Crimson
A deep red: crimson. Stark against the innocent snow, tainting it with its presence.
The shadows of the night seemed to swallow the alluring color just as well as they could hide his presence. Draco Malfoy, the Regimes secret: The dark soldier stood on the roof of a mansion. The once grand building seemed to deflate a little at the loss of the souls within.
Despite it being a clear, cloudless night; he was in the shadows. As if the moon herself didn’t dare to shine on him. More like didn’t want to, Draco thought to himself bitterly. So many innocent lives had been reaped tonight, by none other than him. His silver sword, the wicked blade, which had been merciful enough to grant them a quick death, seemed to be taunting him, the only thing catching the moonlight.
His dark robes, meant to camouflage him in the night, reeked of the heavy copper scent that plagued his dreams. He sat there numbly, under the guise of enjoying the cool night air, staring at the deep crimson drops on the snow beneath him. It was haunted him. It didn’t matter to the Regime that his victims were once living people with their own intricate lives. THey were just traitors to their cause.
Draco hadn’t spared the small child that clung to her father two nights ago. He didn’t look back at the dark corridor littered with corpses a week ago. And he certainly didn’t waver before he struck the old man down in his own office tonight.
They were once unique people with their own lives, families, and goals. But once their corpses were vaporized and the crime scene carefully cleaned, all that was left of them would be the red drops of their blood on him. Their memories and contribution to the cruel world forever forgotten.
The very essence of an entire person -reduced to drops of crimson flowers on the snow. It always haunted him everywhere.
Serves them right, a part of him thought coldly. The dark lord's cause was to protect the magical folk who had been endangered by the muggles for centuries. The witch hunts, executions, their scorn, and their false sense of superiority had to be torn down. Why should we hide from the world? Why should we, clearly the powerful side, have to cower?
He thought of his next mission, handed to him during their meeting earlier before he had to leave to take care of the traitorous old man. His next target was the Silent Assassin. She was famous among the killers of both sides, just as much as he was. Although her gender was never explicitly revealed, most speculate that only a woman would use poison and a dagger instead of a sword. She was a headache to his superiors as she always managed to cut off their source of information. Her victims often looked to be peacefully asleep, until you came closer and realized that their arteries along the neck had been completely severed. His next task was simple really, silence the silent assassin.
Draco had come far from his first attempt at killing at 16. He was no longer the cowering child, but an unstoppable soldier to their cause. He could now annihilate entire villages with just his sword in one night. The spells cast from his wand could easily be traced down. And no one could know that he was behind all those deaths. So most, including him, reverted back to the barbaric way of killing with swords and weapons. The mangled corpses were often framed to look like the Rebellion did it, it helped them politically.
Now, at only 27, he was highly feared as the dark soldier within the inner circle.
But that didn’t mean that he liked killing. He just did what had to be done for their cause. The traitors and unknowing muggles just got what they deserved.
Draco jumped carefully off the roof, tucking into a neat roll to reduce the impact. He left the magical boundaries of the mansion before apparating back home.
Once he reached the familiar Malfoy Manor, he quietly slipped through the back door. His sword was simply wiped with his cloak and hidden in a secret alcove in the walls of the back porch.
On the days he was tasked to kill, he steeled his heart and numbed out all his feelings. But every night he crawled back to her: Astoria Malfoy. His comfort and vice.
The shadows cast by the few lighted lamps danced along the luxurious patterns of the corridor as he walked to his bedroom -their bedroom. No matter how many times he told the house elves, they never seemed to listen to him. He didn’t need the lights, he wasn’t stupid. He knew his childhood home by heart.
Instead of slipping into the bedroom and risking waking his wife up. Draco padded through a secret passageway in the walls and ended up in a bathroom. His dark uniform was tossed carelessly into a separate hamper that would be washed secretly. He stepped into the shower and watched the crimson splotches on his skin fade out to a mild pink and drain out. Memories and complex lives…….so easily gone. But he convinced himself that it was all for the best. They were fighting for a world where they, the magical folk who had been oppressed for so long, wouldn’t need to cower.
He got out of the shower and dressed, drying his hair with a soft white towel.
Despite being against the marriage in the first place, coming home to someone was a good feeling. He never intended to let her so close to his heart. But as he saw her sleeping figure on their shared bed, he realized that the clever girl might have found a way in already.
Draco wondered, as he slipped into bed next to her in their bedroom, how she would react if she knew of his real identity. Although Astoria knew that he was in the dark lord's inner circle, he doubted that she thought him a killer. Probably just the usual politician, the face of the Regime.
After all, he never let his mask slip around her. The dark soldier was who he was, and the husband she faced was just a facade.
But nowadays he felt the mask slipping and the lines blurring out.
“Are you just getting back?” Astoria mumbled as she turned to face him. She must’ve not been asleep in the first place. Draco knew that she was a deep sleeper, she had never woken up when he had to leave for early missions.
“yeah” he answered, softly pulling the covers around them.
“How was dinner?” she snuggled closer to him, “How come you’re coming home so late?”
Draco’s lie slipped easily through his teeth, “The usual. And Goyle convinced everyone to get a drink. You know him, that idiot”. They did have a short meeting, under the guise of a dinner; but he had left early to carry out his mission.
“Oh, I see”
Her voice was thick with sleep as she added, “They should really stop keeping you out this late, it's dangerous”
Draco smiled as he pulled her closer. Only if she knew, he was the danger.
He settled under the covers, breathing in her familiar scent. Draco felt bits of guilt at times; he was offered such sweet love and comfort from his innocent wife, while he carried out dark missions behind her back. But he would gladly kill if it meant keeping her safe.
____________________
Astoria Malfoy. A spare heir to her prideful parents. A well-educated member of high society. A shadow to her older sister, who was climbing through the social ranks like it was a simple walk along a park. All thanks to the younger, who ensured that Daphne’s opponents never even had a chance to square up.
She couldn't even remember the amount of lives she had taken. Despite this, rumors never spread. Her victims simply never lived to tell the story.
The white snow beneath her feet was tainted with drops of crimson blood. It dripped slowly from her dagger. Astoria inwardly cursed and wiped the blade with her robes. Todays victim had been a well known member of the opposing side, Bruce Mulciber. According to their sources, he was in charge of supplying weapons for the Regime and coordinating attacks. The Regime had a frustrating way of ruining the Rebellion's image by framing murders. Astoria inwardly at that, the often mangled corpses were an insult to her neat handiwork. The nearby villagers didn’t even hear a scream. Astoria had taken care to set the scene. Getting into his estate was simple, the drunkard had never bothered to memorize the faces of his servants. After she had slipped a type of aphrodisiac into his wine she took extra care to sit him down in a comfortable position before slitting his throat with her poison dagger. If his damaged arteries didn't kill him, the poison would.
From her standpoint, hidden in the trees of the nearby woods, she could still see the light in his room. Mulcibers lifeless body would be covered in his blood by now. The crimson liquid would have dripped to the floor and stained the plush cushions and lavish carpet.
After years of killing, she was getting better at steeling her heart. A few years ago, imagining such a scene would have made her blanch.
Despite growing up in a family that supported the views of the Regime, Astoria had always found herself pitying their victims. That pity slowly developed into a passion to support their cause. The Rebellion sought to protect the weak majority, the muggles, who were targets to the Regime just because of their lineage. As she grew up, Astoria realized how unfair that was. Why should they be treated differently just because of their lineage? Why should they have to pay for the crimes committed by their ancestors?
Astoria watched as the messenger Hawk flew off into the setting sun. Nowadays, patronuses could be traced down and owls could easily be pulled off course. The Rebellion used strong eagle or hawk breeds to send secret messages and orders. She opened the small slip off paper that had been delivered to her. The deciphered message read: The dark soldier. Parkinson's estate. 7pm. Tuesday. 30th. Meet Lightning. Drink stand.
The orders written in secret code, which was taught to all members of the Rebellion, were always simple. It only said the name of the victim, the place, time, and your partner if they saw fit. Astoria, the silent assassin, was to take out the dark soldier during the Parkinsons social gala on Tuesday the 30th at 7pm. She was to meet Lightning, which was a code name for another one of the Rebellion’s members, near the drink stand.
She had only just finished an order when the hawk had landed inconspicuously on her shoulder. The fact that orders were carried out more often meant that the tension between the two parties was getting bigger.
Astoria turned and apparated into a broken shack near Malfoy Manor. Thick trees and overgrown bushes made it hard for anyone to stubble upon it accidentally. She stepped into the darkness of the unstable shack. She had to be quick, the sun was setting fast and Draco would be home soon. She tapped her wand onto the keyhole and slipped through a trapdoor on the floor. The Rebellion had countless underground lairs such as this one all over the country. To assassins like her, who supported their cause but couldn’t do so openly, these little underground lairs were extremely convenient. Instead of going home and risking an encounter with her husband in her bloody outfit, Astoria usually cleaned up here first. This is also where she hid her weapons and spare clothes.
The cool stone steps echoed as Astoria descended, pushing aside moth-eaten curtains to enter a dark room. The layout was rather simple: a torch on each wall, old trunks filled with basic weapons and medical equipment, shelves with scrolls and other trinkets, and spare clothes hung along the hooks on the walls. Astoria was sure that she was the only person to use this lair so close to the Malfoy Manor as she discarded her bloodied clothes and started to clean up some of the blood using her wand. Once she had changed into a more presentable outfit -a simple dress that she would usually wear at home, she set off quickly, taking care to lock the trapdoor and cast a forget-me-not spell over the shack.
Astoria apparated to the boundaries of the Malfoy grounds and ran quickly through the peacock pastures. She was sure that Lucius Malfoys affinity with those arrogant albino beasts ran much deeper than normal. Even after they had moved out, her father-in-law's precious pets stayed in their Manor. Draco, who had grown up with the peacocks, seemed to find it amusing that Astoria was afraid of them. Well, she wasn’t exactly scared of them, she was the silent assassin: a killer. Only a bit apprehensive of their sharp beaks and their evil eyes, which stared into her soul as if they knew everything.
Astoria had been very apprehensive of their arranged marriage but quickly realized that it would be a prime opportunity to spy on one of the inner members of the Regime. Draco Malfoy was a well known, trusted advisor and politician of the opposite party. But her views slowly changed.
Her feelings were always never in the equation. How would she ever fall in love with the loud, dramatic, and cowardly boy she had met at school? But as a wife, she met another side of him that made her resolve waver. Something about the way he appeared as a cold, unreachable speaker of the Regime to everyone else; but a caring and easygoing husband to her.
She climbed quietly back into their bedroom through the window, using the thick branches of climbing ivy as footsteps. She quickly showered and settled in bed just as she heard a door click open. Her husband, Draco Malfoy, walked in.
She never knew love. But she could imagine it with him. If only their lives were a bit more different. More simple.
She wondered how he would react if he ever found out that his meek wife was capable of killing. The silent assassin. She doubted that it ever crossed his mind. She was just an innocent housewife, after all. And if the rumors of his 6th year was anything to trust, Draco Malfoy would blanch at the sight of blood and death.
The mask she wore for him was startlingly different to the one she wore when she carried out orders. Or maybe she wore the mask when she killed and the real her was when she was with him. It confused her, and the more time she spent with him, the more blurry the boundaries became.
“Are you just getting back?” she mumbled as she turned to face him.
“yeah” Draco answered, softly pulling the covers around them.
“How was dinner?” she snuggled closer to him, breathing in his scent, “How come you’re coming home so late?”
Astoria half knew the answer she was expecting. He probably was kept up by his superiors to plan some other event. She was low-key glad, she would have gotten caught if he had come home just a bit earlier.
“The usual. And Goyle convinced everyone to get a drink. You know him, that idiot”.
Yes, Goyle was an idiot. But the stupid ones were always the easiest to dispose of. The Rebellion didn’t really see him as a threat.
“Oh, I see”
She felt the fatigue kick in as she added, “They should really stop keeping you out this late, it's dangerous”
The Rebellion might one day see him as a potential threat. But Astoria could always pull some strings, Draco was only active as a speaker after all. He didn’t have to worry, she was the danger.
She would vouch for him even when they took the Regime down. She would vouch for his innocence and slip him out of any trials they would have to face.