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Fate was cruel. It played you like a cheap pawn despite it never being the manipulator behind the shadows. No, it was there clear as day, yet all men fell for its trap. Draco was never aware of it until now.
During his childhood, Draco disillusioned himself into thinking he was fate’s favorite, the most loved. How could he not? Born from two of the most ancient and prestigious pureblooded families, he was their crowned jewel, the only heir. He had everything he wanted, fame, money, connections. All of it laid out before him on a silver platter. He never believed life could do him any wrong, spending all his time acting as a spoiled little prince, carrying the ideology that he was better than those he thought were beneath him. Acting as though he was on the top of the food chain, always having people grovel at his feat.
Scoffing when Harry Potter came out of the maze carrying the dead body of Cedric Diggory screaming that the Dark Lord was back, only for him to come home to see him sitting at the head of the table, his mother and father sitting next to him with heads bowed, all dignity and pride striped from their grasps.
That was the first time Draco had been scared of what fate had in store for him. Because it wasn't him, he saw it when he watched, like everyone else, the Dark Lord's pitiful end. Never him. It was always Harry Potter. Harry Potter was the one who had friends that would go to the end of the world for him, who Dumbledore chose to save, to protect, who fate had chosen to win. It was never him. Who tried to cling on what normalcy he had left since fourth year, who slowly watched as his mother lost her sanity and scumbagged to the Black family madness, and watched as his father became nothing more than a mere punching bag.
Trying like everyone else to just scrape the surface of survival. To twist the fate set for him.
Draco watched as Harry Potter was lifted into the air after his victory, celebrated for being the boy-who-lived-twice. The only person who escaped death and fate. The two entities that he was trying to run from all these years ago.
He remebered the torture he and his mother had to go through after his father’s failure, he was forced to bow down the person, he all his life was told a god, but was nothing more that an insane man wearing his name like armor.
Watched as people were tortured for failure or resilience. Never mind the fact of it being a mudblood, half-blood, blood traitor, or pureblood. They all succumbed to the same fate, and all bled the same red that stained the floor of his home, and filled the manor with the smell of iron and rot.
He saw the flaw in the system he was taught, the same night he was called to be marked, after years of running around like a bigoted brat. Too late for redemption, too late for help, far too late. Because who would help him? Who could Draco Malfoy, the prince of Slytherin turn to? No one, not Potter, not Severus, and certainly not Dumbledore. Because in their eyes he was only a spoiled little Death Eater ponce.
It got worse in the summer he had been marked. His magic, once pure and untainted, felt dark and so, so wrong.
But that wasn’t all. At a young age, Draco was taught the blood line of all the pure blood families in the sacred twenty-eight. Both the Malfoy and Black blood line carried the blood of creatures. The Malfoys, who held the blood of Veela’s generations back, while the Blacks would marry into any family with power and legacy, despite it being tainted with powerful blood of a creature.
Draco Malfoy who possesses both the Black and Malfoy had a chance of gaining an inheritance from any creature possible.
He hoped for the possibility that despite the blood being tainted with multiple creatures, he wouldn’t receive an inheritance. After all, it is rare, unexplainably rare for a wizard to become a creature due to their ancestry, even though it’s unheard of. Despite that, on the eve of his sixteenth birthday, Draco found himself praying to the Fates above that if, only if, he gains an inheritance, it would be something like a Veela, Vampire, or any other common creature, anything but special.
Draco fell asleep on the night before his sixteenth birthday, and felt nothing.
He was beyond ecstatic when he woke up, feeling nothing different, not too outward at first. He let himself believe that, disillusioned himself that he was normal.
It was a massive joke.
The day after his birthday, the Dark Lord called upon him to give him his mission.
Surrounded in a room filled with death eaters, laughing, watching, assessing him. None had matched the fear of when Nagini came into the room, hissing to the Dark Lord, none had matched the shock he endured, when Draco understood every word.
No. nonononono-
The pressure in the room became unbearable. It had taken all his self control, to not run out of this room, this house, this fate. He could never let anyone find out, not about this, not his beloved mother and father, not the Dark Lord and certainly not Harry Potter. No, not now, not never, so he kept his face blank and bowed his head. He needed to wait till the end of the meeting.
He had shooed off his mother and flooed to Diagon Alley, walking fast as pureblood etiquette would allow him to and collected an inheritance sheet from gringotts.
As his blood sooked through the paper, Draco found that he had somehow inherited the blood of an Amphiptere. A great winged serpent found in European myths. More specifically the blood of an Sunsong Amphiptere, Known for its affinity for light magic, and for their ethereal and mysterious appearance, seen at a distance as a symbol of hope and good.
He felt a maniacal laugh bubble in his throat. Sure, he had always known that he used to have a strong affinity for light magic, before receiving the dark mark and having to be trained in the arts of dark magic, despite being born from the most dark families, but this felt like the real nail to the coffin. Being a symbol of hope and good was also undeniably hilarious. It’s laughable really, but as his laughter grew wild, the earth of the forest canopy, he had hid in, cracked and shook under him. Collapsing at an unbelievable rate. Panicked at the sudden change. Draco grabbed the inheritance paper and ran back into the manor.
At night, he held a candle over the Black Family’s grimoire.
Amphiptere: A creature known for not having many weaknesses, though water causes them to move sluggishly and drains their powers. Amphipteres have the ability to breathe fire and hover while also possessing an old magic. The ability to control the earth with their voices. A loud roar from an amphiptere may cause avalanches or even crack the earth in two.
Dumbstruck, he choked on air. No. This can’t be. With all this power in his hands, it was hard to tell if it was a curse of a gift from the Mothers, but he can’t let anyone find out, they’ll use him, pull him dry, or kill him because of the power he or an amphiptere could possess. It was no wonder such a creature has been dead for hundreds of years, grumbling, he swore to never reveal his true nature to anyone. He found a potion that would suppress the creature within him, but at a price that it would slowly poison him at the rate he was taking it.
Though he didn’t mind, Fate played him like a cheap kazoo, and he doubted it would let him live long enough for the potion to kill him.
Even with the potions, he bit his lip under Aunt Bella’s lessons, scared that if a sound, a scream came out, they would find out what he really was, while the ground crumbled beneath them.
Life continued after that.
Tasked the impossible is what this was, to find a way for Death Eaters to secretly enter Hogwarts would be a miracle itself, and on top of that he had to kill Dumbledore. The most powerful wizard in Britain. Charming.
He knew he couldn’t do it, but he wouldn’t give up, his Mother was too important to him, so he desperately clinged on to the only thought that could keep him sane, a possibility that he could do it, even with no one to help him. No one will after all. He couldn’t go to the headmaster, the ‘good’ side would never help a bully, someone that tormented their precious Harry Potter and his army of Gryffindorks for years on end. And if he was figured out, the punishment would be much, much worse.
So he spent the whole year meticulously working on the cabinet, the only way for this to work.
But fate had to give him another slap in the face as bloody Potter saw him crying and talking to Moaning Myrtle and threw one of the most darkest spells he’s evers seen.
Bleeding on the bathroom floor, he mused to himself, after all it’s ironic, the son of a Death Eater could barely perform dark magic before the dark mark to save his life, while the light’s side golden boy did it with little to no effort. He should have known, fate was cruel after all.
It should be laughing at him now.
Waking up in the infirmary was a shock itself, he had thought he would have died. But no, that would have been a mercy from fate after all.
He succeeded in letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts but failed to kill Dumbledore. His core and inheritance wouldn't let him. So Snape had killed the man and saved his family from death.
Things only went worse from there.
Summer and the year after was agonizing. He had watched as his father and mother did everything to protect him but were treated like nothing themselves.
They kept their heads down and tried to stay invisible. Everyone thought that they were pathetic and useless, a disgrace to the pureblood name. But it kept them alive, and to his family was all that matters. Being invisible allowed him to observe the whispers of his fellow classmates and Death Eaters.
He heard that Potter, the Weasel and Muggle-born were on a mission from Dumbledore, and that they were trying to kill the Dark Lord once and for all.
So when the infamous golden trio and allies arrived at the manor by Fenir, he lied for them. He knew he was going to be punished but as long as his mother and father lived, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
And when they tried to escape, he held out his wand and two others for Potter, and looked away.
Then the Battle of Hogwarts came.
His friends died, his family hid, trying to do the best they could without their wands. He watched as blood spilled no matter pure or not, all lying down to finally meet their fate.
He ran away from the battle with his mother and father, and laughed when they promised it’ll all be over. He knew it wouldn’t. Fate never favoured him anyways.
Sitting in the court room, with his parents beside him, chained to a chair, he watched as those eyes held no mercy, despite the fact that the boy-who-lived-twice and Granger had fought tooth and nail for him and his mother.
He was forced.
He was only sixteen.
His mother didn’t have the mark.
Draco lied for them at the manor.
Narcissa saved Harry’s life.
It didn’t matter, not in the eyes of the court. His family served the Dark Lord, they were to pay for their sins.
He was eighteen and ready to welcome his destiny, his fate with open arms. His father, mother Kissed, godfather dead, friends imprisoned or gone.
Draco Malfoy had nothing left, stripped of his family honor, pride and wealth. The Malfoy and Black name a curse to carry.
He walked towards the dementors, despite the yells and pleas of Granger and Potter to give him mercy, after years of being scumbagged to fate, Draco was ready to spread his wings and be free.
Free from the world that had loved and cursed him, saw him as the heir of a powerful man and a death eater scum.
He met his fate with a smile.
And fell when the dementor gave him a Kiss.
Finally, Draco was nothing to fate, not anymore.
…
He woke up in number 12 Grimmauld place, an ancestral place of his mother and the Black family.
“Greetings young Amphiptere.”
Slowly and deliberate, Draco turned around.
“Regulus.” Inclining his head, Draco turned to see the same version of the man he remembered, painted and written down in the family tree.
The deceased Black heir.
A sorrowful legend.
Regulus Arcturus Black
“I regret having to meet so soon.”
Regulus laughed, bitter and humorous.
“Too soon.” He agreed.
“I’m dead I suppose.” Draco questioned.
“No. I’m afraid… Do you want to be?”
“Well, I have nothing left do I?”
“No you don’t.” Regulus agreed. “But, are you happy?”
“Pardon?”
“Happy that the families’ legacy’s in flames… Happy with your life? Happy with your… fate?” He whispered, watching Draco with an unreadable gaze.
“Of course not.”
“Then I suppose you aren't dead then.”
“Ah.” Draco understood now, he was in the Veil. An entity created by the Mother, a far away legend that turned into a myth, an unheard echo, “Why?”
Regulus smiled, baring his teeth, “I’m afraid in this situation, the question ‘why’ doesn’t matter.
“Use this life well.”
…
His life landed in fate again, he wasn’t nothing anymore.
Pain.
It hurts.
It hurts so much.
Why does it hurt?
Draco shot up, gasping and clawing his throat. Pain, so much pain.
He was alive again.
The thought barely registered in his head, before laughter erupted from his frame.
He’s going to kill Regulus.
Forcing himself to calm, Draco takes a measured breath, and clenched his teeth, he looks at his too small body and holds his breath. Beautiful, silk emerald pajamas shine back at him.
Humming to himself, he looks around to admire his childhood bedroom.
Interesting.
“Use this life well.”
The words echoed in his head.
Ah.
Maybe Regulus should be spared after all.
Carelessly waving his hand, Draco casts a wandless tempus, frowning on the strain it forces on his body.
January 1, 1991
7:13 am
The day after Yule, the day after father realized that his son, his only heir, carried a light magic core.
A secret that was locked away for only the closest members of the family to know.
Breathing in, he closes his eyes and feels the magic flowing through his body.
Weak.
So very weak.
But pure.
Free.
Unrestrained.
Untrained.
That was the worst of all.
Untrained and weak magic.
That just won’t do.
“Young master Draco, Lady Malfoy is calling for young master to wake up!” Snapped him out of his musing. Of course.
Tilting his head, his eyes landing on a house elf.
Dobby.
Nodding he waved a hand to dismiss him.
Dobby was the least of his worries right now.
…
“Mother, Father.” Draco greeted, slowly closing the door to the dining room.
The head of the mahogany table seated, Lord Malfoy. Sprawled like a king in his throne. Back to the old glory Draco always knew as his father.
Powerful.
Untouchable.
“Draco.” Father sneered, still utterly displeased from the day before. The day that he learned that his heir was accosted to the light arts.
Ruthless.
Useful.
“Father,” Lowering his head, he slowly shaped himself into the demeanor of a scared child.
“Dragon, come sit.” A soft, melodic voice trickled into view.
Lady Malfoy, beloved mother.
A divine beauty.
Made for the heavens, but sculpted from the devils.
Breathtaking.
His mother.
Nodding, Draco seated himself as food, prepared meticulously for royals themselves, appeared in front of them.
He picked up his fork.
…
“My dragon, are you well, you’ve been awfully quiet.” Mother intoned, an elegant tilt of her head accompanying it.
Draco smiled slightly, shaking his head, and nervously wringing his hands.
Slow.
Deliberate.
He needed to create an opening.
Breathing in, he looked at Narcissa. “Yes, Mother. It’s just- since father,” eyes darting to Lucius Malfoy quickly before returning, “-is unhappy with me gaining a light core, I was wondering if I could acquire a wand a few months early to perhaps- hone myself to be… more familiar with the dark arts.”
Narcissa frowned, “Draco darling, you know we’ll still love you the same despite your core-”
He knew that of course. But he needed a wand, he could not stand not being able to not raise his occlumency wards, not being able to protect his mind, body and soul.
His magic was undeveloped.
Unhoned.
Unreliable.
To require a wand, would be the first step to train his magic. And perhaps, to receive access to a more… powerful source to strengthen his core.
To force an early inheritance.
But to hide it all the same.
To have his wand would be sufficient.
“...and on top of that there is a restriction on underage magic, we simply shouldn’t-”
“Narcissa.”
Lord Malfoy, held up his hand. Effectively silencing those around him. A symbolism of power Draco always saw him hold, that had the other members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight bowing at his feet. Malfoy, a name to be respected. Internally, he smiled.
“I believe that Draconis holds a reasonable argument.”
Oh?
Slowly, Lucius’s eyes met his, moving his head a bit he continued.
“After all, he’s a Malfoy and Black heir, the traditions must be upheld.”
Standing up, he effectively dismissed those seated around him.
“Take him to Diagon Alley this afternoon, I’ll contact Severus about this development. Your potions training will be pushed back to after dinner.”
Bowing their heads, Draco and his mother pushed themselves out of their chairs.
“Yes, Lord Malfoy. Thank you, Lord Malfoy.”
Once they left the room, Mother nodded towards him, signalling to follow her. Nodding, satisfied, he allowed a small smile.
Things are going well.
…
Ollivander’s shop was the same as Draco remembered when he received his beautiful Hawthorn and Unicorn hair core wand. Repressing the bile that had risen in his throat when he came face-to-face with the man again who had once been imprisoned in his basement. Looking so fresh and free, a stark contrast at his time in the manor.
Guilt shot through him, quickly being locked away a second later.
Ollivander greeted him enthusiastically, before giving a short bow to his mother and quickly snatching a wand box from the shelf behind, and pulling it out before him. Gingerly, he reached to take the wand, casting a short glance at his mother who was looking at them both intently, before picking it up, and running a hand against the wood, and giving it an experimental flick.
And promptly got it snatched out of his hand.
Draco can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment as Ollivander turned around and started mumbling to himself, searching the shelves for another wand.
Of course he knew there was a chance that his previous wand wouldn’t accept him anymore, the wand chooses the wizard, and he… wasn’t the same wizard anymore.
But to him, it was still his wand.
“How about this one, Heir Malfoy, 11 inches, Walnut wood and Unicorn hair core, nice and supple. Go on, have another go.”
Lifting it up, he tried again, this time causing a small explosion near one of the shelves.
“No, no, that won’t do…” Ollivander mused, taking the wand from Draco, slowly trailing off and rumbling through another self.
“Ash wood and Dragon heartstring core, go on, go on.” Handing another wand to him, before promptly ripping it rudely out of his grip, again.
“Maple and unicorn hair core, eight inches, springy. Try-”
The box in Ollivanders hand caught on fire, so mother had casted a quick Augmenti.
“Hm? Still no? -here rowan and phoenix hair, nine and a half inches, quite wippy, there-”
The wand had stung Draco’s own hand.
“Black horn and dragon heartstring, eleven inches, supple and-”
The awful thing smoke screened the whole room.
Frustration, built up in Draco as he tried. And tried again. But each wand either didn’t work or found a funny way to reject him. The pile of wands had started to grow taller and taller on that rickety chair that Ollivander placed them on, even so, Ollivander seemed ecstatic.
“Tricky customer, Eh? Luckily you came early then, not to worry, there’s a perfect match here somewhere. Perhaps telling me your core affinity, young Heir Malfoy, should help.” Ollivander remarked, smiling
He watched as mother’s careful pureblood mask crack, with an impeccable twitch of her mouth, and crinkled nose, she replied tone cool and icy.
“My son… has shown an … incredible affinity for the light arts.”
“Oh?” Ollivander questioned, eyes darting before Draco and Lady Malfoy before turning around, muttering under his breath and going to the nearest shelf and grabbing a box.
“Yew and unicorn hair wand, nine inches and bendy, go on…”
The end of the wand exploded.
“Willow wand and phoenix feather, eleven inches, rigid…”
Shot a whirlwind of water into Ollivander's face.
“Definitely not, then. Walnut wood and unicorn-”
The wand jumped out of his hand.
Mother’s impatient voice cut through the air, “Are you sure you know what you are doing?” She sneered.
Unbothered, Ollivander smiled. “Of course, Lady Malfoy, I was just checking but now I figured I might know where your son may find his perfect wand.
Reading his mother’s perplexed face, and probably Draco’s as well, he turned around and motioned for the two Malfoys to follow.
Beside his desks, lay an elegant, thin, redwood door, to which Ollivander promptly opened with a tap of his wand.
The door fell open to reveal a much smaller version of his shop.
“You see, Mr. Malfoy.” Taking in the expressions of the people before him with an amused look. “This is where the more… desissive wands lay, a place where their soulmates are more meticulously chosen. With the cores of creatures such as pixies, fairies, nymphs, chimeras, thestrals and many more, with the wood to match.”
“I remember like it was yesterday when I sold a rose wood and centaur hair wand, ten inches, springy, to one of your possible future professors after she awakened her heritage as a seer. Or the day, I sold Dumbledore an yew wood and two phenix feather wand, TWO! I tell you, right before his match with Grindelwald! Interesting, interesting indeed."
Yes. Draco agreed, what a lovely turn of events.
Very interesting indeed.
Narcissa, clearly bewildered, questioned. “And why would you think Draco would find his wand here? He’s merely just a boy.” She dismissed.
Draco’s eyes twitched just as Ollivander’s smile sharpened.
“Worry not, Lady Malfoy.” He replied, smooth as velvet, “after all, years in the same craft gives you an interesting intuition.”
Then he promptly turned around to ruffle around the room.
…
Draco felt his annoyance flare up.
‘Just a boy.’
His mother’s words resonated around him.
A child.
Small.
Weak.
As much as Draco would like to name all the ways of being a child that could be beneficial for him, he can’t help but feel his gut curl at these thoughts.
Boy.
Child.
Weak.
Weak.
Weak.
WEAK.
Emotions that aren’t locked away behind his old occulemency barriers were twisting his head.
He can’t let this happen again.
The dark lord.
War.
His family's downfall.
He can’t be weak.
A Coward.
A no-good wuss.
A Death Eater Scum.
To hell with it.
If a Weasel, half-blood, and mudblood could save the goddamn world, he can’t allow to be this weak.
He is to uphold the family honor and pride.
But most of all, legacy.
…
“There we are! Rosewood and Unicorn horn core, eleven inches and a half, nice and springy. Go on.” Ollivander beamed, carefully handing the wand to Draco, who tried to wave it around.
“No, no, close…” The older man muttered, putting it back in the box, and swiftly grabbing another one..
“Purpleheart wood and Pixie wing core, ten inches, rather bendy.” Slowly, picking it up he flicked the wand and it proceeded to nip him as an actual pixie would. Absolutely wanker.
“Still no- I wonder - yes, definitely should - Ebony wood and Rainbow Serpent spine core, Eleven inches, nice and springy.”
Without much of a thought, Draco grabbed the wand, stumbling over the force of raw, controlled power that slammed into his entire body.
Oh.
Draco feels the unbendable magic coursing through his entire being, so free, yet controlled, waiting for him to release it.
Smiling, he swishes the wand and it instantly releases a magnificent, golden rose illusion. Slowly dripping down and releasing.
Beautiful.
Power was, after all, always the sweetest poison.
At this sight, he hears his mother let out a breathless sigh, as a strange warm feeling settles in his chest.
“Oh bravo! Truly stunning spell work this wand contains.” Ollivander cried, almost jumping with joy. “A very powerful wand you got there, Heir Malfoy, a wonderful fit for you I should say, you should be proud.”
Draco simply nodded, enchanted by the wand.
The Ebony wood and Rainbow Serpent spine core was poised to resemble both simple elegance and beauty. Sleek and refined, The black wood shined as if it was made of pitch glass. The cilandrical base was adorned in simple silver rings, then twisting into a spiral before meeting at the top, connected and sharp.
A truly perfect wand, indeed.
“Thank you, Mr. Ollivander.” Draco murmured, sincerely, putting a hand over his heart and inclining his head.
Ollivander simply shook his head. “Do not worry, Mr. Malfoy. I think that shall be all then?” He questioned turning to Mother.
“Oh, yes. Of course, appreciations to you to Ollivander.” Inclined Mother, finally snapping out of her stupor.
“No problem, no problem at all!” He laughed, and carefully put Draco’s wand back into the box, delicately packing it up. “That shall be… thirty galleons, Lady Malfoy. Such a wonderful wand, interesting indeed.” Humming he passed the wand box back to the younger man, while Narcissa paid the thirty gold galleons for the wand and gently led the Malfoy heir out of the shop, followed by Mr. Ollivander bowing them out.
Holding his hand, Mother gave him a small smile, “Oh, my dragon, let’s get you a wand holder. I’m sure your father will be as proud as I am, such a unique wand.” She remarked at the end, before turning around and leading him into another store.
…
“Draco. Narcissa.”
Serverus. Draco wanted to say, faltering slowly, but steadying himself quickly before it was noticeable. Though the actions failed to escape the potions master’s sharp gaze, the young Malfoy realized, as his sharp eyes narrowed, carefully piercing through him. Assessing. Gaze drifting down to the wand box in his hand, then swiftly turning to greet his mother, bowing and landing a kiss on her hand.
“Lord Malfoy waits.” He muttered, and led them to the dining hall.
Fixing his posture, Draco quickly fell into step behind Mother as the solid doors opened.
Father, who was sitting meticulously at the head, gestured for them to sit, nodding at Serverus, and raising a brow at the wand box in his heir’s hand and the unreadable expression Draco holds.
Supper, as always, was a silent affair. Pureblood etiquette taught them to not speak while food was consumed. Building a careful atmosphere, that the first person who broke through it was deemed improper and disgraceful. Only the soft tinkering of cutlery echoed through the hall, only after everyone has their fill, the food the plates would disappear, leaving them to either be dismissed or called by the Lord of the house.
“Droconis.” Lucius’s voice boomed through the room, soft and reassuring, “I have updated Severus about today’s events. Please. Show us the wand that has chosen you.” Turning around, he pulled out the sleek wand box that betrayed nothing of what was inside, and slowly slid it towards the table. Nodding when the potions master made a questioning gesture to pick up the box, before it levitated into the man’s hand.
Severus made a show of slowly extracting the wand and picking it up to raise it to eye level, high enough for his father to see, and slowly inspecting the wood.
“Ebony wood, I presume?” He questioned, not waiting for an answer. Nodding his head in approval, he continued. “Most suited for dueling or combative magic, and transfiguration. A good fit.” Slowly, he continued.
“Eleven inches, and…”
Furrowing his brows, Severus whipped out his wand and casted a selection of intricate spells, mouth sagging further with each one.
“Narcissa…” Ignoring Father’s questioning gaze, he turned to face Mother, “Care to tell us what core does this wand possess?”
“What do you mean, Serverus?” Father cut in, gaze locking in to Draco’s.
“Simple, the wand does not possess an unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, or phoenix feather core.” He drawled, putting the wand back into the case.
Draco swore the temperature dropped a few degrees.
“What.” Lord Malfoy questioned, eyes widening before sliding it back to place. “What’s the meaning of this, Narcissa?” The sharp words cut into the atmosphere, even so, Mother simply smiled.
“Draco… was a special case.” She intoned, smile softening when she turned to her son. “The wand he acquires contains a Rainbow Serpent’s spine core. Ollivander guessed his magic was strong enough to attract a powerful wand.” The last three words were dragged out. Clearly showing the two men beside her what she thought of the circumstance laid out before her.
His father let out an uncommercial sound, while Serverus just looked particularly curious.
“Rainbow Serpent…” He said, picking up the wand again. “If I’m aware, such creatures possess a very strong affinity to lights, if I’m not wrong.” Raising his gaze from the wand he looked questionally at the Malfoy family in front of him. “Is there something I missed, Lucius?”
“Worry not, Serverus.” Lady Malfoy’s voice sweetened, “It just turns out Draco has shown that he was more drawn to the light arts than the other.”
The potions master’s eyes shot up as to say ‘really’, before choosing not to speak and nodded, sliding the wand back to Draco, who the entire time was meeting no one’s eyes and was fidgeting with his robes, yet to reply.
“Very well. Boy, follow me. We shall continue our lessons.” At that, Serverus stood up, turning around with his black robes dramatically billowing behind him and left the hall. Straightening, Draco slipped the wand box back into the pockets of his trousers and nodded the Malfoy patriarch, and his Mother before excusing himself from the table and turning to quickly follow behind his mentor.
A sense of creeping deja vu follows Draco as he follows behind his godfather to the dungeons of the manor. He looked up at Serverus’s head, and couldn't help but want to run up to him and wrap him in a hug and never let go, the need to sob into his cloak as he used to do as a child and scream ‘You’re alive, You’re alive, thank you. Please stay… don’t leave again, I need you, I need you…’
Though he did none of that, but slowed down when they reached the manor’s basement. Half expecting to open the door and be met with a Death Eater or two, toying with a mudblood, while the walls were filled with the rotten smell of blood and sweat. To be met with the same screams that haunted him in his time in Azkaban, that used to echo throughout the manor, letting everyone hear the agony of the victim. Perhaps Bellatrix Lestrange, cooing at him and guiding him to the middle of the dungeons, to either force another dark curse down his throat, or practice Occulency until he passes out from the exhaust. Or Luna Lovegood, smiling dimly at him when he sneaks down to the dungeons to deliver leftovers, potions, and blankets for her and Ollivander. Ollivander who would always greet Draco with enthusiasm despite being stuck in his dungeon, sick and weak.
He didn’t want to see what was behind the door.
None of that happened when Serverus opened the door of the dungeon, only the faint smell of damp stone, and a dimly lit alcove showed themselves to him. Cauldrons already placed where the potions master would be teaching him.
With a snap of the older man’s fingers, the basement lit up in a faint green light, perfect Slytherin green. Severus’s house, Draco’s too.
Merlin, Draco missed him.
His Mentor’s over exaggerated actions almost made him cry -or curse Dumbledumb to the next century for daring to take this man away from the world. To use him as a pawn in his game. To use him like he was spendable, that he was something that can be replaced.
Only to him.
Only to Dumbledore.
Serverus was never spendable.
Honestly, he’ll love to see the headmaster’s face when he dangles Potter in front of him, promising to keep him safe. Only to kill him, a minute later.
He doesn’t really care who actually is.
As long as the people he cares for are safe.
Mother.
Father.
Severus.
Severus, who was standing next to the cauldrons, looking at him quizzically.
“Shall we?” He droned, clearly impatient from how Draco was looking around, unseeing.
“Yes, Of course,” agreeing and quickly sitting down on the wooden stool in front of him, filing away his ‘Hundred Ways To Ruin Albus Dumbledore’s Life’ list and storing it deep into his mind. For entertainment purposes only, of course.
Severus simply looked at him, before approaching him and slowly circling around him, similar to what a hawk does on its prey. “You know…” He mused. “After I found out about your wand core, I would say I was surprised you didn’t come barging in and announcing it to the Malfoy patriarch.”
“Ah.” Draco wanted to curse himself to the high heavens; he's forgotten to act like a spoiled bloody prince in the lieu of his ‘interesting’ predicament. He wanted to curse himself, how could he’ve forgotten!
“Well, surely you understand Severus, Father was not happy about me holding a light core.” He stressed, trying to act convincing enough for him to drop the subject, a bit.
“I’m sure you can tell he seems quite proud of your wand, despite the creature it was used to make it.” His mentor continued to prod.
Nevermind, Severus could die for all he cares.
Dumbledore definitely knows what he is doing, he will never question that old bonker again.
The golden boy also.
“Um… I don’t know what you want me to say, Severus…” He mumbles.
“How about, you stop lying to me. Hm?” He stated.
Draco paused, the sentence echoing through the manor’s dungeons.
“What do you mean, Serverus?”
“You’ve been acting strange.”
Draco could’ve laughed, how lovely. Again and again, he was foolish, foolish enough to even think that he had a possibility to even trick the older man without his Occlumency barriers protecting him beneath their walls. He was depending way too much on them, he realised, They’re useful, yes. But depending on them on this level was pathetic. Still, he couldn’t help but feel awe at the man for figuring him out so soon.
No wonder Dumbledore and Voldemort were so fond of him in their ranks. He was a master of many arts, after all.
Efficient.
Cunning.
Loyal.
The traits that the Slytherin house proudly holds, the reason that many rised within the wizarding world so soon and quick. If Severus wasn’t so blindly in love with Potter’s mother, he would have easily been one of the most respected men among his peers, but he was, like Draco himself, blinded by jealousy from their foe.
Potter.
And people would sneer and call Slytherins prejudice when many often would be fed ideals about how Slytherins are ‘oh so evil’ and ‘so so rude’. While they call themselves so kind and helpful.
Well…
Who helped when the Slytherins lost their streak only because the headmaster decided to go play favourites and awarded his precious golden trio and Longbottom, hundreds of points for a reason he didn’t produce, while the other houses cheered because they never managed to win thanks to their incompetence. Which was their own problem! But yes, blame it on the Slytherins for ‘cheating’, and their constance whining about the fact that Slytherin keep winning the quidditch cup. Well, tell them to work harder then! Always blaming them for their own blasphemy. Talk about prejudice like they could do no wrong.
Always sneering, hexing, and degrading them because they belong to the ‘evil house’.
Gritting his teeth, Draco forced himself to pull out of the rabbit hole he created for himself. He can’t keep spiralling out like this! Not when the future of his family and cared ones were in his hands!
Right.
Turning to his godfather, Draco forced a smile into his face. “I don’t know what you mean Sev, now may we please start?”
…
Severus carefully watched the young Malfoy heir in front of him.
Since he has come face to face with Draco at dinner, the young boy has been acting odd.
When he first heard that the boy in front of him had apparently held a great affinity for light, that was shown in the Yule ritual, he had waved of the rumour as nothing more than a ruse despite their insistences that during the ritual bright lights surrounded the boy, opposite to the dark shadows that would have shown to those with a dark core. So when Narcissa confirmed it, he had been surprised. The scion to the most prominent dark families, Malfoy and Black, will barely be able to do dark magic. The core of his wand only cements the unbelievable. Rainbow Snakes, everyone knew of the legends surrounding the mythical beast. A beautiful creature filled with light, that gifted the witches and wizards endless access to pure water. How Ollivander managed to obtain a piece of its spine is beyond him. What caught him off guard the most was that Draco was powerful enough for the wand to choose him. Elbony and Rainbow Serpent spine core. An unbelievably powerful wand for someone so young. He knew from Albus that Ollivander has a stock of unique wands, he himself saw the wand that chose him, but at that time Dumbledore was already 23, while the boy in front of him was only ten. Ten, and he had received a wand beyond his years. One with the lightest creatures as a core. At this point with his core and wand, it will be physically impossible for Draco to perform dark magic.
Lucius would be fuming.
At first he thought that was the reason for the boy’s behaviour, after all the Malfoy heir always strived to impress his father. But that doesn’t solve the unexplainable grief and sorrow that flashed in Draconis’s eyes when he saw him. Or the way the boy’s expression didn’t change at Lucius’s reassuring tone that usually tends to fix the situation, and the way he shrunk in when Narcissa expressed her pride in the wand.
He passed it off as the boy’s own unhappiness in receiving a different core from his parents and friends.
When he attempted to question the boy though, the young Malfoy actively avoided his eyes as if- he knew. No, he shouldn’t jump to assumptions too quickly.
Draco’s tone was also strange, a bad habit of his every time he lies.
“How about you stop lying to me? Hm?” His statement echoed the room, and Draco stiffened behind him.
And smiled.
-or at least bared his teeth.
“What do you mean, Serverus?” He countered, amusement laced his mock innocent tone, crescent eyes glinting.
No.
His brain supplied.
This is not Draconis.
That reaction doesn’t belong to the child he’d known for the last ten years.
Not now or ever.
“You’ve been acting strange.” Was the only thing that came out.
He watched as awe flickered through the boy's face, as if impressed that Severus figured him out so early.
What had he figured out?
The lie?
For what exactly?
He watched as the boy in front of him feast on his expression, before the smile sharpened at the edges.
“I don’t know what you mean Sev, now may we please start?”
He didn’t object.
“We’ll be working on a simple cure boiling potion, the instructions are page 16.” He paused. “We’ll be working on this potion for your first class with me at Hogwarts. By then I’ll be expecting you to make it perfectly with your eyes closed.” He threatened, drawing no emotion from the boy in front of him. “The ingredients should be in the cupboard behind you, I’ll give you an hour to procure it. If any mistakes were made I’ll correct you and show you the proper way to make such a potion, your time starts now.”
The latter hummed, eyes flashing before-
“Severus, what I’m about to do, promise you won’t mention it to Mother and Father.” Tilting his head he added, “Please?”
He stared down at the boy in front of him and sighed. “Fine, you Idiotic child.” Far too used to his godson’s antics.
“Swear on your magic?”
That caught his attention.
“Boy, what is so important, that I need to swear on my magic?” He snarled, closing in on his forsaken godson.
“Aw, please Sev~, they’ll know in due time. Just don’t tell! It’s supposed to be a surprise! Maybe you can help me! I want to improve after all!”
There it is, the whiny, posh voice that always follows around the small Malfoy heir. Except, Severus can’t exactly see the person in front as the same Malfoy heir, after the way he acted just now. His eyes, though never looking directly at Severus’s gaze showed enough, hollow. The eyes of someone that went through hell and back, who seems to be surviving only by will itself. Those aren’t the eyes of his godson, who’s shown the whole world. Arrogant and confident, of course, but it sparkled as brightly as the constellation he was named after.
Not those eyes in front of him.
Never again.
Severus was only gone from his godson’s life for two days, but looking at Draco, it seems like years.
Like he left and didn’t come back.
What happened to Draco Malfoy?
Gritting his teeth, the potion master turns his attention back to his godson, who was assessing him with a curious gaze. As if sensing his inner turmoil, he shook his head.
“Fine, I don’t need your help after all! I’ll do it myself!” He scoffed, pulling his face into a pout and turning away with arms crossed against his chest.
Peering down at the boy in front of him, Severus exhaled. Despite all his worry, it’s increasingly obvious that the boy in front of him is still his godson. Even though Draconis is acting odd…
Severus was most likely too paranoid.
Draco’s most likely still upset about his core.
Even though Seveeous knew it wasn’t true.
“No need to throw a tantrum my forsaken godson, though I don’t want to, have it your way, I’ll help you with whatever idiotic plan you have in mind.” He sighed, fondly shaking his head.
The boy’s face lit up.
“Really? You swear on your magic you won’t tell?”
Severus’s face twitched. Why did he agree again?
Gritting his teeth, he managed, “You’ve got to be- I swear on my magic, happy?” snapping and turning away from the boy.
“Yes! I knew I could count on you uncle Sev!” He gushed.
“Finish your potion first boy, then we talk.” Severus grumbled, clearly displeased and obviously rethinking his choices as a godfather.
“Ah! Right!” Turning around, the Malfoy heir reached in his trouser pockets and proceeded to take out his new wand box and holister. Securing the holister around his wrist and carefully grabbing the wand out of its box then proceeding to drop the box on the floor forgotten. Feeling out the wand, he adjusted his grip before proceeding to turn towards Severus.
“Remember you vowed not to tell Mother and Father!”
“Boy! This is a potion lesson, drop the wand before you explode something! You father-”
Draco sent a Cheshire smile at him before flicking the wand despite his godfather’s protest causing the cabinet doors to slam open and the correct potion materials to carefully fly out, neatly arranging themselves in front of them, aligned perfectly.
“Let’s see… snake fangs, pungous onions, dried nettles, and flobberworm mucus. That should be all, right Uncle Sev? He said smugly, preening in pride.
Now Severus is aware of the naked shock on his face, but he’s currently too occupied wondering where in the world did his forsaken godson learn how to perform non-verbal spells at his age, plus a four-year spell, when he just acquired his wand, an hour or two ago. Now scanning the young Malfoy heir’s face, he feels it is right to assume that he had the ability to do this before, particularly, before he acquired his wand which only means-
“I’m guessing you know how to do wandless magic aswell.”
The smile he got in return, convinced him his godson was sent from Astorath himself.
“When.” He asks, voice stain from the new revolution he just learned today. Raising his hand, he massaged the space between his eyes. It’s too early to grow white hairs.
“Eh?”
Don’t make me repeat myself boy, for how long?” He gritted out.
“Uh…”
Long time then, considering the boy didn’t even know the date. Severus sighed, he should really rethink the choice of people he’s associated with.
“I’m assuming that you want me to teach you underage magic?”
“You’ll do it right?” Draco asked, eyes pleading at his godfather. “Please, uncle Sev?”
“No.” He deadpanned, watching the latter’s face fall in disappointment. “As your professor, I will refuse to assist you in illegal magic.”
“You aren’t even my professor yet!” He whined.
Severus’s eyes twitched. “Then, as your godfather, I will refuse to assist you in such idiocy.”
“But you said-”
“No.”
“Fine! …But you can’t stop me either!” He puffs up, similarly to one of his father’s abysmal, albino peacocks.
“... Work on your potion, child. ”
…
Draco hummed to himself letting his mind drift, while working on the boils-curing potion, the potion is ridiculously easy to make, for his 18 year old brain, but he really can’t afford to leak anything else to Severus. In turn, he was careful to ensure a few careless mistakes that could get the potion decent enough. He admits was highly disappointed when the potions master declined to help him, after all his godfather was a genius at work and the skills he possesses would be useful for himself to learn, admittedly. He had gambled that showing his skillset would encourage Severus to help teach him, perhaps he miscalculated a bit. Continuing, he needs to convince Sev to not tell Dumbledore anything from this encounter, hopefully the potions master will know better, but it’s better to not take anymore risks.
Clicking his tongue, he relishes the problem that despite him using a wand, the spells he performed earlier left his magic drained. The magic of his eleven year old self was begrudgingly weak. He’ll need to find a way to go to number 12 Grimmauld place to retrieve the Black Grimoire, or other books that could assist him in acquiring an early inheritance. Gaining the title of Lord Black would also be highly efficient and would give him a nice footing. In the life before, the title has been handed to Potter courteous to Draco’s cousin and Potter’s godfather, Sirius Black. Oh, it had been a great shame that his mother’s maiden families’ legacy and wealth was handed to him. Mother and Aunt Bella were distressed for weeks on end after finding out. Kudos to Regulus, he’ll make sure to grab hold of the Black title before that Azkaban escapee claims it his.
His knowledge of the future could also help him create suitable investments in the Black family name and cut off other …unneeded ones. Those would be unsavory. Despite cousin Sirius and Aunt Bella, the black name still held much power, like the Mafloy’s. Since despite the rumours surrounding their business with the Dark Lord, Father’s reputation still held strong within the Ministry and the Sacred Twenty-eight. Having the Black family magick tied stronger to him would likewise further amplify the power he will receive from his inheritance, because unlike the Malfoy’s, the Black’s are more prone to inheritances of stronger and more unique creatures. Only helping him more in his cause.
Whipping his head back to his godfather, Draco figured that it was perhaps a bit of a mistake to reveal what he had to Severus. Though the potion master is quite loyal to his parents, he was undoubtedly Dumbledore’s pawn first. The fact that he hadn’t made Severus swear it to not tell him to tell anyone, and only his mother and father was risky. A huge mistake on his part of course for he was quite excited to tell Severus, and didn’t really pause to process the consequences for his actions. A bloody mistake! Something that can never happen again, of course. Disappointing, he was only here for a day and yet he already messed up! Sighing, the young Malfoy heir made up his mind and waited for his godfather to face the wall in front of him.
Whipping his wand out, pointing it carefully at the potion master’s turned back, Draco whispered the fated words.
“Obliviate.”
Slowly, he watched as Severus’s head hit the ground, a smirk playing on his face. Lovely, the spell worked swellingly. Conjuring up a goblet, The young Malfoy filled it up with a quick ‘Augmenti’, before downing it up in record time and destroying it with a careful ‘Reducto’. Humming to himself, he turned and jumped off the stool to softly kneel beside his godfather, then proceeded to cast a harsh stinging spell on himself that made his eyes well up with tears, before he pushed his wand back into the holster. And readied himself to let out an ear piercing scream. Enjoying the sound of trampled running that came near almost immediately.
When Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy finally opened the door, they were met with the sight of their son sobbing on the floor near his godfather who was unceremonially passed out on the ground. Unconscious and remembering nothing of what his godson could do.
Five minutes later, everyone who was at St. Mungos was met with the sight of three distressed Malfoys barging in the front, with an unconscious Severus levitating behind them. With Lord Lucius Abraxas Malfoy storming up to the front register and demanding the top healers for his son’s passed out godfather, while Lady Narcissa Malfoy nee Black quickly conjured a cot to carefully lay the latter one, her son quietly behind her sobbing silent tears, eyes puffy and red, clinging on to his mother’s expensive robes for dear life, eyes solely on his mentor.
Now, watching the healers come running forward, taking hold of the cot and dragging with it them while the Head Healer screams instructions at the interns who are currently running around to either show the Malfoy family where Severus will be held or going to grab the correct potions that might be needed, Draco would admit the plan he conceited could have been saved for last resort. Though allowing Severus to leave would have been risky, it’s best not to show your teeth to others too early anyways.
He can’t really bring himself to regret what he’s done either though.
Quietly, Draco moves to run after his Mother and Father, who are now being directed to the fourth floor, where Severus now lies to be treated. Following after his Mother, eyes still puffy and swollen, robes still clutched in his hands, he’ll say the plan worked wonders.
Seated next to Lady Malfoy, while his Father was angrily pacing down the hallway, he dropped his head into his lap. Legs bent in while his arms wrapped around them. Only lifting it up when he heard footsteps that didn’t belong to his father approach them. When Draconis finally opened his eyes, he was met with a solemn gaze and twinkling eyes.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore has arrived.
…
It was only the noon after Yule, that a letter from Ollivander came addressed to him.
At first, Albus was, let’s say surprised, he hadn’t expected a letter from Ollivander until Harry Potter had received his wand, which should only happen a few months from now. Opening the seal, the contents of the letter detailed that the scion of the Black and Malfoy family visited the wand shop early, with Lady Malfoy demanding a wand for her heir. Ollivander explained that not only did the child born from the two families of dark art possess a magic affinity for light. But his magic held the power to be able to control his wand.
The wood of Elbony, and the spine of a Rainbow Serpent. A powerful wand, in the hands of a ten year old.
Draco Malfoy.
When Albus had first heard of the name, it was a few months after the war. During the Malfoy’s trials, Severus had held the bundle in his lap carrying the Malfoy heir. The young boy was sobbing silently, reaching for his parents. He had ethereal silver-blonde hair, and the signature Black family’s eyes. Draconis Lucius Malfoy, Severus had informed him at the end. His godson.
Over the years, Albus had heard plenty of young Malfoy from Severus’s rants. Spoiled, rotten, bratty, a small embodiment of his father who held the same pure-blooded ideals of the Black and Malfoys. Everything you would suspect a child of a family from the Sacred twenty-eights would act.
Cunning.
Ambitious.
Dark.
But the youngest Malfoy wasn’t dark. To be able to tame the wand that rests obediently in his hands is something no dark wizard could do. Not with the core it holds. Never with the core it holds.
That was what made it interesting.
The Scion and Heir of his family would never be able to follow in the footsteps of his ancestors.
Not with the new revolution Albus had learned today.
Folding the letter and tucking it away, the Headmaster had just enough time to slip it under a drawer before Deputy Headmistress barged in with a letter from St. Mungos for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
He had the courtesy of meeting the Malfoy heir later today.
After apparating to the front of St. Mungo’s, Albus was led to the fourth floor by an enthusiastic healer, and came face to face with the Malfoy family, who were waiting outside Serverus’s room.
Upon his arrival, Lord Malfoy’s face darkened considerally, jaw clenching, and the arms behind his back straightened. Narcissa Malfoy, had a similar reaction with her husband, mouth sagging as she turned her head to face her son. Draco Malfoy, the small child was curled up in a ball, eyes red from crying and face streaked with tears. The only indication that he noticed the old wizard’s presence was the small tilt of his head and nothing more.
“Dumbledore.” Lucius sneered, obviously displeased.
“Lucius.” He greeted, watching as the Head of the Malfoy family’s nose wrinkle slightly with the lack of proper address and use of his first name. “What happened?”
“Nothing that you wouldn’t know.” Was the only reply he got back.
“Then do you have any idea of what happened to Severus, Lucius? He was well before.” He stated as the Malfoy Patriarch's head whipped towards him, eyes blazing. Magic pressing down.
“Oh? And pray tell what you are insulating, Dumbledore.” He spat. “We would never have done anything to your precious potions master. You can-”
“I would never imply such a thing.” That was true, and Albus knew it. Despite the history of the Malfoy house, they would never stoop this low to harm someone they care about. And Severus was Narcissa’s friend and Lucius’s acquaintance, right of now, both of them have no reason to revert Severus to a state like this. Eyes landed on the small Malfoy, can’t be him either, from the potions teacher’s old reports, Draco’s magic was only average, if not a bit above. At this age, he won’t be able to do anything to harm his mentor, and like his parents, he had no reason too.
“Draco Malfoy?” the Headmaster questioned, watching as the latter turned to him, rubbing his sore eyes. “Would you mind telling me what happened to your godfather? It might help us figure out who did this to him.” Albus made sure to keep his voice soft, encouraging the Malfoy heir to speak. He noticed the small conflict in the youngest’s eyes before he promptly burst out crying.
“I don't know!” He sobbed, tears going back to leaking out of his eyes as he wrapped his cloak tightly around his body. “Uncle Sev was fine at supper, a- and my potions class, but then he suddenly passed out! I don’t know what happened!”
“Oh, my little dragon.” His mother sighed, as she ran over to quickly wrap her arms around her son’s racking body, while whispering comforting words. “Severus will be healed in a matter of time, it’s okay.”
…
Draco nodded, clutching Mother’s neck and holding on to her tighter. Closing his eyes, he rested his head on her shoulder, breathing in the smell of her lavender perfume. Mother, his mother was here.
How he missed this.
“Mother?” He questioned, voice small.
“Mh?”
“I want to go home.” He whispered, not wanting to stay in the Headmaster’s proximity for any longer.
Narcissa Malfoy peered at her son before smiling, “Of course my dragon.” Never able to say no to her darling son.
They left Father and Dumbledore at the hospital to update them on Serverus’s health.
“Rest my Draco,” Mother said once they arrived home by Floo, “It had been a tiring day for you, go to sleep.”
Nodding, the Malfoy heir crept up the grand staircase.
What a day.
…
Draco could feel the sunlight trickle into the room, softly kissing his alabaster skin. In the confinement of his bed, the young Malfoy heir struggled to wake up. Jumping at the sound of a loud pop!
A house elf appeared in the bedroom near his feet.
“Young Master?”
“Dobby.” He sighed, right his mistake again. He’d forgotten about the elf.
“Lady Malfoy is asking young master to come to morning tea with the Parkinsons.” He squeaked.
Humming, he shook his head, “Tell mother I have something already planned for today. She’ll understand.”
The sound of apparition was the only response he got in return.
Opening his eyes, the young Malfoy heir marveled the clearing where he first found that he held the blood of an Amphitere. Beautiful as it was before, he destroyed it.
With a flick of his wand he disappeared.
He landed on a street in muggle London. His magic exhausted, and unbearably strained from apparition. Looking at the familiar streets, he looked back at the time he had visited before, just once, with his mother. The neighborhood felt hollow and dark, just like before. Uncleaned and overgrown. He wanted to sigh, Muggles and their lack of etiquette.
Lifting his head, he saw -to his left- number eleven and right, number thirteen. Number twelve Grimmauld place nowhere in sight. None deteriorating him as he stepped forward, and watched as an antique door followed by a grim building slowly shifted and slid into view, between number eleven and twelve.
Walking forwards, Draco stared at the door of the Black’s building. Grabbing hold of the door knock, that resembled a silver serpent, and knocked. Satisfied as he felt the wards rearranging himself to let him in, followed by the sound of creaking metal and chains as the door opened, revealing a dimly lit hallway.
Stepping over the threshold, he felt around the wards, breathing in the feeling of ancient magic surrounding his being. The old chandelier sputtered to life, light finally reaching the century old walls. With the trajectory, the Heir continued to make his way down the hall, footsteps light and quiet, careful to not let any of the floorboards creak for long. Wrinkling his nose at the sight of the mounted house elf heads on the wall. Still too focused on the display, he found himself tripping over a small table at the side of the hallway, setting off a loud, blood-curling scream.
Ah. Aunt Walburga.
Bless her.
He never felt more deaf in his life.
“Great-Aunt Walburga,” He whispered, bowing in front of her portrait, “Forgive me for disturbing your slumber.”
The god awful woman finally ceased her screaming, opting to stare at him flabbergasted. Silence at last fell over the house. “What did you just call me, boy?!” She screamed, never able to shut her mouth.
“Great-Aunt Walburga,” He repeated, still bowing down, “Pleasure to meet your acquaintances, my name is Draconis Lucius Malfoy, Scion of the Black and Malfoy family. My mother is Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, and is married to Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, my father and current lord of the house.”
At this, he watched as her incredible gaze raked over him, slowly assessing him, as Draco kept his posture straight and still, before her eyes lit up with delight.
“Of course! Cissy’s son! Pardon me dear boy, that was rather rude of me.” She chirped happily, nodding to herself.
Draco smiled charmily at his ghastly aunt, nodding wordlessly, before straightening up. “No problem at all, though I’m truly sorry, Great-Aunt, I had hoped that I’ll be able to stay longer, but you see, Aunt Walburga. I’m in a bit of a rush.” He breathed, here goes nothing, “Would you kindly show me where the Black grimoire lies?”
Walburaga’s face contorted into confusion, “Of course, Heir Malfoy-Black, may I wonder why you need its assistance?"
“Private matters, I assure you, but only for the best interest of the Black family. You will have my word.” He replied, keeping his voice sincere.
“Very well, child.” She sniffed, all too trusting to her last descendant, before- “Kreacher!”
A bulbous snouted house elf appeared in front of the young heir and the portrait. His blood shot eyes narrowing when he regarded Draco, before his posture stiffened when he saw his eyes.
The signature eyes in the Black family.
Blinking and choosing to dismiss him, much to Draco’s ire, the elf turned to her beloved mistress. “The Mistress called?” He asked sweetly.
Ignoring the elf, the portrait turned towards him. “Young heir, Kreacher will take you to the family grimoire. Naturally, the door is locked, my dear, but your Black blood will let you in.”
“Thank you for your assistance, Great-Aunt Walburga.” Flashing her another smile he bowed to show his appreciation, before turning to Kreacher, who was now looking at him with pure adoration on his face.
Figures.
“Young master,” He breathed. “Returned at last.”
Draco made a quick sound of agreement as he gestured Kreacher to get going, “Yes, of course, I believe you are to show me the grimoire?”
Nodding rapidly, Kreacher grabbed hold of his arm before apparating.
His feet slammed onto the hard ground as he landed before the book with Kreacher trailing behind him. It stood before him, high on a pedestal, wrapped with magic going back in centuries, glowing. Power radiating from it in waves.
Beautiful.
Compelling.
Dark.
The room the Grimoire was held in was built to resemble a glass dome, up above different constellations shined, all of them carrying the name of his previous ancestors, before disappearing when he stepped foot onto the platform. His own appearing shining brighter than the rest. The Draco constellation, renowned for its winding shape, resembling a serpentine dragon winding around the celestial pole.
His.
Shining above the rest, the last male in one of the most sacred pureblood families left.
And in front of him-
The key for him to hold the title of Lord Black.
To have the power to wretch it from his cousin’s hold.
Pitch leather adorned the cover beautifully, with delicate silver linings trailing along the sides of the book. Its multiple eyes closed, resting peacefully waiting to be disturbed. A silver clamp held the illusion of keeping the book shut.
In the ‘past’ the Black magick had no choice but to latch onto his cousin, as he was the only Black male with the magic capability to hold the name alive. Back then, Draco was far too weak to obtain the title. His magic had been tainted with the dark mark, it drained under Voldemort’s signature, and the magick ownership had already passed on to Potter, despite his blood. In the circumstances before, it didn’t matter since the ‘lord’ had willingly handed it to him. And with no one else to receive it, it latched it to Him. The precious boy-who-lived. Kreacher’s loyalty going with him too, betraying his mother and aunt.
In the ‘past’, he had been angry. Furious even.
Now he can only hear himself cackle at the fate of his family.
How far they sunk.
One of the most ancient families known to wizards around, was left to be kept alive by a disowned and Azkaban escapee. The correct heir dead, and the only one left to weak, that it left the magick no choice.
But.
With the help of the grimoire, -his creature, he’ll be able to achieve the Lord Black magick.
To complete Regulus’s request to hold the family honor.
And also, to make sure that brother of his, Sirius Black, sees to remove himself like he’s done before.
And maybe get himself Kissed by the dementors while he’s at it.
Now wouldn’t that be laughable, he mused.
Nevermind that.
“Kreacher,” He whispered, not daring to raise his voice. “Hand me a knife.”, Even with the order, his eyes never left the family grimoire in front of him.
When he felt smooth metal rest among his palm, he spun the handle and slashed it across his non-wand hand. Holding still while pain exploded through his nerves and while blood leaked through his palms. The only tell-tale of his pain was the hitch in his breath, as he bit his lip.
Slowly, he measured his steps as he stepped forward, unclenching his fist as he smudged his blood across the many eyes. Only reacting and pulling his hand back, when a shrill screech erupted from the book as the gore filled irises shot open. Unlocking, the book slammed itself open, pages passing in front of him, each screaming their own story of the members who held the Black family legacy. Before landing on a page in the back.
‘Ars antiquae hereditatis’
Regulus Arcturus Black
Draco couldn’t hold the maniac smile that crept onto his face.
That asshole.
He knew.
All this time.
Bloody hell.
Was Draco really that predictable?
He feels his smile sharpen as he scans the information on worn out pages. Sucking in a sharp breath, hell, his dear cousin really went all out. The instructions shown in front of him were specially tailored to match his creature. It detailed the inheritance ritual, the materials needed for his specifics, what’s going to happen, and the instructions to handle himself after. Each written in meticulous detail, crafted only for him.
Simple yet needed to be done impeccably for it to work.
A blood ritual to force his body into an early inheritance, to connect himself to his origins and land. To do this, he’ll need to find the home of the Amphitere’s.
Where the first Amphipteres resided.
In Egypt.
“Oh?”
He finds himself saying hours later, seated outside Flourish & Botts, flipping through one of the many books he bought regarding the matter.
‘Lovely’, the young Malfoy thought to himself. How was he supposed to go to Egypt?
Releasing a frustrated groan, all etiquette forgotten as he dropped his head onto the table, ignoring the somewhat loud ‘bang!’ that echoed and the frustrating throb in his head that accompanied it. What a load of dragon dung. He, in no way could apparate that far, with his absolutely weak core, and obtaining a portkey would be way more problematic than it’s worth.
Blowing out a tired sigh, he threw his hands up in the air.
‘Salzaar,’ Draco thought. ‘This complicates things, alot.’
There must be another way.
He can’t help but think Regulus is testing him with this.
Or mocking him.
Maybe he can find something in the Manor’s vast library.
Nodding affirmation to himself, Draco proceeded to grab the books he purchased and after making sure no one was around, he flicked his wand and landed outside the wards of the Malfoy Manor.
Exhaling shakily, he clenched his hands on the fabric near his chest. Quickly making sure he hadn’t splinched his body, he breathed out in relief, body slumping down to the ground. His hands fisted into the grass as he proceeded to massage ribs, trying to loosen the pull in his chest. While magical strain is the preferred approach in attempting to improve and strengthen your core. Draco would admit the pressure that’s forced down in your body is painful, rightfully so.
Magical exhaustion is also another worry in these situations. A setback. Leaving you horribly bedridden and weak. Preferably avoided if could, unlike strain. The young Malfoy twisted his hands further into the Earth in frustration. It’s fine, he already used his magic to apparate 4 times today, reasonable for his age to feel his body hurt in this way.
Giving up, Draco finally let his body fully collapse on the ground, bringing small relief to his aching muscles. Closing his eyes, he decided to stay in the time being, feeling the fresh wind surrounding his body, listening to the music in the air. Still, Draco could still feel his core twisting from the overuse of magic, as if someone is carefully tugging on his heart, precise to not bring a rip or tear, but enough for the person to feel pain. Curling into himself, he allowed his frame to sag deeper into the dirt. Marveling the forest’s peace. So far, he hadn’t indulged in the nature of the forest. Too busy being stuck in time. In his past. One that he’d been thrusted into, but overall enjoying. Even off the dangers that were ahead, Draco overall, didn’t let himself think about what might happen though. In the two days he was here, he’d been running around, too focused on being normal in the eyes of others. Too busy attempting to cling on to the normalcy the past held. Again. That he hadn’t really processed everything that happened around him. He was stuck in the past. The future only existing in his memories.
He was no longer known as a Death Eater.
A blood purist.
As Draco Lucius Mafloy.
Not what Regulus was known as.
Because it was too late for him.
He saw it swirling in those stormy eyes, exactly like his.
Regulus wouldn’t be able to fix the ‘Past’ like Draco could.
Even if he goes back.
The impact he could cause wouldn’t compare to the one Draco would be able to do for their family would be so, so, so different.
Regulus would be only known as a survivor.
Draco, if he played his cards right, would be able to do something that their ancestors destroyed.
He could bring back their family’s legacy.
Influence.
Power.
If he manages to befriend St. Potter and his band of do-gooders and blood traitors..
His family would be welcomed back to the side of light with honor.
And Draco would do it.
He would swallow his beliefs, ideals, tradition, and blood purity, to befriend them.
For his family.
Only for his family.
Because if he succeeds, the Malfoys and Blacks would come back to Britain with open arms.
Father’s connection and past association to the Dark Lord forgotten.
The damage they’ve done before, pushed aside.
The world would only look at them with rose coloured glasses.
Like they did with the Saviors of the wizarding world.
He would do it.
The pain.
The torture.
The trauma.
Again and again and again.
For the future he and Regulus prayed for.
Despite the price.
Even with all the ‘evil’ ideals the Malfoy and Black had, the most important that one laid in them was always family.
Everything you did was for family.
Your actions.
Words.
Life.
Was devoted to them.
Your past and future.
No matter what happens, you are to carry the weight.
No matter how crazy Aunt Bella was.
No matter of Father’s actions.
They’re your family.
Forged by blood.
Always.
And as the Heir.
You’re going to carry the weight.
Never as a job.
As your duty.
And for the first time since the war ended, Draco really cried. Listening to the sobs that tore out of his body and throat, reflecting agony.
Which was strange, because he hadn’t cried when his family, his mother and father got take. away after the war. He didn’t cry when he was stuck in the cells of Azkaban, reliving his worst memories of his life. And he wouldn’t cry when he, and his parents were sentenced to a fate worse than death. Not in front of the court, in front of the mudblood, Potter and all those others.
But he cried now, because for the first time in years he had stopped running, and had let everything he did, regret, locked away behind his occlumency wards catch up to him.
He cried because of the duty he was carrying on his shoulders.
Not because of the burden.
He would never.
It was because of the fear.
Fear of his failure.
What would happen if he failed?
His family’s future.
Sometimes he felt as though he understood Sirius Black.
Not really, not never.
He could understand him.
But never hate him less.
He had ran away from his family that had depended on him to help them to carry the weight, he left them all behind for his friends, his beliefs, his own selfishness. He had never acted for the betterment of his mother, father, and brother.
Draco could understand that.
He had also wanted to run away.
With all the nights the Dark Lord had lived in his house, there wasn’t a day where he hadn’t entertained the thought.
That was different though.
Similar to the way of wanting to murder someone, but actually carrying out that.
It was different.
Because Draco hadn’t ran away.
Sirius did.
Despite being a Gryffindor, he was a coward.
He ran away from family.
An unforgivable sin.
That’s why Draco hated him.
But lying down in the forest behind the manor, eyes swollen, so like but different from yesterday when he had sent Severus to the healers. He can’t help but want to be Sirius.
Free.
Unshackled from the weight. The burden.
Free.
And Draco had thought he was finally free at once, just before his death.
Instead he was back.
Exhausted.
Lying on the forest floor, magic strained and weak. Body pained and mind foggy.
Back.
And there was nothing he could do about it but start running again.
…
He was met with the sight of his mother and Lady Parkinson, drinking tea, with Pansy poised next to her Mother, dressed in immaculate robes, and hair styled into a bob. She is posed like a proper pureblood lady and politely chatting to the Ladies of the houses, fitting into her role perfectly.
Near the corner stood Father and Lord Parkinson, sharing a glass of wine. Talking quietly in the secluded area. Faces shrunched up in concentration.
“Draco.” Father greeted, and oh, Draco had remembered this day well. It was the day that Pansy Parkison had got off her chair and greeted him with a question.
“Is it true that you’re a Hierophant, Draco?”
(Hierophant: a term that is used to call ‘Light Wizards’ or ‘White Wizards’)
That question alone had the Parkinson Lord, stammering, head whipping over to his Heir in embarrassment. While his Lady let out a scandalized ‘Pansy!’, hand shooting to cover her mouth, before quickly blubbering out apologies to Mother at light speed. Desperate to defend the actions of her daughter’s blunt mouth. While the children in front of them were watching as they caught the show of an interesting soap opera.
He saw his Father’s lip turn downwards towards Lord Parkinson, who like his wife, was running out of excuses.
Taking pity on the poor family, he scoffed. “So?” He scowled, face twisted into displeasure, hiding the curious gaze in his eyes. Effectively silencing the Adults around him.
“So?” Pansy pushed. “Draco, do you-” A hand blocked her mouth, effectively silencing the youngest Parkinson before she could attempt to push further.
“Pansy!” Her mother hissed, hand unwavering. “Young lady, where are your manners!” Before turning to the Malfoys, head bowing down.