving.

Riddle regarded him, clearly interested. “Two minutes then, Lucius.”

He struggled for the whole of the two minutes, crashing to the ground more than a toddler during their beginning attempts at standing. The first few were ugly. His head hit the stone, cracking open. Warm blood dripped down his face and into the cobblestones. It was salty in his mouth and blurred his vision but he did not falter. He continued his slow ascent.

By the end, Lucius’s crisp white shirt was drenched in his own blood, his trousers were a tattered mess, and three of his front teeth had slashed through his lip and broken in half. His hair was a mix of white blond and crimson and one of his legs, judging by the black and blue ring around the ankle, was fractured. He looked at Tom through lidded eyes as he swayed on his feet. Draco jerked back at the sudden appearance of the Malfoy mask. Perfect, unwavering. If Lucius had walked into a Ministry ball no one would dare question him but he had never looked quite as strong to Draco as he did standing, battered and broken, before the Dark Lord. Unphased and unafraid.

Lucius spat at his feet. “Seven seconds to spare, my lord. ”

A flash of anger galloped across Riddle’s face before he spun on his heel and left.

“You will regret that.”

Riddle’s eyes glinted with the barest touch of red as he turned and walked away. Before he was out of earshot he said, "Welcome, Lucius to the Inner Circle. You are my first." He paused. "I had so hoped Narcissa would have been mine. No matter. There is time yet." He disappeared into a fog.

Lucius held himself together until Riddle’s presence had vanished completely. And several more seconds after that. Then he collapsed to the sound of Narcissa’s screams as her heels clicked against the courtyard stones. The world went black and the memory ended in a shroud of confusion and deep agony.

Draco staggered several steps back, losing his footing completely as he came out of the memory. His knees buckled as the pain from his father’s crucio sparked at the tip of every nerve, setting him absolutely alight. Draco’s vision went white. He was the epicenter of a bomb and had witnessed the very birth of its destruction, he was certain. The torment crashed over in throbbing waves as the room around him blurred and vanished. Lucius began to talk but a high-pitched ringing usurped the words. Draco was left with the hollow, agonized wails of his father filling the void of noise.

Impossible. Draco’s hands clapped against his ears, the screaming wouldn’t stop. Impossible that he survived that. He had first-hand experience with the ruthlessness of the Dark Lord. Thinking clearly and acting in any way voluntarily under the cruciatus was out of most, if not all, wizards and witches’ abilities. Harry was impenetrable to the Imperius but not even he could withstand a well-timed cruciatus and Severus, in all his wonderful, self-flagellating glory couldn't hold off for more than a few seconds.

He could have died. Merlin, he should have died right there. Draco blinked frantically. He still couldn’t see and the ground swirled like an ocean below him. For what? His world keened backward. A name. Family. Mother. Because he would not yield to the Dark Lord. The agony of the cruciatus exploded through him again stealing the revelation of his thoughts as his mind went dark.

A small whimper broke from his lips before he was caught by strong hands.

Draco tried to get his feet below him but they refused. Scuffing his shoes against the ground and pushing off the hard chest, Draco struggled to stand before he slumped against the body in front of him.

“I have you, Draco.”

The words slammed into him with such force his knees went weak again. 

“How?” he managed to choke out as Lucius guided him to a chair. Draco’s face fell to his hands as the aftershocks rumbled through him. “How?” 

How did he survive that? How did the Longbottoms die from what you refused to let kill you? That isn’t how…magic doesn’t work that way. He should be in Mungo’s from that. The image of his father’s body taut with agony as he howled flashed on the back of his eyelids. It would have ended if he had bowed his head and kissed the Dark Lord’s boots. How did you endure it that long?

“Why?” He croaked from his curled-up position in the chair.

“Because Malfoy meant something.”

Draco grunted an unintelligible question.

“To allow my posture to break and kiss the ground would have cascaded into many failures. A Malfoy’s honour… My father said it was the only piece keeping our feet on the ground and not six feet below it.” He paused. “I had hoped that in not bending to him, my case could be someday presented to the Ministry to free the Malfoy line from any criminal charges.”

“Under…duress,” Draco coughed.

“Precisely. With the memories I’ve given you, there is a chance at least.” 

Lucius was stiff and unusually clipped. He gave me a chance.

“You didn’t give that honour up,” Draco said, breaking into a fit of coughs as his diaphragm spasmed. A cool glass of water appeared before him.

“No.”

“Did…Did you ever?” He swung his eyes up to his father who was staring at Draco with a contemplative look on his face.

“No.” 

“Fucking shit,” Draco whispered, looking into his hands. “All that, to end up here.”

Lucius froze. “It matters now more than it did that day.” His mouth twisted in disgust before settling. “A great deal of my suffering would have been spared if I had cowed to him but Narcissa would be dead many times over and our name would mean less than nothing. He would have sent me on the bloodiest tasks. I would have had to be the one to slay children, mothers, innocents. He would have stripped every last morsel of meaning from the Malfoy name and I’d have betrayed the only thing…” He settled himself with a deep breath and the scarlet rising to his pale cheeks started to fade.

“It…” Draco started. “It means something to me.”

“Is it the right thing, I wonder?”

“Well, it isn’t about blood purity if that’s your question.”

Lucius blinked, his eyes likely not as far away as his thoughts.

“Malfoy. It reminds me,” Draco said, realizing immediately how childish he was about to sound “of that time you took me to see the muggle Christmas lights.”

“You were so young.”

“Yeah, four? Maybe three? You were covered in snow, I suppose I was too since I was on your shoulders or walking next to you.” A warm feeling simmered in his chest. “We walked for hours until Mother came and lectured you on letting her little boy freeze to death but you just laughed.”

Draco rubbed at his jaw. Lucius had looked so happy. Most of the memory involved the lights twinkling in his blue eyes or the way he pointed out and explained each individual decoration for Draco. It was one of the few times he wasn’t as austere. The severity melted off him beneath the warm glow of the muggle decorations. Everything Malfoy meant to Draco was wrapped up neatly in those few hours of memories with Lucius. 

They were his most cherished possessions. Draco kept that memory in two places, his mind and a small phial just in case either ever failed. 

“Malfoy. Muggle Christmas lights. One and the same, really.”

Lucius smiled and the light of the Christmas tree played in his eyes the way it had that night. Another crack broke through Draco’s heart. He was going to kill him. Violently, he shoved the thought down and focused on the moments he had now. New memories to cherish.

Both Malfoys let the sounds of the snow and fire wash over them, ignorant to the passage of time and the inevitable approach of grief. 

Draco quit craning his neck to look at Lucius and relaxed back into the chair, imagining that someday he would make this his home. The thought was strange. Yet, it comforted him in the way his first Weasley sweater had. He sighed heavily. The room smelled of his father’s cologne now. Of smoke and fire and the lingering hints of pipe tobacco. He could probably turn that into silver or green. Perhaps violet. A particularly long stretch of firelight danced to the ceiling. 

A warm hand landed on his shoulder. 

It radiated care and pride. His bones sucked up the affection as he shuttered his eyes closed. The glow of green magic crept through him as Lucius offered his vaguest emotions, presumably from the memory of Christmas lights to his son. Indirect legilimency required near-perfect trust. A gentle stream of unnamed feelings watered the wilted flowers in his mind. They blossomed, squeezing his heart with thorned vines.

The hand rested for several minutes which seemed to stretch into hours. A cold spot filled its absence.

“Twenty minutes,” Lucius whispered.

“I…did the Inner Circle even exist?”

Lucius cocked his head slightly. “That was not the question you should have asked but no, they did not. He bluffed and I managed to call him on it. I was the first.” He moved his arms in a sweeping gesture in front of him. “The Death Eaters were formed. Severus never told you?”

“No, he never…nothing.” 

“Mm. Well, I believe it is your question? The correct one?” Lucius asked. “You have always been both astute and equally rubbish at lying to me.”

Draco huffed. “Not nearly as fun when someone prompts you. ‘Sides, it’s a Malfoy trait.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose the company you keep would be surprised by any amount of mental note-taking.” A mischievous smirk played on his lips.

“It’s half the enjoyment.” The smirk widened into a grin and Draco found himself mirroring it. “I’ve managed to pull one over on Severus a few times.”

“A notable feat.”

He nodded before turning grave. “The child for the ritual?” He asked.

“That is a memory for myself only, I am afraid.”

Draco scrubbed a hand down his face.

“What’s the bloody point in making me ask?” 

“It’s half the enjoyment.”

“Tell me what you need to tell me,” Draco said, pushing himself from his chair and immediately regretting it.

His muscles seized the moment his legs unfurled, lurching him to the side. He crashed against the tall back of the chair, gripping it with white knuckles. Breathing heavily, Draco studied his father’s back. Lucius’s eyes were back on the windows, as hard to read as ten feet into the snowstorm. His hands clasped behind his back. The growing silence made Draco uneasy. 

“Tom stole a muggle-born witch one month before the memory you saw. Young thing. Couldn’t even speak properly without a lisp. Her magic was incredibly powerful. She was sharp as a whip. I believe she would have given Ms. Granger a run for her money.” 

The snow slammed against the windows with a clink reminiscent of wine glasses touching. Lucius wet his lips and moved toward the storm as his posture stiffened. 

“It was an accident that I discovered her and the reason he was forced into creating the Death Eaters. He had to find something to do about me. I believe he thought the cruciatus would kill me and that would be the end of it. If it wasn't, however, he needed to keep me close and threaten my family.”

Draco shifted a step closer but Lucius unclasped his hands, opening one in a clear ask that he remain where he was.

“Do you know why he killed Lily and James?”

“Because of the prophecy.”

“No. He planned the death of the Potters, the death of a family, long before Severus delivered that prophecy, which was his invitation to the Death Eaters. If he valued the life of young Harry… That was his ultimatum. He could never explain the reasoning why, not even staggering drunk. As it turns out…”

“Soulmates.”

Lucius hummed his agreement.

“Tom killed the Potters because he needed their son and neither would allow it otherwise. Years before, he was searching for a human vessel for his last Horcrux. James was the descendant of one of the Peverells and eager to start producing messy-haired spawn. He was one of the final contestants in a losing race. Not the victor until nearly the month prior.” Lucius cleared his throat. “Well. That is another story.”

“Shit,” Draco breathed. “The Dark Lord just had to wait. They were practically hand-making him a container. Powerful, pureblood, Peverell. That’s why he didn’t go for Neville.”

“Weak,” Lucius nodded. “And without one of the Hallows. Tom’s great insurance plan. But he was not the only one in the lineup. Parkinson. Zabini. Crabbe.”

“Why not our family line?”

Lucius tightened his lips. “You are older than Harry,” he said as if that answered anything. 

“Father. That is a non-answer if ever I heard one.”

“It will be a complete one. You are impatient. Does Severus hang you by your feet still?”

Draco flushed red as his ears turned warm.

“Harry was not the first attempt at making a human Horcrux. The girl was.”

A burst of orange jumped up his neck as the fire popped to his side. His eyes were glassy and red in the light of the fire. “I was researching a way to kill Tom, as I promised Narcissa, at the Riddle Manor of all places when I heard a child screaming. Naturally, I followed the sound.”

Draco approached until he was shoulder to shoulder with Lucius who was still not looking at him.

“She was going mad from his thoughts. I am sure you have seen the first-hand effects of a Horcrux being trapped inside another soul. It was horrendous.”

“What happened? Harry nearly went insane and I’m sure he was stronger than a child.”

“It was Riddle Manor, there was nothing I could do to extract the Horcrux from her and the transition was nearly complete. A mindless drone for him. I…made an unbreakable vow with her to discover a way to kill her. Tom bitched for a week that she was no longer sobbing.”

After a stretch of quiet Draco snapped, “ And ?”

“It took one month. I’m unaware of how much of my work you are familiar with. My specialty is spell crafting. I have been supplying spells to the Ministry and Dark Lord both for decades. Curses and anonymous countercurses.” He waved his hand toward the shelves. “They are split into ten volumes and warded. Including the ones I have yet to publish. You may find some use for them in this war. But that spell… It was difficult from the start.”

“Father, most spell crafters are lucky if they manage ten spells but ten volumes? ”

“I have kept busy.”

Draco looked at his father’s broad back. Just who was he truly dealing with?

“There were only two spells that I believed would cooperate with my purposes.”

“You didn’t make it yourself?”

“No, that would have been impossible with the time constraint. I borrowed the structure of the Sempersanguis and the effectiveness of the Killing Curse and knit them into something different. They were complex, very unwilling to be tampered with but after a time…Well, I am sure you have heard of the Aequitas spell?”

“No. No. ”

“I am afraid so.”

It was insanity. Pure chaos that his father of all people invented that spell. The Aequitas spell was only rumoured to exist until Severus stabbed the Dark Lord in both throat and heart and completed the ritual. It was incredibly powerful with equally notable flaws.

“Father. Do you have any idea… Of course, you do. Did you know that Snape-”

“Oh, who do you think gave him the bloody spell?”

“N-no. You couldn’t have.”

“I did,” he snarled. “Or have you forgotten that I had wanted that bastard dead long before Severus did?” His voice tipped higher, revealing a lifetime of frustration. Lucius cleared his throat as Draco muttered an apology. 

“Draco, I hoped the day would never come when I gave this to you.” 

Lucius pulled a yellowed piece of parchment from his breast pocket. The light of the fire was unwilling to touch it, leaving it to the shadows. It was torn around the edges. Perhaps even slightly burned in spots. There were definite traces of blood and held between the scarred knuckles of his father, it radiated venom.

“But I must.” Draco plucked the spell from his father and slipped it into his own breast pocket. An immediate sense of ill-will washed over him. “Yes,” Lucius agreed, studying Draco’s face. “That is the magic of the spell reaching out.”

“You don’t keep this on you all the time.” Blue eyes flicked towards the window. “Merlin’s balls, you do.”

“A small price to pay. It killed the girl. The memory you saw is the result. Tom had found out that morning that in the night, I had managed to slay her. I despise fiendfyre because I was forced to use it to bury a small child, a girl who could have easily been my own." He tapped where the note had been in his pocket. "It was a reminder.

"Perhaps it will aid you someday. Draco, if you do find yourself in need… The spell…Be very mindful of it. Severus was not careful enough when he cast it and he was nearly unsalvageable. The Aequitas spell enjoys eating magic. A wizard is lucky if they can send it off once without it swallowing their magical core. I crafted the curse to be sacrificial. It was the only sort of magic that never failed against Riddle. Lily Potter was perfect evidence of that. As such, you must entwine your magical core with the curse.

“It ends with a relatively short incantation. Anything else and the killing curse puts up a fight.” He rubbed his brow, annoyed. The spells were living, breathing things to Lucius and they responded to that belief. Even the best spellcrafters were not that good. A new light, he thought as Lucius rolled his eyes no doubt in response to a memory of a spell complaining. I cannot believe I am seeing him in a new light. Draco closed his mouth before the Manor slapped him on the head for his manners. “ Extremum vitae spiritum edere . Give up the ghost. In this case, the Horcrux. If you do not physically attack your assailant with life-threatening wounds, it will extract your own core in its stead.

“One of Fenrir’s men attempted to use it. I seem to remember the wolf inside him eating him alive. I created an untamed spell, similar to the harvesting process of the Cavas Cruciatus. But I will not bore you with the specifics.”

Bore him. This was what he was most interested in hearing about. Anything coming out of his father’s mouth was fascinating tonight.

“I do not have time to bore you.”

The truth of the matter. Draco’s ears were ringing.

“We have fifteen minutes left.”

His throat had closed and he was suffocating. No doubt. Air was not forthcoming and his hands jittered with the panic of creeping closer to death.

“Come, let us finish.”

He didn’t want to finish. He didn’t want to stop whatever this was. The moment he saw the fuzz of the memory fading he would have to leave this strange universe where nothing could touch the Malfoys. Where his father was a friend, a confidant, a man who wanted his son to succeed. To live.

Draco would have to kill him.

“One…one thing first,” he croaked.

Lucius turned and raised a pale brow in question.

“Can I…May I have one more?”

He’d raised his arms pathetically to the sides, realizing he must have looked like a desperate little child but this was his last chance.

Lucius reared back, eyebrows vanishing into his hair. 

“I understand if-”

Two warm arms encircled him. Lucius’s swallow was audible as one hand snaked to hold the back of Draco’s head as he was pressed tightly against the firm chest. He smelled of pipe tobacco and mint and it was so overwhelmingly comforting that Draco mewled pathetically into his father’s chest, gripping his back fiercely. As though it were the only thing keeping Draco on his feet. Perhaps it was.

“There is always time, Draco, for family.” He swallowed again, squeezing Draco. “For my son.”

Draco clenched his jaw and nodded, not about to trust his words. In an hour, he would be a broken man without a father but he would have this.

A memory to dip into the pensieve.

Chapter Text

He memorized the smell of Lucius. Every detail, Draco committed to memory as he stayed caged in his father's arms. It took several moments before Draco was able to reign in the last of his errant emotions, leaving the cool Malfoy mask to settle over his features twisted in sorrow. He disentangled himself from his father's arms with a grim smile and stepped back. The expression was mirrored on Lucius's older face. Draco looked into the arctic eyes and nodded.

Enough was enough. He had come for information and Lucius was offering it up on a silver platter. Despite Draco’s deep urge to let the world burn around him and reclaim the past with time spent by the fire with his father’s affection, he cleared his throat and took a slow breath.

The time and place for affection were long gone. No amount of hours would ever slow the train of loss barrelling toward him. He had lost his father, nothing would change that future. And he could grieve what he had lost later.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice steady and cold.

Lucius gave a short nod in response.

The song his heartbeat drummed screamed stop, stop, stop ceaselessly and Draco wished he could listen to it. Dance to the tune slapping against his ribcage where a spot of 

Draco looked into the icy blue eyes and said, “Legilimens.”

The first thing Draco noticed was the smell. Mother’s perfume. The second was how wretchedly dark it was.

Malfoy Manor had never been a shining example of bright rooms. Certainly not the way muggles and St. Mungo’s liked it, bright enough to blind and disinfect at the same time. No, Malfoy Manor was caught between the imposing greatness of Hogwarts, cold and drafty, and the cave with its strange warmth and character. Candles and fires kept the rooms cozy and the light low, but natural light streamed in where it could. The manor, though austere, possessed an abstract hum of happiness at all times. Draco was familiar with the Manor's invisible arms squeezing him in a hug but this version of the Manor, scared and cold, was completely unknown to him.

The memory he had dropped into was of a room in the manor, no doubt there, but it was empty of the buzz Draco had grown accustomed to. Utterly hopeless and despairing.

Wrong.

His hip bumped into something sharp. Lucius’s hip, he reminded himself. It was the first sign that Lucius wasn't asleep on his back. Too dark to see any sign of movement, Draco could have been walked into a wall and been none the wiser until his nose crunched. The thought of Lucius willingly bumping through the darkness stirred up nervousness in his stomach. He used to throw fits about the hazards of flipped-up rug corners. Before Draco's thoughts could turn sarcastic, Lucius crashed into something again, pain ringing through his head. 

“Bloody fuck,” Lucius hissed. 

Lucius touched a hand to his temple. When he rubbed his fingers together, they were slick. A strange feeling of shame and fear rolled through him. Draco followed the sensation, desperate to gain any insight but his father was fiercely occluding as though he didn’t want a soul to know he was even there. Draco hit the wall with a furrowed brow.

Occluding from yourself, Father? That is paranoid even for you.

“Darling?"

Narcissa's gentle sing-songy voice lifted through the darkness, stopping Lucius dead in his tracks.

"Is that you?”

Her voice was thick with fear in a commanding way. Whenever Narcissa's voice was laced with worry, Draco would watch Lucius drop everything to rush to her side. He expected as much now but Lucius did not move. His muscles all tightened in an effort to keep himself still. Glued himself to the spot while a cauldron of panic bubbled and frothed inside him. Draco despised it. Why wasn't he moving? What sort of coward-

“Darling?”

She lowered her voice and the slightest tremble of panic crept in.

Lucius physically restrained himself, clenching his fists at his side. Worry curled like smoke in his lungs and Draco's own chest stuttered. There was danger in the room, he could feel it now. Lucius must have been clued into it earlier. There was a silver undercurrent of threat to Narcissa's voice. How had he missed it? Just how astute was Lucius?

Suddenly, Draco could feel the darkness pressing in from all sides and wondered how in Merlin’s name had Harry been able to stay locked in a cupboard when he was about to suffocate in the mere memory of such perfect darkness. But it was more than that, much more. There was a tangible stench to the memory. Musty like a crypt and rotten as though fruit had been left to age. Draco wanted to crawl away from it but there was presumably nowhere to go. It was impossible to say if they were in a large room or a small one though by the distance of Narcissa’s voice, large. Draco hoped it was large.

“Lucius.” She was definitely scared. “Please.”

The hard clenching of Lucius’s jaw was enough to raise the hackles on Draco’s neck as he waited in stillness with his father. There was a palpable malevolence in the air clouding Narcissa’s normally melodic voice. Now it was honeyed, tinged with something gross. Lucius was just barely able to keep himself composed despite the clear threat. The muscles in his thigh jumped in a desperate, uncontrolled show of wanting to be beside Narcissa.

Draco couldn’t fathom that sort of composure.

A loud, low, and very annoyed groan rolled across the room. That had not come from Narcissa.

Lucius held his breath and Draco found himself doing the same. If something was making Lucius Malfoy of all people afraid, it was a worthy threat.

“I was so certain.” Draco’s stomach flipped. It was the Dark Lord. “Well, I will find him yet. He cannot escape me today. That child…” He made a choked sound that forced a hot flush of rage to creep over Lucius.

The soft patter of footsteps tapped against Draco’s temples. Lucius did not move, not even to blink until the echo of those steps died. The slam of a door shutting and the perfect silence that followed it eased Draco’s tension considerably but Lucius was almost more uneasy. He rolled the wand around in his hand, its eyes glinting up through the darkness.

Draco’s lips tightened into a thin line in understanding. If the Dark Lord had placed any sort of wandless detection spell, the moment Lucius cast anything he was in for a world of hurt. He was clearly trying to hide from the wrath of Riddle, a feat few accomplished with any measure of success. The best Draco had seen had been Severus and well, that wasn’t exactly sunshine and roses for him. The only other living example was Lucius. The man who refused to bow at the feet of the Dark Lord. Who now was twiddling his wand like a nervous first-year.

Lucius scoffed to himself and steadied his wand. 

“Homenum revelio.”

A flickering silver marker hovered over a spot in the distance. He cursed and took off at a trot, cracking his shins against furniture along the way and no doubt developing bruises. The slide of wood against wood moaned behind him as a chair clattered to the floor seconds before he haphazardly cast a silencing charm behind him. It fluttered like Snape’s cloak and bathed the room in eerie stillness.

The room was large, Draco noticed, as his father ploughed through covered clutter on the floor. A storage room, given its lack of windows and abundance of junk. Lucius ran straight into a couch, opting to climb over it like a hurdle instead of taking the time to go around. He cursed and continued with eyes zeroed in on that silver marker. Draco vaguely wondered exactly who could cause his father to approach as though he were interested in a career in track and field.

The glimmering marker grew larger as Lucius approached. Draco could feel his father's chest rise and fall with the effort of leaping, running, and dodging barely lit furniture. His breath was heavy and even in the large room, it was deafening. He was scared.

Draco wondered where his father was headed when he crashed to knees beside the marker, his breath completely ragged and out of control. His arms shout out like charmed ropes and snaked around the person Draco still could not see.

“Lucius?”

Draco wanted to vomit. She had been in there the whole time.

“Yes, Darling. I am here.”

“Oh, Lucius. I’m sorry. He used my voice. It wasn’t me. I’m sorry. The baby…I can’t-”

“Shh. It does not matter. The Dark Lord isn’t important right now.”

Lucius was obsessively petting Narcissa’s hair. It was damp. Frizzy. So unlike the perfectly kempt way of his mother that Draco wondered if he had slipped into some alternate reality. Narcissa was likely to throw a fit if her earrings were a millimeter off. Now here she was a complete mess. And probably still faring better than Lucius who was alternating between holding his breath and taking deep lungfuls of it.

“You have done your very best, Cissa.” He was smoothing her hair too quickly. “And what a wonderful job you have done.”

His voice was brittle as though any word would snap his granite composure and leave him sobbing. Draco’s mind curled in on itself at the sound. Something was very wrong.

“But the child,” she moaned.

“The child is in my care. Have I let anything happen to you, my love?” 

There was silence and the rustling of fabric as she presumably shook her head before she croaked out a quiet “no”.

“You see? It will all be all right. It will be just fine.” 

He doesn’t even believe what he’s saying. A heavy ball of sadness dropped in Lucius’s stomach as he pulled Narcissa to his chest, still frantically combing through her hair as though regaining that order would solve the rest.

"It will be fine, my love," Lucius comforted as Narcissa trembled in his arms.

Draco shrank back on himself. He felt as though he was invading a violently private moment and the fear in the room had made the air stale and sour. Despite the gnawing sense of wrong in his chest, he was curious. There was a baby. And he had been his parents' only child.

"You have done well, Cissa," Lucius repeated.

She let out a small cry.

“If I had…had held onto him one more week…then the Dark Lord…would be in France. We could have…” She interrupted herself with a moan. “...pretended I had not yet given birth and…hidden him.”

“Him?” Lucius’s voice broke as his arms stopped moving. “I’m having a boy?”

Narcissa was still in his arms apart from the rapid bobbing of her head. 

It’s me. A serpent of shock struck through his core, leaving his throat in a loud huff. She’s...it’s my birthday.

"You did all you could. Darling, it will be fine. We’ve faced worse, haven’t we?” Lucius said.

But his voice was far away. Disconnected from the now robotic drop of his hand through the snarled hair. Lucius was absolutely despondent as Narcissa whispered and squirmed below him. Draco was about to pull away, thinking the memory over, when he caught the glint of something on the far wall.

A mirror, barely illuminated but still visible, reflected the most distressing image of Lucius Draco had ever seen. Blood trickled down from his temple and collected in the visible shadow of a beard. His blue eyes were bloodshot, the proud white hair awash with blood and dirt. Flowing from his eyes in a steady, pulsing rhythm were two trails of tears that shimmered in the near-darkness. They caught on the lips of a pained smile.

“A boy,” he said under his breath, his breath full of wonder.

His eyes suddenly darkened. Draco cursed to himself as his chest tightened. He’d seen that desperate look in both Harry and Snape. It reeked of a half-cocked plan that was more sacrifice than plan but that would undoubtedly protect whoever was lucky enough to have that love given to them. Draco reeled. That look was for him. A litany of curses and “no’s” ricocheted around Draco’s head as he physically tried to convince Lucius he could escape, leave the Dark Lord’s service and find safety. Anything to get that resignation, that horrible, empty desperation out of his father’s eyes.

"A boy, " he said again, the awe twinkling in his eyes a moment longer.

Draco's chest ached as a shadow flitted across the blue eyes.

Lucuis’s smile slipped into the darkness. He nodded once to his reflection, his gaze stern and powerful. Nothing could stop Lucius Malfoy when his mind was set. Nothing can stop a Malfoy from protecting what they love, Draco thought sullenly. Slowly, Lucius lowered his eyes away from the mirror. The darkness blanketed him again as he stared unblinking at a spot off to his left. The frail body in his arms squeezed against his chest on every inhale. 

“Have we?” She asked softly.

“Have we what?” Lucius said in a hushed, half-focused voice. 

“Faced worse, darling.”

His hand froze. Narcissa whimpered and clamped a hand down on his arm. It did not disrupt his stillness. His hand hovered above her head, brushing against the flyaway hairs. Draco heard his father's thought loud as it banged around his head.

"No." Lucius gritted his teeth as a second thought erupted in his mind. "This is the worst I can imagine."

Draco felt as though every clock had exploded all at once. The universe must have ended. Something was wrong with him; nothing else could explain the sudden vacancy in the middle of his chest. Lucius was scared. For me , Draco thought. The implications spread out wide in a web of anguish and hindsight across his mind.

“Oh, Merlin, Narcissa.”

Lucius wrapped his arms around her more tightly, crying quietly into her hair. Draco's phantom chest stuttered to a stop as he held his breath. His father was crying. Hard. Narcissa's perfume filled Draco's nostrils again and he found his own lip trembling in twin sorrow with his father. Whatever he was about to do was going to be for Draco and Draco alone. He was weeping for Draco. For me. The heaviness smothered Draco.

Lucius cleared his throat and sniffled any sign of sorrow away as he spoke.

“May I…may I name the boy?”

“Yes.”

Narcissa's laboured breathing and his subtle, near-silent crying filled the empty room for several long heartbeats. 

“Draco Lucius Malfoy.” Lucius kissed the top of his wife’s head and placed a warm hand on her distended stomach. “He will need the courage and strength of a dragon.”

“Lucius?”

Disentangling himself from her, he cast a quick scourgify on himself and wiped his tears on the sleeves of his robes. 

“I must go.”

“Lucius, no. Don’t! He’s going to be here any minute. Don’t…don’t go to him, ” she pleaded.

“Will you name him Draco Lucius Malfoy?”

“Yes, but you mustn’t go! I’m going to give birth for Merlin’s sake." More quietly she said, "He's going to kill you."

Lucius rose from his knees, gritting his jaw. “I will be back shortly, my darling. I would not miss the birth of my heir for anything.”

“Lucius, please. Don’t. He’ll kill-”

“There is no need to be afraid, my love. I will protect you.” He tugged on his sleeves. “I will protect our son. Draco.”

His heels clicked against the tile as her screams and errant magic pounded against his back.

At the door, he raised his wand and said, “Silencio.”

The memories blurred, giving Draco a moment to process what he had witnessed. He couldn’t comprehend it. His mother had never discussed his birth with him. She always left the room and snapped that it was not something children should ask about. Still, he had always assumed it had been in some bleach-white room with medi-witches running about and house-elves waiting on Narcissa’s hand and foot. It was the precious arrival of the Malfoy heir, after all.

No, he thought as he struggled to wrangle the new memory into focus. I was born or at least almost born in some unused room. Mother couldn’t even speak. The blue image began to clear. Draco Lucius Malfoy. Lucius. He’s got the heart of a Gryffindor. Absurd. The Dark Lord finally came into focus. Absolutely absurd.

“My Lord.”

“I should kill you for ignoring me.” The Dark Lord paused, twirling his wand between his fingers with a cheshire grin. “Or perhaps-”

“That is out of the question.”

The wand stopped spinning. “You choose your death and the loss of your child? How interesting.”

They were out in the gardens, near the peacocks, with only the blue light of the massive moon illuminating them. Draco was still stuck in Lucius’s perspective, staring at the sinister eyes of the Dark Lord who had stopped smiling.

“I have not forgotten,” the Dark Lord hissed.

“There are others, my Lord. Perhaps-”

“NO!”

Lucius stiffened, his posture going as rigid as stone. The Dark Lord’s wand was aimed at his throat and trembling with rage. He swallowed and Draco felt the ripple of terror going through him as he silently occluded.

“I will bow now, if it suits you, my Lord.”

“It does not.”

Lucius jerked his eyes around, the scenery of the gardens in full summer bloom aching in Draco’s chest. He was frantic.

“The Longbottoms are expecting. Mrs. Parinkinson’s due date is approaching. The Zabinis-”

“No, Lucius. There are no others. None who have…betrayed me. Who need punishment.” 

Lucius’s stomach twisted though his body gave nothing away. It was impressive how tightly reigned-in he had his emotions.

The Dark Lord’s face went cold. “You killed her.”

“Pardon?”

“YOU KILLED THE GIRL!”

Spit flew from his lips, dressing Lucius in fluid and disgust. He didn’t so much as flinch. The Dark Lord bellowed again, this time hitting Lucius with several dark curses.

“I will have your child in her place!” The look on the Dark Lord’s face became demented as the brown eyes went red and the warm skin turned ashen. “The next Malfoy will be mine. ”

Draco watched in abject horror as Lucius crashed to his knees, blood obscuring his vision as he tried to choke out words. Nothing was forthcoming and soon he was grasping at his neck where a silver serpent coiled. The Dark Lord’s cackling laugh echoed through the memory as the world fuzzed and began to go black.

Forgetting entirely that he was in a memory, Draco began to panic. He was watching the death of his father.

A resounding, “NO!” shot through the garden as Lucius slammed both fists down on the stone. The snake exploded into ash. “I. Will. Not.”

Lucius was gasping for breath. Shaking his head, he spat a mixture of bile and blood at the Dark Lord’s feet.

“You will not what?” The Dark Lord hissed.

“I will not…let you …touch him.” He punched the ground again, this time using the bloody fist to help him stand. “Draco Malfoy is not yours to have.”

The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes in an appraising look.

Lucius did not slow. “The Potter child. He will be a descendent of Peverell. You will take him in Draco’s stead.”

The world tilted around Draco. Had his father really persuaded the Dark Lord to take Potter?

“Giving orders, Lucius? Is that wise? He is hardly enough to repay your betrayal.” The wand raised but Lucius took several steps closer to the Dark Lord until they stood toe to toe. “You must be mistaken if you believe an infant child will settle the cost of your error."

"It was no error."

The Dark Lord bristled. "I should have killed you, you ungrateful blood traitor." Draco's eyebrows lifted. The Dark Lord was notoriously difficult to rile and Lucius had done it with ease. "No, you must suffer, Lucius. There is no punishment for you if I choose the Potter boy. What sort of fool do you take me for?”

“I am not finished.” Lucius balled his hands into fists as his eyes looked up to the moon. “There is…something more I can offer.”

The Dark Lord began to smile again. “I’m listening.”

“Use me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Curse me. I killed the girl, Draco did not. I did not bow to you. It is I who should bear the brunt of my actions. I ask that you break me instead of Draco."

The Dark Lord lowered his wand and crossed his arms with a wicked smirk. "Continue."

“All that matters to a Malfoy is the bond of their lineage. Family, father and son. There is nothing more valuable, not even in our vaults. I offer that you…destroy my bond with my son in front of my eyes. I am a spellcrafter. If you would allow it, my Lord, I will modify the Imperius and you may cast it upon me, ensuring that I am little more than a dark stain in his childhood. I would be your puppet, conscious and aware but unable to resist you. Use me to torment my son and sever the...bond I cherish. I will have a son who hates his father. I could think of nothing so painful as that.” 

The Dark Lord was still for a moment. Quiet. A warm breeze ruffled the Malfoy elder’s hair.

“My Lord, the spell will be unbreakable once it is cast. I ask only that one month a year, December, I may be released. It would serve to amplify Draco’s hatred in the long-term as well as my suffering.”

The Dark Lord erupted into laughter. “Lucius, I fear you may know me too well. What a delightfully delicious proposition. You will be aware the entire time?” Lucius gave a curt nod. “Very good. I suppose you will restrict the amount of physical violence?” Another nod. “It is manageable. How long will it take?”

Lucius wet his lips. “Three years but the boy will not begin forming memories until he is four.”

Cold red eyes raked over him. Tendrils of the Dark Lord crept into Lucius’s mind and Draco physically recoiled from the touch.

At last, the monster sighed. “Very well.” He smiled softly at Lucius. “I look forward to your undoing, Lucius.”

He vanished with a crack. 

Draco wasn’t allowed to see his father fall to the ground in a fit of tears for longer than a second but the image of the proud Malfoy patriarch clutching at his sides and wailing would be burned into his memory forever.

The memories blurred one final time. His stomach twisted as he forced himself to stay with the memories without vomiting. He didn't want to be here anymore. He wanted to be back at Hogwarts during his first meal in the Great Hall when everything was all right. Normal.

He was dropped without warning into his parents’ suite which was alight with candles. House-elves ran about, popping in and out as they brought various potions and foods for Narcissa who kindly smiled at them all. She gave Lucius a pitying look before turning her attention back to the phials spread across the comforter.

A delicate humming filled the room as Lucius looked down, dragging Draco’s attention to the small boy cradled in his arms. Draco sucked in a breath. He was so small. The humming continued until Draco startled. His father was singing to him. The sound scratched a deep itch in his memory.

“Why, hello little Draco.” Lucius ran a finger across the pale child’s cheeks. “Draco Lucius Malfoy, the world will be yours.” He hugged him tightly and whispered. “Us? Ah, we will always have December, won’t we?”

*******************************************************

Draco yanked himself from the memory, stumbling back until he hit the bookcase splitting the massive windows. The soft melody his father had been humming echoed through his skull. No, impossible.  The melody tingled in his ears until he ripped the small little music box from his pocket. Flicking it open, Draco stared down at the small thestral. December. I've always had December. The song was the same. A cheery little tune with delicate notes of sadness passed from father to son. He snapped the box shut and shoved it back in his pocket. Everything he did, everything I saw... His legs trembled and threatened to buckle. I was supposed to be the Horcrux.

"You...you..."

Draco's eyes welled with tears as he looked up to Lucius who was standing dumbly in the middle of the room, a strange look on his face as though he had been shot and was waiting to fall. Draco stuttered in a breath.

"You..." 

Sacrificed everything for me. Lucius's face began to crumble. Gave up the most important thing you ever had. His cold arctic eyes glittered as though melting. Risked your life to protect me.

The words would not come. Draco's mouth hung open uselessly doing nothing other than dry out his tongue. Shock numbed his body and for a moment he felt as though he was floating high above himself, above Malfoy Manor even, as far away as the clouds producing the snowstorm. 

"Father." Draco swallowed against the knot of disbelief in his chest. "Why?"

Lucius could not turn his back fast enough to prevent Draco from seeing the mess of tears coating his cheeks. His shoulders trembled as he staggered to the fireplace, arms blindly reaching out to catch himself against the stone. His father, the great Lucius Malfoy renowned for his granite-like appearance and signature frigidness, had sacrificed everything he had ever held dear to protect a small, helpless infant. He condemned Harry and was ready to condemn as many others as it took to keep his son off the altar. Draco couldn't breathe.

Flashes of moments over the years lit up in his mind as pathways connected. A missed shot that should have killed him here, a misspoke killing curse there. The way his father provided absolute calm for Draco to latch onto when the Death Eaters descended on him. How many times had he been on the run and seen Lucius fire a spell at precisely the right time to hit another from Fenrir or Bellatrix? The night Draco had run to Severus from the tent he should have been dead ten times over and yet each fatal curse missed him by a breath. Lucius was in the lead. In the way. He was at the head so he could see any spell he needed to intercept. Draco felt dizzy.

What he had seen was only a fraction. How deep did the rabbit hole go? He clacked his mouth shut, suddenly aware of the breeze drying his throat. He needed more time, more legilmency sessions. There was a whole iceberg underneath Lucius. Draco hungered to know how hard his father had fought to protect him. 

Draco blinked hard.

“I cannot tell you how sorry I am.”

He was knocked into speechlessness. What is there to be sorry for? You saved my bloody life. 

"I am so sorry for taking away...your father."

Draco wanted to throw up at the brokenness cracking in his father’s voice. Lucius was draped across the upper mantle over the fireplace, his face buried in his hand.

“There wasn’t…I didn’t have a choice.”

His silver robes glittered orange on the front giving the appearance that he was consumed in fiendfyre and the small daffodil pinned to his chest leaned into the warmth. It dawned on Draco that these were his father's good winter robes. The ones he liked to wear on Christmas outings when they picked the tree. December. We'll always have December. Draco was frozen, still slouched against the bookshelf, as he watched his father war with himself. His free hand was balled into a fist and his breathing was off-kilter as though he was restraining himself from collapsing in a heap and sobbing.

“He sealed the house-elves into their tunnels. There was nothing left for me to do.” Lucius let out a strangled sound. “What could I have done? The Dark Lord in my home. Narcissa in labour. A baby. A boy.” He said it with all the reverence in the memory. "My boy."

Draco felt as though someone had shoved a ball of socks into his throat.

“If I had been more pessimistic, more fearful…” He slammed his hand down on the stone mantle. “I should have seen it. I was his second. I should have known .”

A blustery wind banged against the glass, leaving behind a spattering of melting snowflakes. Draco glanced over to the tree as the near-silent sobs of Lucius breathed with the fire. His hand drifted to his abdomen as a mental reassurance that someone had not slit his belly open. Hot emotion pooled there and seemed to vibrate within him as though he had been wounded. The lights on the tree faded from red and gold to blue and green then back again. His eyes drifted up to an ornament. Draco had magically carved it when he was seven with only a touch of help from Narcissa. It twinkled in the blue light, shimmering as though it had just been conjured. A majestic, blue wolf modeled after Lucius's Patronus hung from the second-highest branch. A wolf. A symbol of the strongest protectors.

His eyes shuffled back to Lucius who was still flung across the fireplace, his hair dangling dangerously low to the fire.

Draco was stone silent. 

Why didn't I ever notice? His Patronus is a wolf. Not even Harry and Snape are that protective.  

The howling winds outside crept up his pant legs. Up his legs they raced, invading his bones and carving holes in the solid parts of his person. They tore through his stomach and circled his brain until Draco felt empty. Had anyone checked to see if the stars had fallen yet?

Perhaps it was the moon. Was it still in orbit?

He blinked several times, moistening eyes that had been staring unblinkingly at the curtain of white hair obscuring his father’s face from him.

“Father?”

Lucius carried on as though Draco had not spoken but his voice was ragged and the sound of tears evident.

“I was weak. I failed to protect you. Merlin be damned. Your father failed to keep you safe.”

Draco jolted.

The charmed watch from that Christmas was heavy in his pocket. 

That wasn’t quite right. Lucius hadn’t failed to keep his son safe at all. He had sheltered him from the life of a Horcrux, the life being mercilessly beaten and raped at the hands of the Dark Lord for decades until his mind crumbled. Draco had seen how Harry struggled with the visions. The things that the Dark Lord had done to Harry were unimaginable. Despite Draco's frequent run-ins with the Dark Lord and the equally as frequent sessions of violence, Lucius had always managed to keep Draco from mortal harm. 

Lucius had dotted Draco's life with gifts and heirlooms all with a unique way of guiding him out of trouble, which he happened to constantly stumble into. He had guarded him the only way he was able, from afar. In December. No, Draco could not let that sentence stand.

“Father.”

“I failed you,” Lucius said in a hushed voice. “I failed my son.”

Draco tried again to get his attention but Lucius was hardly listening. He had removed himself from the mantle but was now standing with his hands hanging lazily at his sides while his eyes tried to burn themselves on the image of the fire.

“Father,” Draco said more sternly.

Lucius spun on his heel, finally facing Draco. He looked a mess but the visible signs of crying had been wiped away with wandless magic and thick sleeves. Draco went to open his mouth but Lucius was already filling the silence.

“Draco, I recognize there will be little that you believe coming from my mouth after I harboured such a secret but I…” The words first wrinkled his face before all his features tightened. “I could not cast that spell. I cannot hurt you. Please, if you believe nothing else…” He shook his head fervently. "I will not ask you to kill me. It is the least...would it be enough to convince you?"

Maybe it was the round circle of whites around the icy irises or the dark circles under his eyes that made an all-consuming fire of empathy race through Draco’s limbs and push him several steps forward. Perhaps it was the five o’clock shadow his father had never worn before that made him jilt to the side in mirrored pain. Or maybe it was the way he was holding his hands palm up in an expression of repentance that made Draco want to skin every last Death Eater himself.

“Please. I could not kill my son. Not my son. I do not wish you to suffer, in any way. You...you do not have to kill me just...just believe that I could not cast that curse.” He licked his lips. "Please."

No. It was none of those things, Draco reasoned. It was that damned word in his mouth. Please .

It was the way his voice tilted higher in prideful possessiveness. His son.

“I did a wretched-”

“This whole time?” Draco had found his voice and he was yelling. “For twenty-seven years you let the Dark Lord use you as a puppet so I would be safe from him?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Twenty-four years. Semantics, Father. You let him destroy you for twenty-four years for…for me? How many nights did you retire to his chambers to be beaten? Is that why mother was a registered medi-witch?” Spittle flew from his mouth and Lucius winced. That was all the agreement Draco needed. "You took all of that for twenty-four years. Torture, healing, and torture again. And you never told anyone.”

“No.” Lucius gulped. “I could not.”

He said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. As though he was ordering a sandwich with mayonnaise on it.

“You…you fucking bastard .”

Lucius flinched. He flinched. Ready for a blow that would never come. Draco had never wanted to hurt anyone more than he wanted to hurt the Dark Lord in that moment.

“You let yourself suffer all that time. You bled out everything a million times over, didn't you? In fucking silence. You bore a burden for me. All those years, Father! What is a crack to the knuckles in comparison to that? What is a slap to the face compared to what he can do without even lifting a finger?!” Lucius visibly swallowed as he straightened. “You could have died at his hands or mine or Harry's or Snape's. Fuck! I could have killed you. He could have killed you. Every time you went to him, your life was on the table and I...I wouldn't have... Would I have ever known?” 

“N-no,” Lucius stammered, too stunned to be fully composed.

“You were really going to martyr yourself. What of your own reputation?”

“It did not matter.”

Draco shook his head. “How you weren’t sorted into Gryffindor must be solely because of blood. That is the most uselessly selfless thing I’ve ever heard of and I’m around Harry and Severus and those two are full of it.” Draco huffed realizing he hadn’t even responded to what he wanted to originally. “Of course I don’t think you killed me! Not now, you ninny. And you never failed me.”

Lucius’s face opened wide in shock before he collapsed back into the chair bumping against his knees. “What?”

“You…protected me.”

“I tormented you.”

“No. You protected me. Fuck. Fucking hell, Father. All this time?”

Lucius’s mouth hung open, aghast as he floundered for a rebuttal.

“Draco, how could you believe that I protected you after all the things I’ve done? The things I’ve said to you as a child should not be heard by anyone let alone my son! Merlin, the violence. I held you while they-”

“You never partook in those beatings. And that night they..." Draco cleared his throat. That was not a night he liked remembering. "I remember you pinching my neck and looking at me. Your gaze never faltered and I...it helped. I knew. You gave me what you could and I’ll bet you suffered greatly for that. You did not condone what was happening and it was clear to anyone looking and I know he was.”

Lucius swallowed and turned his eyes to the fire.

"Well, did you suffer for that?"

"The vacation to Marseille was to visit a specialty hospital."

"That was three weeks."

"Yes."

"And you think that's failing me? You landed yourself in a damn hospital for three weeks and-"

“What of Severus? My oldest, dearest friend. Your godfather. He did not even know, I could not tell him. I…The things I did. Oh, gods,” he moaned, clutching his head. “The things he made me do.”

“You brought him back. Caged him in a mirror so the Dark Lord couldn’t kill him, wasn’t that it? I know you got every healer in this country and then some to pile into this manor and work on keeping him alive. I know what happened inside that fucking hall, Father. Did you ever willingly do any of it?” Lucius closed his eyes. “Did you?”

“No!”

"And that was your punishment for not killing him outright. Not letting him die. And you hoped that the Dark Lord was gone forever, only one more mad man to deal with but he wasn't gone...” Draco narrowed his eyes. His father was suspiciously quiet. “My gods, I know what happened.”

“You couldn’t possibly.”

“He thought he was going to have control and you didn’t give it to him.” The strong hands clenched on the armrests as Draco sat in the chair next to his father. “You gave him an imperius, like you said, but it wasn’t what he signed up for because you kept a fraction of control set aside for yourself. The spells would be sent off but you could move it an inch.” Tension buzzed around Draco’s head. Yes, now he had figured it out. "Move it to the left, intercept a different curse. You're cunning enough to out manipulate the spell. 

“You couldn’t be controlled. You couldn’t kill me or Severus or do a blasted thing you didn’t want to and he picked up on that. That you were using the stupid spell as a front to protect me. Bet there was a price to pay for that.” 

Lucius refused to look at him for several moments.

Eventually, he turned his head and released his grip on the cushioned arms with a heavy sigh.

“What he forced me to do to Severus…no man ought to endure that. My intention was to keep him hidden but when Albus resurrected the Dark Lord, it was already too late. I continued to resist for a time but…I resisted too long. He tortured me for two weeks, deprived me of so much sleep I began hallucinating before I was sent off to find you. My mind was too weak."

Draco’s face fell. “The pub.”

“I could not allow myself to hurt you that badly again. It was all I could do to prevent your death that day and despite the safeguards of the spell, I nearly did. I could not risk that again. Not even for Severus. Though at times I attempted to spare him some dignity.”

“The trips you took in December, away from the Manor?”

“ I…suspected they may be mates.”

“That’s how he was able to stay alive? You kept Harry alive for eleven years! You protected me with. Your. life. And managed to escape death from the man whose favourite spell is the killing curse for twenty-four years. Twenty-four years! Dammit. How can you call yourself a weak man? You gave me an opening to break the dungeon bat out, didn’t you? That was December too!”

Draco was hysterical. All the pieces were falling into place.

“All this time, you’ve been protecting me while sticking your own bloody neck out. How many times did he torture you for those Decembers? How many crucios for those gifts? I saw what he liked to do and I would bet every last galleon in the Malfoy vault that you suffered most of the next year for actively protecting me in December. Severus…Merlin, help me, if Severus doesn’t forgive you then he is no friend worth having.”

“Draco.”

“No, no. Don’t you ‘Draco’ me. I’ve listened to you and taken your memories but I will not listen to your refusal to admit that you protected me and that you are strong for that. I have a memory-”

“Absolutely not. We don’t have time.”

“We. will. Make. time.” Draco growled. “Legilimens!”

Draco shoved his way into his father’s mind.

Relentlessly, he shared the memory of beating Harry to a whimpering puddle in the middle of a hotel room. A honeymoon sweet, ironically enough. Showed every last time he could recall on the spot where he stood up for Lucius at Hogwarts, to Gryffindors, to anyone . The number of bar fights was astronomical and he was surprised he was still allowed in any of them anymore. He was shocked himself at how many times he had defended the name Lucius Malfoy.

By the time he was done, he was panting with dignified rage. 

“Do you see?” he shouted, not giving Lucius a moment to gather himself.

He was strung across the chair haphazardly and his hair had a wind-blown look to it, the mark of a rushed legilimency session. His arms flopped over the sides and his legs were splayed so the bottoms of his boots showed. Draco hadn’t seen him so stunned since Harry freed Dobby. 

“Do you see now, Father, that I’ve always been proud of you? I knew . I knew you couldn’t hate me!"

His words rang through the study. A delicate silence filed in after, blanketing him in relief. The words which had cluttered up his chest for decades finally spilled into the open air.

“I see.”

Lucius released a shuddering sigh.

The silence crashed back through the room as the books swallowed Lucius’s surprise. A soft smile had come to cover his face and Draco found himself relaxing back into his own chair, comforted by the thought that his father would at least know how his son truly felt before he sacrificed his life for him. In the firelight like this, all the pain melted from Lucius’s face. He had done that and a great sense of pride swelled in his chest.

"I'm going to kill you," Draco stated.

Lucius let out a surprised bark of laughter. "Shall I thank you?"

An embarrassed flush crept into Draco's cheeks.

“Did you…” Lucius cleared his throat of its rasp. “Did you keep the watch?”

“Yes,” Draco said as he procured it from his pocket. It gleamed in the light of the fire as he held it up toward his father. “I am never without.”

The blue eyes shifted from cold arctic to warm lakes as a wide smile finally crinkled their corners. “Has it helped?”

“I think you know it has,” Draco said with a smirk. “Why else would you leave it in your villa?”

Lucius laughed low and it rumbled across the study.

“Ah, it is difficult to out-Slytherin a Slytherin after all.”

“Especially when he’s your son. I think just like you, you know. Snape can’t stand it.”

The laugh continued and this time Draco chimed in with his own.

“I am certain that he cannot. Well, I am glad that my insufferable legacy lives on to badger him. He needs a Malfoy in his life. Someone to-”

“-unscrew all his screws a little.”

Lucius nodded gravely but was still snickering. “The watch…it truly has been useful? The other gifts as well?”

“I can’t say I’ve figured out the scrying mirror too well but it did get me out of a complicated maze once by screaming.”

“It dislikes being lost. Have you not run into a crying mirror before?”

Draco frowned before exploding into a fit of laughter. “No, I…I thought it was a scrying mirror. Does it really cry until what…you go the right way?”

Lucius’s smirk returned until he was flashing all his brilliant white teeth at Draco. “Yes! That is precisely it. I created them myself. Bloody handy in forests.”

Rolling his eyes with an equally bright smile, Draco shook his head. “Thank you. For all of it. I cannot tell you how many times this one alone has saved my stupid arse. Even stopped from slipping down the stairs on Harry’s ruddy socks once.” He opened the watch.

A cold sense of dread stole the blood from his fingertips. It must have registered on his face because Lucius was standing.

“What time does it read?” he demanded, already looking at his own watch.

“Six o’clock, thirteen minutes, eleven seconds.”

“That…that is five minutes from now.” A screeching sound tore through the room. “Those are the warding alarms. They have been breached.” 

Draco was up and on his feet, yanked there by his father. The white gold watch was pressed into Draco’s palm as he blinked up at his father. Serious and sharp eyes held him as fingers gripped bruises into his shoulders.

“Listen to me. In my chambers, there is a false wall heavily glamoured and warded beside the bed. You will find every single set of December memories safeguarded there. They are yours, Draco. There are others as well, moments I am fond of and ones I would rather forget but that you deserve to see. Heirlooms, keys, everything important in my possession is guarded there and the elves have promised me they will not allow a soul beside you to discover it. Dobby he…he has made an oath with me. He is the secret keeper of the room. Sylvas is the secret keeper to the Manor which will become unplottable after…after.

“I have warded everything I am able. My portrait along with your own have been incredibly resistant to spellwork. Kreacher will have left already with yours back to Grimmauld Place. The Dark Lord may ruin mine. I am resigned. Do not go saving them. Is all that clear?”

Draco’s head was spinning but he mumbled a quiet “yes, Father,” as he tried to slow down time.

“Good. Very good.” Lucius pulled Draco into a rough hug. “I am so incredibly proud of the man you have become, Draco. Narcissa… oh, she was nearly as proud as I.” He squeezed Draco tightly, pushing the air from him as he quickly stroked through his hair. “Be good, Draco. Keep your head down and stay safe. You are a good man, far better than I will ever be. I could not think of a better wizard to carry on the Malfoy name. Survive this war. I love you so very much. Remember, you have the strength of a dragon.”

Draco reeled as his father pressed a kiss to the top of his head just like he used to as a child. The clink of Lucius’s rings dropped heavily into the pocket of his suit jacket. 

He muttered a muffled “I love you, Father” into Lucius’s chest.

“And do not let this war take from you the way it has taken from me. That is a tragedy I could not bear. Ah, one more thing.” Lucius pressed impossibly closer as he whispered, “Do remember those Christmas lights for me when it snows, will you?”

Nodding dumbly with tears in his eyes, Draco agreed.

Lucius released Draco who wanted to lash out in any way that would give him an extra minute with his father but the hands on his pocket watch had already given their warning.

“A controlled fiendfyre…if you will?”

Draco nodded again. With a deep breath and painfully high scrape of wood against wood, he unsheathed the snake from the cane. It trembled between uncertain fingers and a sweaty palm. Aimed at Lucius, who had his legs braced against his chair, ready to fall, with the softest expression of understanding Draco had ever seen, the wand shed one more glittering sapphire tear.

No one, not even the wood involved, desired this outcome. Yet it was there, staring Draco in the face as though it had the right. His eyes darted to the fire which had died down to pulsing logs. This all felt too surreal. Perhaps if he just walked over and grabbed one log with his bare hand he would be able to ascertain if this was a dream.

It couldn’t be a dream. Not even in those did Lucius look so open. 

“Ah-” he started before he was above himself. Beyond himself. Looking down on a foolish twenty-seven-year-old playing grown-up with his father’s wand. 

He knew the words. The incantation, the movement, the everything . But he was stuck.

Lucius cocked his head with a gentle smile and said, “There’s nothing to it, Draco. I am asking . Your intent does not need to be malevolent.”

“No?”

“It is enough to bravely fulfill a promise. Out of love. Duty. Those intentions will keep your soul intact.”

His breath had gone panicky and he was only picking up the sharp undertones of his father’s cologne, worsening his situation.

“I am here, Draco. It will be all right.”

The world was spinning violently out of control. There were only a few moments left before Lucius died and Draco was already at risk of an unknown something. His breathing grew even more erratic as he tried to focus on the spell. 

“Look at me. In my eyes, Draco.”

Taking a steadying breath, he did. Everything clicked as his father relaxed and said, “Yes, there you go. That’s it.”

For him. Draco firmed his grip on the wand and let out a rattly breath. I came here for Severus. I continued for Harry. He raised the wand tip so it pointed directly between the warm blue eyes which were sparkling with admiration. The tremble began to return.

“Good boy,” Lucius praised. “There you go.”

Lucius gave a soft bob of his head to Draco, a nudge in the right direction. I will do this for Father. Draco mirrored the movement. Because if I don’t, the Dark Lord will ruin him.

With a final breath, Draco licked his lips and steadied his fluttering heart.

“Draco?”

“Yes?”

“A final favour, if you will.”

Draco licked his lips and nodded, shoving down the tears.

“Kill that bastard Tom for me.”

Tilting his head back and raising the snakehead wand toward his father, Draco’s face tightened. 

“For you Father, gladly.” 

Lucius smiled wide, full of polished white teeth as he put a nude hand against his chest. “Thank you, my son.”

“Avada Kedavra!”

He dropped into the chair with a smile on his face. 

Chapter Text

Draco could not watch as the flames consumed his father. 

He could not look at those blue eyes without their twinkle. Cold and dead. He didn’t want to watch as the fire ate away at the proud smile on his father’s face. The one he had worked so hard at discovering in the first place. The image of his father collapsed into the chair with his white hair pillowed behind him and draped over the small daffodil pinned to his chest was already bound to haunt Draco every time he shut his eyes. It would never be anything more than his greatest pain. His worst nightmare.

Draco closed his eyes as the crackling fiendfyre continued to burn.

It was the soft smile, still delicate even as Lucius crumpled into the chair, that Draco would never let fade. He wanted it to burn like a solstice sun in his memory.

He was proud of him. Had been the whole time.

The fire spread its warm hands across the flat planes of his back. He clenched his eyes closed more tightly. Lucius was gone. Dead. He slunk his hands around his middle and dug his fingers into his side. Not here. Not now. A coughed-out sob left him regardless. Not now! Tears were already blurring his vision and a tight sorrow had his throat in a vice grip. His nails pressed crescent moons into his sides. Hold on until you disapparate. The sorrow retreated with a measured breath. I’m sorry, Father. You’d understand, wouldn’t you?  If I...If I cry now I won't escape.

He kept his back turned until the room had become too bright to bear. The countercurse rolled off his tongue, firing over his shoulder. Darkness fell across the room. Draco straightened immediately, letting the Malfoy mask sweep across his features. It wasn’t his time to mourn. It never was. There was business left to attend. Business he would be unable to execute if he could not compose himself here. The breached wards buzzed one final time before falling silent.

Whipping his head down to his father’s watch still being clutched in his left hand, he hissed. Five minutes had turned into two.

Jolted out of his melancholy by the pressure of impending doom, Draco stuffed the watch into his pocket as he dropped to his knees beside the pile of ash from the fiendfyre. A glittering “M” in the middle of the ash twisted his heart until he thought it would tear in half. Gingerly, he picked up the necklace. He wrapped it three times around his wrist, effectively making a bracelet before hurrying on to the task of collection.

Methodically, he swept the ashes into several phials he kept on hand, expanding and shrinking them down as he went. Some of it was the chair, he supposed, but it could be sorted out later when he wasn’t about to evade death. Muttering under his breath, he extinguished the fire in the hearth and locked the floo as he scooped up the last specs of his father.

Jumping to his feet as the sound of voices filtered through the door, Draco cursed his luck. No concrete plan and too much sorrow clouding judgment was a sure way to end up on the wrong end of the Dark Lord's wand. Less than a minute before his predicted brush with death made his mouth taste bitter. If his father died for naught, Draco would lock himself in his own hell as punishment. That was if the Dark Lord didn’t take him captive first or resurrect his corpse. He ran a hand through his hair and tugged to scatter the thoughts. Of bloody course he would end up stuck like this. The voices grew louder. They were decidedly angry and sharp with the rage betrayal. 

Some shrill witch’s voice echoed down the corridor as she screamed, “That bastard never planned on killing him!”

She’s quicker on the uptake than Bellatrix, Draco thought, mildly impressed. Knowing his father had disrupted the whole flow of their plans brought a gentle smile to his face. 

"How could he?" Another witch sobbed hysterically. "Men like that... Oh! He's broken my heart! Draco should have been..."

It seemed to be too much to her. She cut herself off with a hiccoughing sob. 

Draco rolled his eyes but pride swelled in his chest. Lucius had not made it easy on them.

All right, Father. Where should I go? His grey eyes flicked over to the tree just barely taller than he over in the corner. The witch who had been crying screamed out, rattling the walls. Might be smarter than Bella but p robably just as quick on the draw. He grimaced. That was not a pleasant thought. He looked over to the window but in that depth of snow he wasn’t going to get anywhere quickly and there wasn’t a broom in sight. Not that flying through a blizzard was his idea of a safe escape. 

His eyes jumped back to the tree. It was significantly larger than in years past. Lucius must have known it was going to be his last but he had never been keen on keeping large trees. Too gaudy. Draco narrowed his eyes at the twinkling lights.

It was blocking the view of the passageway for the house-elves.

“Merlin,” he whispered.

Without hesitation, he ran over to the twinkling pine. Pausing only briefly, he cast a reparo on the glasses and flew them in his direction. Two crystal tumblers would have alerted anyone who barged in. Shrinking them down, he stuffed them in his pocket wondering exactly what he was doing by protecting the study as he cast several spells to erase any sign of his or his father’s presence.

Slipping behind the pine, a familiar tingle of wards ran over his exposed skin. So the tree was the anchor point for the warding? A smirk tugged at his lips. Clever. Patting around the entrance to the tunnel, Draco searched for a way to get in when a small house-elf opened the tiny hatch.

Big blue eyes looked up at him. 

“Master Lucius is gone?” she whispered.

“Yes.” 

The house-elf regarded Draco for a moment before whispering, “ He ordered us to find Master Draco and bring him to…” The house-elf shuddered and grabbed her ears.

“Christ,” Draco hissed, taking a step back as his hand drifted to his hip.

House-elves could be turned. Rather easily too if a more powerful wizard was in the vicinity. Their loyalty wasn't as set in stone as Hermione may have assumed. Or Harry with his big eyes and perpetually positive outlook.

“No!” She shrieked. “We decided to...” Letting out a long groan, she pivoted and began smashing her head against the wall.

Draco grimaced. It looked as though he would have to rely on his years of managing Dobby’s outbursts to soothe the elf.

“Zippy is bad. Bad, bad, bad.”

Snorting, he dropped into a squat nearby the elf. Malfoys are sorted into Slytherin because of how much trouble their elves are. Spent more time trying to out-maneuver Dobby’s attempts at punishments than anything else.  He bit back the smirk. Cunning. Bloody well have to be or else you’ll lose your elves to the cabinetry. Another bang brought him back to the present.

“I’m not going to hex you,” he said. “Not if you help me get out of here, understand? Would you like to help me?”

She spun around quickly, nodding so fervently her ears slapped against her head. Draco’s head bobbed along with hers.

“Oh, yes. Zippy understands! That is why Zippy came to the study. We are Malfoy elves. Not H is .”

“Uh-huh,” Draco said, not entirely following her excitement on the matter.

“You are going to be safe. We are going to lie to the Dark Lord and you are going in here. Zippy…” The blue eyes darted to the study. “Zippy will say that she has not found Master Draco yet.” 

A small frown wrinkled the bald head as she shot past Draco and began pushing him into the cramped tunnel. Small hands shoved on the back of his knees, giving him very little choice as he ducked to avoid decapitating himself. It was a remarkably tight squeeze. Lucius’s shoulders would have brushed against the stone walls on either side. As it was, Draco's thin frame barely had room to maneuver.

With a final shove, Draco stumbled into the tunnel, blindly reaching out and scratching his palm against the wall. Only the twinkling red and green of the tree illuminated the corridor and very poorly at that. Grimacing, his elbow knocked against the wall as he started to turn toward the house-elf still talking behind him.

“Zippy will say she has been cleaning. It is the best thing a house-elf can do.” She darted out past the tree and into the middle of the study.

“No,” he hissed, struggling to turn and find the elf. “You’ll be killed! He doesn’t care if-”

“Zippy is going now!” The small house-elf paused and bowed low. “Master Malfoy.”

“No! I’m not-”

“Master Malfoy,” she said, stern blue eyes meeting his as he finally managed to turn around. “Master Lucius is dead. You are Master Malfoy now.”

The door slammed shut, glowing for barely a minute before it sealed with house-elf magic, leaving him in stunned silence. 

Breathing heavily through his nose, he placed his palm against the cool stone door. Master Malfoy.  A cavern had opened inside his chest. I'm...Master Malfoy.

Magic hummed under his hand as he pressed against the door. She had sealed him inside.

Ruddy elf magic. She is my elf. Not father’s. The yelling had begun to sneak under the crack in the study door. Zippy had rushed out before he could even think up a way to stop her. Their safety is my responsibility. Hermione will kill me when she hears about this. Draco dropped his forehead to the door. If. If she hears about if I make it out.

"I'll kill that Malfoy brat myself!" It was the same witch who had been crying. She sounded much closer and Draco wished he could run outside and strangle her and every other Dark Lord groupie with his bare hands for what they had allowed to happen to his Father. Instead, he blinked his eyes shut slowly as he leaned on the door. 

Master Malfoy. Fucking hell, Harry. You believe that? Master Malfoy. The thought of it doused him in cold dread. Not just the heir anymore. The damn patriarch. His fists clenched as another round of insults aimed at Lucius travelled down the corridor into the study.   Dammit, Potty. I wish you were here. How am I going to get out of this without your stupid arse backing me up? Father always had his friends. He had Severus.  

The caterwauling of the Death Eaters tunelessly floated to him. He was screwed. Stuck in a tunnel and screwed. Potty, he thought, opening a thin avenue of legilimency through the breakaway spell he’d cast. Merlin, if this works, I really will have finally beaten you at something. Listen, I’m at the Manor. Do not… The crash of something shattering outside sent a tremor of fear through him. Do not come to the Manor. You’ve likely spouted off that big mouth of yours and gotten Severus riled up, well done, but you and Snape cannot come here. Zippy’s muffled sniffle made it through the sealed door. I’m…I’m Master Malfoy now and the wards will not accept you. You’ll be shredded. So just…sit your impatient arse down and keep Snape tame.  A gleeful shriek as something shattered off to his right through the wall raised his hackles. For...for now at least. Potty. Please. 

Quietly, he shut whatever link he had hoped to establish. How useful it would turn out to be was left to fate and Harry’s ability to keep Severus in line. This is my fight. To avenge Father. The Malfoy name.  The hand on the door clenched more tightly as he screwed his eyes tightly shut and banged once against the stone. A Malfoy’s fight. My fight.

They took his father from him. His mother. Severus. Harry. Blaise. The rage vibrated in his stomach until it made him nauseous. Bile flushed up his throat as his face soured. Ron was locked in the basement.

Though, he wasn’t sure if that was a victory or a colossal loss.

He struck the stone again, the force of it splintering up his arm and across his shoulder blade. I understand now, Father, what Malfoy means. His grey eyes snapped open, glowering at the door. Someone was rattling the study door with a piercing laugh. I will not allow them to win. To destroy your name or our family. Only one slim wall protected him from their wrath. A sudden moment of clarity cast honey light across his thoughts. I will not allow the Dark Lord to tear apart your portrait. Our manor. Our name.

The door to the study burst open. Draco jolted away from the sound, grey eyes illuminated blue by the flare of tracking magic licking up the inside of the stone. The soft tinkling of wood raining across the study floor jerked the muscles in his arm on instinct. He wanted to reach through the rock and catch every hand-carved piece of shelving. They glittered in his mind like falling snow.

Draco yanked his hand away as Zippy’s magic flared around the seal. Sterilizing. Searching. Wind sliced across his ankles as he staggered several steps back. The Dark Lord was out there. Draco could feel his presence like the start of a bad cold. He swallowed while his fingertips nervously tapped along the head of his father’s cane in a soothing rhythm of sevens.

The commotion settled as Zippy’s muffled voice failed to clearly come through the door. Seven taps to the snake. The Dark Lord’s words were equally as blurred despite Draco focusing his entire attention on it. Seven taps. It was no good. He couldn’t leave now, couldn’t do so much as cast a non-verbal Lumos with the way that magic lashed out. Seven taps. That magic was strong and there would be even stronger magic that could reach him and could kill him if he wasn't careful. Seven taps. Seven taps.

This was how it was going to be then. A waiting game.

He let out a low, slow exhale. The emerald eyes of the serpent glinted in the low light. It was up to Lucius now and how well he had warded the study. The tree was the crux of Lucius's defense. How well it hid the doorway and how skillfully Lucius had woven warding into it was a matter of living or dying.

Draco narrowed his eyes. If the tree was a strong enough anchor, he might be able to make good use of it during his escape.

Zippy screeched so loud Draco grit his teeth to keep from screaming himself. That hurt . Rubbing at his ringing right ear, he grimaced. Hermione was going to kill him. When she found out a house-elf effectively sacrificed herself for Draco’s safe escape, he would be as good as mincemeat. All that S.P.E.W nonsense gave her a good excuse to whack anyone on the back of the head. This though, this would end in cursed toenails. He just knew it.

But it had quieted back down. The rest of the Death Eaters were not making the commotion he needed to escape. In the silence, every step, every spell, every breath was at risk of being discovered. The only thing between him and a furious Dark Lord was Zippy’s magic seal and Lucius’s Christmas tree with the teddy bear on top.

It was less than ideal.

Worse, it was a blatant trap. They were trying to draw him out.

Staring at the stone entrance to the study, wand drawn, Draco remained frozen as the melodious voice of the Dark Lord began pressuring Zippy into slipping out the truth. She cried periodically, but did not relent. It was the Dark Lord's voice he was more concerned with. Soft and charming but equally dead and cold, it was more the voice of Tom Riddle of old than of the Dark Lord. That was definite bad news.

Zippy sobbed openly this time, flaring Draco's nostrils in upset. I can't! Zippy, I can't help you. His heart thudded fiercely in his chest. This wasn’t a game he was playing anymore. Lucius was dead. The last line of defense Draco had no longer existed. He had to be cold. Calloused. If he acted like anything other than a cynical, dark wizard he would inadvertently snuff out the Malfoy line.

He had to wait.

The necklace wrapped around his wrist became heavy. He could not allow the Malfoy line to vanish without revealing the truth and polishing its reputation. If he vanished, so too did the memories his father had given him.

Seconds stretched into minutes. Rivulets of nervous sweat dripped down his temples and the back of his neck as the Dark Lord casually moved about the study, his clacking shoes mapping out his lazy movements as he monologued. 

It was taking too long. Death Eaters were not a particularly restrained group when it came to anything that mattered. Torture, planning, ransacking, they did everything with a chaotic flourish that could be seen miles away. Draco sneered as he remembered the skull illuminated high above the campgrounds that one lovely summer. Dramatic and chaotic were the trademarks of Death Eaters, not restrained and patient.

They were looking for him.

Zippy let out a pitiful whimper as she maintained her story. Draco’s temper flared. This was exactly what they were hoping for. A burst of accidental magic. Most days, Draco was quietly thankful for the war. It afforded him the guise of fatigue to blame his accidental magic on though the reality was something any grown wizard would have been shunned for without a second glance regardless of lineage. It showed a distinct lack of control over one’s magic. A dangerous thing if it correlated to strong emotions.

Which, in Draco’s case, it did.

He ground his teeth together. The bastard was baiting him. 

The next time Zippy screamed out a truly horrendously painful sound Draco felt the flash of white-hot rage in his core. It raced up his spine and boiled at the base of his neck as he struggled to keep himself calm. She screamed again and the familiar panic of losing control pulsed through him. He wasn’t able to turn off that bleeding heart of his. Cursing to himself, he squinted his eyes at the darkness in an attempt to focus on anything other than Zippy.

I am a Malfoy, dammit. The last one. If I die it’s the end of the road. His nails bit hungrily into his palms. I cannot leave Father’s memories to rot and hope that the breakaway spell holds them. Blood flooded his mouth as he bit down on his lip to restrain his magic. His spells, his portrait, the phials of memories he left will all be destroyed or lost. I am the only one capable of retrieving them all.

The house-elf cried out pitifully, accompanying the smack of wood against flesh.

“The only one,” he whispered so low little more than the tap of his tongue against his teeth could be heard. Some Death Eater cackled as Zippy sobbed. “ The only one .”

An unfamiliar sense of personal pride swelled within him as he refined his control over his magic as the minutes dragged on. It's all right. She knows what she's doing. This was her choice. I will have time to heal her later. 

As his hands relaxed and the shadow of a smile touched his cheeks, Zippy released a blood-curdling shriek that rattled the walls around him. On its heels she yelled, “Master Malfoy! Master Malfoy please !”

Every ounce of control evaporated as though burned by the flash of an atomic bomb.

“No,” he breathed, knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop the explosion to follow.

It bubbled and frothed in his core, pressing against his skin and burning the back of his eyes before bursting from him but instead of arcing in white lines and busting open the door, it suddenly withered, as though drained. Hissing in pain, he looked down at his hand which was buzzing as though Harry had shocked him with one of those muggle toys. Draco’s mouth dropped open at the sight. 

His hand was glowing as bright as a full moon. All the accidental magic was being siphoned into the open mouth of the serpent’s head of Lucius’s wand. It was swallowing his errant magic whole as though it were a mouse. Clacking his mouth closed, Draco took in the scene with hesitant caution. This was an assuredly good stroke of luck. Something completely atypical for him. And Zippy had returned to quiet whimpers. Nothing more.

I passed the bloody test. The brilliant light had lessened to a dull glow and his blue veins, protruding from the pressure of his anger, were visible again. She called and I did not answer. He flipped his hand and smiled as wispy tendrils of magic flowed into the mouth of the serpent. 

When the light simmered and finally vanished, the white gold tongue unfurled to reveal a small scrap of parchment.

Hastily, he snatched the thing and shoved it into a pocket beside the fixed crystal tumblers and the phials of ash. 

Never had a Lumos been so tempting. Regardless of the itching urge to cast it, Draco kept quiet and still. He had been spared another chance. Not keen on wasting it, he would wait now until there was enough of a commotion to hide his footsteps. Then, he would steal Lucius’s portrait and all the information stored within it, come back to the study to grab the spellbooks and the tree in the hopes that it would extend its warding to him, and leave without the thought of looking back. When he was safely back at the cave, he could investigate the wand, the paper, and his own magic but that was a long ways off.

There was still escaping the manor to contend with.

Lucius’s cautioned words rattled around his head. Shaking his head, Draco rolled his eyes. Lucius would not have invited him to the study, charmed the tree as an anchor point, and left the service tunnels as an escape if he didn’t think Draco could find a use for them and he certainly wouldn’t have told him specifically not to do something. That was a surefire way to ensure he went ahead and did it. 

I have to Father. This was a reconnaissance mission and if I don’t gather as much information as possible, I could hardly be considered a useful Slytherin. But I’ll bet you knew, Father, that if you told me not to I would run right for it.

“You little, bitch !” The Dark Lord bellowed. A series of long curses fell from his mouth while Draco edged away from the tunnel door.

Voices he recognized as the once dead Carrows exploded near the entrance to his hideout with a howling laugh. Books thumped in the distance and he was distinctly glad he cast an anti-fire ward on the fireplace. The noise increased until he was wincing from the demented jubilation of the Death Eaters as they seemed to whip books across the room. They pelted the walls until Draco thought the tunnel would collapse. Still, it wasn’t enough. Not until the entire bookshelves started to fall and dust tumbled onto his hair. That afforded him the time to scuttle several steps away and cast a wordless lumos. 

The Death Eaters had descended on the bookshelves. 

Hollering echoed through the study as various spells were screeched out against frayed vocal cords. He grimaced at how much saliva they were dropping into the rugs. Books fell heavy as violent storms to the floor, most likely splintering their spines and denting the exposed areas of wood. Several thumped close to the entrance and his mind strayed to the volumes of Lucius’s spells on the shelves as he hesitated. In the pale blue light of the Lumos, Draco’s eyes had gone wide and frightened as though he were a child. He had to leave but the books, the last remnants of his father were moments away from falling into the hands of the Dark Lord or set ablaze.

He whipped his head to look down the long corridor. Perfect darkness. Another crack of the wood shelving had him taking off at a slow trot, pausing once to look back at the door behind him. I trust him, Draco thought as he stared at the warded door. Zippy wasn’t dead if her magic still protected him. I have to trust him. 

Blinking hard to scatter the thought of crying, Draco turned his back on the door and left the sound of the commotion behind him.

It was treacherous work. The floor was as uneven as the ceiling, dipping suddenly and rising with equal amounts of warning. By the time he climbed his third flight of stairs, crawling up them with his wand between his teeth, he had received a sizable goose egg on his forehead, a cut in his palm from where he had recently tripped, and a smudge of dirt giving him the illusion of a five o’clock shadow. 

At least, he thought as he came to a stop in front of a door I haven’t had to contend with branching paths. Abraxas was paranoid but practical. Thank you, Grandfather.

Tugging his shirt to rights, Draco ran a hand across the sealed edges of the wood. First tapping his wand to the door, then moving to Lucius’s after his wand was unsuccessful, Draco cast every spell he knew until he fired an agitated blasting curse at it. The old door groaned as it shivered and swallowed the spell, turning a pretty orange before fading to brown and releasing its hold on the stone surrounding it. Draco smirked as he cocked a pale brow.

“Suppose I am predictable,” he muttered to himself.

Warm memories flushed up his neck as he remembered how every time he was frustrated as a child, or an adult for that matter, he blasted the object with a quick Confringo.

He pressed a hand to the door. Lucius’s magic thrummed beneath his palm like an old friend. Maybe things didn’t change as much as he thought. Narcissa's magic was there not in the door but the rest of the manor, subtly dancing like a flower in a summer breeze though weak. Draco closed his eyes, he could feel the network of magic webbed throughout the manor, of every Malfoy that had come before him pulsing through the stone walls. Lucius was not here. 

Swallowing thickly, Draco pulled his hand away and wiped it down his pant leg.

He took in a measured breath as he cast a catch-all healing spell. Injuries weren’t something to carry in the presence of the Dark Lord.

Merlin forbid he did run into him. Draco wasn’t about to count on his luck which seemed to have listed sideways since birth. Maybe he ought to reach out to Trelawney, see if he was born under a rotting moon or whatever nonsense she spewed.

“Have a bit of magic myself.” Draco frowned. Without Harry around the joke seemed stupid and flat. Pointless. “Don’t have the bloody time for this,” he mumbled, all traces of humour gone.

He pulled both watches from his pocket as he shoved his wand back between his teeth, this time tip down. Maneuvering them into the light, Draco let out a small laugh. Never in his life did he imagine he would own one of Lucius’s watches and now he had two. Popping them open with his thumb, he smirked at the sound of synchronous ticking.

“Awrigh,” he said around the wand. “Lefs see wha we ‘ave ‘ere.”

Blond brows disappeared under his dirty fringe as the crystal faces of the watches turned to look at him. He let out a huff of surprise as he shook his head. 

“Oh, mo. Aw, fuck!” he cursed around the intrusion.

The charmed watch in his left palm read ten minutes after five. The one in his right, a regular old pocket watch, read one minute to five. Grey eyes bounced back and forth between the two faces. Ten minutes. He had ten minutes to get out or risk death.

Clapping the watches closed, he slipped them into his pockets and yanked his wand from his mouth, holstering it up his sleeve.

The time for sentimentality had passed.

Straightening his back, he took a deep breath and slammed against the door with his shoulder until it begrudgingly opened and dropped him into the middle of that same, narrowed hallway. Hours ago it had been filled with life. Lucius had proudly protected his son and slain Bellatrix himself. 

She would have known, Draco thought as he clenched his fist around his father’s wand. She would have known I was there and told the Dark Lord before Father could show me his memories. He glanced over to the spot his portrait had held on the wall. An empty square, slightly brighter than the surrounding blue wallpaper noted its absence. He never stopped protecting me. Draco squared his head, looking frighteningly similar to his father as his cool eyes flicked down the corridor. I believe it is time I protect you.

Jogging down the corridor, Draco took a left.

At the very end, was Lucius’s portrait. He was dressed in elegant robes, deep blue with silver cuffs though because he was seated so close, the lines of silver trailing down the lapels disappeared into the frame. A high-collar shirt graced his neck and tucked into his breast pocket was the chain to his pocket watch. Draco felt a pang of remorse, the watch heavy in his pocket. Sitting proudly on his chest was the Malfoy "M", the beautifully charmed pendant necklace. Draco touched where the mirror brushed against his palm.

Lucius’s hands were still in view, one resting on the silver serpent’s head and the other lying idly against his wrist. All the jewels that graced his fingers clacked together like armour in Draco's pocket as he hurried closer.

The arctic eyes, which had been gazing down the other corridor, switched to Draco. They widened as a flushed look of rage tightened the portrait’s jaw.

“You little fool .”

“I see you missed my company.”

“And you failed to leave my ashes, hm?” Lucius whispered, leaning forward in the portrait.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “No way you could have figured that out.”

“Your pockets are bulging.” The blue eyes darted back down the corridor. “And you are horrendously late."

"Late?" Draco pouted. "I didn't realize I was on a tight schedule."

"Leave me. Escape now before you’ve lost your only chance.”

“No! I did not crawl through that filthy tunnel just to wave you off. Is there a way to shrink you without-”

“Lower. Your. Voice.” Lucius sneered. “And for Salazar’s sake, put those rings on. You will not stand a chance clanking like that.”

“I…” Draco pulled the rings out. “They won’t fit.”

A playful smile pulled on Lucius’s face. “Exactly how much time have you spent with Potter?” 

Draco pursed his lips in annoyance. “Father, I don’t have time for this. I-”

“You most certainly do. The Dark Lord has impeccable hearing, the old bastard. If you do not put them on, he will follow your jangling arse until he can slay you. Those rings will size to you seeing as they are magical. Now, put them on and leave me. The Dark Lord was nearby not a moment ago.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, I’m not going to leave you. You have information. I won’t leave empty-handed. You have information that I need and I don’t care if Merlin himself shows up and decides on a duel to the death. Besides, I’m not letting both of you meet your destruction because the new Malfoy head was too cowardly. I’m taking you and your information with me.”

Lucius rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course. Why do you think I told you not to go in the first place? You have always been rubbish at following orders. That is not the problem.”

“Well,” Draco huffed. “What is?”

"You are late and he is here. The opportunity has passed. Leave me."

Draco squared to face his father. "No. Not twice."

The clack of heels against tile snapped Draco’s head to the right. A long shadow began bending around the corner. He knew that shape. Knew it well enough from the nightmares that plagued him every night. Looking back to Lucius, he was met with a grim look. Lucius gave a small shake of his head as his hand clenched until the knuckles were white on his cane.

Slipping the rings on, he watched as they shrunk to hug his slender fingers. Making a fist, he marveled at how well they matched him. A familiar hum of energy rolled through him as he hissed. Did this amplify his own magic? Stabilize him like the head of the cane? Peering down at them he wondered why it felt so familiar. It was as though he was back in the study, hugging his father.

“You must leave, Draco. Go.”

Grey eyes flickered up to Lucius as a Chesire grin spread wide across Draco’s face.

“Not on your life, old man.”

Reaching out, he snatched Lucius’s portrait from the wall and darted down the corridor. 

Lucius's protests were lost to the pounding rhythm of his feet.

The branching corridors flew by with astonishing speed as he sprinted away from that shadow. His shined shoes smacked against the marble, leaving echoing footprints in his wake. Jerking his father’s wand behind him, the corridor was filled with the amplified sound of his hurried steps. Each footfall turned into thirty, zipping off in different directions until he could no longer hear his own path.

Impeccable hearing. Ha, ha. Figure that out.

Approaching the tunnel back to the study, Draco skidded to a stop before going back the way he came. A small, barely noticeable red crescent moon was drawn on the section of the wall that turned into the tunnel entrance. Someone had marked it. Rather poorly at that. He sucked in a sharp breath as he ran back through the thousands of ringing footsteps. Suddenly, the study seemed an impossible distance away from him.

Still, he ran.

Shooting a glance down a passing corridor, he caught the pale head of the Dark Lord turning toward him. His face was soured and he was looking up, away from the platinum head ducking out of sight. He was livid.

“ Draco, ” his father hissed.

“Shut up,” he snapped, casting a powerful nox and knocking every candle out in front of him as though a wind had torn through the manor.

He pounded against the ground, moving by memory and a faint, barely-there Lumos glow from the tip of a pen Ron had given him. It was much paler than the light of a wand. Far better in situations dealing with the dark. The Aurors supplied their men well and Ron had reasoned he could go without it. Draco jerked his eyes down to the silver pen. “Nothing as fancy as what you like, but might help.” Draco soothed himself by remembering that he was in the basement. Not gone. Not in H is hands.

Rounding another corner, he mumbled a stickfast hex on one foot to keep himself from slamming into the wall. Just as quickly, he waved himself free, not breaking his stride as he tore down the marble. His room with its door ajar leaked the sound of visitors ransacking it. Something broke in his heart as he let them destroy his last refuge. The place he had grown up. More firmly, he gripped the portrait in his hand. There would be time to make them suffer later.

A shroud of darkness settled on his shoulders as he thundered down a flight of stairs, the first of three leading to the study. His hair flapped against his temples and fell forward, framing his vision with prison bars as he leapt off the last four steps and landed on the violet carpet runner. Draco’s legs churned beneath him. They did not pause, did not hesitate like they used to in his dreams. They obeyed the command to move without complaint. 

Chasing Potty had its benefits after all. 

He was a blur of movement, his white hair slashing through the darkness that fell across the second floor as the serpent wand swished a wordless nox again. Lucius banged against his leg as he cut through the horrendous hall of mirrors still unrepaired from the battle. Within the walls of the hall of mirrors, the temperature had dropped steeply. Snow covered the debris and wind howled through the holes punctured in the ceiling and walls unconnected to the rest of the Manor. The snow reflected the paltry Lumos light and bounced it around until the whole room was a pale blue.

Draco did not slow, not even as he caught a glimpse of his tired, grey eyes in a mirror bolted to the wall.

“Father…”

The question died on his tongue.

“Later, Draco.”

Lucius sounded tired and worn. The battles he had fought and lost aging him incredibly.

“Sorry,” he whispered as he tore his eyes away from the hundred or so mirrors.

“As am I. They will be…”

It seemed Lucius did not have the courage to finish that sentence. Draco gripped the frame more tightly.

The chill of the room diminished slightly as the door swung shut behind him.

He continued tearing through the corridors toward the study, grey eyes blazing as he tried to forget about the souls trapped in those mirrors soon to be subjected to the wrath of the Dark Lord. Casting a brief glance down to the portrait, his stomach flipped as he took in the sight of his jeweled hand against the silver frame. The rings didn’t belong to him. He was just an imposter with shined shoes.

Rounding the corner, he expected darkness but was met with a clean wash of bright light and the unforgettable, looming shadow of the Dark Lord.

Draco fell back immediately but hit an invisible wall. Hissing, he stumbled as he fought to regain his footing. Tapping lightly against the barrier, he clenched his jaw. Lucius was disconcertingly quiet as Draco glared at the obstacle. His eyes crawled up and down the invisible wall before looking down to the frame. In an experiment, Draco set the portrait down and stuck a hand through the barrier. It slipped through easily. Heavy dread pulled his face into a frown. It was the portrait. When Draco held his father up to his face, Lucius closed his eyes and shook his head lightly, mouthing, “Let me go, Draco.”

He dropped the portrait back to his side and looked up at the wall of blackness. He wasn't that far off from the hall of mirrors. Still stuck in a nearby hallway, this area had taken serious damage as well. One whole section of wall had been torn apart letting the cold air seep into the home. Going back wasn't an option. Going forward was impossible.

No way out then. I either leave him and break through or face the Dark Lord. The face of his watch flickered through his mind. Ah. So I’ve taken too long after all .

Licking his lips in uncertainty, he quietly snapped his fingers.

Zippy, battered, beaten, and bleeding from a nasty cut on her head was the one to arrive.

Draco wished he could have grabbed the little elf and disapparated them both from the Manor but it wasn’t possible. It wasn’t safe. The anti-apparition wards would chew them both apart.

Steeling himself, he handed Lucius’s portrait to the house-elf as the man’s eyes went wide with rage. He wouldn’t dare make a scene in the proximity of the Dark Lord for Draco’s sake but Lucius was livid. The rage poured from his eyes in a malicious twinkle as he snarled, white teeth flashing. He shook his head violently as he rose from his seat and pounded on the canvas.

“Zippy,” Draco whispered into her ear. “Take him to the study.”

“But-”

“I will not have you refuse the master of this manor. And if Potty…If Harry Potter comes here, you will give Lucius to him.”

“Oh! To give away a Malfoy portrait is-”

“That is an order.” He straightened and rested his hand on the cane. “An order from M aster Malfoy. Understood?”

Zippy narrowed her eyes before they brimmed with tears. She nodded jerkily and vanished with barely a crack. 

A shiver worked down Draco’s spine. He was alone now. No help from Lucius. Nothing to expect from a self-sacrificing elf. No Potty or Snape. Turning to the wall, his stomach heaved. Dead solid. It would not let him through. Slowly turning back in the direction of the Dark Lord, Draco forced the tremble out of his hands and gingerly fingered his father's necklace. To face the Dark Lord so close to the battle was oddly horrifying. Trelawney would have had a fit.

He combed a hand through his hair nervously and pressed himself closer to the barrier. There was no saying that the Dark Lord had heard him or would even come this way. The barrier could have just as easily been a trap on the darkness as it was on Draco. Perhaps he could wait out this storm.

Tugging his charmed pocket watch free, Draco ran his thumb across the cool white gold. The back had a raised dragon with emerald eyes and onyx talons. He traced them carefully, paying special attention to the L.M inscribed at the bottom before flicking it open.

His heart sank.

Three minutes.

“Draco.”

Fuck. He froze where he was, sliding his eyes closed slowly in defeat. Should have stayed in the goddamn tunnel.

“ Draco.”

The Dark Lord was coming from the darkness. From behind Draco. Opening his eyes he looked back down at the watch while something like sorrow flickered across his features.

“Such a…foolish error, isn’t it? To expect me in the light.” The Dark Lord laughed. “I do not belong in the Light, Draco ,” the Dark Lord purred.

The rotting stench of the bastard as heavy and musty as a crypt preceded him, rolling from the shadows at Draco’s back. Whatever hope he had of making it to the study unharmed fizzled and fell flat. He blinked down at the crystal watch face. The shadow around the bend was an illusion then. A well-crafted one, but an illusion all the same. He’d been had.

“Are all Malfoys so… hopeful? ” He spat the word out and Draco restrained a flinch. “Just pretty pets, mm?”

Disgust burrowed under his skin and crawled down the nape of Draco’s neck.

The shame of failure burned in his throat like a blossoming cold. How had he erred so greatly? I thought I could do it. I was so sure. He swallowed against the knives in his throat.

“I believed you may come here.”

Draco couldn’t contain his annoyance. “Ah, of course. A random corridor in the middle of the manor. What an obvious choice.”

“You would do well to watch your tone.”

“Would I?” Draco scoffed. “I doubt it would make much of a difference.”

“Pets should not tempt their masters.”

That sibilant voice had faded and given way to the voice of Tom Riddle of old. The one that had starred in his father’s memories. It was dangerous, dripping with malicious intent and deranged excitement but undeniably suave and coated with thick layers of gooey honey. Draco would have ignored it before but now, with the memories from Lucius fresh and swirling in his mind, he knew this was far worse. The wizard several paces behind him was hungry for something and Draco did not want to be the one to provide it.  

Draco repressed another shudder and wordlessly warded all the objects in his pockets. He felt a tugging urge to apologize but kept his tongue in check. The Dark Lord would never get an apology from a Malfoy’s mouth.

To his dismay, the Dark Lord let out a loud crackle of laughter. “As proud as Lucius. How very… stimulating. ” Draco wanted to pivot and vomit across the Dark Lord’s shoes. “But it seems I was correct to expect you here after all. Not a… random …corridor at all. Have you looked around?”

Casually, he glanced down to the open watch in his hand. Two minutes left. And a note that would remain unread if he died.

Draco reluctantly did as he was told as though he was unaware that he had run through the past battle sight. As if the frigid winter air and snow were not blowing into this corridor as well. Craning his neck up and to his right, he watched the snow blow in dizzying directions. Flashing left before dodging right. Turning tail and retreating the way it came. How disorganised. Like him. Draco’s mouth parted with a heavy breath.

“You were watching me.”

“Ah, not as slow I see as dear Father.” A grating sound something like a laugh came from Riddle. “Yes, I’ve watched you since I entered this castle.” Another mocking laugh rumbled through the corridor.

“I would ask if you had seen Lucius but I think…” Draco swallowed as Riddle’s heels clicked four times against the floor. “...perhaps you have.”

In the reflection of the grimy mirror at the end of the hall, Draco could just see the shadow of the Dark Lord behind him, his mouth slanted dangerously into a grin.

“What errand I suppose would young Draco Malfoy be tasked that dear Severus or…Potter could not accomplish? Yes, what task indeed.”

Draco swallowed thickly around the fresh memory of his father’s blazing smile. Proud and full of unbridled love. An unexpected surprise on a poorly planned reconnaissance mission.

“Tell me, Draco , did you kill him?” He laughed lightly. “Did he scream? Beg you to stop? I suppose he would. Always did care for little Draco . Oh yes, tell me you killed him before he even raised that pathetic wand.”

It took every ounce of strength for Draco to continue facing forward and not turn to swing at the man behind him. He was blatantly taunting Draco with false information, the sort of words that would have sent tables flipping in years past because of his own insecurity. But he knew now how much Lucius loved him. It was clear.

The Dark Lord became quiet before saying, “I see.” Malice dripped from his words. “So the coward scrapped enough courage together and told you the truth, did he? How pitiful you believed him. How predictable .” The words were hissed out too close to his ear and Draco nearly startled. He grit his teeth in an attempt to appear calm and not terrified as the rank stench of the Dark Lord drew closer. “I had such high hopes for him. But you…” The words slithered closer, wrapping around Draco’s neck like a cold serpent and flicking its tongue in his ear. “You are redeemable.”

He clacked the watch shut with a terse laugh and slipped it into his pocket. His thumb brushed across the parchment the snake had spat out in his pocket. He had to survive. If he didn’t, the contents of that note would remain a secret. And secrets were a dangerous drug to a Slytherin. 

“Ah, and what was it father gave you? A watch?” The Dark Lord chuckled. “How utterly sentimental. How… useless. ”

“Like a bloody cup for a Horcrux was better?” Draco muttered under his breath.

A skeletal hand dropped to Draco’s shoulder. “Excuse me?” The Dark Lord hissed.

Draco glared at a shining spot of marble ahead of him. He wasn’t going to make it out in under a minute with the Dark Lord’s hand on his shoulder.

“I said that a bloody cup for a Horcrux wasn’t any better.”

The fingers dug into his flesh, rooting him to the spot. Draco forced his breath into an even, undisturbed rhythm but he could feel the teeth of those nails bite into his skin. 

“Is my pet tempting me?” The Dark Lord was much closer now, his voice coming directly behind Draco’s ear. 

“I’m not. your. pet.” He bit out the words, well aware that now he was approaching the one-minute mark. 

The Dark Lord’s nails pierced his skin with a sickening pop as though he were a balloon. Hot blood poured from the wound and saturated his shirt. Flicking only his eyes over to his right shoulder, he struggled to keep his breath even at the sight of red seeping around the fingers now lodged in his muscle.

“Not yet.” The Dark Lord leaned closer, his breath brushing across Draco’s ear. “Shall we see if you bow quicker than Father?”

Draco paled. Merlin, I’m really not going to make it out of here. Accidentally letting out a pained grunt as the fingers dug deeper, hot shame rose up in Draco as the Dark Lord laughed in his ear. His shoulder throbbed from the wound and he could feel the warm burst of blood seep into his shirt and grow cold from where the pointed nails pierced his skin.

“Lucius made a very poor pet,” he said, his voice lilting in humour. “I believe you will be more… obedient. ”

A brittle laugh cracked on Draco's lips. It crumbled into another agonized moan, partly swallowed by pride. “You can’t…control me. I won’t give you-” something in Draco’s shoulder crunched and white pain exploded behind his eyes. “I’m not your pet…Riddle.”

There was no other way,

“And Lucius, he never was either. He played you.” His flesh split as the fingers deepened their hold. Draco winced but his words stayed crisp. “Seems like you weren’t in control of him at all.”

“Mind your tongue or I’ll have this arm.”

“Will you? Or have Malfoys always been out of reach?”

Draco spun from the Dark Lord’s grip, tearing long lines through his muscle and shirt as he drew his wand before the Dark Lord could even register the attack. The motion doused his vision in red but he would not relent. 

“Crucio!”

A wide expression of shock exploded across the Dark Lord’s face as he crashed to his knees. Blood splattered in an arc from Draco’s shoulder in a delay as he spun, painting Riddle’s face, smooth and handsome with false youth, with splashes of crimson. His eyes flashed an ugly colour that Harry had once worn. The flicker of the pallid skin beneath the illusion of youth threatened untold violence.

Draco gripped his torn-apart shoulder as he braced his elbow against his side, forcing more intention into the spell. Riddle's facade fell apart completely. In its wake hunched a gangly wizard, as pale as death itself with long black lines bulging across his bald skull. His arms wound across his middle as something slick and dark fell from his lips. Draco kept his focus trained on the spell as though he were back in Hogwarts learning how to levitate a feather.

Sweat beaded across his brow quickly, running in streams down his temple and the back of his neck as the Dark Lord screamed. It wouldn’t work. Unforgivables never did against the Dark Lord but he’d managed this. He had struck down the immortal bastard.

“Im…posssssible!” The Dark Lord hissed, spittle and blood bursting from his lips.

Draco grunted as hot blood pulsed through his hand. He needed to escape. Buy himself enough time to wrap the invisibility cloak around his wound, grab what he needed, and disapparate but already the red stream of magic was wavering. His wand trembled. The tip began pulling violently to the left with the threat of flying from his hand.

He cursed his luck. If only he had more time he could have studied the spell his father had given him and ended this once and for all here, in the halls of Malfoy Manor where it had started. Riddle howled again, this time his hands dropping to the floor as he began absorbing the magic from the spell. His eyes glowed crimson as he looked up to Draco, a feral grin splitting open his cheeks.

“Dammit,” Draco hissed. “ Dammit. ”

“Sssilly child.” The red eyes flicked back up. “Draco. Malfoy. ”

Grey eyes widened as Draco’s wand arm shot back from the concussive force of the unforgivable retaliating against him. Red light carved a long line of smoldering black across the ceiling and off behind him as he fought to keep a grip on the wand. His feet desperately staggered back in an attempt to catch himself but it was hopeless. 

Draco fumbled, barely managing to slip the wand up his sleeve as a disarming curse fizzled against his hand as he slipped on the slick of his own blood. The smile fell from the Dark Lord’s grey lips. A dull, unamused expression took its place. Draco had seen it before whenever Riddle had decided he was through playing with his prey. The world tipped backward as he began to fall, helpless against the drawn wand of Riddle whose teeth were stained red from the attack.

“Depulso!” The Dark Lord shouted from his spot on the ground.

Draco was airborne.

With one swift punch of a basic spell, he was folded nearly in half and jerked from the safety of the floor.

A breathless “no” fell from his lips as he soared through the air, limbs and blood reaching out long in front of him. The mirror on his wrist caught the light and winked up at him as he stretched his hands out. His own necklace lifted up off his chest. Stripes of white hair fluttered in front of his vision. His fingers spread wide and the pale floor shone through the gaps. The polished glint of his dress shoes seemed misplaced so far above the marble and Draco felt tears rush to his eyes as the world slowed around him. He was terrified of heights.

Framed between the empty space of his hands, Riddle smiled again.

Ugly and crooked, the smile broke into an open laugh as his eyes twinkled with glee. The sound was hoarse. Unused. It dragged its fingernails down his memories, catching on the ones Lucius had given him.

Draco’s face widened in terror. Chaos crackled inside his chest as though he was back on those weekend expeditions with Harry where he kept him pieced together and sane as long as possible. The absurdity of the situation, the impossibility of the task, and the ever-decreasing odds in his favour rushed him suddenly as he floated through the air. Thoughts competed for a place in the forefront of his mind but they jammed somewhere near the back, caught in the bottleneck of adrenaline zeroing his attention to one crystalline realization.

I lost.

His mouth closed into a thin line of disapproval. He had failed.

The edges of the Dark Lord began to fuzz and blur as Draco flew down the length of the corridor. Snow blew across his vision as he crossed a section of downed stone but not enough to obscure the twisting fingers of the Dark Lord. He was going to disapparate.

At once, the grating sound of laughter cut.

Riddle’s red eyes remained as his body twisted in on itself and blurred. A moving heap of black against the ghostly marble.

“Sssoon, Draco. I will see you sssoon.”

Draco slammed into the mirror at the end of the corridor with a deafening crack as Riddle disappeared from the corridor. The lights flared as his body hit casting a brilliant white light across every surface and spilling onto the snowy roof before extinguishing completely. Draco’s folded form lengthened upon impact before curving like a bow as he rose from the mirror back into the air, trailing glittering shards of glass behind him. His mouth dropped open and released an agonized scream that crackled in his own ears as he ascended momentarily from the force of the crash.

Briefly, as he bounced off the mirror, Draco considered that he was going to die again. 

Glass stuck from his black suit coat. Each point, an acute finger of jabbing pain. 

Yes, this was the cusp between life and death.

The glitter of minuscule pieces of mirror flaked in his hair, dropping like dust to him as he catapulted forward. Sharp snow, it scratched against his skin.

Draco could feel his existence narrowed to every point of pain. His shoulder. His back. The roaring red agony gripping his skull and shoving thumbs into his eyes. This was the end.

I lost.

The metal frame did not relent when Draco slammed into it. Black lines and swelling lumps already marred his skin below the shredded back of his dark suit. 

I…lost.

Both wands were too far away for Draco to reach before he hit the ground. With an injury as grievous as the one in his shoulder, he was oozing magic into the air. The drain of a slowing spell would kill him. Draco’s closed eyes clenched.

I failed.

The pressing agony of failing his father’s dying wish to clear the Malfoy name, keep himself safe, and kill Tom clenched around his heart. Draco’s pale eyes pulled open as he careened toward the ground. The scene of the floor spattered with blood and glass watered around the edges.

Father I…I failed you. The pain ricocheted in his chest, pinging off his ribs like a stray bullet and leaving a footpath of sorrow in its wake. I…failed you, Father. Lucius’s rings wrapped snugly around his fingers. Draco’s blurry vision jerked over to the sacred jewels. A strangled noise of defeat escaped him as he focused his delayed and blurred vision over to the rings. The humming failure shifted to a dull roar in his ears.

He closed his eyes in a wince, coughing up something warm and wet as he continued his arcing trajectory upward. Wrenching his eyes open again, Draco looked back to the rings.

How useless he was.

Arriving at the Manor and immediately falling into a trap he should have seen. A warning that the Dark Lord was watching. The garnet caught the dim light of the snowstorm and glinted. So eerily similar to the blood he had stepped in hours ago it could have been harvested from the floor and transfigured into a jewel. A rolling sorrow hit him again. 

“Use…less,” he growled, curling his hand into a fist.

At the top of his arc, Draco’s anger faded to shallow disappointment. The slowness of the world had begun to disintegrate and from this high up, with the glass catching twinkles of light around him, Draco was faced with the ugly truth of a certain end. 

His magic was tapped out. He was staining both the marble below and his suit and losing entirely too much blood. Half his suit was torn apart. From this height, he would hit the ground with a crack and bleed across the tiles until Harry found him cold and unresponsive without ever being able to fight back. As his eyes wandered up to the tattered ceiling, he wondered why his father had wasted energy trying to save him.

A dull dome of light welled up from below his gaze, snapping his head and attention back to his hand covered in Malfoy heirlooms. They were glowing.

As though fed by a deep current of magic, each jewel had taken on a flash of brilliance and shone up through the gently falling snow and glass. They glittered in Draco’s eyes. The red garnet stood bright as the sun against his pupil as it shrunk from the sudden presence of light. Cradled by the black of the corridor below and kissed by the pink of the snowy sky, the jewels grew with each beat of the drum in his chest until he was squinting down at the strange phenomenon. There was something undeniably threatening about the way they squeezed and relaxed in time with his quickened heartbeat.

“Magic,” he whispered while staring down at the rings, captivated in a way he had not been since he was a child.

He was unabashed in his awe of the buzzing magic vibrating his bones. The ghost of a smile touched the corners of his lips. The furrow in his brow relaxed. Distantly, he was thankful he could witness the frail beauty of magic before… before. He wet his lips 

Small stars on his slender fingers, the jewels winked up in his direction. They were angrily buzzing now, sending jolts up his good arm and shocking his brain out of its fog. Across the black obsidian stone on his middle finger, Draco saw one furious blue eye look up at him before vanishing.

Draco’s lips parted with an unbelieving huff. That was why it was familiar.

It was his father’s magic.

“Arresto,” he murmured as he drew the stream of magic from the rings. “Momentum.”

The magic burst from the rings in a cloud of lightning. Jets of different colours webbed beneath him in a show of wizardry the likes of which he had never seen. Whatever spell of surprise that held him subsided suddenly and Draco found himself careening toward the floor at horrendous speeds even with the spell beginning to slow him. He cursed to himself for not recognizing the latent magic sooner and giving the spell time to do its job. Turning his head, Draco clenched his body and waited for the impact. 

He hit the ground with a crack that shot through the Manor. The bones of the home shuddered. A chunk of stone crumbled beside him, joining him on the scratched marble. All around glass tinked to the floor as the room gradually returned to stillness. 

It hurt .

But he was not dead.

Scanning the floor around him, he thunked his head down to the ground with a low moan. He could not even identify every point of pain. It was a blanket. Smothering and all-encompassing, it draped across him and turned his smooth breaths into raspy gasping.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, weakly banishing the glass particles from his lips and face. He spat on the ground. More mirror particles. “Fuck.” Letting out a rattling cough, he quickly used the small surplus of magic to clean his mouth and lungs of the wretched glass dust.

Catching his breath, Draco dragged his arms under him as he began attempting movement. The tinkling of scattered bits of mirror scratched and screeched against the floor as he tried to move. Settling back slowly with a groan, Draco turned his head to the right. His shoulder had already left a growing puddle on the ground. Rolling his lips together, Draco steeled his nerves. He did not have the stomach for injury, especially his own, despite having more field experience than most medi-witches. He did not want to see it.

Damn, Potter. I wish you were here. He closed his eyes to compose his tightening stomach. Patch me up. Pat me on the back. And put me back in action. Like a good Gryffindor. Some voice sounding suspiciously like Potter shot back that he was a lousy Slytherin if he let this take him out.

Whether because of the Potter-like voice in his head or his own need to know, Draco opened his eyes and looked at his wound.

It was bad.

Worse than the dragon bone shard that he had limped around with for weeks. 

The grotesquely deformed, shredded muscle of his shoulder left no room for argument. There was no moving from this spot if he could not manage to heal it. A cluster of curses gathered at the front of his mouth but Draco only stared, jaw open in shock, with his breath held at the pulsing wound. 

How would he even start to heal it?

Before he had the time to consider it, a zap jolted him off his stomach and scrambling to his haunches with a loud “ fuck ” as he went. 

The rings were protesting. 

Ratcheting tighter on his fingers, they threatened to bite through flesh and bone. He weakly tugged at them. Useless. A just like me floated through the periphery of his thoughts. Draco scowled. A shaky laugh lifted into the whirling snow coating his shoulders as he brushed his ringed hand over his face. Sniffling as he fought against tired tears, he bowed his head and glared at the floor.

“ Now , I’ll die. I’m a fool. A fucking f-”

The words died on his lips.

Two black boots with silver serpents on coiled on the side strode into his vision. Draco’s erratic breathing lost its footing entirely as he stared into his wild grey eyes reflected in the spit-shined leather.

“No,” he breathed.

Tears fell to the boots as Draco bit his lower lip to stop the tremor. This could not be happening. It was impossible.

“Yes, Draco.”

He let out a choked sound as he struggled to question the man in front of him. No words escaped. Instead, his hands shook so violently, he had to cross his arms to still them. And then the tremor shook his shoulders.

“Look at me. There is very little time.”

Draco lifted his head knowing who was waiting up there. 

Standing tall before him was Lucius Malfoy. Frowning with a soft smile. Worried.

“Father,” Draco scraped out. It was high-pitched and whiny, asking for something this apparition could not give him. His expression soured further. This was his end and Lucius was here to take him to his afterlife.

The cool blue eyes trailed over to his shoulder. “My son. What has he done to you?”

“I-”

Lucius was down on his knees in an instant, examining the mutilated flesh intently. 

Draco had never seen his father put himself in such a position except under duress. The sight of his father willingly crashing to his son’s side bombarded him with hot emotions. Another memory to put on his mantle. It rendered him speechless.

"You kept the necklace."

Draco nodded before wavering unsteadily. "Important," he said, breathless and dizzy.

Crying out, Draco banged his head against Lucius's chest as his father tore off the sleeve of his suit and shirt. The pain bit into his shoulder until Draco was sure he was going to die from it. Eventually, it dimmed. Lucius was quiet for a moment longer before saying. "If I could kill him, I would."

“It’s not…good,” Draco mumbled.

“Not good? There is hardly any shoulder left to save.” Draco looked over to his father who was hovering over the bloody mess of a shoulder. His tone was harsh and unforgiving but the water gathering in his eyes spoke of something else. “I never wanted this for you,” his voice was hushed. “I did not want you to hurt.”

“I know.” Draco looked down at his hands. The rings had stopped squeezing and the last of their glow had faded. “The rings?”

Lucius offered a soft nod but did not turn his eyes away from the wound. “I placed some of my magical core in them when I gave them to you. I had hoped…Well. That is hardly-”

“To protect me.” 

Lucius stiffened. “I do not wish to ever see you…hurting…again. I will not allow you to die again, Draco. This magic will regenerate. Slowly, but enough over time. In time, if you are on the verge of death,” at this point Lucius openly glared at Draco “ again , I will…return.”

“Father that’s-”

“Risky magic.” He huffed. “It is my spell after all. It seems my brand of magic is…precarious.”

“Precarious? Precarious? It’s preposterous.” Spots of black danced in his vision and the pain was opening its mouth to roar again. “You’ll never rest! It’s…it’s like the mirror except-”

Lucius’s long arms wrapped around Draco and tugged him close. “Shh, Draco.” 

Magic licked over his skin just as the pain reached a crescendo. Lucius cut off the million points of pain exploding in Draco’s body with a simple caress. His hand settled lightly on Draco’s hair with a familiar pressure that reminded him distinctly of the Decembers long gone. It didn’t have to be this way. He didn’t have to lose him. Severus had broken every rule in the wizarding world to resurrect Harry and himself, was it so wrong to wish for the same blindness everyone had given Snape? The hand on his head continued combing through his fine hair.

No. It wouldn’t be possible. 

Lucius would never allow Draco to sacrifice his humanity in that way nor would he allow him to become crippled by mourning and bent on changing the way of things. It was the stuff of Dark wizards. Lucius would be more likely to resurrect himself to slap sense into Draco before sitting idly by as his son became dark.

He had made his choice. However ruddy of a choice, however brazenly Gryffindor it was, Lucius had decided.

Me over everything else. That pain Lucius could not take away. I’ve been so stupid.  

Heat rushed through his limbs and raced down his back immediately stealing away the agony from his duel. A contented sigh rolled into the dark. He could not even feel his shoulder, let alone its injury. Draco flopped his head to his father’s shoulder as warmth poured out of the apparition in front of him.

“You won’t rest,” he said more quietly.

“I will be at ease.” He paused and ran a hand down Draco’s back. Embedded pieces of glass clattered to the ground. A wave of heat rushed down his spine. “That is enough.”

Draco curled in on himself within the embrace. The minuscule portion of his father’s magic would reside in the Malfoy rings without consciousness, without life , only to protect his son.

Lucius said, “It was my choice.”

The words hung heavily in the air. Draco wanted to be upset but his body would not cooperate with even that task. He was cold and dizzy, fighting against a terrible nausea. Still, he was calm in Lucius’s arms. Settled. Safe. He relinquished a bit more of his strength as he leaned against his father. Heat pulsed through him again as his eyelids drooped.

His choice. 

Draco’s lips soured. His hands curled into weak fists in his lap but he couldn’t keep them clenched long. Already, weakness had infiltrated his muscles. His head twitched against Lucius’s shoulder as exhaustion pulled his eyes closed. Large tremors shook his body in asynchronous jerks as Lucius pulled him closer until he was half propped up on his father’s thighs.

He never had a choice.

A wave of dizziness spun the room on its head. Draco groaned. The freezing air ghosted over his neck but Draco couldn’t fathom why his hands, tucked in the warm embrace of him and his father, were so cold. Numb. It was nice, though, to be taken care of. Protected. Draco cuddled closer to his father, momentarily forgetting he wasn't a child and that his father was dead.

Above him, his father cursed.

Draco’s eyes were open. Hardly seeing, they gazed through the sheet of platinum at a spot of gathering snow several feet off in the distance. Red stained its side. This was unexpected. All of it. Speaking to Lucius, fighting the Dark Lord - Riddle - Draco mentally corrected, and losing. All unexpected.

He did not expect his world to upend when he came for information.

The pain crept in again as Lucius swore and lifted his hand away from Draco’s head. He lost track of where the hand went.

The edges of his vision had begun to sparkle with the haze of blood loss. His heart was fluttering in his chest and his breath was coming in short puffs which disturbed the long mane of hair in front of his face. As the world spun, he vaguely sensed his father’s hand clamping over his wound. Ah, so it had gone to his shoulder.

Drifting away from the sensation there, he focused on the small clump of white and red ahead of him.

It was funny how the blood in the snow looked. It was bright, immediately demanding attention like his pain. The pain swarmed him suddenly with a violent tremor that he could not stop. His teeth clacked together while he slumped against Lucius. In the snow, Draco could make out a vaguely bird-shaped splatter of blood. It would have been a large bird, he decided, if it could lift from the snow and fly. He could transfigure it into a real one. Blood to bird, that sounded right. There was certainly enough blood to use. He wondered if Harry had ever seen so much blood. The whole hallways was splattered in it. Harry had probably seen something close given his-

“Draco!” Lucius snapped.

He jolted. His eyes had been closed and even the pale light emanating from Lucius was enough to hurt them. Something warm dripped down his arm.

“Do. Not. Sleep.”

He muttered an apology into his father’s robes and settled back down, this time focusing his attention on his new objective staying awake.

Lucius had a hand clamped over the worst injury, his shoulder. His broad palm covering the entirety of the wound. Below, the gouged lines tingled in a mix of powerful healing magic and compassion. Draco could feel the five points where Lucius's fingers and thumb were digging into his skin. It felt as though if Lucius removed his hand, Draco would shatter into a pile of bones and blood. Draco was suddenly very certain that if Lucius did move away, he would evaporate into nothingness.

“I have you,” Lucius murmured.

Stars, boiling hot and nearly unbearable, exploded in his joint while trails of fire blazed down the ruts dug by the fingernails of Riddle. Lucius quietly soothed him as he cried out. He was forcing magic into Draco to prevent the cracks in his core from growing. He shoved spell after spell into Draco’s wound, coercing it to heal. And Draco thanked him with whispered moments in his life his father had missed between bouts of screaming and trembling so hard he couldn’t think straight.

Gradually, the pain subsided. The film of blood loss lifted. The strange brightness of the room vanished, leaving him blinking owlishly around in the dim light while his eyes adjusted. Draco breathed in deeply and exhaled harshly, ruffling Lucius’s hair. A litany of expletives fell from Draco’s mouth.

Next to his ear, Lucius chuckled quietly. 

“Better?”

Draco grunted a positive response.

“I have a spell for you that may be useful. Soulager Pieds. It will lighten the burden on your feet and carry you more quickly.”

“So I don’t die.” He snorted. “As I am wont to do.”

“Yes,” Lucius said around a smirk.

Fog still clung to the edges of his mind and he wasn’t exactly connected to his body yet but as he licked a spot of iron from his lower lip, he thought he had never tasted anything as sweet. He was alive.

And his father was not.

As though outside of himself, Draco heard his brittle voice crack as it asked, “It…it can’t…be reversed?”

Lucius squeezed tightly and leaned over him until the curtain of white hair blinded Draco to anything else.

“My son,” Lucius chided softly. “I could not have survived without a portion of my core regardless.” After a pause he said, “It’s over.”

Draco nodded dumbly. 

Of course it was. He was foolish to think it was anything else. Bothering with hope as a Malfoy was a ruthless endeavor and he was a fool to think that he could resurrect his father through whatever magic was in the rings. It was over.

Draco blinked slowly. While he still could, he absorbed the warmth from his father as he continued to mend his battered body. 

It did not take a great deal of time before Draco felt the uncomfortable tug of his skin knitting itself back together again. 

“I cannot heal it perfectly,” Lucius’s voice was low and soothing in Draco’s ear. “But it will be enough to give you time, Draco.”

“Will it scar?” Draco grit out, pulling away from his father but still remaining knee to knee.

“Yes,” Lucius was smiling. Without teeth, it was soft and endearing. A whisper of pride rolled through his word.

Draco followed his gaze to look at his shoulder. Four long, jagged crimson lines covered his shoulder and stretched their fingers over his collarbone and onto his chest. His eyebrows were up to his hairline as he continued examining the wounds. Here and there was a touch of blue or purple in the scar, definitely magical residue from the strangeness of Lucius healing it from beyond the veil, but there was something different about the skin he couldn’t identify. His brain dragged its feet while he continued trying to process the difference.

Lucius jerked his head away from the wound. His arctic eyes settled on Draco with an uncomfortable weight. Draco looked to him, examining his face as he had with his own wound. It was grave with the smallest hint of a crevice between his brows. 

“I…removed the other scar.”

His heart stuttered in his chest.

Whipping his head back to his shoulder, Draco whimpered in shock. It was gone. The evidence of his father striking him down, no more. Fresh tears brimmed and relief thickened in his throat. There would be no reminder of that day.

“I love you, Draco.”

The words were heavy and Draco understood innately now what that tone meant. Looking back to Lucius who had a gentle expression of compassion on his face, Draco straightened his back and gave him a slight smile.

“I love you too, Father.”

Lucius nodded. Leaning over, he tapped the rings while holding Draco’s eye. He said nothing but his expression faltered. The warning came through to Draco clearly. This would be the last sacrifice his father was capable of for a while.

His final act.

A gentle smile covered Lucius’s face as he nodded again, withdrawing his hand as he dissolved into thousands of small sparks of green lights. Draco watched as they fluttered about and dropped to the floor and fizzled out like the last glow worms of the summer season.

Gone.

Draco closed his eyes and drew in a measured breath.

Severus did not teach you manners for nothing and Father did not drill the Malfoy mask into you for fun. He opened his eyes on an exhale. I cannot crumble now.

Gathering his legs below him, Draco rose.

Glass crunched beneath his shoes and rained from his trousers as he straightened. He cast a last gaze out the window, relishing the sub-freezing temperatures as they brushed across his flushed cheeks. He blinked his eyes shut against the snow. The wind tugged on his pale lashes. 

A second chance. A third chance. A fourth.

Maybe his luck wasn’t so bad.

He stood for a long moment, sucking in deep breaths of prickling air. Alive. Unarguably alive. And with a sense of closure he never thought he could obtain. 

Turning his face away from the cold hands of winter, Draco looked down at his feet and curved his wand in a lazy loop. 

“Soulager Pieds.”

A sense of incredible weightlessness pitched him forward. Draco seized the momentum and took off at a sprint toward the library, leaving the broken corridor for another day.

Darting through corridors, Draco ran. His chest heaved with the intensity of his movement and the balls of his feet protested his choice of footwear despite the effect of his father’s spell keeping him quiet and light on his feet. The rhythmic gasp of his breath was the only sound as he floated through the manor like a ghost hellbent on vengeance.

His hair fluttered in front of his vision every few steps, increasing his paranoia by throwing shadows over his eyes. He ducked into alcoves. Froze in place behind old busts and statues as streams of Death Eaters poured by. He thanked their stupidity. When long stretches of poorly lit marble opened, he sprinted. When the maze of the building wove tightly and doors lined the walls, he clung to the walls and relied on the spell keeping his feet near silent. Twice he was forced to tuck himself behind a door as a Death Eater carelessly threw it open before slipping inside as it closed. Draco vanished into broom closets, hid and held his breath inside potion storage rooms, and became intimately acquainted with the gap between a hutch and the wall. He remained pressed between wood and stone for several minutes, his toes hooked a protruding lip of the wall as some unknown, masked wizards ransacked the side room.

Draco became a shadow of the Manor.

Adapting to every malicious footstep, reacting to every breath that was not his he melted into the stone walls as he moved. Puddled in the dark corners. Backtracked with wide eyes as he caught a glimpse of Antoine Dolohov’s back blocking the corridor leading to the stairway down to the study. The Manor was alive. Crawling with new and old Death Eaters, the air in the Manor was thick with malintent. They were hungry . And he was the feast. 

Survival had never felt like such a high bar.

Crouching in a dark corner, half behind an emerald curtain and half underneath the table, Draco pressed himself into the shadows. Shoes scuffed in and out of the room. Tightening his lips into a thin line, he darted off. His options for getting to the study were decreasing.

As he went, a deep uneasiness gripped him.

The routes were blocked. Death Eaters lingered at the top of staircases and ends of corridors. He was still moving on the finite amount of magic from his father. A fight would not only detour him but deplete him of the necessary amount of magic to disapparate back to the cave. Frowning as he rounded a corner, Draco suspected Riddle knew how much that cruciatus had cost him.

“See you soon. ”

Draco ignored the twisting knot of nerves in his stomach.

Another door warded shut drew a clipped grunt from him. It was ridiculous. He had not been so monitored since his fifth year when he had been insistent on mislabeling the potion ingredients. Snape had breathed down his neck for two months, popping out of dark rooms any time Draco even thought of the potions storeroom. That had rattled his nerves for the next year but this was violently different. His life was at stake and his options were whittling away.

He turned on his heel and jogged back the way he came.

Ridiculous , he thought as he went. The Manor has never been so well-guarded. Not even when the bloody snake was staying here. The anxiety built a home beneath his ribcage, pushing hard on his stomach and squeezing his heart. “See you soon.” What are you playing at?

He cast a wary glance at a cracked door as he passed.

Travelling through villas, manors, and estates while fearing for his life was not exactly knew to Draco. He had spent nearly a decade hunting dark wizards with Harry. It was not unfamiliar territory but this had an air of something inescapable. Futility, his mind supplied. Harry would call him dismal for that.

The freshly scarred skin exposed by the torn-off sleeve itched as he approached the end of the corridor. To the left and right stretched long expanses of doorless hallway. It was three times as long to the study as cutting through the room. Straight ahead, was salvation. He could escape. 

Draco slowed to a walk as he approached the ordinary wooden door, one of hundreds like it at the Manor. Reaching to open it, he hesitated. His hand hovered above the simple handle. The scar throbbed and the rings on his hand tightened marginally. A cold sweat broke out across his temple. The rings began to buzz angrily as he leaned toward the door, his intention clear.

This was the last way through to the study.

If it was warded shut, he would have to go left or right and take his chances with the Death Eaters.

A wave of nausea rolled over him as he gripped the handle. Not even Slytherins are this cowardly. Come on now, open the bloody thing. 

He eased the door open with a soft click. The wood revealed a nearly black room untouched by the light of the hallway. He let out a relieved breath. The stress of the day was wearing on him, he decided as he stepped into the room. Automatically, his hand shot out behind him to keep the door from shutting as a horrid smell washed over him. Rotting flesh mingled with the musty scent clinging to the room. Mentally groaning in disgust, Draco pushed the door open fully, consequences be damned to keep a steady flow of fresh air.

Light still refused to stream in and the scent did not dissipate. Wishing he could turn around and leave, Draco shut the door and continued moving through the dark without a sound. Assuming the room had been as set up with traps as the rest of the manor, he went without the light from his wand and shuffled silently through the room until his thigh bumped against a sofa.

His stomach fell through the space between his shoes. 

Numbly, he dropped his hand to the fabric backing and closed his eyes in regret. It felt the same. Smelled the same. He ran his thumb across the rough material as his body went cold and rigid. His eyebrows knit together as he swore to himself internally. White-knuckling the sofa, Draco opened his eyes and looked off to his left. In the barely-there light creeping in from the cracks in the doors, Draco could see the pale shape of his reflection in a small mirror.

And then, he was certain. 

This was the room that had haunted Lucius. The very same one that had led to his decision to make that horrid bargain with the Dark Lord. That was why he had been so afraid. The buzzing rings began to make sense. Draco had walked directly into the worst place he could go.

Draco turned slowly and waded back through the darkness.

He managed three steps before walking directly into a dagger.

It slipped easily into his abdomen. A trail of white-hot pain carved through him.

Spluttering in shock, he sucked in several ragged breaths as his hands went to the knife before the person could pull it out. Grabbing the cold, clammy wrist of his attacker, a surge of terror shot through him. The hand began to twist and Draco let out an involuntary cry as his attacker hugged him close. The stench increased as stale breath ghosted over the shell of his ear.

“You cry sssso prettily. Jusssst like Luciusss.”

 The body tried to pull away and remove the knife but Draco refused. Clamping down on both the hand and the knife, Draco wedged a foot between the legs of his attacker.

“Riddle,” he growled.

“I am the Dark Lord not-”

“ Riddle works for me,” Draco bit out.

The slimy wrist in Draco’s grasp tried to twist the dagger deeper. His teeth grit together as he swallowed the noises that tried to escape. Riddle squirmed and stepped back but Draco was on him, shouldering him back into the door as adrenaline muted the searing pain in his stomach to a dull scream. He staggered out into the corridor with Riddle below him.

A sardonic smile stretched the sallow-skinned man below.

Riddle flicked his wrist up and snapped the dagger in half.

He disapparated leaving Draco fumbling for his footing. Blood dripped onto the tile from his wound despite the pressure of his hand against it. Flinging himself backward to avoid falling, he caught the door with his heel and slammed it shut.

Tottering forward down the corridor, he dropped against the wall beside an old painting of a hillside blanketed in snow. A streak of crimson from his fingertips slashed across the canvas.

Riddle apparated several feet in front of him, wand drawn.

“You will make a very nice present for Severus.”

Draco looked down at the shard still lodged in his abdomen. The rings on his hand glinted. He had used up the last of his luck. 

“The blade is cursed,” Riddle said as though discussing types of tea.

Hissing, he ran a finger along the blade. Bone. Wetting his lips, he looked up at the Dark Lord. He couldn’t fight. Not in this condition and not without a full well of magic. The room was too dark to navigate. He couldn’t go towards the Dark Lord. Despite recent reports, he was not completely insane. A light laugh tickled his lips.

“Is this amusing to you?” Riddle spat, raising his wand.

It was.

He had killed his father, reoriented his perspective on the world, been mostly killed by Riddle once, healed by some half-apparition of his father, and now was being killed again by Riddle who had failed to do the job right the first time. 

Draco felt the seams of his sanity threaten to bust.

And his shirt was going red again. Tilting his head up to Riddle, he laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Reconnaissance. What a bloody joke! Anything but. Riddle’s face twisted in rage.

“Absurd,” Draco whispered and the gaunt face of his attacker slackened.

“Yes. Absurd to think you could outsmart me. Foolish boy.”

“No,” Draco said, adrenaline tingling in his fingers and toes. “Absurd that you can’t finish me off. You’ve had all bloody day!”

Draco pivoted on the ball of his lightened foot and took off sprinting. Spitting in his face. Father would be proud. 

“Where are you- Stop!”

“Can’t talk now,” Draco said over his shoulder.

“Draco! The blade is cursed. You will….agh!” He screamed in frustration as Draco headed off down the hallway far too quickly given his injuries. “Stop!”

“No, thank you,” Draco called back.

The pale, skeletal man lumbered after him but he was still weak from the earlier cruciatus and continued slipping on his robes.

“Come…back. You will die from the…curse. Do you not care about the-”

A smirk pulled on Draco’s lips. “Must be going. Really, Harry’ll worry,” he called over his shoulder. “Mother hen that one is!”

Riddle screamed and shot off a hex which Draco deftly dodged. Thank you, Father. I have a new favourite spell . 

“Hardly any way to treat your guests!”

His smirk burst into an open smile as Draco looked over his shoulder at Riddle whose pale face had taken on an angry flush as it twisted in rage.

“Well, ta-ta,” he said, wiggling his fingers. Riddle howled behind him as he rushed closer. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Father’s compliments. Impedimenta!” 

The grey figure stopped dead as a burst of pale blue light shot from the tip of the snakehead wand. It smacked square into his chest and lifted him into the high ceiling of the corridor.

“MALFOY!” he bellowed on his descent. “MALFOY, I WILL RUIN YOU.”

On his left wrist his father's pendant glinted and below the freshly stained shirt, the “M” banged against his chest with each step. 

“A Malfoy,” Draco said, exuberant laughter bubbling out of him. “A Malfoy!” 

He had been degraded from “Draco” to a “Malfoy” in Riddle’s eyes and it was sweet on his tongue. No longer salvageable. A Malfoy. Not Draco. Not a plaything he wants to control. Something he wants to kill now.

“Yes, that’s right. A Malfoy.” His arm looped around his head, the scarred skin pulling and itching. The point of his father’s wand locked onto Riddle’s wand hand. “Sectumsempra!”

It fell to the floor with a dull thump. The white wand was still in its grasp.

"Thought you were going to take my arm." He held it up as Riddle screamed in pain.

“A Malfoy, Tom, as strong as Lucius.” Riddle’s mouth flapped like a fish as he looked over to his missing hand. Slashing his wand aggressively diagonally, Draco screamed, “Draco Lucius Malfoy! I am a Malfoy! ” A streak of purple fire as tall as the ceiling raced down the marble, marring nothing beside its target who was engulfed completely.

The Dark Lord hung in the air a moment as a ball of writhing purple flames, screeching in pain as the fires cut deep lines into his skin before the cursed flames extinguished and allowed him to continue his fall.

Malfoy. The name that haunted the snake-faced bastard. Draco vowed silently to continue his father’s subtle reign of terror over the noseless monster. The Malfoy name would haunt Riddle as it had for the last nearly three decades as a colossal uncontrollable. A vermin that crawled around under Riddle’s skin. A pest he couldn’t get rid of. An illness of determination and superior cunning. A bloodline Riddle could never out-manipulate. 

Draco skidded to a stop and spun on his heel. Riddle still faced him but was well-along in his drop to the hard marble, singed, bleeding badly, and covered in peeling burns. Draco’s stomach twisted but he maintained his composure as he arched a brow, sheathed his wand, and leaned on Lucius’s cane, impassively waiting for him to fall. The adrenaline was beginning to wear and pain crept in, hot and demanding. Draco braced his arm against his side and the cane both, feigning annoyance. Riddle’s eyes went red at the image but he had no strength to stop himself. He hit the marble with a deafening crack.

A wave of breaking magic hit Draco with a wall of wind. It ached in his center. His legs wanted nothing more than to collapse. He held himself firm as within him the danger of the blade broken off in his abdomen began to throb. I am not finished yet. The rings tingled on his hand. You cannot scold me. Risky magic, Father? It should sound familiar. A jolt of electricity shocked his hand. You should know better than to encourage me. I won’t stay long.

Borrowed magic from Lucius crackled down his spine. Within cold grey eyes flared a vile contempt for the monster down the corridor. It flashed suddenly in small white arcs across his irises. The Malfoy mask descended upon his features, despite the agonizing wound in his center. Draco raised his chin a notch and gazed down his long features to the body writhing on the floor.

Raising his wand, he conjured the memory of those Christmas lights all those years back. The warmth of Lucius healing him. The tears that had fallen to the carpet in the study. The unrelenting love of the old Malfoy head.

The determination of the new one.

A blazing dragon Patronus blossomed to life in front of him without a single word, reflected in the grey seas of his eyes. One large eye surrounded by ghostly scales turned to him.

“Next time,” Draco said, the words clipped and sure-footed, “I’ll kill you.” His eyebrows twitched as he remembered his namesake. 

I have the courage of a dragon, Father. Riddle began to struggle to his knees. He flopped back to his stomach with a quieter crash. If you can’t kill a dragon, Riddle, then you can’t kill me.

The dragon raced toward Riddle with a roar, carrying Draco’s message on its silver tongue. The pale face of the Dark Lord craned up, splitting open in terror as he covered his face and screamed. Relentless, the dragon hovered overhead, releasing Draco’s words on a loop.

You can’t kill a Malfoy, Riddle.

Chapter Text

A rough shout broke Harry’s concentration on the far wall of the kitchen. He had been staring at Draco’s mug on the shelf for the better part of the meal, holding his spoon full of now-cold soup up to his mouth as though he were going to eat it. The twins were up to something. Small fireworks exploded at their end of the table. Nothing absurd or out of the ordinary, just loud. Severus seemed mostly unfazed though how he had gotten accustomed to their chaos was beyond Harry. Sighing, he focused his attention back on the black mug. 

Where are you, Dragon?

Harry lowered his spoon back into its orange pool of squash and vegetable soup. Stirring it around dismally, he grabbed another spoonful but as he went to raise it, his eyes locked onto that mug again.

Something was wrong and no one was listening.

It was Hogwarts all over again. Except this time, the one person who had listened to him was sitting three feet across from him glaring as though he was crazy for suggesting Draco could be missing. He was on his own this time, he thought glumly. 

Severus had been a right git all day. Their last confrontation had Harry storming for the border to disapparate to every known Death Eater location in search of his best friend but the twins, with Percy supervising, dragged him back in cat-calling bows where he fought until his voice was hoarse with Severus. Wasting time, he chided himself. 

His spoon dropped with a clatter into his ceramic bowl as he exchanged a sharp look with Severus. 

Nothing he can do, my arse. Never needed proof before to go run off and save someone. Bloody barged into Malfoy Manor without even thinking about the consequences just to save me. How many wizards died then, Severus?  Too many. And you won’t even search the perimeter for Draco. 

Snape narrowed his eyes as though listening and returned to his nearly finished lunch. A hard crust of bread remained mostly untouched on the table. He never ate his bread when he was stressed. It was, however, the only concrete sign Harry had that Severus was even concerned with Draco's absence which had now stretched to nearly four hours.

The lightning bolt scar twinged. Absent-mindedly, Harry rubbed at it like he had in school. 

Draco was in desperate need of saving as far as he was concerned. Draco’s luck was rubbish, much worse than Harry’s and he had seen firsthand how often that Malfoy bad luck reared its ugly head. Caught in a monsoon without a shirt. Missing a train that arrived five minutes early. Snapping his ankle in the mud. Being forced on the run. Beaten by Lucius. Losing his mother while his bastard of a father lived. Harry scoffed to himself. Draco’s luck was abysmal. He was probably caught up somewhere in Knockturn alley trying to score a deal on rare potion ingredients. Or off playing the hero as he tried to gather intel. 

He rubbed at his scar more strongly as it panged again. 

Harry despised the possibility that Draco had left to take the job no one was yet mentioning. Reconnaissance. He hadn't been the same since the battle, neither had Severus been, both entirely too willing to land on the sword but Draco was almost scared. It clung to him like the stale air of disease. Draco was deeply disturbed by something and it concerned Harry. A deeply concerned Draco was a dangerous Draco. Never more Malfoy than when he was pushed into a corner, Draco could be like a man possessed when he wanted to be. Harry worried it had bled into reconnaissance. The drive to help Harry, Severus, or anyone in the cave could very likely drive him to stupidity.

The blonde idiot was probably already waist-deep in hexes and vomiting slugs.

Harry leaned on his fist. On the shelf, the mug twinkled mockingly. He wanted to give that mug to Draco for Christmas but that would be impossible if he was dead which wasn’t as impossible as he had once thought. Both of them had died. Severus was living in denial if he hadn’t thought it would happen again. Harry supposed he was too. It wasn't an immortality pass. It was a decision. An illegal one.

His expression soured as he picked at a loose piece of wood on the table.

They could die again. Any of them could. It was war. Severus had said as much earlier that year when the news clipping of Albus’s release circulated. That was a moment he’d rather not relieve. So much had transpired since then both within himself and the larger scope of the war. Battles were won and lost. Heavy casuality lists rolled in. Ron was dead. Harry shook his head slightly. How can he just ignore that Draco isn’t here and should be? It was poor leadership. A blatant mistake. But pressing the issue was an equally grave problem. If he pushed it, Severus would purposefully turn his attention elsewhere. It was so frighteningly out of character, Harry had thought to check for polyjuice.

What's going on with him? He's never acted like this, not even at Hogwarts when Dumbledore was breathing down his neck,  he thought as he tore the splinter free. Maybe I should talk to Arthur or Minerva. He rolled the abrasive wood between his fingers. He’s not listening to me.

His scar pulsed again, this time bad enough to draw a wince from him. 

“...matter, Harry?” Snape asked. His voice was clipped and the spoon looked ready to bend in his hand.

“Hm?” Harry wasn’t paying a lick of attention to the conversation and hadn’t even known it had shifted to him.

Snape had gone paler than usual and a blotchy flush crawled up his neck and ran across his cheeks. From where Harry sat, he had a limited view of the scar but could tell it had gone scarlet. A sure sign he was swallowing emotions. Rage. Harry nervously chewed his lower lip. What had he missed?

“I asked if something was the matter.”

Everyone had gone still. Harry glanced around the table. All eyes were on him as though he were a zoo animal walking backward on both legs.

“Oh,” Harry said, looking at his mostly untouched bowl of soup. “Just…” If he brought up Draco at the table, Severus would snap the spoon. It stood no chance against his wrath. Harry recalled a poor ladle in his third year that had been stomped and shattered beneath one of Snape’s boots in a rare display of his temper. He put his spoon down. Like that was going to stop him. Severus would come around.

Meeting Snape’s hard eyes, he said, “Thinking about Draco is all. He hasn’t come back from his walk and, well, you know what I think about that.” 

Harry straightened his back as he had seen Draco do and fixed Severus with a similarly frosty expression. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but he’s been distant since the battle. This isn’t an obsession. I’m his best friend and I know when he’s plotting something. But you don’t exactly think there’s anything to be concerned about despite the fact he’s been gone for oh,” he looked to his muggle watch “three and a half hours. On a walk. Around the cave.”

Harry sat back and crossed his arms. “Or are you telling me you haven’t noticed him dragging the time out every day?”

“Enough!”

Snape slammed his hand on the table making everyone and their cutlery jump except Harry. Even his spoon sunk deeper into its bath.

“I have heard enough from-”

“I know you have,” Harry cut in. “You shouldn’t have asked.”

“He. is. Fine,” Severus snarled, seemingly forgetting others were at the table. “Your…obsession…with him is becoming rather grating. Let it go. It’s unbecoming to drool after-”

“ Gods, is that what you think? Come off it. Been brewing with the door closed? Fumes get to you?” Severus flushed while his features became tight. “Draco hasn’t come back. Twice I’ve caught him just staring at me with this…this look on his face like he’s been told he has a week left to live! If that doesn’t strike you as troublesome from him then you’ve gone ‘round the bend.”

Severus bared his teeth in an ugly sneer as he leaned back in his chair. Looking down his nose at Harry he said, “Gone round the bend, have I?”

Harry sighed with a wince as his scar flared. “Don’t pretend to misconstrue what I’m saying.” The scar was really starting to hurt, Harry thought as he rolled his hands into fists on his lap. If it got much worse, he would be in the territory of collapsing on the floor. “Look, Draco’s in trouble. He’s had a bug up his arse since, well honestly since I met him, but the Battle changed him. I’m telling you, I heard him in my-”

Severus snorted. “And I am the one you’re saying has gone-”

“It's not the craziest thing! Magic responds to will above all. Wasn’t that what Flitwick said? Intention? Nevermind. Nevermind. None of that even matters. You don’t know where he is. I don’t know where he is. No one here knows where he is and I am not buying that the wards are registering him as on the grounds. I’m not buying it. I walked it myself!”

“Severus” Luna singsonged, “You should listen to Harry. He is connected to Draco in a way I find refreshing. They watch out for each other, you know. Brothers that you brought together if I’m recalling correctly.” She turned her head to her left, narrowing her eyes at Snape’s ear exposed by his low ponytail. “Have the wrackspurts been bothering you? I have something of Daddy’s that might help. He made a syphon that can-”

“Salazar,” he hissed, standing abruptly. “Have you all gone mad? I do not need to be lectured about listening to this nonsense. Especially not from a witch who has ruined her mind with Mortiferum Rose! I’d wager all my galleons in Gringotts you snuck in a phial before lunch.” Several gasps were heard around the table as Arthur and Neville both snapped Severus’s name. Luna paled before lowering her eyes as her face went crimson. “Draco is fine. He is on a walk and I will not be accepting any theories to the contrary. Good day!”

Severus stormed off, no less threatening and imposing without his cloak. 

The thump of his boots against the dirt floor hung in the air. Harry turned his attention back to his soup and muttered a warming spell.

“Sorry, Luna. I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” Harry said as Arthur excused himself and followed the dust of Snape’s footprints. “He had no right. I’m so sorry.”

Luna’s blue eyes were wet with the threat of tears and her voice was soft. “It’s the wrackspurts.” If it was possible to become quieter, she did, forcing Harry to lean in to hear her. “I stopped drinking Mortiferum Rose when Severus came to recruit me for the war. When Daddy died.” 

“Luna…” Neville started.

“No, it’s all right. Daddy was very brave in publishing the information about the Battle of Malfoy Manor. I can be brave too.” Everyone was quiet, even Bill had stopped fidgeting. “I know some of you still think of me as Looney Luna and that’s okay. I think you should all know that I took Mortiferum Rose for a long time but I don't know and I still believe Harry and Draco share a very special connection, don’t you think? I think it makes perfect sense that Harry can feel that Draco is in trouble. Maybe that’s why his scar is hurting.”

A curling scar across Bill’s face from a rebounded dark curse tightened as he raised his eyebrows. “Your scar hurts? When did this start? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Well,” Luna said, “That’s because it just began. He was thinking about Draco when it happened, weren’t you Harry?”

Harry nodded to Bill. “Luna’s right. Started a couple minutes back.”

A blanket of disquiet settled on the table as everyone murmured to each other in speculation. Harry quickly put to rest talks of Voldemort using their link since it was well and truly severed. If anything, he reassured, the pain felt more like a nagging poke than searing agony like it used to but their eyes kept glancing up to his fringe as though beneath it the Dark Lord’s beady red eyes were watching them. Feeling again like a zoo animal, Harry muttered that he ought to hand out tickets before they turned their eyes away. The chatter fell down to a respectable mumble as everyone turned back to their bowls.

Harry couldn’t scatter the impending doom sitting heavily in his stomach. He managed another third of the soup before apologizing to Neville who grabbed it with a smile and walked over to the sink. His stomach was too full of worry. Harry resumed picking at the splintered wood. 

Am I being obsessive? Severus has lost but I have too. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am just thinking too much. His scar twanged in an angry dismissal of the thought. Luna’s wispy voice floated to him. “Harry and Draco share a very special connection, don’t you think?” Yeah, Luna. I do think so. 

Images of all the nights they ran, fought against the odds, and saved each other’s lives flashed through his mind. No one knew him better, not even Severus. Draco could reach him when no one else could. He had stopped Harry from slitting his wrists, apparating directly into his chambers to slap the razor from his hands then slap him. “ Don’t you ever fucking leave, Harry. I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t know what to do.” Harry pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He had never tried again. Draco had made it his life mission to protect Harry and he did the same. 

He had promised he would always be there. “Tsk. Leave your sorry arse? What a stupid question, Potty, honestly. You’re stuck with me for a best friend.” Geometric shapes and flashes of blue played against his dark lids. They had slept in ratty motels, fighting with the covers on a twin bed until one of them gave up and took the couch. Miles of earth had disappeared as they hopped via apparting across the island. Perfect, unshattered trust. 

It was why Harry knew with absolute certainty that Draco would go off to protect him. He’d done it when the duo had taught together at Hogwarts. Multiple times Harry had found out belatedly through Minerva that Draco was out on an emergency or sudden holiday and had to go chase the prat down. Now wasn’t any different. 

Harry let out a heavy sigh as he fiddled with the leather band of his watch.

“Do you really think…”

“...he’s in trouble?” The twins asked.

Harry’s stomach twisted into a bunch of tangled knots. Did he believe that Draco was truly up to his stupid blond head in trouble or was this another symptom of suffering too much for too long? 

It wouldn’t have been the first time his fear was misdirected. But with Draco… Harry didn’t even have a hint of doubt that he was in danger and need of rescuing. He had been pacing for the better of the hour, only just finally convinced to sit and eat, trying to outrun the thought that he would never hear Draco’s squealing giggle or see tears of laughter stream down his face again.

Yes, Harry realized, Draco was absolutely in trouble.

He grimaced and let out a sigh as looked over to the twins. 

This younger, newer Order of the Phoenix listened to him. Hung onto his intuition the way they clung to Snape’s analytical tactics and masterful potioneering that kept their hides alive. He could get them all killed. He could keep Draco safe.

Frowning slightly, he looked up at the circle of eyes waiting for his answer.

Dragon…. Draco. It’s now or never. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me you’re in trouble. His scar throbbed again, this time exploding into a headache that pulled across his skull. 

“Yeah,” he said with a nod, breathy from the pain. “Yeah, he is.” Pressing two fingers against the scar with bruising pressure he sighed. “We need to find him and help him. I don’t care what Snape says. Draco is…Salazar. He’s our family. We have to help him.”

A hush, disjointed conversation seized everyone except Harry who stood abruptly and left with a wave to the group. Vertigo had begun to creep in along with the pain. Let them bicker about the details. Let them gossip. Let them figure out a way to find Draco and calm Severus. Let them sink into trouble while he worked on Severus. 

“Harry!” Neville called, interrupting his thoughts. He arrived at his side with a warm hand gripping his shoulder. “Here.”

Something dry and crunchy was pressed into his palm. Sad brown eyes roamed over his scar. “It will help with the pain. Might give you some more mental clarity. I think…” he cleared his throat and dropped to a whisper. “I think that was a problem you had before, right? Fuzziness?”

“Yeah,” Harry said.

“All right well, eat all of it.” Neville gave him a sympathetic smile. “I think you’ll need it if you want to convince Severus.” Muffled yelling stole Neville’s attention as he looked over Harry’s shoulder, nervousness wrinkling his face. “You’ll really need all the help you can get. He sure is in a bad mood.” 

A flicker of the old Neville whose boggart was none other than the Potions Master jerked his brows down. 

“No kidding. Actually, maybe you would be better talking to him. I think he likes you better than me now.”

Neville’s eyes twinkled but he just patted Harry on the arm and said, “He likes you plenty, Harry.”

“No, he…” Harry trailed off as Neville walked away.

I’m not so sure he does like me plenty. 

Unfurling his hand, Harry stared down at some dried plant that either Draco or Severus would recognize. To him, it looked like a twisted pinky finger that had shrivelled up. It even had a fingernail-shaped section of white at one end. Popping it into his mouth, he grimaced at the vile flavour but managed to chew and swallow it all. Still better than skele-gro. The pain retreated marginally, still lingering in the corners of his eyes and tightening around his throat but the strange plant had helped. 

Thank you, Neville.

Casting a backward glance over his shoulder, he caught Neville’s eye and gave him an appreciative nod. Neville smiled before turning grim and sitting with the rest of the group. Bunched together like that, heads all bent over the table as they planned, they reminded Harry of home. Of Hogwarts. There were a few less flaming heads of hair at the table. One notable absence of a bush of brown, untamable hair and wits. And a painful gap where platinum blond should have twinkled. But it was like Hogwarts all the same. Cunning, bravery, and logic all gathered around to dodge death again. He stared on like some alien father before turning his back on his friends and heading toward Severus.

The biggest problem of the day.

Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he followed the sound of arguing until he reached the study.

Casting a silencing charm behind him to block the sound of screaming from the others, Harry then holstered his wand. It would do him no good to show Severus even the smallest hint of aggression. Judging by the screaming match he and Arthur were locked in, he had been pushed well beyond his normal limits and was ready to strike down anyone who interfered.

“You don’t understand, Arthur. This isn’t some…some child’s game. They can’t be involved and you do not have the pureblood pull to help Draco if you wanted to.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose as he edged closer to the door. How would being a pureblood help this any?

“Severus, I don’t understand. You’re right. So, help me-”

“No! No, I can’t. The transmissions I have heard… Merlin, help me. If any of them are true then I will have-”

A searing pain sliced through Harry’s scar, muting anything Severus was about to say. 

Panting, he staggered into the wall. 

The conversation barely paused before Severus took off at a shout again. His disregard for a potential trespasser lurking in the hallways raised a field of red flags in Harry’s mind. Severus never ignored the threat of a witch or wizard snooping.

“Severus calm down!” Arthur was yelling and Harry realized he had never heard the man raise his voice. “It is not the fault of you or me or anyone else in this cave that Draco left. That was his choice.”

“That I drove him to!”

“You didn’t-”

“I did! I have been through three blasted wars working for light, dark, and every wretched role in between. Do I not have the experience to identify when a soldier is about to go rogue? When a wizard is about to throw away the rest of his life for something as meaningless as intel? Vengeance? I knew Draco was on the verge of killing himself for nobility, to protect Harry and myself the same way I knew Lovegood had turned into a cheap Knockturn whore hooked on Rose.”

“Stop!” Arthur boomed. “Stop, Severus! Luna never-”

“How do you think I recruited her?” Uneasy silence unfurled its long wings between them. “Withdrawals require an antidote. Complex and expensive. I was not wrong then and I am not wrong now. Draco is nowhere else. I have spent the entire morning looking for that self-sacrificing idiot. Nothing. Nothing . There is no trace of him. Not even at the Ministry.”

“Merlin’s beard, Severus. Did you break into the Ministry of Magic?”

A rough shuffling sound grated against Harry’s already pounding head. The rush of blood in his ears muffled the conversation. “-polyjuice. I’m not a Potter.” Arthur laughed lightly, muttering something Harry couldn’t hear. “They have had no sightings on Draco nearly for six months. Six months, Arthur. Nor of Harry or myself.”

“But Lucius was tracking you all, Draco especially. Wasn’t he?”

Silence.

Floating in between rounds of a jackhammer working on his skull, Harry slumped against the wall.

He was rundown, his voice wavering with worry. “Draco has turned out to be just as self-sacrificing as his father, Arthur. I tried, desperately, to instill something within him that would keep him…grounded. But it seems I’ve only let him kill himself again.”

“Severus, you couldn’t possibly have known he was going to give us all the run around.”

“I know now,” he said, his words freezing over. “I know where he is. Draco has gone-”

Harry screamed in agony, crumpling to the floor as he cradled his head. A jagged line was tearing open his skull through his skull. A second scream burst from him as he crashed his head against the ground. The pain had become a constant in his sixth year but this was demanding and urgent in a way the Dark Lord’s connection had never been. 

“Harry? Salazar, Harry !”

Black, trouser-clad knees crashed in front of his blurring vision. Harry vaguely noted Arthur and Severus both casting a web of spells before slipping into the bruising current of pain.

*****************************************************

Harry wanted to vomit.

He was flung so hard into the body awaiting him that it flipped all his senses upside down and backward. This was not the Dark Lord, he could tell as much immediately by the lack of control the caster had.

Inky blackness swarmed his eyes but light was coming from somewhere. The body he was in now was cold. It shivered slightly as a feeling of deep sorrow crossed their connection.

Then, in the murk, a pale, slender hand wrapped around a snakeheaded cane caught Harry’s eye. He couldn’t force the eyes to look back down but he knew that hand anywhere.

“Potty.”

The ragged sound of Draco’s voice broke through the darkness, illuminating the situation like lightning. Harry’s heart stopped, stuttered, and stopped again. 

Draco. Draco, where the hell are you?

Silence. He couldn't communicate with him the same way he couldn't interfere with the Dark Lord's visions. Harry huffed out a shocked breath. He had never heard Draco so…despairing. Harry's throat tightened as a stone wall came into view. The hand released the cane and Harry startled. It was Lucius's wand in Draco's hand. The stone wall pressed closer.

Harry squinted.  Draco was…  In a basement? A cage? Somewhere dark and dank. There was the slight pressure of a wall against one shoulder and if he focused, he could sense the heaviness of a low ceiling. The cool stone sat under Draco’s forehead and hand. 

Cackling laughter rolled through the place and Harry could feel Draco’s brows scrunch together as he looked down at his shoes which were still shining in the darkness.

“ Merlin, if this works, I really will have finally beaten you at something. Listen, I’m at the Manor. Do not…”

A loud crash spooked both Draco and Harry. Jumping as though he were there, Harry’s blood ran cold as Draco hunched in on himself. Fear, hot and wild, pulsed through Draco. His other hand was trembling against his thighs and his eyes were screwed shut as though he was a child desperately trying not to call to their parents in the middle of the night. The heavy smell of cologne clung to the air as Draco heaved in a jagged breath.

Realization struck Harry like a bomber.

Draco was at Malfoy Manor.

Another sharp inhale confirmed Harry’s suspicions. That was Lucius’s cologne. 

“Do not come to the Manor. You’ve likely spouted off that big mouth of yours and gotten Severus riled up, well done,” Harry winced “but you and Snape cannot come here.”

Someone was sniffling. Crying? It wasn’t Draco, he was too still. Nearly a statue and blinking about as much. Harry willed himself to decipher the sound but without light and context, he couldn’t figure it out.

Anger churned in his stomach. He hated mysteries.

Draco was quiet, scaring Harry even more. In all likelihood, Harry concluded, Draco wasn’t even aware that he was projecting his emotional and physical state as well as his thoughts. Harry frowned. Draco really had beaten him at something.

A wave of anguish crashed over Harry, forcing a flicker of revolt in his forehead. It was as vacant of a feeling as Harry had ever felt, reminding him of the days when his hands had been coated in Severus’s blood. His throat tightened as he recalled the night he thought Severus had died. He brushed it aside with a fair bit of effort, working to concentrate on Draco. Severus would have his hide if he ignored something in favour of wallowing.

“I’m…”

The feeling returned. Physically gutting Harry, he noticed the slight hinge in Draco’s waist as his arms clutched at his sides. His head continued pressing against the door as he rolled his head onto its temple. The agony rolled through Harry in nauseating waves. Draco was more than in trouble, he was suffering.

“I’m Master Malfoy now and-”

Harry’s ears were ringing. 

Draco was Master Malfoy. Harry's heart spluttered like an old car to an uneventful stop before lurching in his chest as it began beating again.

Lucius was dead. He had to be for Draco to assert himself as Master Malfoy.

“-the wards will not accept you. You’ll be shredded. So just…” 

His voice had been emptied. Drained of the usual life and spunk that made bickering with him the most fun pastime. He was vacant and cold. It seeped into his words and left them colourless. Draco was shaking. Masking it well, but trembling all the same. Out of control.

“Sit your impatient arse down and keep Snape tame.”

No, Draco. You can’t ask that of me! You can’t. Harry’s breath was coming in a strange rhythm. You’re at Malfoy Manor and telling me to…to just sit here?  

The grief slapped Harry across the face, three times as strong and burning through him. Someone had hollowed out Draco’s will to fight. 

I can’t leave you there. I can’t. I have to-

As though hearing him, Draco said, “For…for now at least. Potty. Please.”

The sound of something breaking nearby shot panic through Harry’s blood. Draco flinched as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The rush of his blood was loud in Harry’s own ears. Listening to the frantic, quickened thumps of Draco’s heart felt oddly intimate. Private. Harry decided that whoever made Draco feel this way would pay. Severely. The roar of Draco’s fear nearly drowned out the four subconscious words fluttering through the connection before it fizzled. 

“Harry, help me. Please.”

Harry went cold from head to toe. Please. The word echoed in his head as Draco, the smell of Lucius, and Malfoy Manor fuzzed and faded from his mind. Harry opened his mouth to scream. Shot his hand through the connection and fought to keep ahold.

For the first time since the start of the war, Harry was truly scared.

“No…” he moaned, his lips stiff and unmoving. “Take…my hand. Don’t…go.”

His words dissolved into incoherent groans as he tried and failed to reach back out to Draco. He was gone. 

“Harry. Harry! ” Severus shook Harry whose face pressed deeper into the dirt floor. “Can you hear me?” A pause. Harry’s body began to burn. “Harry, please.”

There was that word again.

It was sour in his mouth like the residual flavour of that strange plant Neville had handed him which had, he supposed, given him clarity. Severus’s voice dissolved into white noise as fresh anxiety gripped Harry in its jaw.

Harry curled in on himself more tightly as static buzzed through his tight muscles. Draco’s “ Please ” rattled around his skull. Should he trust him? He was in trouble, deep trouble by the sound and look of it but the wards were as strong as Hogwarts if not more so. Quietly, Harry batted around the option of trusting or not trusting Draco in his mind.

“Dammit, Arthur. This is exactly what I…No, don’t…I can’t stand…not again.”

Anger surged through him, flushing red up his neck as he squirmed on the floor. Draco’s life was on the table. The movement was enough to disrupt Severus who was dragging him upright into his lap.

“Severus, I think…enough sleep…just-”

“He. Is. Just. Nothing. I know my mate.”

Severus punctuated each word. They managed to creep into Harry’s brain as he processed the warm arms caged around him. His back was pressed up to Severus’s chest. It was warm and welcoming. Safe , his brain supplied. Jerking in the long arms, he felt them tighten around him. Draco was not safe. He was at the Manor, possibly about to die, using his last magic to keep Harry away from the sight. 

He jolted again, this time Arthur said, “Where do you think he went?”

A moment of quiet spread between them though for how long, Harry wasn’t certain. He was blipping in and out of the present, stuck between the strangely discordant thoughts, memories of Draco, and their dialogue. “I can’t find him, Arthur! I have looked.”

Harry slipped out of the dangerous territory of sleep. Draco’s words were heavy like a late summer storm encroaching on his thoughts, keeping him awake with the threat of danger. He had to trust him. Severus could not go to the Manor.

Harry groaned again, quieting the other wizards momentarily. Blast. If only my body was working I could tell them .

“The others are going to hear. They can’t see Harry like this, Severus. They can’t.”

“Oh, you don’t think I used a muffliato?” Panic had made Severus’s voice high and shrill. It was dripping with condescension. Harry distantly thought that everyone would regret not trusting Severus. “It’s my spell. I know when to use the bloody thing.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment then almost silently he said, “I’m sorry, Severus. Where do you think he went?”

Severus’s chest pressed against Harry’s back with every jagged inhale.

“Searching for him any further would raise suspicion. I myself…flew…to Mungo’s and Hogwarts.”

“You haven’t answered me, Severus,” Arthur said softly.

“Fine. He is at the Manor. I am sure of it. It is time for me to…return.”

“Severus. Someone else could-”

“No. No one else has seen him, Arthur, and Minerva was hesitant to even ask around. I am unfortunately familiar with the Manor. None of the rest of you would survive a step through the doorway." He sighed heavily, ruffling Harry's hair. "The world has listed toward the Dark Lord without their knowing. He is a major enemy despite the lack of Ministry records. Every circulation has his face plastered within the first five pages. And the rest of you aren’t any better. Damn Weasleys with your-”

“Flaming hair, I know.”

“I refused to allow Harry out of this cave and Neville is too Gryffindor to let out of my sight these days. No, if anyone else were to go they would be killed outright.” Severus growled to himself. “ This is not the time to argue on my behalf. No one else will be going. Help me take Harry to bed and I will be off. Not a word, Arthur. You hear?”

“No,” Harry croaked from below Severus. 

“Harry. Salazar, Harry are you-”

“ No,” he said more forcefully. Iron flooded his mouth as he licked his lips. He must have bitten them on the way down. “You can’t.”

“What are you-”

“You can’t go to the Manor.” Pushing from Severus, he managed to stand on shaky legs with help from Arthur. “I erm…I need to talk to you.”

Still on the floor, Severus narrowed his eyes but relief had relaxed his posture. Pinching the bridge of his nose and mumbling about how the day couldn’t get worse, he waved Arthur off with instructions to keep everyone in line and in the cave.

Walking into their shared room, Harry trailed Severus, choosing to flop on the bed as Severus gracefully settled into the small chair.

“Harry, I have to go.”

“Lucius is dead.”

All the colour drained from Severus’s already pale face.

Wetting his lips nervously, he exhaled a stiff breath and said, “Go on.”

Chapter Text

Malfoy Manor was caught in a rare moment of quiet.

And Draco Malfoy was lying on the floor at the base of the stairs, unconscious.

His arms were splayed out to his sides, bending at gentle angles while his hands remained in a similarly relaxed position, gripping the marble floor with the pads of his fingertips. The polished black leather of his dress shoes was now scuffed and pressed against the tile awkwardly. Against the white floor, the black of his sullied suit stood out. It flopped partially open in an un-Malfoy manner, spreading about him while the blood continued growing beneath in a kidney-shaped puddle. A singed ring still smoked from the middle of his back where a circle of black fabric had been turned to ash. Wafting around him hung the scent of burned cloth and iron.

Yet to any onlooker, Draco looked as though he were asleep.

Feeble blue-grey light dusted his unmoving form. His expression was soft and peaceful as though he had just tucked in for Christmas, waiting for the mystical St. Nicholas to arrive. Or the fresh moon of a new year. Even his eyelids fluttered as though engulfed in a warm dream of cocoa and chocolates.

The moment of quiet passed.

Yelling fell down the grand, twining staircase, crashing against Draco who twitched slightly in the pale light. Consciousness was a ways off yet but his mind slowly began to churn at the annoying sounds of bickering.

“I’m tellin’ yeh, ‘e’s got to be ‘round ‘ere somewhere.” The man spat on the floor, drawing a slight grimace from Draco as his mind supplied vague insults. “Didn’t quite get taken down by ‘im, did he Amaycus?” The man with the thick accent laughed. It was a low gurgling sound that Draco thought ought to be checked out. “And yeh were no good yerself!”

“Shut up or I’ll rip your-”

Grey eyes flew open at the sound of that voice.

“-throat through your teeth.”

Amycus Carrow. The very last man he needed to see right now and the cause of the smoldering fabric on the back of his jacket. That bastard had knocked him halfway down the stairs with his stunning spell. Draco had rebounded some of the curse, but not enough to prevent himself from careening down the stairs and landing in an unconscious heap atop the red carpet. Dark memories from his days running from Death Eaters and their invasion of his home in his sixth and seventh years filled him with unspeakable fear. Amycus was a rabid dog. And another man who was buried long back. These resurrections were endless, it seemed. Ghosts were casting spells. Haunting Draco with a fresh vengeance. The urge to rip him limb from limb and present his carcass to the Dark Lord as a symbol of victory radiated off them like a disease.

Cursing quietly, Draco fought to gather his limbs beneath him as Carrow’s voice continued its steady approach.

“Dammit,” he hissed, falling back to the carpet-covered marble. His limbs were not cooperating. They were filled with lead and impossible to organize into useful movement. Crawling back up to all fours, he rested on his elbows and looked down at his hands. He curled them into fists. Amycus was in the process of shouting at the man, depicting exactly what he would do to Draco when he found him. Draco tried to push up but his muscles refused.

“ Dammit ,” he said again, this time his voice breaking.

Quietly, he began to cry.

The voices crept closer. Insistent, they paraded down the hall and wafted down the stairs with a terrifying nearness. Carrow was in the middle of insulting Lucius and it twisted the dagger deeper in Draco’s stomach as it clenched in despair. More ugly voices joined Carrow’s and the thick-accented man from corridors surrounding Draco until they meshed into some morbid symphony. Scrunching his eyes closed, the tears dropped steadily to a puddle between Draco's hands. He was going to lose here, at the bottom of a staircase on his knees like a coward.

The worst part, he decided, was that he wasn't sure if he cared anymore.

He was tired of running.

It had consumed him for the better part of a year. He had run from village to village, ducked in and out of forests, and shivered in the bitter cold with no way to use magic to heat himself for months. He had been assaulted in more ways than one only to be given the slip because of a fault on his father's behalf. A purposeful way to allow him to escape further physical and sexual torment albeit with a shard of dragon bone in his leg. And then Severus had found him and all hell had broken loose. If running from the Death Eaters by himself was bad, pretending he still wasn’t running had been infinitely worse.

Informants crawled the streets looking for him. The children at Hogwarts, the professors, the portraits could all be linked back to the Dark Lord. Chatter hung around him, clung to his heels wherever he went. Not even the people in the cave could be trusted. The pressure of being captured and killed never relented. He was enemy number one. A strange mugshot he never posed for that depicted him snarling with scars he never acquired were plastered to the walls of Diagon Alley and even some muggle police stations. On the rare chance he was allowed out, polyjuiced and covered glamours, Draco was subjected to the constant drum of the hunt beating in the mouths of ordinary witches and wizards. They hated him. They were eager to destroy him. Ready to slaughter him and offer his remains to the Ministry for a reward. A crumb of attention.

Draco curled in more tightly on himself as the silent tears threatened to become vocal.

The only person fighting for him without pretense he had killed.

Severus cared, of course he did, but most of his time was spent fawning over Harry, ensuring that the world did not lose its one great treasure. And Harry claimed to always have Draco's back but when he woke screaming, covered in sweat, and violently shaking from the memories, there was no one to turn to. No one to smile at him, no one to tell him it would be all right. They didn't even pretend to try and ease the pressure of the hunt. Lucius had done what he could. He had already saved him more than Harry and Severus combined, though Draco had not even known until recently. 

And he had killed him.

Draco knew he didn't want to fight. Knew it in his bones. 

He hurt so badly it harkened back to the moments before his death. The dagger that Riddle had snapped off in his abdomen was more than a passing issue to pull out and heal. None of his spells had staunched the bleeding. Worse, they didn’t even patch up the scratches he had acquired and his bruises weren’t responding either. He squeezed his eyes shut more tightly. A simple reconnaissance mission ending like this, with him on his hands and knees emptied of all fight. With the dim realization that he was little more than a passing name in Harry's life, Snape's life.

Couldn't he just matter? For once.

He was so tired. The pain was too much to bear . 

And he didn’t want to run anymore.

Why couldn’t he catch a break? Why couldn’t he rest? It had been so long since he had a moment of peace he wasn’t sure it would ever come and now he had been thrown into the thick of it again. He wondered through the haze of sorrow if his break had been his death. Bitter disappointment tugged the corners of his mouth lower as he considered the notion that he had wasted his efforts fighting to come back. It didn't matter, after all, did it? Had he come back solely to murder his father, the very last good thing he never realized he had?

A mist of despair rushed through his thoughts when, all of sudden, Lucius’s soft plea cleared it away.

“Kill that bastard Tom.”

“For you Father, gladly,” he whispered to himself as he opened his eyes.

The tears continued to spill over his white lashes but the fuzziness of the stunning spell had begun to retreat from his limbs. Conviction glittered in his wet eyes. He had to live. His father had given him the spell that would kill Tom Riddle and with it, the trust to carry out his will. Draco flexed his tingling fingers with a small sniffle. He would live. He would fight.

“No!” Draco stiffened immediately at the sound of Carrow. “No you listen, you little rat. ”

The pain in his gut sparked as his abs tightened in nervous anticipation. A small whimper and a fresh wave of tears escaped him from the injury. Draco bit his lip until he tasted blood in an effort to silence his crying. They were too close. No more than a few meters back from the top of the stairway. He could practically hear their breathing. Though judging by the asthmatic wheezes of who he suspected was the thick-accented man, that wouldn’t have been hard to do several corridors away.

“You new supporters have no spine. No faith. No loyalty! Tsk. Death Eaters. Hardly fit to bend over for him as a plaything. And now you’re suggesting retreat? We’re not disapparating after the Dark Lord until I have that platinum head on a platter. If that isn’t clear then maybe this will be.”

A splitting scream followed by a thunk cut through the air. Draco's scalp tingled at the purple flash licking across the room. Carrow had already begun using his spell. Which meant his rage was hot and ready to eat Draco alive. Violet bathed the manor again but Draco's mind was elsewhere. There was some reply by the thick-accented man but it was muffled by the blood rushing through his ears.

The Dark Lord had left.

I’m not running, I’m chasing.

Draco stood. And Draco ran.

All traces of lethargy had left him. Demented giddiness had taken its place. Despite the grievous wound bleeding into his shirt, he smiled. He couldn’t use magic for risk of running out completely before disapparating back to the cave and splicing himself in half somewhere over London but electric determination crackled within him. He had defended his home.

I drove him out of Malfoy Manor.

The smile rested on his face as he ran toward the study. Dulling to little more than an achy throb, the dagger broken off in his abdomen quieted under the blanket of adrenaline. Draco clutched onto his sudden burst of energy, rounding corners with easy grace. Like the Quidditch pitch, the marble passed below his feet as though he were flying high above it on a broom. The smile wavered. His broom. The beautiful one his father had gotten him was likely broken into splinters in his room which wouldn’t have escaped the decimation of the Death Eaters. If, by some strange stroke of luck it had been untouched, it wouldn’t now that the Dark Lord was missing a limb.

He continued running without a smile on his face.

The lone sound of his shoes ghosting across the marble was hardly enough to startle any watching eyes thanks to his father’s spell but the blood periodically dripping from shirt to the floor was a perfect trail of bread crumbs. Pinning his suit to his abdomen to absorb the blood, Draco worried his lip as he ran. Even through his adrenaline, the pain was becoming harder to ignore.

Dark shadows had begun to play in his peripheral vision. He glanced down at his suit jacket as he rounded another corner and jogged down the stairs. The stain had spread but he didn’t have the stomach to open up the front. It was all he could do to ignore the strange tugging of something lodged inside of him as he went. Swallowing thickly and knowing he might regret it by the time he arrived at the cave, Draco averted his eyes and ignored the portkey-like pull in his belly.

By the time he reached the corridor to the study, his world had stopped making sense.

Any clarity he found had jettisoned out of his brain and fallen to the floor as messy as Narcissa’s attempts at porridge. Draco swayed on his feet, bumping into the walls with a vocal apology. Staggering several more drunken steps, he walked directly into the corner of the corridor. He hit the floor without even realizing he was falling.

The floor was covered in a layer of broken glass and burn marks. From his angle, they were massive icebergs littering a dark sea. He laid on his side, a bruise forming on his temple from where it had hit as he blinked at the mess in front of him. It hadn't looked like that earlier. Glass pressed deeper into his left side the longer he lay unmoving, regarding the debris field. Looking over the ocean of ice, his arm seemed to float across the tile. The black-clad appendage was stretched away from him, still and pale. Wrapped around the boney wrist sticking from the jacket was the silver chain of his father’s. He flipped his underfed hand over with deliberate slowness.

There, cuddled in the middle of his cold hand, was a glittering “M”. 

The one he had pulled from the ashes of his father.

Lucidity came rushing back with the power of a tidal wave as he once again dragged himself to standing. There were things left to be done. He braced himself against the wall and shuffled closer to the study. Riddle needed to be killed by his hand. Already the volatile memories were spiraling out of control, lifting from his mind and swirling violently to the forefront of his thoughts. He had to clear his father’s name. The memories became tornadic, flashing the fallout of his decision to come here without mercy. Malfoy would be redeemed.

Stopping abruptly, Draco grabbed the cane and held it up to his eyes.

“I will fix this, Father. I am sorry it…it had to come to this.” A small frown marred his porcelain features. “I’m so sorry.” His straight aristocratic nose, the same as his father’s wrinkled in distaste for the situation. “But I’ll clear our name.” His hand firmed around the cane as he dropped it to the ground and leaned his weight on it, something he should have done long ago. “I’ll fucking kill Tom.”

Sparing one long look at the wooden door, Draco pressed his hand to it and shoved.

The destruction was immediately apparent. 

Books were cast all across the floor and apparent attempts had been made to start a fire in various spots, including the fireplace. He was suddenly glad he had cast the spells he had. It had preserved some of the room at least. The shelves were completely ruined and in spots, the floor looked as though someone had tilled the wood. Unsalvageable. The tree with its dark teddy atop its branches still twinkled unharmed. The books hiding behind it were equally unaffected but Draco could not allow a breath of relief to pass his lips because sitting in his chair was a robed witch wearing a pearly mask.

A Death Eater.

The witch ripped her mask off to reveal an ugly face covered in dirt, scars, and fresh marks. An oozing wound disappeared into her tattered, blonde hairline. Draco felt a sneer beginning to form as he watched a bug jump from her scalp into the low cut of her bodice between her breasts. A necklace of teeth slapped against her chest as she leaned back in his chair, soiling it further with her filth. Draco made a disgusted noise in his throat automatically the moment her hair touched the leather.

Had she just escaped from Azkaban? He had heard of a recent prison break the day prior but certainly, she wouldn’t have joined up so quickly. She was vaguely familiar, enough to force an uncomfortable itch under his skin but he was certain he had not seen her in the Inner Circle meetings years back.

The witch pulled a twisted, gnarled wand from under her skirt.

What little blood he had left drained from Draco's face. He’d seen that wand. Five years back he and Harry had tromped through Scotland without a rain-banishing spell, leading to incredibly wet shoes, in search of some deranged witch who was researching new unforgivables. She’d gotten a spell in on Harry that neither of them knew, nearly slicing him to bits, but Draco had out-duelled her regardless.

Left her tied up and petrified in the elements for the Aurors to find. Evidently, it had taken three days.

Draco casually shut the door behind him. Marlowe Kornic. The witch with the only dark wand in existence. This was most definitely not going to be fun.

She let out an uproarious laugh, stomping her feet and slapping her knees. Draco sneered in full. Disgusting. And just let Bellatrix.

“Knew you’d come, I did. Oh no, Marlowe. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to come back! Marlowe’s gone crazy from Azkaban, Marlowe doesn’t know Draco.” She laughed again this time revealing a row of filthy teeth shaved into tiny points. “Marlowe was right, she was. Yes, Marlowe was right.” She ran a forked tongue in opposing directions over her teeth, deepening Draco’s sneer. She had picked that up at Azkaban.

“Draco Malfoy in the flesh. Never thought I would see you again. Dreamt of it, oh yes. But never thought it would be me who would rip your…pretty.little.head. From those...” the smile vanished suddenly “...disgustingly thin shoulders.” Her face became serious as she wrapped a lock of hair around her wand. “Dreamt every day in that prison cell ‘bout getting that white hair all wet with your blood, Marlowe did. Now, here you are. All prettied up for me.”

“Get up.”

“Excuse me? Oh-ho. Draco Malfoy, I have heard you’ve become bold since our run-in but this…oh this is something special, innit? Look at you, parading around after killing Daddy dearest. Commanding me to-”

“You’re in my chair. Get up. You’re soiling it with your filth.”

He wondered how he would explain to Harry that he antagonized a Death Eater as a look of rage flashed across her lopsided features.

“Know your place, Malfoy. I’ve got word that you hurt my Lord, you little cunt. And I won’t forget what you did to me leaving me tied up until those nasty Aurors showed up. Trying to follow in Daddy’s footsteps?”

“I’m not going to ask again, Marlowe. Get your filthy arse out of my chair.”

“Filthy! Why you little-”

“Flipendo.”

His incantation was weak and the magical power behind it even weaker but the jinx shot forward with alarming speed from his plain wand. Marlowe was out of the chair, hovering beside it with a spell of her own looking at Draco with narrowed eyes as the chair tipped backward. Well, at least she was out of his chair. 

Draco sighed, feigning boredom. Looking down at his cuticles, he noticed the dripping spot of scarlet growing below him. 

“I’ll kill you for that.”

“Oh,” he said, looking up from the speck of blood that Marlowe had yet to notice. “Were you unsure before? Salazar, where does Tom find you people? Every one of you is duller than the next. Do you rub your heads together to spark an idea at meetings?”

She roared, spittle flying in every direction as Draco forced a tight Malfoy smirk to his lips. Subtly, he covered the blood with his shoe.

“Ah, no. I see now, he keeps you for that special fire. I’m sure that keeps him occupied on cold nights, doesn’t it, Marlowe?”

“I’ll…I’ll…I’ll…”

“Yes, yes. Kill me, I know. Have you already forgotten?” She did not reply. Draco prayed to Salazar, Merlin, even a thought danced toward Godric for strength as he asked the question raking its nails down his mind. “Where is my elf?”

Apathy seized her features. Even the bugs in her hair settled. 

“I don’t think I like you after all.”

“What a wonderful relief, thank you. I was waiting with bated breath to hear your opinion of me.” He chuckled lightly, tugging on his jacket and applying pressure to his wound. If it didn’t stop bleeding, Marlowe would notice. Prisoners from Azkaban were all the same. They could smell blood a mile away. And she would dig her dirty fingers into him and split him open faster than any spell Carrow could send off. “I’m sure to lose sleep over the opinion of the great Marlowe.”

Marlowe’s hazel eyes slitted as the corners crinkled. Draco looked past the still-floating wizard to the snow outside. Anything to avoid looking up to her. He would not be subservient to her in any form.

“You shut your mouth.”

“No, I think I would rather not.” He huffed. “You really should be going if you don’t want to apparate in a storm. It's getting nasty out, don't you think?”

Her orange boots splashed with blood and mud clacked onto the torn apart wood flooring. Something deep within Draco cringed tightly around the knife at the filth being tracked into the Manor. The pain didn’t dull the compulsive desire to cast a cleaning spell on her boots but the contorted look of insanity on her face did.

“This is Marlowe’s home now. My Lord is going to-”

“The manor is mine and I think you’ll find Tom can’t do a thing without his wand hand. Impotent. Oh, but don’t worry I’m sure it won’t affect…” Draco waved his hand in the general direction of the witch “...your pastimes.”

She screeched loud enough to pull a wince from Draco. Harry was going to kill him for provoking her if Marlowe didn’t first. Even if she did, Harry would probably use that damn plant just to resurrect him and kill him all over again for his idiocy.

A shadow flickered in his grey eyes. Draco’s new wand was out and casting before he even registered the flash of green light. Marlowe’s gnarled, black wand slashed through the stale air of the study. Without Snape’s tutelage in the efficacy of low-powered spells, Draco would have been dead and drained on the floor already. Instead, he was dancing around the curses, deflecting them back in her direction with ease. Three crashed back against her. One cut a long line of red through her robes, revealing pale skin and blood. 

Deflection was not enough.

Settling his breathing, Draco dipped his toes into the pool of battle. He waited. Dodged at the last moment, feinted and tricked Marlowe until her voice cracked and spit flew from chapped lips. Electricity and magic crackled in the air but Draco was slipping, falling into the rhythm of duelling, the pattern he carefully avoided. Just like breathing, he fought. The leash wrapped around his restraint unhooked. It felt good to be so free. Movement was no struggle as he swayed and danced with the ebb and flow of the duel. He no longer required his wand to outmaneuver the magic whizzing past him, only his feet. The periphery of the world narrowed as all the tension bled from his face. His view constricted until he had matched Marlowe’s breathing. He had her. He could kill her.

Flashes of colour illuminated the downed books and half-empty shelves. And there, in the middle of a jet of green, between inhale and exhale, Draco saw the weakness. A hitch in her rhythm.

Losing his synchronicity with Marlowe, he drew in a great lungful of air and screamed, “Expelliarmus!”

Draco grimaced as the spell pulled the magic from his blood. Splinters of himself were dragged from him, leaving emptiness in their wake as he shot off the strong disarming spell. It wasn't enough. The red began to fizzle when, with renewed vigor, Draco pushed his magic into it. This was not her home. She would not avenge her pathetic Lord. She could not stand where his father stood.

The roar of the new Malfoy patriarch shook loose the dust gathering alongside the moulding. Red warmed his ghostly skin as his knuckles went white around the head of the snake. Fire sparkled in his eyes as the blood vessels in his once bad eye burst again and surrounded the grey with a spiderweb of rage. The wicked wand leapt from her hand and shot to Draco’s feet.

Marlowe charged.

Blurring into a mess of wild hair and gnashing teeth, she covered the ground too quickly for him to react. One of her hands found his wound. The world went white.

On impulse, Draco cracked the woman across the skull with the cane.

Marlowe crumpled to the floor into a heap of ratty hair and stained black robes. She whimpered slightly as her hands lifted and failed to reach the growing spot of red in her hair. He took one step forward, crunching her wand hand under his foot and kicking the wand away with the other foot. Quickly, he sheathed Lucius's wand and leaned on the cane before he toppled.

The pain rang through his bones like church bells. Marlowe wailed as she struggled to remove her hand. Her voice was far away, muffled. It took Draco several minutes before the static in his brain resumed normal programming.

Clearing his throat, he growled, “It is my home, bitch. My father’s home. You…are not welcome. Now, where is my elf?”

“Wh-”

“I am not playing games anymore, Marlowe. I spared you those years back. I could have killed you then and do not think I won’t now. Whoever you seem to think I am does not exist.” He whipped the cane against her exposed shins, glaring at the orange shoes as though they had personally assaulted him. “Where is my elf?”

“You…bastard.” She reached toward the cane.

Draco yanked it away from her and lowered it slowly to the hollow in her neck.

The tip of his cane pressed into her throat. “You aren’t stupid enough to think this isn’t magically reinforced, are you?”

Draco licked his lips. He was rapidly growing ragged and standing without the assistance of the cane was a tall ask, even if for a moment.

“Have I knocked the little sense from your head? Speak.”

“No,” she whimpered.

“Pity. Where. Is. My. Elf?”

“D-dead.”

Draco’s lids lowered in displeasure. As quick as a draw, the cane swung and connected across the lower ribs of her abdomen, sinking slightly into the bone. It was pressed against her throat before she could scream. Her eyes bulged in terror as he relented and allowed her a breath. Everything squirmed inside him at the situation but he knew anything less than the threat of death would spell his own end. There was no more negotiating room.

“I am not inclined to believe you.”

Marlowe snivelled and stuttered below Draco but no answer made it past her lips. He was not convincing enough. Not like Lucius. He had to try harder.

Lifting a lip in an impressively Malfoy sneer, he looked down at the woman and kicked a shoe into her stomach hard. She released a pained sob and continued writhing beneath the increasing pressure of his cane. The pity squeezing in his chest did not surface on his face.

"No? Tell me then, do you think I'll pity you? Tie you up again and call the Aurors?" He leaned forward slightly, spitting on her face. "Potter kept me restrained but as you'll notice, your hero is nowhere to be seen."

He smacked the cane against her ribs harder this time with a crack that echoed through the still room. The tip of the weapon pressed under her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.

“Well, Marlowe. You certainly have made your bed, haven’t you?”

“Blood…traitor,” she spat.

“Ah. Perhaps Father was right. Not a one of you should be left to live. Not even to answer questions. What a shame. Here I was hoping not to dirty my hands. As though killing Father wasn't enough for one day.” 

He lifted the cane over her head, desperately hoping she would call his bluff.  

“Wait! You killed him?"

"Oh, haven't you heard? I came here specifically to kill him. Hardly a challenge either. How else do you suppose I acquired his wand?" Marlowe's lower lip dropped open in shock. Apparently, the news had not yet circulated. "It was a pleasure to take my rightful place. I have been heir to a fool too long. And yet, I think I will quite enjoy killing you."

"The elf! She…she left. I swear. I swear! Vanished right into thin air she did.” Marlowe bobbed her head so quickly it looked liable to fall off. “I didn’t do anything to that bitch.”

“Mm. If you insist.”

He brought up his cane again while focusing on the snowstorm raging outside the window. There was no need to see this destruction.

“No! No, Draco, please! You…you aren’t cruel. Lucius was a right bastard but…but you aren’t. Are you? You could have killed me then but you didn’t. No, Marlowe knows Draco isn’t a bastard like his father. My Lord knew he was…a brainless brute. Backstabbing, Marlowe said. But Draco…oh Draco isn’t like that at all. No, he is nothing like Lucius, I said. A good change, you taking his title.”

A flourish of snow slapped into the glass. Snow spirits, his father had once called them. The ache in his stomach flowered again, this time not from the dagger but from the acute absence of Lucius. Draco had played his part well but he did not like to hear the words from another's mouth.

“I think you will find that I am different from the “Draco” Tom thinks he knows.” He cast his cold grey eyes down to Marlowe whose mouth hung open in shock. “My father is no bastard and I am proud to say, Marlowe, that I am just like him.”

The cane descended in one swift motion with a sickening crack.

Marlowe fell still and silent.

Draco limped around the unmoving body three steps before falling to his knees and attempting not to vomit. Pressing a hand to his wound as he rocked forward and back to the uneven rasp of her breathing, Draco consoled himself.

There was no way out. No different avenue he could have taken. Marlowe would have killed him. He had to neutralize her. There was no way for him to fight her without magic. There was little left within him to fight with; he could hardly cast that flipendo. When he had full access to his magic with a partner, he had barely escaped. There was no chance of leaving the manor in anything but a body bag or a resurrected corpse if he had not taken her down. As it was, disapparating was a massive risk. Duelling her could have trapped him. And his wound needed tending to.

He cast a look back over his shoulder. Marlowe’s breathing hitched, paused, and then continued. Her hair was dyed crimson with blood and the puddle below her grew. 

“I had to,” he whispered to himself.

An incredibly risky, stupid plan blossomed in his head. With a frown, he pushed it down.

Her breathing caught again, this time struggling to start. Draco pressed up from the ground with the cane and limped over to the tree. The dull ache in his stomach had spread through his entire torso making every breath a painful endeavor but it was the way his magic had already begun to wither inside him that furrowed his brow. He was on limited time for a clean escape.

Another worrying trouble nagged on his mind. If he collapsed before he had the energy and time to explain to Harry and Snape why Lucius’s portrait and Christmas tree had tagged along with him, he would lose every last connection to his Father.

Marlowe’s rattled breath brought him back to the present. In the quiet of the study, he could hear the fight for every breath. Its easy reluctance to try again. 

He tried to ignore the choking gurgles but as he looked up to the teddy bear tree topper, Draco closed his eyes knowing his phenomenally stupid idea was now inevitable. He felt bad.

When he opened his eyes, he swiftly went about snatching the spellbooks from the shelf and arranging Lucius’s portrait, which remained stone silent and watching with lips tightened into a thin line, by the door. The tree and its anchored warding joined Lucius, casting a protective circle around them. Removing the stained invisibility cloak, Draco tossed it over the two with a sad smile making sure to keep the stain facing away from the door. It would not be able to fool either Harry or Severus, but it would work for the time being. Death Eaters had no concept of the blasted thing.

Setting his jaw, he walked over to Marlowe and took a knee.

“Looks like you were right after all.” Wasting precious magic, he cast a spell to kill the bugs in her hair and clean up the filth she had brought in. He huffed out a scornful laugh. “I’m a bloody idiot.”

“Draco,” Lucius snapped. “Draco, you do not have to throw away your magic for her!”

“You would,” Draco said.

Lucius fell silent.

Raising the snakehead wand, Draco hung his head and cast a beacon charm on himself.

"Draco! What have you done?"

“They won’t know she’s hurt otherwise and the spell won’t take to someone on the verge, you know that. She’ll die.”

Lucius was quiet for a moment before saying, “I will not watch this. It’s suicide.”

“Maybe,” Draco said with a tender smile. “But you would still do it.”

“Tch.”

Lucius fell silent and Draco wondered what new expression of sorrow his father was wearing this time.

*************************************************************

It’s taking too long. Draco pressed a hand to his tender abdomen and winced. Won’t be able to get out if they don’t hurry it along. The heels of his shoes pressed into his arse as he leaned more heavily back on his haunches with a tight frown. He was freezing. Tired and cold and probably on his way to dying. Fucking hell, Harry. What’s wrong with me? Staying to make sure a bloody Death Eater doesn’t outright die in my study.

“Must have hit my head.”

A draft rushed under the door. The smell of Lucius’s tobacco and cologne swirled around Draco before settling back to the ground. He squeezed a hand on the cane resting gently on the side of his neck. This was not how he had expected the day to go. How exactly he had thought it would go he wasn’t sure anymore but he knew that “stabbed by Riddle” had not been part of the plan though it was becoming increasingly difficult not to see it as a sort of suicide mission gone incredibly poorly. Wetting his lips, he stared down at a scratch in the floorboards. 

Maybe I just wanted to see Father again. It’d been so long since I’d been home. He shuffled slightly, relieving the growing tension on his knees. I’m so stupid. Predictable enough that Father knew to prepare for my visit. Not that Snape noticed. Or Harry.  He poked at a slash in his trousers. They don't exactly notice me anymore. 

The wound squelched under his hand as he pulled his suit jacket closed. Buttoning it shut with a hiss, he shot a look back at the objects shoved under the invisibility cloak. The very bottom of the trunk and the frame were exposed, next to them he could see the binding of the bottom-most spellbook. In the dark study, it would pass without inspection but outside the cave under the scrutiny of sunlight, it would not hold up.

He blinked at them with a strained sigh. If that tree didn’t give him a good blanket of cover, he was as dead as a muggle at the hands of the Dark Lord. Well, at least he isn’t in the Manor anymore. Draco snorted to himself. 

A victory over the Dark Lord was not on the agenda for the day. 

His mind strayed back to the strangeness of the past few hours. It felt as though he had been between the warm walls of Malfoy Manor for the better part of a month despite his knowing the sun had probably not yet set. He shook his head as he lifted the cane from his neck and peered into the sad eyes of the snake. Tenderly, he brushed a thumb across the glittering diamond tears.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t know. Lucius…Father shouldn’t have given you up. I’m afraid I’m not going to be a very good wizard to you if I’m dead.” His mouth twisted into an annoyed pout. It was just his luck that he would find something to control his errant magic and then die. “Bloody useful as a wet sock…with holes. I’d be better off…” A tremor violently shook his body as he recalled his last breath before he slipped into the current of nothingness. “Nevermind,” he finished weakly.  

Draco’s soft expression tightened suddenly. There was a glint to the snake’s eyes he had not seen prior.

“Can you…? Merlin. My magic. My magic! It doesn’t dispel. It absorbs. Fantastic, Father. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant!”

Frantically digging through his pocket, Draco fished the crumpled note from the treasure trove of shrunken objects and phials. In the dim light, the fine, slanted cursive of his father was barely legible. Squinting, Draco read the note.

Draco,

It is hereditary. This should help keep you…restrained…as it has helped me.

Lucius Father

Draco’s mouth dropped open, silent for a moment before a whooping laugh exploded from him. Adrenaline coursed through him, numbing the horrendous pain in his stomach as he laughed into the open air of the study.

“I’m not gonna die!” 

Shock lifted his voice into the tall ceilings of the dishevelled study. There was magic left for him, sitting inside that precious wand. All he had to do was figure out a way to extract it. Clutching the wand, he gave it a weak smile.

Distant yelling made its way to the study.

They were coming.

Concentrating on the wand, Draco shut his eyes as he used to as a young Slytherin student. A tiny furrow knotted up the smooth skin between his pale brows. He could sense the magic of his own wand stored up his left sleeve, ready for use. Deep within him his magical core sputtered and coughed, diseased by the bone dagger lodged in his lower abdomen. Should have stayed for the Dark Lord’s lecture. Draco ignored the concerning magical depletion in his core and sought out the magic in the wand. He could not find it.

Not even a tremor of his stored magic caught his attention.

The chaos spread down the corridor until it rattled the windows. He worried his lower lip. The disheartened pout had returned and with it, despair.

Draco could hear nothing but the clamour outside and still he could not find his magic stashed inside the wand. Defeated by an inanimate object no less. Partially animated, his brain supplied.

Opening his eyes, he cast a despondent look in Marlowe’s direction. In her unconscious state she almost looked sane. If he weren’t so weak, he could have left her there on the floor to die. Leave the body as a problem for the house-elves. It wouldn’t have been the first body they had disposed of in the manor. With his horrible luck, it wouldn’t be the last. 

At this rate, it would be his.

Or Zippy’s.

A thump directly outside the door rose him to his feet. Wasting more magic, he cleaned the blood from the floor and adjusted his stance until he looked to be casually leaning on the cane. No sooner had he finished arranging himself did the door fly open to reveal a horde of Death Eaters led by Carrow.

Amycus opened his mouth slightly before closing it as he looked at Marlowe who was still bleeding behind Draco.

Narrowing his eyes, he asked, "Is that Marlowe?"

"Ah, is that who she was? Thought she was Bellatrix. No matter. One crazed witch is the same as another, mm?" Draco raised a brow in challenge. Marlowe may not have known Lucius well but Carrow did. If Draco showed any weakness, acted in any way lesser than Lucius, he was dead. That he had yet to cast a spell stirred hope inside Draco. Carrow clearly did not trust it not to be a trap.

"Is she dead?"

"Nearly."

Amycus inclined his head to the cane. "Didn't think you had it in you."

"Are you unaware? I thought Marlowe was simply...stupid." Amycus said nothing. "I came here to kill Father." He held up the cane. "I think I've done quite well."

"Impossible. That lying bastard asked you to."

"Oh yes, that makes perfect sense. Next, you'll tell me Tom begged me to cut off his hand." Draco huffed, “It was a poor decision to come here, Amycus.”

“Never gave you permission to use my name you fucking-.”

“It is my home. I do not need your permission for anything. I will call you as I like.” Lucius’s wand suddenly burned in his palm as a spell thrummed through his mind. This is how you play? Fine, then. You best not kill me. “Crucio!”

The word exploded into the air as shocked Death Eaters looked on while Amycus Carrow crumpled into a screaming heap on the floor.

Still holding the spell, Draco yelled, “And here I went to the trouble of saving this bitch for you. What shall I do with him, hm?” Several scared faces turned. “Any answers? Well then, perhaps I’ll kill him. Three Death Eaters in one day, what a treat.”

“No!” A young man from the back spoke up, pushing forward with his wand hanging at his side. “No.”

Draco cut the spell, moving his wand to face the young Death Eater. He must not have been older than fifteen, not even a shadow of hair graced his jaw. Something twinged in Draco’s chest. He had been in those shoes. Suffered through meetings in more ways than one and partaken in things he wished he could forget. It haunted him every night. Checkmarks on a growing list of trauma that rattled off before bed.

He cast a spell on the boy before he could blink. Before any of them could blink.

A flash of white enveloped the boy as he shrieked. It was a fancy bit of quick warding but once he returned to Hogwarts, he would be unable to leave again. Draco leaned on the body of the cane as he watched Alex try to brush off the magic. Once he realised nothing had happened, he forced a very unconvincing scowl to his face.

“Dwaco has a soft spot, Alex. He can’t kiw anyone, can he?”

The swallowed “r’s” and baby talk brought a true grimace to his face, one that would make Snape proud he was sure. Tilting his head back, he did his best impersonation of his father as he said, “How, precisely, do you think I acquired this cane? I have already said I murdered my father. Where exactly should the bar for ruthlessness then? He did beg, you know. Very prettily." The group of Death Eaters exchanged nervous glances. Some even fidgeted. "Alex,” he said, flicking his eyes in the direction of the boy. “You’ll know sooner rather than later what I cast.”

“Oi,” the small fat man said from the floor as he hefted up Carrow. “What in the bloody fuck did you do to ‘im?”

Draco was doing well, better than expected at bluffing his way into being portrayed as a cruel killer but it wasn’t going to go well much longer, Draco decided, with Carrow getting to his feet. The moment he gave an order, chaos would ensue. He was still panting beneath that thick-browed scowl, but he would be up and firing before long. Death Eaters knew how to recover from an unforgivable as though it were a scrape to the knee.

Draco flashed a toothy smile to the round wizard. “Well, you’ll just have to wait and see, unless you die of a heart attack before then. Then I guess you’ll never know.”

The portly wizard, who was now drenched in an angry sweat, shifted to an alarming shade of purple. A vein throbbed alongside his temple. Where was the Dark Lord finding these characters?

“Ya bastard,” the man growled, his shoulders suddenly growing large. “Betcha fink I’m one of dem… idiots. ” Beside him, Carrow laughed with a hand pressed to his side in apparent pain.

“Daltry, you are.”

Carrow was shot clear into the sky, hitting the ceiling with a crack and a cut-off shout before being brought back down and healed with a wave of Daltry’s hand. 

“The Dark Lord picked me. Me .” His eyes slitted as they went black. His thighs had undergone a similar transformation to his shoulders. The man had gone from short and plump to tall and shredded in a matter of seconds. Draco clutched the snake-headed wand, unsure of both the amount of magic stored and how much he would need to even touch Daltry. “Right after Lucius joined 'im. Yer Daddy was trouble. Tom, ‘e wanted protection, ya see. ‘M good at that. Real good.”

“Somehow I don’t doubt that,” Draco muttered.

A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck as Daltry took a large step toward him. He rolled his wand between his fingers. Clearly, Daltry had enough magical prowess to wandlessly jettison and control Carrow who did not immediately retaliate. Amycus was as cruel as they came but no fool. He had endured the Dark Lord’s whims and insanity as well as Lucius and Snape. If he wasn’t fighting back, there was a damned good reason.

Draco’s lips tightened marginally. He had been at every meeting for a time and never crossed this bear of a man. If there was anything he hated more than soggy shoes, it was surprises. Without a surplus of magic to rely on, he wasn’t about to draw first again especially not knowing what he was up against. He’d seen greater wizards drop dead from that sort of nervous enthusiasm.

As he began running through potential plans, a sharp voice barked, “Draco! Duck!”

Dropping to one knee and lunging to the side, Draco obeyed the command before realizing it was his father giving the order from underneath the cloak. A whoosh of air roared overhead as his knee connected with the wood. Wind smacked hard against his side with enough force that he slid closer to his treasure trove of objects. And there stood Daltry, swinging again already.

“Protego!”

A weak shield bubbled around him as he flung himself to the floor. The massive mitt glanced off the shield which promptly popped around Draco. A fistful of hairy knuckles reflected in his wide eyes as he bowed back, barely out of reach of the wild haymaker. Another two strong hooks jumped towards him as he scrambled back. Brawler, he thought as he wasted another shot of magic to protect himself. Bastard is a brawler. He’ll absorb my magic. 

Screaming in frustration, Draco clutched at his abdomen as another round of pain flashed through him. Not now. Not now, oh please. Daltry was closer, his fists gaining speed with each near-miss Draco had. One hit will kill me. Screw the rest of them. He’ll crush me. Clamouring to his feet, Draco kicked the nearby table over in Daltry’s direction to buy a second of breathing room. I’m going to die at the hands of a bloody maniac. 

“Ah!” he cried, ducking without going to his knees as Daltry’s hand lodged itself in the wood-panelled walls. “Fucking Merlin! ”

Draco staggered back. “Dammit,” he cursed. “Soulager pieds!” The magic cracked and fizzled on the end of his wand. It was running out already. The urgent need to disapparate grew frantic beside the furious drum of his heart. Standing between him and his safety, the tree, was one massive man with the wingspan of an albatross likely able to lift him overhead one-handed without a tremble of effort.

His eyes skittered over the mountainous mass to the portrait and books tucked beneath the cloak. Draco’s eyes were sharp. Calculating. He could make it. He had to make it.

Daltry ripped his hand from the wall, spraying wood chips across the library. His dark eyes stayed trained on Draco through the spray of building materials as though he were his next meal. A hungry snarly split his cheeks as he dropped low and charged Draco. Squealing in a very un-Malfoy way, Draco hobbled toward both the oaf and the Christmas tree in an attempt to get within its warding before being decapitated by the massive fist. 

I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead. Oh Merlin’s tits, I’m so fucking dead.

Draco shot the gap between the swinging arm and the wall, all but diving to the base of the tree to avoid certain death.

Halfway there, his leg buckled. The fat-fingered fist connected. Draco’s ears rang as someone, himself he supposed, cried out. His world flickered. Tunnelling down to a small point of hazy focus, Draco watched for the second time that day as his hand spread out in front of him reaching for something he had lost.

This time, his hand caught the buttery fabric of the invisibility cloak. The cane drove into the wood. A hard-line in the sand, it refused to let him fall again. His body screamed in agony but he had made it. He would not squander his opportunity to escape.

Tearing the cloak off the tree, Draco stumbled toward Lucius and the books. The next fist smacked hard into the warding. Daltry dropped with a howl. Draco barely cast a glance over his shoulder at the downed monster as he pulled the invisibility cloak taught in his trembling hands. Folding it as the tremor began to wrack his entire body, Draco let out a shaky breath. His breath refused to come naturally and his vision hadn’t fixed itself. Voices bickered all around him as he exposed his destroyed center to the swarm of Death Eaters crowding around. He couldn't ascertain what they said and didn't care to know. The cloud hung in his vision as he opened his suit jacket. Pausing only slightly, Draco realized he had lost vision completely in his bad eye just like he used to before he died. 

It was a problem for another day if he lived to see one. Gritting his teeth, he steeled himself with a deep breath. Carrow was already getting up from his spot next to Daltry. 

Wrapping the invisibility cloak around his abdomen like a sash to staunch the bleeding, Draco choked out a pained groan. Several wands raised to face him. Swallowing the rest of his burning agony, he pinched the portrait between his arm and his ribcage before scooping the spellbooks into his left arm. His knees threatened to give but he forced the shaking muscles of his legs to cooperate. To hold him together just a little while longer.

Picking up the tree which was magnificently lighter than expected, Draco hoisted the pine onto his shoulder and ploughed through the Death Eaters and out the door.

And then, Draco ran.

Every step stabbed through his invisible middle and sparked stars in his one good eye. He gasped for air while his legs churned below him, desperately trying to keep him ahead of the mob screeching like mad cats behind him. From his armpit, Lucius whispered words of encouragement. Step by step, Draco’s world fell apart until he was clinging to those words.

“Keep going, keep going.”

His legs had already made the decision to seize and cramp. I can’t make it. Father, I can’t. It hurts. Oh dear Merlin, it hurts. They burned, pushed harder, and cramped until they were numb.

“Go, Draco! Go!”

Points of pain exploded in his joints as the bone lodged in his muscles sent out waves of magical shrapnel. All around him the light of spells hitting the small sphere of safety flashed their colours. Red and blues, greens and violets, every shade and every shadow of dark magic danced like lightning above him. Blinding his good eye, the spells began to burn through the protection as he stumbled towards the door.

It’s too far. They’ll figure out the warding and I’ll…I’ll…

“Do not collapse, Draco.”

His legs fumbled. Tripping below him, they began to refuse.

“Draco!”

He found his footing suddenly with a surge of weak adrenaline. Another light cracked into the warding. It punched through and ricocheted until it met the skin of his cheek and sizzled. A broken scream escaped his mouth as his skin burned.

“You’re almost there. Don’t stop.”

Draco felt inclined to believe Lucius but the door was too far away. A good thirty feet and he was tired. His wound was pulsing now, filling his vision with white every few heartbeats.

“You are a Malfoy,” Lucius snarled. “ Escape. ”

With a sobbing gasp that threatened to close up his throat, Draco ran harder with tears trailing lines down his cheek. They settled into the wound marring his porcelain pale skin.

The last Malfoy.

At the door, he fell to his knees.

“No! Draco, no. ”

I failed. Oh gods, I failed.

“Draco, please .”

There was that word again. In his father’s mouth where it didn’t belong. He pressed himself back up, using the cane and the last of his willpower. 

I never want to hear that word again. Not from his mouth.

A skeletal hand closed around Draco’s ankle, attempting to pull him from the weakening field of protection. He brought down his collection of thick tomes atop the mess of brown hair. The hand relaxed as the cool, practised demeanour of the Malfoy mask slipped over his features. 

Tossing a glance over his shoulder, Draco held Carrow’s gaze as he sprinted toward him. 

“Carrow, I’m going to kill your Dark Lord. And then I’m going to kill you.”

He stepped over the threshold and disappeared into thin air, leaving Carrow grasping at nothingness.

**********************************************************

Draco landed on his feet and immediately collapsed.

Rough, hysterical cries lifted into the forest as the snow which had been heavy at the manor picked up around him. It reminded him too much of his father and suddenly, he was tearing at his hair. Out of control. His slight tremble turned into violent shaking. It was too much. His teeth clacked together, wobbling his screams. He could not quiet, could not calm his rattling bones. The Malfoy mask had broken. He had killed it. Draco snaked his hands around his middle and wailed.

It snowed more heavily.

The grief shifted suddenly as physical suffering overtook him. A massive crater of pain in his shoulder made it seem as though his arm were about to explode into millions of pieces. Daltry had broken him. The pressure had inched its way into his very bones. It hadn't hurt this badly in the corridor. Looking over to his shoulder, Draco moaned at the sight of mangled flesh. He had splinched himself. As though Daltry crushing him hadn't been enough, he had splinched himself wide open. Draco shut his eyes. The tears fell regardless.

As he sobbed, the ache in his arm dug deeper, drawing more cries from his lips. Each one echoed like a clap of thunder through him as the dagger twisted. Daltry had left his mark but no injury cut as deep as the bone lodged in his abdomen. It was all-encompassing. Unrelenting. He couldn't bear it another moment. He had endured it longer than he should have and every muscle, every molecule was screaming.

Another hoarse cry left his mouth unbidden as he clutched his arms more tightly around his center. 

In the far back corners of his mind, he could hear himself commanding his voice to quiet. Severus would hear. He would run out and find Draco next to Lucius’s portrait and assume the worst. Harry could arrive and burn the portrait in a fit of rage. He couldn't allow them to take Lucius away from him. Draco shoved his fist into his mouth and rocked forward until his forehead was pressed against the frozen dirt. Tears ran down his cheeks as he bit down on his cries. Small, red indents pressed into his knuckles as he trembled.

“Draco. My son. You…did a fine job.”

Draco swung his head as though drunk over the voice of his father. Snow gathered atop the frame and along the green branches of the pine. The teddy bear topper already wore a hat of white. 

“I…I-agh!” Draco cut himself off with a scream. His hands punched the frozen ground weakly as a spasm dug its fingers into his abdomen. It hurt. His shrill cries lifted high as the hawks fleeing the worsening storm.

The terrified grey eyes sought out comfort as he fought to control the pain. Lucius was there, staring at his son with mirroring tears as he shook his head. His lips moved around some words Draco would have very much liked to hear but his ears were ringing with the hard pulse of his heart desperately trying to combat the blood loss. The panic in his father’s eyes registered dimly in Draco’s mind. It took a heartbeat longer than usual, but he understood. His father would allow himself to be found to protect Draco. He was telling him to lie down and wait.

“They’ll…kill you. I can’t ,” he moaned, removing his fist from his mouth. “Father… I’m sorry.”

Lucius brought two fists up to the canvas, his face so close Draco could only see his eyes and nose. The stark shape of his cupid’s bow.

“Goddammit, Draco. Let me die! I will call him for you. Simply lie down and conserve your energy. I am not worth your life. Severus! Severus, please . Severus!”

No. Not after all this. Draco closed his eyes. There was no magic left to pull from. No luck to fall back on. He would drain himself completely if he tried anything and die without hope of carrying the Malfoy name to a better future. There wasn’t even enough blood in his veins to keep him safe, let alone magic. 

I can’t let him die. The information he has… The cane was cold in his hand but sturdy. Reassuring. He has to see. He has to know I cleared our name. When this is over and Malfoy means something…Salazar, I want to hang him back in the manor. Kicking a foot out frantically toward the portrait, he knocked it face-first into the snow, muffling it only slightly. In the study. Where he can be a pompous arse again. Lucius continued calling out albeit quieter, resorting to desperate begging as Draco began to crawl away. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Father. If they find you first, they’ll shred you into papier-mache. 

As Draco hit the edge of the protective barrier of the tree, Lucius’s voice cracked.

“Anyone, please ! My son, my son…Draco is dying!”

I’m sorry. Draco clenched his eyes shut. That damn word. 

Draco wept as he breached the warding. The pain easily tripled, casting a halo across his vision. Each placement of his hand and knee on the ground carved a deeper hole into his abdomen. The pulsing curse etched into the bone leaked through his blood as he left a trail behind him of tears and bright red droplets.

Methodically, Draco dragged himself, still screaming away from the boundary where he apparated.

The pain was excruciating.

He continued on, listening to his father's dimming call as he crawled away from his treasures until he could no longer breathe.

Panting on his hands and knees, he cursed to himself. Zippy. He'd nearly forgotten. Snapping his fingers weakly, he summoned Kreacher.

“Kr…eacher,” Draco gasped through the pain. “I need you to…oh gods. I need you to…go to the Manor with…Sylvas. She can brew. But don’t let her…ah, ah, ah.” Draco clenched his eyes shut while the pain gripped his center with skeletal fingers digging deep into his muscles. “Don’t let her tell…Snape. He can’t…can’t know.”

“Master Draco! You are hurt. And splinched! Kreacher must get Snape. Kreacher will-”

“No, don’t. It’s…Severus is coming. Trust…You have to trust me. Please. Please, I need your help. Kreacher, go to the Manor. There’s an elf…Zip-” He screamed, thunking his head into the freezing ground dusted with snow as a broken sob caught in his throat. “Zippy. Zippy. Oh Merlin, Zippy.”

“Kreacher knows Zippy. Mistress Cissa loved her very much.”

A strangled sound escaped Draco as he looked up to the old elf. “She’s hurt. I need you…to go help her. Sylvas. I need…I can’t summon-”

Beside Kreacher, Sylvas appeared. The older elf nodded solemnly toward Draco. 

“Kreacher has taken care of it.”

Draco looked helplessly to Sylvas, never quite as happy to see the overly formal house-elf but equally unsure as to how he could keep her quiet.

“Master Draco,” her round eyes went as big as saucers as she raked over him. Quickly, she rummaged in her pockets before shoving a blood replenishing potion in Draco’s hand. He drank it down without pause.

 “Sylvas wishes she could get Master Snape but Sylvas understands.” She paused, looking to Kreacher. “Zippy is Sylvas’s sister.”

“I didn’t know…I wouldn't have-”

“Master Draco.”

“Malfoy,” he corrected softly. “The manor…the manor is safe for you…both. The Death Eaters will have been…” he waved his hand with a grimace. “And the warding…”

“Then Syvlas is going.” She vanished without a crack, leaving him with Kreacher. 

“You…watch her. There’s…there’s an artefact room in Father’s…suite. I need…ah, ah fucking hell .” Another breaking screech exploded from him as spots of blood ruptured across his cheeks from the pressure. Several whimpered curses fell to the snow. “Hurts. Hurts. Shit. ”

“Master Draco is going to die. Kreacher is going to get Snape.”

“No. No , Kreacher. Have I ever…lied to you?” Draco was panting. His vision had tightened into a tiny corridor focused only on a spot of white snow. A frozen leaf stuck from it at an angle that caught the sun. Gritting his teeth, he continued. “Zippy will die. There are things…heirlooms, magic…in that room that if…if…” Draco’s middle clenched violently as he whimpered. “Go. If you have…any honour… go! I am the…I’m Master…Malfoy. And I’m…giving the order…to leave me .”

Kreacher’s ears flopped down in displeasure as he bowed low. “Certainly, Master Malfoy.”

“Thank you, Kreacher. Merlin, thank you.”

“Kreacher will never forgive Draco if he dies here. Tch, in the snow on his knees. Unbefitting of a Black. Or a Malfoy,” he grumbled. The elf vanished with an uncharacteristically deafening crack, leaving Draco staring down at the glassy leaf confused. 

He leaned on his right hand more heavily pointedly ignoring the prick of pain drawing blood from his palm.

Malfoy. He was the only one left. Lucius Malfoy was gone. Little more than a memory if he couldn’t drag attention away from the portrait he had left at the perimeter. He could still hear Lucius yelling off in the distance.

Draco began off again at a limping shuffle across the frozen forest floor. His tunneled vision focused on a far-off birch. If he could make it there, he would be able to snag Severus or Harry before they waltzed into his father’s orbit. And then, at last, the Malfoy name would be safe. 

As he dragged himself over a patch of wet leaves, Draco stuttered out a puff of warm breath into the cool air. It was strange, he decided, that he couldn’t feel the frigidness of winter. The tips of his fingers were white and when he had left with only a scarf, he had been brutally cold. It seemed as though it had been drained from him, replaced with a sort of nothingness he was unaccustomed to. He yearned fiercely and suddenly to be cold. To be uncomfortable. To feel the rocks shoving their points into his kneecaps exposed by the tears in his trousers.

Pausing, he looked behind him. Tears and blood had dropped to the ground forming a morbid trail of breadcrumbs behind him. Gently, a soft snow had begun to fall. It refused to cover the warm spots of blood. Looking to the snow below him, Draco’s stomach sank. More crimson plopped to the fresh layer of white below him. The invisibility cloak was no longer holding the river back.

“Damn,” he whispered. “ Damn .”

The eyes dotting the trunk of the birch glared accusatorily at him from a distance. He had come nearly halfway but it was still nearly half a Quidditch pitch away from him. He wasn’t going to get that far. Another shattered hope. The heart in his chest skipped a beat, paused long enough for the world to tilt before starting again. Biting his lower lip, Draco shook his head to himself. 

In the distance, Lucius called.

Scouring the nearby landscape, Draco settled on an old, gnarled oak with twisted branches and a canopy of dead leaves rustling in the breeze off to his right. Snow stuck to its bark. Breathing heavily, Draco set off again. He would make it to the oak or he would drop. He would protect his father, or die trying. 

The pain vacillated frequently between a steady throb and sharp, stabbing pains as if the dagger was cutting into him anew. Every movement jostled the shard of bone lodged in his abdomen and blood continuously soaked into the earth. His limbs gradually fizzled into a state of numbness but he continued on undeterred. The muscles in his body weakened until they trembled constantly and his bones threatened to snap beneath his paltry weight. 

Still, he carried on.

Close. Merlin, so close. The tree loomed larger as he drew nearer. Come on. Father…endured. For years. Its stretch of massive limbs looked down on his back from overhead. For decades. Shadows played across his suit jacket as the tree caught fat snowflakes, protecting him. I can…do this. I can get there. Protruding roots guided him to the fat center of the trunk when the yelling voice in the distance vanished. 

Alone. 

Draco stopped and listened. Silence. Only his own ragged breaths fell to the ground. He had made it. Risking everything, he reached deep and cast one final spell. Red sparks shot up from his wand into the sky as he howled in agony. He fell limply against the trunk, curled in on himself like a child. His hands found the saturated invisibility cloak and calmly buttoned up his jacket to hide the mess. He hated blood. Hated being dirty. With a sigh, Draco rested his head against a thick root.

Staring off at the falling snow as his vision fuzzed, he blinked slowly and incompletely. He was tired. Fatigued so deeply that he wasn’t sure he would ever recover. 

Father. Father. Gods, I…I want to go home.  

Bit by bit, he lost the fight with consciousness and slipped into the darkness with only a haunting thought to keep him company.  You’re only a memory. Only a memory now.

Draco jolted awake, his entire body spasming painfully as he opened his eyes. 

“Shouldn’t have…dozed,” he croaked, clearing his dry throat.

His lips were cracked and his mind foggy but he was aware enough to know that hardly any time had passed. Only a thin layer of snow dusted his jacket. The invisibility cloak cinched around his waist was not drenched much more than it had been last he remembered though a dull ache radiating from his good shoulder informed him he had been on the ground too long.

Shifting, he managed to sit on his arse and prop himself up against the tree. The effort left him dizzy and breathless. Blinking bleary eyes, he moved his head around slowly in search of what had woken him. Whatever had jarred him deserved his thanks.

“Not s’posed to sleep.” He huffed out a dry laugh. “Bloody hell.”

“Draco?” Severus’s voice wafted through the trees like honey. 

Nothing had ever sounded as good as that. He was scared, his voice an octave too high and not smooth at all. Screechy with panic but Snape all the same, the voice immediately soothed Draco.  

“Severus,” Draco said. His voice wouldn’t cooperate. The sound that came out of him was breathy and quiet, not nearly loud enough to carry. How had he done it before when he had collapsed at the mouth of the cave?

Severus scoffed in the distance. 

“That bastard. If I discover that he is lying…”

Draco gathered a breath to call out. A low grunt escaped him after some effort and the crunching boots stopped dead.

“Draco?”

He managed another sound but his abdomen clenched too hard and an involuntary cry cracked through the frigid air. Thunderous footsteps roared toward him. The sound was too much, too terrifying as he recalled the sound of the breached wards at Malfoy Manor and those same, pounding footfalls of Death Eaters. His grey eyes grew wet as he peered through the treeline.

That was right. It hadn’t been some nightmare or fever dream. He had killed his father, battled the Dark Lord twice, and nearly beaten a woman to death. Marlowe, he remembered. The woman with the orange boots. A sweeping wave of nausea overtook him, tightening his stomach and drawing a low moan from him.

He had done that to her. Dropped his cane across her temple with a crack that would haunt him. No one had even forced him. He had slipped into the role demanded of him with ease just like he had at all those Death Eater meetings so many years ago. The burden of survival fell to him. He sagged against the tree. What more would he have to do to survive this war? The one not even his father could escape.

“Snape?” he whined, suddenly scared to be alone. 

Bursting from behind the oak, Severus appeared.

Donning black robes and a heavy outer cloak, he swirled to face Draco in a flourish of dark fabric. Draco watched, transfixed, as every strand of black hair settled. Severus stood as though frozen in time. His mouth hung open slightly and his eyebrows had vanished into his hairline. The dark eyes perpetually narrowed into distrusting slits had gone so wide a thin sliver of white surrounded the dark. Draco shot him a cockeyed smile. He had never seen the man look so ruffled.

“Hey,” he said, waving weakly.

Snape snapped from his frozen stupor and crashed to his knees.

“Draco, what in Salazar’s name have you been up to?” His eyes raced across Draco, pausing at the shoulder. “You’ve splinched yourself.”

“Yeah,” he laughed weakly. “That would be on account of the whole…not having magic thing.”

“What?” Severus hissed as he inspected the wound. “You've depleted your magic?”

“Mostly. Did you…did you see the sparks?”

“Yes, you silly child.” Snape smelled like winter forest and books and it brought him back to their winter escapades. “Magical energy depleted. Hm. Where have you been, I wonder."

"The Manor," he replied despondently.

Severus was quiet before whispering, "What am I to do with you?” 

Draco blinked. It was a good question. Everyone today had tried to kill him except for his Father. What a strange turn of events.

“Come. I will heal you in the cave.” 

Severus gently pulled Draco forward, still unaware of the dagger in his stomach. Something crunched inside him as bone dragged across bone. The agony exploded in his vision, first going dark then turning into a display of purple fireworks. Draco focused on not fainting from the pain as his world toppled and spun wildly out of control. Outside of himself, he heard someone screaming. It wasn’t until he was dropped against the bark of the tree that he realized the voice had been his.

The jarring movement hurt more than Riddle driving the damned thing into him. His pain tolerance was remarkably low as it was, something he was ashamed of to his core. A soft whimper fell from his lips as he clenched his fists into Snape’s cloak. The dark eyes were fixed on his, perplexed and filled with a deep worry Draco did not like the look of.

“Draco?” Harry asked, rounding the other side of the oak. 

Severus did not even lift his eyes from Draco, a bad sign if he ever saw one.

Licking his lips nervously, he tried to speak but another wave of pain forced a mewl from his mouth as he closed his eyes and dropped his head to the trunk. One of his hands drifted down to his jacket underneath which his wound pulsed angrily.

“What's going on? I ran right here as soon as I saw the sparks.” Harry demanded, breathless.

Peering through lidded eyes, Draco looked at Severus. He hadn’t seen him look so angry since his days at Hogwarts when he was busy trying to keep the student body safe while fighting two maniacs at once. An angry red flush splotched across the scar on his neck.

“Nothing. ‘M fine,” he grit out.

“Hardly,” Severus snapped. “He’s completely emptied his magic. And there is bloodied snow to contest that statement, Draco.”

Severus looked down to where Draco’s hand was resting.

“I…I’m okay.”

“Draco Lucius Malfoy. You are splinched, bloody, and cannot seem to be moved.”

“What?” Harry interjected. “You splinched yourself?”

“Has Harry turned into a parrot?”

Severus didn’t dignify his joke with a response. Draco supposed he must have looked pretty terrible for Snape to completely ignore him.

“Draco,” Harry said. “What happened?”

“We don’t have time,” Severus said to Hary. “I need to heal his shoulder. It’s not simply splinched. It has been…obliterated. The bone is shattered.”

Harry’s features shifted quickly from concerned to enraged. His nostrils flared and a familiar spark of anger flamed in his eyes.

"'S right. Daltry."

"Daltry?" Snape ground out. "That bastard. I will not ask how you came across him."

Snape’s arms encircled him again in a transparent attempt at moving him.

“No,” Draco said. “Wait. Wait , please.”

Severus drew in a long slow breath and his chest pressed up against the bone in Draco’s abdomen as he pulled him forward. Draco pushed away, yelping frantically and trying to create distance. His hands punched weakly against Snape as he screamed. Vaguely, he registered Harry dropping to his side and yelling something at Snape. Their voices mingled and lifted like thunder above him as he reached toward his stomach. Unbuttoning his jacket frantically to ease the pulling tension, he bent over and howled as Severus fell backward into the snow.

Draco’s fumbling fingers untied the invisibility cloak and whipped it off to the side. The pressure on his abdomen needed to be relieved. It was all too much to bear. He couldn’t even pretend to be nonchalant anymore. Gasping sobs crashed into the quiet forest. Pushing up against the tree with his legs, Draco let the tears spill as he called out for his father. As the pain ebbed, he drew in heaving breaths and opened his eyes.

Harry’s back was turned to him, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

“Draco,” he said. “What happened to the cloak?”

Looking at his abdomen, relief flooded him. The wound was still mostly covered despite the stained invisibility cloak no longer hiding it. He sank lower against the tree. It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus and his body no longer agreed with being upright.

“I…got it dirty.” 

“With. what?”

He was so tired and this all seemed so trivial. Clearly, it was his blood. But Harry was shaking, his shoulders doing a strange little dance and it made him nervous.

Draco swallowed thickly around a dry lump in his throat. “Blood.”

Harry spun on his heel, green eyes blazing. “Whose blood, Draco? Whose blood? ”

“You know whose!” Draco immediately regretted screaming. A high-pitched whine choked out of his throat as he clutched at his stomach.

A warm hand grabbed his as he weakly protested its removal. Severus batted his hands away and ripped open the jacket. 

“Oh dear God. Christ, Draco,” Severus breathed. “What have you done?”

“Duelled with the…Dark Lord. He didn’t like that I…crucioed him so…” he gestured lamely at his stomach. “He stabbed me with a…cursed bone blade.” 

Snape’s eyes leapt from his wound before he banished the jacket right off his body.

Harry staggered before he crashed to the dirt next to Draco. “Oh no. No, no, no. Dragon. Dragon , what…why?”

“He…what he did to Father was…unacceptable. I had to…” Draco shook his head.

Severus cursed at the sight of blood drenching through the white shirt. His shoulder and abdomen were coated in red. Even his trousers were soaked. “Draco. Merlin be damned. Merlin be damned.” A string of curses fell from Snape’s mouth as he quickly stuffed fabric against the oozing cut.

“You two need to listen.”

“No, I will not,” Severus said.

“Father…asked me to kill him.”

The blur of pale fingers stopped as Severus looked up. “You have fifteen seconds. Quickly.”

“I don’t have…any magic left. Leglimency-”

“Drop your walls.”

He dropped his walls as his eyebrows jolted up in fear. “Be…be gentle.”

The dark eyes softened as they jumped around his face. “Certainly, Draco.”

Severus leafed through the recent memories with astonishing speed while Harry looked on helplessly. 

It carried on a good deal longer than fifteen seconds though Severus still had not seen everything he needed to. When he pulled back from Draco’s mind, Draco let out a shaky sigh.

“Lucius…saved me. Three times. And I…I killed him.”

Severus had gone incredibly pale, his dark eyes wide. “ Christ .”

“Careful…S’verus. Your muggle upbringing is…” Draco trailed off looking up at the clouds overhead. The storm had cleared.

Spots of blue were peeking through the grey clouds. Had the storm at Malfoy Manor cleared as well? It was always beautiful there when the sun was out. In the summer, when the fountains were turned on and the gardens were in bloom the grounds were more similar to a fairy wonderland than ordinary gardens. If he squinted his eyes, he could see the red petals of the poppies in the sky.

“Draco. Draco?” It was funny the way he was saying his name, Draco decided. Breathy and full of panic and so unusual coming from a man like Snape. “Draco!”

Harry was hollering too now. He never made a fuss like this. Draco was about to wonder what the issue was when someone’s hands gripped his busted shoulder.

“If you close your eyes again, so help me Merlin, I will finish the job.”

He nodded a quiet apology.

“Dragon,” Harry’s voice cracked. “I…I heard you.”

“What? Oh. Oh. It worked.” Draco’s eyes begin to water. “That’s why…you’re out here?”

Harry nodded.

"I thought you didn't...care anymore."

Harry's entire face scrunched up in pain. When he spoke, his voice wavered as much as his lower lip. Something broke in Draco’s chest. “You could have died. You were dying and you never thought I’d want to help? I’m your partner.”

Draco looked helplessly over to Severus by way of explanation. Harry’s face dropped.

“No. No . I never meant… It’s you and me against the world, Dragon. That won’t ever change. All right? We’re family, isn’t that what you told me?”

“Yeah,” he croaked.

“I’m sorry, Draco. I’m so sorry, I should have been there.”

Harry’s green eyes were little ping pong balls bouncing all over the place. They flitted over his features and Snape’s with the quickness of an enraged pixie. Up to Snape’s hair, down to Draco’s missing right shoe, back up to Draco’s dirt-covered, bloody hair, and down to the arms holding him. They pointedly ignored his wound right up until they didn’t. Those summer green eyes jumped off Snape’s profile and right to the gash in Draco’s side. Glaring at him with an emotion he hadn’t yet seen on his friend.

Following Harry’s gaze, he looked down to see how it was coming along.

The answer was incredibly bad.

Crimson had drenched a good section of his shirt and the tops of his slacks were certainly ruined as well. All that remained was the slashed dress shirt saturated with scarlet blood and the ruined black suit jacket. He’d bled through it. More and more red oozed into white, gathering territory and panic both. It was so much blood, he couldn't believe people could bleed so much.

“Oh,” he said.

His eyes were transfixed on the wound. Suddenly there were two hands eclipsing his vision of it. They touched the bone inside cursed with some mumbled spell and hatred. A strong buzz shot through his fingertips and the hands jerked back. Oh, they’re my hands. His stomach dropped and he frantically looked to Harry. Am I okay?

“Draco," Snape said, "This is going to be painful. Hang on.”

He wasn’t sure if it was painful or not because the next thing he was aware of was his head bouncing against Snape’s shoulder. Lifting it to avoid a headache, Draco grimaced. Severus was sprinting, his long legs chewing up the earth below with astonishing speed. It must have been bad if the great bat was running. Snape’s arms tightened around him marginally and the feel of a hug felt so good, Draco melted.

“Harry.” Snape’s voice was clipped. “Go clear out the cave. Send them all to Hogwarts. Five hours. Do not tell them of Draco and do not tell them of Lucius. They will disapparate from the cave entrance. Understood?”

“Yessir.”

“Harry,” Draco rasped. “Use Soulager Pieds .” He moved his arm around the motion feebly.

Harry cast the spell and took off. Draco smiled into the warm fabric as he settled his head back down. He was tired. Incredibly so and the world had begun to suffocate him. Struggling to breathe, he gasped in a long breath of Snape. The sharp musk hit his nose and he sighed out tobacco. Was it Father’s? He always did like to smoke a pipe by the Christmas tree. Vanilla inched on the periphery and Draco smiled. Mother must have been baking recently, Snape wore her biscuits like a cologne. He nuzzled more deeply into Snape’s shoulder as a heavy humming washed over him. This was his favourite lullaby, the only one anyone ever sang to him. Well, that wasn’t true. Father sang him one. Sleep began to take over Draco as he let a yawn pull his mouth open. 

“Do not sleep, Draco.”

“Tired.”

“I know. Just a little longer.”

Draco blinked his eyes closed. “The Christmas tree is here. And Father’s portraits. Some spellbooks. I don’t want-”

“I'm aware. I...did not see your sparks at first. It was Lucius who informed me of your location. I have never heard him speak so quickly.” Severus paused, rubbing a soothing hand down Draco’s back. “I thought I told you not to have a bleeding heart.” Draco shrugged. Quiet tears plopped into the wool. “He is safe.”

A drowning sense of relief washed over him.

“You have been…incredibly stupid but I am…proud. As is…as is your father. You have helped us a great deal today.”

“Mm,” Draco hummed. “Brave as a dragon.”

“Indeed.”

A warm smile stretched his cracked lips. He’s safe. Now…now at least Severus will know the truth. He can make sure it’s alright. Draco sighed. I did it. His arms went limp to the frantic calls of Severus. The world clung to the edges for a moment. 

And then, went black.

Chapter Text

Draco was laid out on Severus’s potion table, an island of sorts in the middle of the kitchen, bleeding all over the wood and onto the floor. Both arms flopped over the side and Harry was in the process of lifting his shoeless right leg back onto the table. It was a horrific scene. One that Severus had not, even in his wildest nightmares, anticipated. Draco’s blood was everywhere. Pooling on the ground, making the counter slick, and trailing in a long line from the cave entrance to the kitchen it painted the whole room red. It was spattered across Harry’s clothes and smudged across his forehead while Severus himself was coated up to his wrists and wearing it all down his chest. For once, he was fortunate to be wearing black. It harkened back to his Death Eater days and the very reason he had opted for dark colours to begin with.

“He’s bleeding too much. My magic isn’t stopping it.”

“Yes, I have eyes. I can see that,” Snape snapped. “Stop casting.”

The blasted dagger was cursed. From the moment Draco had said it was bone, Severus knew he was in trouble. There was very little the Dark Lord enjoyed more than infusing bones with old curses. He had even helped him research them under Albus’s urging. Severus was growing incredibly tired of seeing his old handiwork inflicted on his loved ones.

Growling out a frustrated sigh, Severus pinched the edges of the dagger with his fingers. It hummed with malicious magic and the kind of twisted anger that only followed the Dark Lord. Altogether, unsurprising. It was not going to be pretty but the longer it was inside Draco, the longer it would poison his magic. He could pull it and risk killing Draco or leave it and allow it to kill him in the time it took him to discern the curse.

“Give him another blood replenisher. Where is that damn elf? I’ve called her twice.”

“Should I call Dobby?”

“In a moment.” The bone was pearly in the middle of Draco’s flesh. “I am going to remove it.”

“Remove it? We have no idea what that’ll do!”

“ You do not. I, on the other hand, have…potentially…encountered this before. And it is not the first time I will have had to remove a bone shard from this self-sacrificing…” The insult died on his tongue. “I am familiar with this. The Dark Lord…encouraged…me to create several curses specifically for these abominations. Obviously, I did.” Harry was quiet and Severus found he didn’t have the strength to look him in the eye. “This could very well be my doing.”

“Stop it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, stop it. This isn’t your fault.” Harry had a firm grip on the gauze shoved into Draco’s abdomen but his focus was directed at Severus. His heart clenched at the look of fierce love in Harry’s eyes. “If ‘Mione were here she’d slap us both and have Draco fixed while we licked our wounds.”

Severus snorted.

Draco twitched on the table. Grimacing, Severus cast another anesthetic charm. A small frown furrowed the pale brow before Draco fell still again. 

It was going perfectly terrible. 

Severus dropped his hands to the table in the few spots void of blood.

How in Merlin’s name am I going to fix him? If I cannot keep him safe, I’m as good as useless. Lucius managed to keep him safe all these years. And I…I doubted that he even cared. His hands turned into fists. He’ll kill me if I let Draco slip through my fingers. After all he’s done, all he’s sacrificed. I am a fool. Always a fool!

“Dammit!” He slammed his fists back onto the table, making Harry and Draco both jump. “We cannot leave it any longer. I will need your help.”

“All right,” Harry said skeptically.

“I am going to remove it and then brew snowflower salve and essence of dittany. If I combine them, Draco might have a chance.”

“Might?”

Severus looked over Draco to Harry. He was pale and sweaty, a far cry from the tanned, young skin of his earlier years. Terror was etched into his tight features, recounting a history of pain and fear. Even that couldn’t garner sympathy from Severus. 

“It was all I could do with resurrecting the both of you. Was “might” enough then? Or perhaps when I invented a spell on the spot that saved you, which very nearly cost me my arm? Was that enough? Perhaps I should Floo the bloody potions committee and ask for permission to experiment!” Harry’s lip trembled as he looked away, muttering an apology under his breath. “I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean-”

“You did and I deserved it. I’m being a prat. Draco’s dying and this is war. Don’t worry about it. So, you’re going to pull it out?”

“Yes. The longer it remains in Draco the more damage it will do. I highly doubt the Dark Lord expects anyone to simply…remove it. A muggle solution to a magical problem has never been involved in his thought process.”

“But it is in yours.”

Severus nodded. Half of the forced creations he made while under the Dark Lord had obvious solutions. If you weren’t raised a pureblood. “Draco will be on borrowed breath after that. You’re familiar with muggle medicine?”

“A little. I’ve had to resort to it a few times when magic wasn’t an option.”

“Very well. Don’t let him die.”

Harry balked. Rightfully so. It was a horrible way to ensure Draco’s safety but Severus found he had very little choice in the matter. Draco had arrived half-dead on his doorstep with every valuable Malfoy heirloom trailing behind him and a pieced-together story Severus needed to hear. If he could pull him through this, he would hex him into next week and leave him upside down in the library like a bat. Permanently banned from the cottage and, Severus decided, he would even tell Minerva. That would scare Draco straight.

If, of course. Always an “if”.

“Severus? Is that…is that it?”

“Yes. Keep him alive until I return with the concoction.”

Harry looked down at Draco, going pale himself. “I thought you might be a little more..." Harry gestured vaguely around the room and at Draco. "...descriptive than that.”

“He just needs to live until I return. Now, grab me that miniature cauldron. The one in the…no. No , not the… Yes, that’s the one.” A small pewter cauldron clanged to the table near Draco’s head. Severus rattled off a list of plants and pre-crushed powders. Small glass phials and one large jar were shoved into the cauldron as Harry grabbed everything for him. A thin dish tucked in last. “That will do. Are you ready?”

Casting a last look at Draco, Harry reluctantly nodded.

The dagger slipped out with a squelch and a clatter as it fell to the table.

Severus was out the entrance before even checking to see if Harry had not keeled over from the sight, cauldron in hand.

Half of him wanted to throttle Harry for keeping his communication with Draco secret as long as he had and the other half wanted to strangle Draco for going off on his own in the first place. Both halves were furious that he and Harry had allowed Draco to feel unimportant to begin with. He had as good as wrapped Draco up and shipped him off to the Dark Lord. A slow-churning rage roiled in his stomach as he envisioned every happy meal he’d eaten with Harry. Every night he had chosen to relax in his bed, tuck up with a good book and relax from the war effort while Draco undoubtedly tossed and wailed in his bed beneath the watchful eye of heavy silencing charms. The man had spent more than a year on the run and the following months persecuted by the public, for Salazar’s sake, it wasn’t going to simply vanish.

Severus played with the hems of his sleeves as he sought out the location where the snowflower dust had dropped and he had nearly been strangled by Harry's enthusiasm. The pale landscape covered in the beginnings of twilight was no help. Neither was his frantic, distracted mind. Severus scanned the ground. It should have been nearby but it would be impossible to tell now. Every ounce of snowflower dust that Severus had painstakingly harvested in case of emergency was gone. Covered beneath a layer of glittering white just like it.

It was gone.

A sordid picture of his actions formed in his head.

War was not a novelty for him. He had endured, fought, killed, and suffered the aftereffects two other times. Friends had died under his watch. Witches and wizards he deeply cared for had been slain as he looked on, falsely apathetic. He had witnessed the strongest minds unravel under the trauma. Watched the greatest witches and wizards he knew swan dive off towers to avoid becoming a burden or slip into the wrong hands.

Ollivander, who he could have saved. Pomona who had been slain in her sleep. Unaware and unprepared. A stiff breeze tossed snow across his bloodied robes. Lucius who he had known better than anyone and yet turned on at the first sign of cruelty toward Draco without even a question. 

And now Draco.

Who Lucius had frantically entrusted into his care one December. He could recall it clearly, the proud austere man gripping at his robes and begging Severus to take the magical oath as Draco’s godfather. And his head had been shoved so far up his arse with his own struggles he had failed to recognize the desperation in Lucius’s expression. The waver of his voice. Severus’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. The longer this third war dragged on the more he began to think he had caused nothing but more pain. He was as ignorant as the rest. Because of it, Draco’s blood was soaking into the wooden island.

His first two fingers came to rest upon his lips as he looked out at the vast landscape of white. Severus shook his head softly. For the first time in this particular war, he was at a complete loss. 

The snow was still falling, harder now with fat flakes liable to blind him were they to fall in his eyes. It melted across the tops of his boots still coated with Draco’s blood. Severus watched as the snow slowly covered the stains while darkness inched over the forest, clouding his vision with uncertainty. Beneath his fingertips, his lips tightened and relaxed with his pattern of fear. It was suddenly possible that he could lose Draco again but this time, no great battle would have snatched him away. No other families would be mourning. None would be killed. Only the Malfoys.

It was always the Malfoys.

His hand dropped back to his side with a heavy sense of finality.

Draco had pulled an incredibly stupid stunt prioritizing Marlowe’s life over his own. Just like Lucius. The Slytherin green cigarettes Draco had given him a few days back were heavy in his pocket. Well then. I suppose I cannot let my students outshine me. Not even in stupidity.

Grabbing his cauldron, he settled it a foot or so in front of his feet with a grimace. A very weak, blue ward fluttered around it, leaving a small opening at the top. The wards spread around the base, licking up his boots and wrapping him in a paltry amount of protection from the inevitable. Snowflower dust, as beautiful and fragile-looking as it was, happened to be one of the more volatile ingredients when it interacted with magic of any sort. It could not be stored near other ingredients without combusting and the list of potions it could not come near was long. A rare and finicky ingredient, the glittering dust could not even be harvested by magical means. It was a miracle that he had not exploded when Harry had decided to spontaneously strangle him earlier.

Severus rolled his lips together as he pointed his wand toward the bleak, endless sky. 

He was an absolute moron for attempting this. 

A fool. A dim-witted man poisoned by the hope of young idiots who did not know the first thing of battle. He blinked. They did know now, didn’t they? The death. The horror. The inescapable wires squeezing tightly in one’s chest as a friend, a brother, a lover was cut down with a smile on their face and pride colouring their cheeks.

Severus wet his lips.

“Accio…” he said, as though he couldn’t believe he was casting. “ Accio Snowflower dust .”

He narrowed his focus down to a pinprick while pushing as hard as he could to call the snowflower dust into the cauldron. Far off in the back of his mind, he could see himself, a stark black figure in the midst of a white world looking as determined Harry had all those years back at the Tri-Wizard tournament. Something twisted in his stomach at the thought. It hadn’t ended well then, had it?

Under his fierce gaze, the snow began to fall backward, slowly climbing back up the way it came before sloughing off its ride and revealing a glittering speck of snowflower dust. His magic strained, corded in his neck, and painted a thick sneer across his lips. The dust lifted higher, an unwilling participant in a game he’d rather not play. Then, with little warning, the ground exploded around him. Thundering beneath his boots and ricocheting off the thin warding, bright flashes ignited across the landscape.

He lurched to the side as the ground belched beneath him from the collective force of the small shockwaves. The ground was slick, unyielding, and privately conspiring against him as his footing fumbled. His eyes trailed down to his left leg as it slipped out of the thin blue veil of safety. Bringing his foot back into the ward carried a high probability of fracturing the entire structure.

“No,” he breathed.

He had disturbed the snowflower dust.

The world blinded Severus. In an instant, the field around him had exploded into a series of crackling explosions. The white of the hundreds of simultaneous blasts skittered across his eyes as he opened his mouth and screamed his terror into the deafening landscape of white. Somewhere inside, a young Severus was watching himself lose control of his magic as his father beat his mother deep into unconsciousness.

His pupils shrunk to pinpricks. Far away a searing pain seized his left leg. It couldn’t be good, the burning snake constricting across his toned calf. The last he had felt such a sensation, Bellatrix had jabbed her wand into the meat of his leg. The burning doubled, threatening to buckle his knee but the memory fluttering in the cavern of his thoughts surfaced anew. With a low grinding, growl, he glared at the dark wood of his wand calling the snowflower dust to it. 

Sheer cussedness coloured his knuckles white and pushed blood hard against his throat. He would never collapse, not when another soul relied on his solidity as both Harry and Draco were now. Just as he had that night watching his Pa beat his mother, Severus channeled the raw current of terror and pain into his magic. It narrowed down to a point high above his head while a cold breeze slashed across his front in response to the heavy discharge of magic radiating off his dark silhouette. 

The sun dipped below the horizon.

Darkness flared. It swallowed Severus suddenly until he was swathed in shadow, illuminated only by the fire undulating over the expanse of melted snow and the feral tongues of flame devouring his trousers. Seconds stretched into impossibly long minutes. His hands began to tremble as the fire finished its meal of cloth and turned its attention to his flesh but his job remained unfinished. Severus ground his teeth together. He would not fail Draco.

Not again.

As quickly as they had begun, the explosions settled. In the sky, a cloud of snowflower dust floated venomously, looking more green than white in the strange light of afterdark. Severus flung his wand down to the cauldron. The glittering powder dutifully followed.

Turning his attention quickly to his still flaming leg, Severus cast several intricate charms to extinguish the mess before closing his eyes and chanting the careful Latin to the Vulnera Sanentur. Cords of emerald looped lazily across the deep burns. 

Casting a withered look at the still burned leg, he left it as a problem for Harry as he crouched low and began brewing the experimental potion combination.

Severus scooped the snowflower dust into a shallow dish with his bare hands. He had survived one brush with the wretched powder, he did not have any desire to do so again. Scouring the cauldron with the hem of his dark robes, Severus eradicated every last visible trace of the blasted thing before moving on to the brewing process.

Starting with the essence of dittany, Severus relaxed into an easy posture.

He had brewed this particular potion thousands of times. He stocked Pomfrey’s supplies, his own stores, and even those of Mungo’s while often providing a few extra phials to the seventh-year students as a sort of graduating gift to keep them out of his hair though Harry told him he suspected it was because he cared. Severus snorted at the thought as he tossed in the shrake spines. It would simply be a waste of effort if he scooted everyone through their schooling simply to have them bleed out the moment they disapparated.

Brewing the essence of dittany was almost relaxing. A comfort after a day of terrors stacked on top of terrors. Pulling several sprigs of various coloured dittanys from a small jar, Severus weighed them carefully in the palm of his hand before tossing pink, blue, and lavender sprigs in alongside the extracted oil. Sighing, he wrapped up the rest of the potion with relative ease. By the end, his shoulders had crept away from his ears and the furious pounding of his heart had settled.

He poured the potion into three small, twisted phials and set them off to the side.

They will cool in the snow. 

Knocking a pile of snowflakes over them, he smiled. It had been ages since he had brewed so freely. The comforts of a lab were a luxury but they did not always allow for creativity.

Merlin, enamoured with brewing in the snow. What has come of me? The trauma is rotting my brain.

Severus shook his head slightly.

Distraction around something as volatile as snowflowers could become a fatal mistake.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Severus poured the glitter into the now empty cauldron, clacking the dish against the rim to remove the last of it. Several other powdered, crushed, and whole ingredients followed as the potion shifted between cornflower and periwinkle. The pre-chopped and powdered ingredients had been one of Neville’s smarter ideas and made the entire process go from a crawl to a rather lazy walk. He had brewed this potion several times before and the sheer volume of obliterated materials made it an arduous process that swallowed entirely too much of his time. He had been lucky to get out of the lab within an hour only once before.

Grimacing, Severus brushed the thought away. Draco did not have the luxury of time with Harry performing muggle medical practices on him.

Fortunately, the potion had already begun to transform into its signature white-blue hue with specks of midnight black rising to the surface. Soon, the specks turned into long stripes. They swirled through the congealing potion as Severus sat on his haunches and watched for the final ninety seconds. Huffing in disbelief, he glanced at his tempus charm. It had taken only a handful of minutes to finish the snowflower salve. After all his studies, it was an Herbologist who taught him something. They were always the best assets to a potions master.

Sneering down at the potion, he fished out a cooled phial from the snow. He glared down at the thick fingers of the potion staining the cold glass in his palm. This would either go well or he would not live to judge his efforts. The potion splashed up the glass as he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a final once-over.

Uncorking it, he held the phial over the cauldron.

“Do not give me trouble.” He wet his lips nervously. “I cannot afford it today.”

In one fluid motion, he emptied the contents of the phial into the salve. A high-pitch whine escaped the concoction followed by a steady hiss. Severus waited until the noises and belching bubbles had passed. Then, he stirred it four times clockwise.

The potion trembled and settled.

A crooked smile spread across his mouth at the success. The only test left was the application. Then he would know if he had done it.

Adrenaline kept the teeth of his focus sharp enough to draw blood as he grabbed the still hot cauldron and sprinted across the pale expanse of snow. A fleeting splash of black in a world of flurrying white, Severus rushed to the cave to begin saving Draco.

It was tiring work.

By the end of two hours, his back ached, his feet had gone numb, his vision had begun to blur, and he was certain he was more covered in blood and filth than he ever had been before. But Draco was breathing easily. Colour had returned to his cheeks and he was no longer dripping across the floor. 

He was far from healthy. The still obvious gash across his abdomen testified to that. Numerous bruises littered his naked torso along with a few curse marks and given how far he had pushed his magic, it would take a while to recover fully but he was alive. In a few days' time, there would hardly be a trace of his encounter at Malfoy Manor.

“Hold him up,” Severus said.

Harry looped his arms beneath Draco’s armpits and hefted him into a half-seated position. Tilting open his mouth, Severus slipped him another two blood-replenishing potions, a light muscle relaxant, and a potion to wake him up. He did not need Draco to suffer from any sort of side effect from the snowflowers, least of all exuberant energy.

Harry set Draco down as Severus wiped the corners of his mouth.

“You want me to clean him up?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Severus was exhausted and magically depleted, wanting nothing more than to lie down on the dirt floor and sleep.

A wave of magic licked across the floor and hit the wooden island hard enough to cause the cabinets to rattle. Severus let out an inadvertent sigh. He wouldn’t have to expend any energy to clean up today. The rest of the blood could be dealt with later. He never wanted to see that much of Draco’s blood in one place ever again and if he had walked back out to it, Severus thought he was liable to faint.

“Bruises too? I can get a few I think.”

Severus frowned. “No, not with the snowflower salve. I don’t want too much more magic involved than necessary.” Catching the sour look on Harry’s face, he added, “He will have to suffer the blemish to his perfect skin.” 

Harry smiled. “Prat won’t be able to handle it. You could have healed those at any time before and you know it.”

“A little revenge for that ridiculous stunt from a former head of house seems justifiable.”

A doofy grin spread across Harry’s face. 

“What? I’m entitled to take that from this little monster. Have you enlarged the bed in his tent?”

“Yeah. Added a couple chairs too.”

“I’m sure he will be nothing but grateful,” Severus rolled his eyes. “Especially if they do not match the decor he already used.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak but quickly ended up yawning instead. The stress of the day was indeed catching up. 

“Go,” he said to Harry. “Clean up. I will take him to bed.”

“Severus, you’ve-”

“I don’t have the strength to argue. I’ll need to administer the rest of the potions when he wakes. Just…shower and floo the rest to give us until tomorrow morning.” He brushed a dirty hand across his forehead. “I will join you if I can.”

A light hand touched his arm.

“I love you, you know.”

“I know.”

Harry squeezed and said, “Take it easy okay? I still need to fix that leg of yours.”

Both he and Harry looked down to his exposed calf. Most of the trouser leg had been burned away. Even the dragonhide leather of his boots had bubbled from the heat. The hair below his kneecap had been singed off but the fire had not quite touched the coarse dark hairs peeking from beneath the jagged cut of fabric.

“Really did a number,” Harry muttered.

Severus nodded slightly. “The worst is over. For everyone.”

“Good.” Soft lips ghosted across his cheek. “And good job, Severus.”

He braced himself against the wooden countertop and closed his eyes.

The praise felt good. Immeasurably so. He had done it, hadn’t it? Saved Draco despite not thinking he would ever get another moment to hex some sense into him. A bone-deep fatigue began cuddling in his joints. Something else was there too. The wide mouth of something feral readying its cry or some old factory churning out black smoke was inside of him, about to make itself known. Already, Severus felt the profound need to go to Harry. To be alright.

The soft shuffle of Harry’s feet faded into the background.

He still had work to do.

“Well Draco, let’s get you to bed.”

Struggling slightly, Severus managed to scoop Draco’s frail body into his arms.

Walking him back to the newly enlarged tent, Severus griped to himself that he was tired of carrying Draco and Harry this way. Tired of holding them bloody. Unconscious. Freshly healed to fight again. This would have to stop. 

Settling Draco down on the bed, Severus lined up tinctures and potions on a nearby table and pulled the sheets up to Draco’s hips after slipping on a pair of pajama bottoms from his drawer. He puttered about for several more minutes while Draco began to rouse from his sleep. He would likely be tired the next time he came in to care for the blond idiot and wanted the room as orderly as possible though since he was dealing with Draco, it was already nearly pristinely organized.

After several minutes of fiddling around, Severus dropped into the chair with a hefty sigh. Immediately his feet began to throb. He sighed again and stretched the tense muscles of his jaw before leaning forward and tending to Draco. There were still bandages to be wrapped and bruises to be inspected.

As he reached for the gauze, Draco’s grey eyes clenched then fluttered open.

“Draco…” Severus brushed the pale fringe off the sweaty forehead, wandlessly healing a small gash with his thumb. “Welcome back.”

Grey eyes settled on his before rolling closed with a moan. “Is Harry…?”

“He’s flooing the others to keep them out for the night.”

Draco hissed in pain, lowering his hand to his abdomen. “Scared him, didn’t I?”

“He will recover.”

“And you?”

“I have seen worse.

“That’s not…what I asked.”

Severus regarded him carefully from his chair. “Do not ever do that again.”

“So I scared you too.”

“Yes, of course, you bloody idiot. Watching my godson die in my arms was…not how I expected this day to end.” He sighed heavily at his tone. “Draco, I am glad to have you back though I…have not decided yet what to do with you. Mind you, I will do something.” 

Severus rubbed a hand across his own brow. 

“You are so much like Lucius it frightens me. How could you ever believe that Harry and I…” He placed a cool hand on Draco’s cheek, removing the last trace of scar from whatever had burned him. “You are my family, Draco. No mate of mine can dissolve that bond. I swore an oath to your father to keep you safe as your godfather. It is magically binding.”

“Oh.” Draco opened his eyes again, this time staring at the ceiling. Storm clouds moved across them and Severus found himself looking at the blood still swirling in Draco’s right eye. “Really buggered things up this time, didn’t I?”

“Do not take what I am about to say as a compliment.”

Draco smirked, closing his eyes again and resting his hands on his belly. “I think you know me better than that, Snape.”

Tching, Severus continued. “You may have saved our arses. Not even I was able to scrape together any intelligence in the past few weeks. The Dark Lord and Albus may be recuperating but that will draw to a close sooner rather than later and I have been…struggling…to be prepared for their next move. Lucius had always been our greatest indicator of their plans, I suppose now I see why, but the silence Albus imposed on the Death Eaters has been…difficult…to manage. You have not buggered anything up, Draco. Are you listening? You have done a reckless thing but…thank you.”

“What?” he asked, his eyes flying open.

“Must I repeat myself? Thank you. Draco, you were as cunning as Salazar himself and I’ve no doubt the sword of Gryffindor would have appeared if you had asked.”

The grey eyes scanned him. “Have you been brewing in a closed room?”

“No. Out in the snow, if you’ll believe it.”

Draco snorted. “After today…” Sorrow passed through his eyes as he searched Severus’s face. “Well, guess I’d believe anything.”

“Then believe that tomorrow morning, when the rest of those lions come barging in, you will be their hero. Though, expect a scolding.” Severus felt his eyes soften as he adjusted the bandage on Draco’s abdomen. “They do not appreciate losing one of their own. Black once wept at my feet because he assumed Remus was dead. The idiot was out picking berries in the dark. When he returned…” Severus shook his head with a fond smile and applied more numbing salve. “Black knocked Remus flat on his arse and spent the following day alternating between screaming at him and feeding him potions.”

“Do you think I am?”

“Hm?”

“One of them? They’ve never…”

The bandages were suddenly slick in his hands as he fumbled. 

“They have always.”

“Snape.” A grimace blanketed Draco’s features. Severus ducked his head and pulled the blanket down to wrap a potion-dipped cloth around his abdomen. “I…”

“Sentimentality clogs up the few cogs in their brains but you have always been important to them. And do not attempt to convince me that I am lying to you. If you could tell, I would hardly have been a good spy and if I couldn’t tell the true intentions of those around me, Hogwarts would have buried me years back. You are their family.”

“An honorary Weasley,” Draco muttered to himself.

Severus grit his teeth as a surge of grief washed through him. 

“There’s…a lot you missed,” Draco said both yawning and wincing. “Pensieve later?”

Severus grunted his agreement.

A long silence stretched between them as Severus went about the last of mending Draco. The branding slash on his cheek would need further attention in the coming days if it was to vanish completely but Severus had a nasty inclination to believe it would always be visible. The beauty of magic was slipping further and further from him with each friend he healed. Harry was littered with scars, some dark, others mundane and now Draco the boy who had been proud of his unblemished skin would have two horrible reminders of what would stand as the worst day of his life. Severus glared at the red gash.

It wasn’t overly large. The skin would knit itself together by the end of the night. It was, however, heavily cursed and already a violet bruise had settled around the healing tissue, unwilling to lift from the flesh no matter what magic licked across it. Magic trickled from his wand as he ran it over the wound. Aside from the discolouration, it seemed that nothing else had happened. His muggle solution of ripping the blasted thing right out of Draco had worked. No magic necessary.

A relieved sigh relaxed his shoulders down as he wound bandages around Draco manually. So long as the snowflower dust was active, magic would have to be limited around him. His eyebrows twitched slightly. He would have to remember to set up anti-magic wards around this room or else suffer the consequences of a do-gooding Gryffindor attempting to cheer up Draco. Always the professor, always the disciplined head of house.

Before he could slip into the bittersweet feelings of nostalgia, Draco’s hands were floating down to his abdomen again, obscuring Severus’s light while a red flush of discomfort coloured his cheeks. Severus cast a tempus. The pain potions would be waning but he could hardly risk giving him much more, not with the snowflower salve and the essence of dittany already in his system. He wanted him comfortable, not comatose. And he was unwilling to cause an explosion.

Sighing, he carefully guided Draco’s hands back to the bed.

“ Hurts ,” Draco moaned.

“I know. Nearly finished now, and then you will have a sleeping draught.”

“Half-blood Prince special?”

“For this one time, yes and that is only because the concentrated dose will interact less with the snowflower dust.”

“The…snowflower dust? Oof.” Draco fidgeted and pressed back against his pillows. “Must be…really bad if-”

“Shut up,” Severus hissed. “And do quite wiggling. It is difficult enough to wrap this the muggle way. You are fine.”

“Now.”

“Tch. You become more like him every moment. And do not take that as a compliment.” 

Draco was already smiling. It looked good on him, Severus decided. After seeing his thin face slack with unconsciousness, screwed up in pain, and twisted as he sobbed, the small, peaceful smile gracing his lips was welcome. A pleased look flashed over Severus’s face as he continued. 

“Lucius was the second largest pain in my arse with only the remarkable Harry Potter taking first place. Did you know that at his marriage he spent three nine-hour days deciding on the curtain arrangement? Of course, the bloody git needed me at his side for all of them. I drank more that week than I had in the entire previous month. He nearly drove me to insanity and you are precisely the same way. Off galavanting only to floo me , muddy and covered in twigs begging my help.

“Your father was once lost in the Northwest Highlands, Merlin knows how he got there or why, for nearly a week before his Patronus, that bloody peacock, came pecking at my door. On my only holiday that year mind you, I apparated with a muggle compass and a strong grasp of the four-point charm which Lucius did not know existed and guided him back to civilization only for the prat to insist we attend a “Wizards Lost in the Wild” Auror seminar. Insufferable!”

The muscles in Draco’s abdomen had gone pliant as Severus orated the story and his hands had released the bedsheets from their death grip. Severus continued on.

“The wizarding world views him as some…perfectly posh, uptight lunatic.” 

Severus recalled the brief conversation he had with Lucius as he stumbled across him in the clearing. They would be discussing matters later on but in those few short minutes, Severus recalled that Lucius had at one point been a dear friend to him. Especially when the Dark Lord had vanished with the tragedy that occurred at the Potter’s household.

Even I fell into that belief. 

“Lucius has always been a Malfoy. Reckless. Naive. Loyal. Deeply protective over those he loves. And born with a penchant for wandering into business that is not his. Merlin, there were days where I ran after him like a toddler, hauling him back by his carefully pressed and folded collar. You are so very much like him, Draco. Perhaps that will give you some comfort. Even as a prefect, he was deeply entrenched in the honour of the Malfoy name going so far as to colour the stones of Gryffindor tower green in retaliation for one snide remark about his father.”

Draco jolted beneath him. His lips were parted slightly and his eyelids looked as though someone had weighed them down. He would hardly need a sleeping draught at this point. 

“But that is not a conversation for now. I’ve tired you enough already.”

“No, I…I don’t want to sleep.”

Severus leaned back in his chair and scrubbed a tired hand down his face. He reeked of fumes, iron, and the faint traces of Malfoy Manor which he must have picked up from Draco. He was tired. Not as much as the suddenly young-looking Draco beside him, but enough to begin hazily listing toward the bed.

“I…keep seeing him right before he…”

“The Dreamless Sleep will help, Draco.”

Worried grey eyes looked at him as Severus pushed a bottle into his hand. Waving over a large, fluffy blanket, Severus draped it over Draco. He tucked in the sides and placed a glass of conjured water on the nightstand beside him.

“Now,” he said, walking to the flap in the tent. “I will leave this with you.”

Gently, he set the Malfoy cane down on the bed.

“I advise against using it given the…” he gestured at Draco’s abdomen. The word for the volatile ingredient had left his mind. He must have been more exhausted than he thought. “...potions. However, if you need anything, I will be nearby. Simply call.”

Draco nodded and, in one fluid motion, emptied the contents of the phial. Settling back under Severus’s stern gaze, he looked up to the ceiling and pulled the blankets up to his chin. 

“I’m glad I got to know him. Even if it was…cut short."

His eyes slipped shut and he was asleep.

Severus remained for several long moments in his partially crusted, partially damp robes watching his godson sleep. It struck him suddenly and with a ferocity he had not expected that he had lost Lucius. He was gone. Arrested by the sudden shock, Severus stood, still and pale as though carved out of marble as he braced an arm against the chair beside the door. The cold wet air of the cave weighed heavily on his shoulders and plastered his hair to the back of his neck. He would not be coming back. The proud shoulders clad in black drooped. 

Lucius Malfoy was dead.

Severus turned and left the room without the familiar snap of his cloak or stomp of his boots. He moved like a ghost, the image of a man who had lost too much.

Chapter Text

The water was warm, cocooning Harry in a ball of steam as small, rogue water droplets rebounded from his skin. He inhaled the humid, hot air and exhaled a heavy sigh. He had spent the majority of this very long day outside. Without a cloak or coat so to speak of. And Merlin, had it been a long day. He shivered as his temperature shifted and he finally began to thaw.

Gotta remember to thank Arthur for this shower. He groaned as a knot in his shoulder gave way. Deserves a spot on the Wizengamot for, erm, advancement of wizard plumbing. Harry smiled to himself and relaxed under the water. Yeah, that sounds right.

"Fuck," he groaned again as his shoulders crept further away from his shoulders. Wildly content with the hot water touching his skin, Harry sighed again, scraping a wet hand across his face. "Finally."

The water pitter-pattered across his back, trailed down his spine, and caressed the lines between hip and thigh as he stood unmoving in appreciation of the hot kiss of it. The tips of his fingers tingled as they warmed and his feet no longer burned from contact with the water. Instead, they were quiet. No longer protesting his abysmal treatment of them. It was cold, wet, and late when Harry had first entered the shower. His body screamed from a combination of all the ways he had neglected it throughout the day. And now, it all fell away. Background noise to the steady roar of water. 

He stuck his head under the stream.

Hot water poured across his scalp. Running in rivulets down his temples and neck, it brushed the feeling of filth from him. He had already cast a few cleaning charms on himself but the sensation of Draco’s blood both warm on his hands and crusty on his forehead remained. His hands had been pressed into Draco's abdomen for too long while Severus went off in search of the snowflower dust. His mind had already committed the horrible squelching of the wound to memory. The soft, breathy whimpers from Draco's unconscious body rang in his ears like a Celestina Warbeck song. Only the gentle brush of hot water could remove that memory from his skin. His dark hair flattened beneath the spray. Pushing it out of his closed eyes, he craned his neck into the stream for a moment.

What a long day.

The last time he remembered feeling so frantic and helpless had been when he first caught the glimpse of Severus in ‘Mione’s mirror. Or really any of the times he'd discovered Draco hiding a serious wound from him which, he was beginning to realize, was a personality trait at this point. All those hunts had left them scarred and maybe a bit scared. Harry knew entirely too well what could happen when dark magic went wrong. It wasn't a far-off memory. Only a year back he had stopped going on those expeditions with Draco.

He wiped the water from his face. It had already been a year. A year to the day that Severus returned. December fifteenth. Harry shuddered and turned up the heat wandlessly. He didn’t want to think about what would happen next December. They might not even all be there. From last year to this year, they had already lost several members of their close circle.

Harry pushed the thoughts away with a sigh.

The day was, for all intents and purposes, done. He wasn't going to spend the few minutes left brooding. He'd done what he needed to.

Getting ahold of the others had not been easy but Dobby had helped greatly, carrying messages between those not at Hogwarts for the night. It had also taken twice as long as he had expected. A brief five-minute floo call had turned into fifteen minutes of being badgered with questions he had no answers to. He wasn’t exactly sure how much information he was able to share, especially about Lucius, which made answering their questions hard. It wasn't as though he was renowned for his question dodging ability. He had kept the conversation focused on Draco’s injuries and the danger of discussing sensitive information over Floo. It worked. Well enough, at least. How Severus managed to skillfully dodge questions over the last two decades was beyond him. Fifteen minutes and Harry was exhausted. 

Harry groaned as a knot in his neck released.

Grabbing the soap Severus insisted was for faces only, he lathered up his skin and pressed his face under the water. Silence overtook him as he pushed the bubbles from his cheeks. 

Harry sighed heavily. Leaning against the stone wall, he mentally thanked Arthur and the twins again who had designed the walk-in shower based on some expensive muggle one. After days like these, any measure of comfort was welcome. There were even privacy and bubble charms in place for whatever activities the new order felt like getting up to. A perfect place of quiet inside and out. Harry’s eyebrows twitched lower. Mostly these days he imagined the occupants of the cave were using it to cry uninterrupted rather than wank. He couldn’t remember the last time he had let go that way and he had a husband here with him.

Waving his hand almost as an afterthought, he banished the charms. Severus was like a cat and Harry wasn’t in the mood to be startled. 

It had been a while. Harry licked a rogue droplet of water from his lower lip. 

They hadn’t done much of anything, hardly even touching at night while they slept since Severus had brought him back. Sometimes, he could catch Severus staring at him from afar with a look of want in his eyes but he never held Harry's eyes. Always turned his head or vanished in a flourish of cloaks. Their conversations stuttered into an uncomfortable silence that, if not for Draco, Harry would never be able to escape from. He never knew what to say anymore. There was a gap between them. Harry wasn't sure what had given rise to it or what would make it go away, but he knew it was there and nearly impossible to talk to Severus now.

Shouldn't be that bloody hard. He is your mate. Harry stuck his face under the spray again. I'm supposed to be the one he's most comfortable with. And he's supposed to be... A small voice in his head supplied, Just Snape. 

He wasn't much better. The war had stolen his attention from Severus and dropped it into the abyss of fear and the shadow of death. Fred and George had jokingly teased that Harry still needed to come to terms with what living meant now that he had died but as Harry stood in the shower, he started to agree. He was tiptoeing and panicking his way around the cave, not being the least bit himself. It was hardly fair to criticize Snape when he was doing the same bloody thing.

There was an untended hunger in his core, leaping every time Severus swept into the room. It wasn’t as though Harry didn’t notice Severus, he did, it was that there was some barrier in his mind that he needed Severus to cross. The man hardly paid him any attention. Most times, he even brushed off what physical affection Harry was giving, which wasn’t much. Severus was distant. Preoccupied with the mounting toll the war was taking on society. And Harry knew he was too.

The time they could have spent together they both chose to spend fueling the war effort and brewing salves to heal those still suffering the after-effects of the Battle of Malfoy Manor. Or researching. He couldn't remember the last time Severus had read to him. He couldn't remember the last time he had given Severus a massage. 

"Making a mess of things," Harry mumbled, spitting water down the drain. "Like always."

He hadn’t taken any time for himself.

Slowly, his hand fluttered down his abdomen to grip his soft cock. Whispering a quiet spell, his palm slicked. I need this. I need to relax. He leaned his forehead against the warm tiles. Hot water rushed over his shoulders and down his back pulling away the last of his tension. He hadn’t felt this good in ages. After all, there was nothing wrong with taking some time to himself to relieve stress. And Severus had been looking ridiculously good lately. Harry closed his eyes. Focusing on the image of Severus in his mind, he slowly worked his prick with a pleasured hiss. It really had been too long.

Harry let out a breathy sound as he remembered waking up to Severus brewing a vigor potion in their room in little more than one of his red tees and black silk pyjama bottoms which were hanging low enough for Harry to glimpse a stretch of pale skin. He had laid on his side and watched Severus’s long fingers pluck and stir and dance around as he turned brewing into a pornographic experience. Gods, those hands , Harry thought as he audibly moaned. Severus had brewed for nearly an hour in that lazy state, hair not even tied back simply falling forward in dark curtains. Harry brushed across his bollocks as he remembered the fierce focus of those dark eyes. He would never tire of Snape’s intensity.

Severus had shot him a sly grin at the end, once the potion had been bottled, and asked “ Did you enjoy the show?” before heading off to fix himself breakfast and leaving Harry horny with his jaw on the floor. He tugged on himself again. Smug bastard. Always got under his skin and always knew what he was doing. Harry groaned again, this time bucking into his hands as he envisioned those hands doing something else to him instead of the potion.

A bang shot through the cave.

Jerking, his hand fell away from his half-hard cock. Anxiety washed through him in cold waves as he gnawed on his lower lip. His eyes darted around the shower as he held perfectly still. The sound did not repeat but the moment had been lost. He was too nervous. Another casualty of war, albeit lesser than the others.

Sighing, he decided to finish washing himself to calm down.

Moving the soap up and down his arms, he couldn’t shake that he had heard something. Almost like someone falling. As bubbles caught in the dark hairs of his thighs, his brain began throwing horrible scenario after horrible scenario at him until he let out a light laugh.

Really am turning into a mother hen, he thought as he waved the water an increment hotter again. Severus was right. I’m worrying too much.

Humming, he relaxed again under the water. His mind settled.

“Harry?”

He paused, the bar of soap caged on his chest as he wondered if Severus had really just called out to him. Severus rarely called for him, especially if Harry had told him where he was going to be. Then he just floated in like a shadow to startle him. Harry rolled his lips together. He had told him where he was going to be, he wasn’t crazy. He had also been slightly daydreaming. Had he imagined it? He waited another moment before chalking it up to fatigue and continuing to soap down his chest. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d heard something that wasn’t there.

“Harry?”

Severus called again, this time his voice high and panicky.

“In the shower,” he called out.

Strange. He sounds…afraid. It has been a long day though. Gods, if we’re not stressed after today, there’s something wrong with us.

Harry set the soap on its dish and stepped under the spray. Small bubbles fell from his skin. It's just stress. He lost track of Draco and bugger knows I do the same sneaking-off act. His concern melted like the expensive chocolates Severus used to keep on hand. He’ll be fine. He’s been through worse. You’re just worrying because you’re tired. He was exhausted, more than he had been in a long time. Whatever connection Draco had busted open in his head had drained him. 

Closing his eyes tightly, he put his face back under the stream. The last of his concerns began to fade as the roar of hot water drowned out the rest of his worries. Pulling his face out, he slumped against the stone wall. It had been a long while since he and Severus had showered together. Frankly, he missed having their schedules aligned though it was as much his fault as Snape’s.

The smile gently rising to his face fell off suddenly as Severus, still clothed, burst into the shower. The heavy intensity of Severus’s near-black eyes settled on Harry’s naked form. Harry gulped as the focus burned through him. Down south, his cock twitched to life. Those eyes always did something to him.

“Harry.”

“Y-yeah?”

“I…” The dark eyes raked down his body. “Oh.” They flicked back up to Harry, suddenly wildly hungry with desire.

“I was-”

Harry couldn’t finish his sentence because Severus had pounced.

Teeth clacked against teeth as Severus nipped at his lower lip, licking across the tang of iron rising to the surface. More on instinct than desire, Harry opened his mouth.

Severus pressed greedily against Harry who shuffled back until he was flush with the stone. It was so abrupt. Unexpected. Severus was a cautious man. A man who built up slowly with layers of safety nets built in. Every move was planned, every breath anticipated.

But this…this was wild. Electric with abandoned inhibitions.

Severus growled into Harry who obediently swallowed the sounds. Any conscious thought left with the breath whooshing from his lungs.

"S'vrus?" he managed.

"Sh," Severus pressed back against him harder, nipping his lip again.

Harry released an embarrassing sound as Severus laid his body across him. The wool of his robes rubbed roughly against Harry's nipples and he found himself searching for more friction as Severus pushed the air from his chest. He could hardly find the space to breathe. Severus crowded him, a hard hip and taller body pinning him to the stone wall. Still shocked, Harry wasn’t sure he would be able to move if he wanted to. He was frozen in the moment. Captured fully by the inquisitive tongue licking up the roof of his mouth and the soft groans floating high with the steam.

No, Harry was quite sure he didn't want to move. But he did melt.

Severus growled again and thrust his tongue deeper into Harry’s mouth. Harry trailed the sharp movements of the wicked tongue wondering how long this animalistic version of Severus had existed and what he had to do to see more of it.

Long fingers combed through his hair before grabbing a handful and yanking back hard, earning a hiss from Harry as his head clacked lightly against the stone. A warm, wet tongue flattened in the hollow of his neck and licked a long, slow stripe up his throat before sucking marks underneath the angles of his jaw. Harry shuddered against Severus. The hand in his hair tightened and Harry moaned.

This attention was unexpected but hardly unappreciated. He'd wanted to feel the burning touch of Severus since he had made it back to the land of the living. He'd needed him to cross that distance. And this version of Severus, wild, free, and lazily uninhibited had Harry promising himself he'd do anything to see this again. Severus licked back down to Harry’s Adam apple where he began to suck and nip in a way that had Harry’s hands in his fists at his side and made his thighs tremble. Distantly, he wondered how Severus had made him unravel so quickly.  

The tongue licked back up to his ear lewdly, forcing another shudder out of Harry who suddenly wanted that tongue elsewhere. It twirled around the shell of his ear as a hand found his cock and began to stroke him aggressively until he was sure he was harder than rock.

“Fuck me.”

Harry’s eyes flew open. His breath hitched in his chest. That was not right. Not by any stretch of his imagination. 

Harry pushed Severus back to get a clear look at him.

The dark eyes were molten, dangerous. His dark hair clung to his cheeks making him look like a feral creature and shadows played on his cheekbones. There was no hint of uncertainty on his face only a deep, debauched hunger that oozed from the dark eyes. A pink tongue darted out to lick kiss-swollen lips as he kept his gaze trained on Harry. 

Severus looked like a man starved.

Harry watched water drip from his hooked nose, transfixed. Leaning low, he kissed the tip before capturing Severus’s lips and snaking his tongue across Snape’s, coaxing it back into his mouth where he sucked on the appendage. Severus pressed him back against the wall, grinding against him. It felt divine to be caught between the cool tile and hot scratch of wool.

The sensation vanished suddenly with a high-pitched mewl that Harry realized came from him.

Severus had banished his clothes and the delightful friction of his robes had been replaced with the slick glide of wet skin on wet skin. Harry bucked involuntarily as a thick cock slipped against his. The tongue retreated. But those tantalizing lips kissed their way down to his collarbones where Severus made methodical work of licking the water from him. Clearly, Severus wanted this. Nervous indecision played inside Harry’s mind. Severus had only offered himself up one other time but it had been nothing like this. And he had buggered it up.

He could feel the vibrations of his lover’s quiet moans against his chest. The lips lowered to a pebbled nipple with a bite that sent white explosions of pleasure all through Harry’s body. Severus didn't stay He kept moving lower. Every kiss, every nip distracted Harry even further from the command. Biting his lip to suppress a moan, he looked up to the ceiling. 

Maybe the date wasn’t lost on Severus either, Harry thought. He had hurt Severus so much in the past year, he didn't want to do it again.

“You’re…thinking,” Severus panted.

“I-”

Severus swallowed him to the hilt.

His mind stopped dead in its tracks, rerouting all traffic down to thoughts of Severus sucking his cock like that.

“Gods, Severus. Fucking hell. ”

Obsidian eyes gazed up through the spray of water as his nose pressed against Harry’s lower abdomen. Cheeks hollowing, Severus pulled back only to dive forward again. This time Harry hit the back of his throat and all the breath left him in a ragged exhale.

Thin fingers wrapped around his cock as Severus began to suck in earnest, establishing a teasing rhythm that brought his nose to the coarse dark hairs gathered at the base of Harry’s cock before pulling nearly all the way back where his tongue flicked at the sensitive head. His hand worked in time with his tongue as he bobbed up and down.

Harry’s legs shifted wider. 

“Shit, shit, shit .”

Severus hummed against his shaft. The vibrations rattled deep in Harry's belly as another hand came to toy with his bollocks. A long, pointed tongue circled around the head of his cock, dipping into his slit and lapping up strings of clear liquid. Harry dropped his hand heavily to the sopping wet black hair. He was shaking.

Having Severus desperate, writhing against him, and sucking on him like that made Harry fear he would embarrass himself. He wasn’t going to last five minutes. 

And then, Severus pulled off Harry’s throbbing cock. Turning wide eyes up to him, he begged, “Fuck me. I…I need you.”

Swollen, red lips parted in a quiet plea. His eyes burning like molten lava begged Harry to pity him. To pick him up and fuck him senseless. He was on his knees no less. The sight alone would feature in every wanking session after today, Harry was sure.

“ Please , Harry.”

Who was he to refuse an offer like that?

Harry tugged Severus up roughly and pressed him gently face-first against the stone. Kissing the back of his neck, Harry nuzzled into the smell of potions and sweat. It was heady and for a moment, everything fuzzed and narrowed down to the smell.

“Mm,” he hummed, gently sinking his teeth into the muscles of Severus’s shoulders. “This what you want?” He pushed him harder against the wall, aligning his cock with Severus’s pale arse. “To be…out of control?”

“ Yes, ” Severus breathed. “Merlin yes .”

Sliding up and down his cleft, Harry idly reached a hand around and pinched one of Severus’s nipples. He hissed in a sharp breath, pressing back against Harry. His other hand went low and wrapped around Severus’s thick cock while he busied himself sucking the sensitive spots on the back of the long neck offered to him. Water splashed down his back, dripping between the writhing bodies.

It all unravelled. 

Severus became a moaning, mewling mess beneath him. Grinding back against Harry, he kept Harry’s cock sliding against his arse. Heat radiated off him, hotter than the shower water, and teased of better things to come. Harry was lost in the small movements. The small, breathy sounds Severus was making. 

“You have… no idea …how fucking hot you are,” he whispered between lazy thrusts. “Gods, wish you could…see yourself.”

Letting go of abused nipple, Harry muttered the same lubrication spell on his fingers and cock. Trailing his fingers down the vulnerable skin, Harry tracked a slow path down Snape’s spine to his arse. He flipped his hand, lifting just as he was about to touch the forbidden furl of sensitive flesh and instead reaching between the open legs to grab Severus’s heavy sac.

Severus shuddered, groaning loudly as he ducked his head.