Chapter Two (Don't Do The Things I've Done)
I remember wishing I could be boiled like water
and made pure again.
…
Each morning I look in the mirror
and say promise me something
don’t do the things I’ve done.
-Jeffrey McDaniel
Harry
The win against Slytherin was a great start to the Quidditch season and Harry had every right to be excited. He was, however, caught up in the fact that he had to go up against some seeker he didn't even recognize.
Malfoy appeared to carry with him a sickness now that weakened his body and his capacity for sports. Of course, Harry couldn’t know this for sure, but from the few glances he had dared to take and the boys obvious absence from any practices or games, it was clear that something was up.
He had resolved to keeping what he had heard a secret, until it seemed necessary to bring up, or until he understood it better. If Dumbledore hadn’t been ignoring him unless he had some new memory or task to share he might have run to him right away, but he was annoyed with the clear secrecy the Headmaster was portraying, so it was only right he had some of his own.
As far as interactions with Malfoy went, he noticed they were dwindling by the bucket load. If the blond haired boy did try and take a jab at him, it only felt half hearted and more like a chore than a true fit of teasing.
To top it all off, his little trick with the liquid luck potion had earned him an awkward position between his two best friends. Ron had believed himself that the he’d drunken the true Felix Felicis, so why he was so upset with Hermione was beyond understanding. He felt like he had to walk on eggshells between the two, especially with Ron’s new relationship with Lavender Brown. It consisted mostly of snogging and Harry was honestly tired of hearing about it.
The castle was finally rid of its Holiday decorations, he was sure he would have vomited if he had had to see one more unexpected kiss in his path. Ginny and Dean. Ron and Lavender. At one point his annoyance had been fueled by jealousy, but after Hermione’s warnings of love potions in the works from his rabid swarm of fan-girls, Harry just found it tiresome. If he survived the war he hoped he could find a nice quiet girl to spend his life with, though he hadn’t really had much luck in that department so far. Especially since his feelings for Ginny dissipated as quickly as they came, seeing her cozying up to Dean and realizing he could never be what she needed or deserved and that he honestly couldn’t imagine her providing that for him either.
So, Harry was really having a rotten go of it.
Pretty soon upon his arrival back Dumbledore had shown him two memories, one of Voldemort learning of his father’s muggle heritage and killing him and his grandparent’s in cold blood. He had left with the a Guant family ring.
The next was a more questionable memory of a young Voldemort during his years at Hogwarts, asking Professor Slughorn about something called horcruxes. Dumbledore had told Harry to get the real memory from Slughorn as the previous was a fake, but he wasn’t the most forthcoming with information. If Harry was going to do Dumbledore's homework, he wanted to know everything, and so he and Hermione had done some in depth digging.
Well, they had gone to the restricted section, but there was nothing to be found. They scoured every shelf and promising book but there was no word on horcruxes. Harry was furious of course, but he would do Dumbledore’s bidding nonetheless. They were in a war, he had no choice.
A month passed and nothing changed. February began with no real answers about Slughorn, horcruxes, or Malfoy.
Draco
Time was not on his side. Really, nothing was on his side.
Draco had been adjusting, carefully keeping his distance from his friends, not wanting to possibly get them involved in his messed up situation as he knew their families were connected just like his. Well, maybe not just like his. He didn’t think Pansy or Blaise would end up being forced to take the dark mark, but it was certainly possible that their parents had.
He knew they hated him for pushing them away. He hated himself, hated how when he didn’t avert his eyes fast enough they would catch on Pansy’s, on the sad longing there.
Draco would have to live with it, if it meant keeping them safe. The stares of his best friend were well enough, but the eyes he could not stand on him all the time were Potter’s. It was absolutely infuriating, having to ignore the scrutiny he knew he was under. He was just trying to survive, but he had been wrong. Nothing was the same. He couldn’t have his friends and he still felt unsafe. Like around any corner could be someone to steal him away, like Potter might somehow get him expelled.
All this was minor, something he could work through despite how hollow he felt inside. He could barely eat or sleep, nightmares plaguing his dreams and filling his stomach with nausea.
His world came crumbling down for the second time when he received a letter by owl to his dormitory window in the middle of the night. He retrieved it as silently as he could and when he saw the scratchy letters of his name on the front he instantly threw it on his bed, body beginning to shake.
He couldn’t read it, not there, in that room. He dressed quickly, rushing down to the black lake as the sun finally began to rise. He needed to be alone for this.
His hands hadn’t stopped shaking, and as he unfolded the paper he noticed how dirty it was, soaked in spots with red. His heart sunk.
Little Malfoy, it read.
Let me tell you a story. When I was young I befriended a garden snake at my orphanage. It was cunning and ambitious too, just like you. I went to check on it every day, to make sure it was healthy.
Draco had to force the bile back down his throat. Was that what he had been doing to him? Checking his health like a pet? Like some plaything he could manipulate? Was torture a game?
One day I learned that it had a mother, and that its siblings had died during the winter. In that sense I felt akin to it, being an only child so familiar with death. This little snake and I became one in the same, familiar to the point of blood. One day it decided it didn't like being experimented on, but my magic was growing, and I needed a conduit. Anyway, my point— I’m sure you can guess. I woke up one morning eager to test out a new spell I’d dreamt of, but he was no where to be seen. His mother, however, slithered right up to me and told me where he’d gone. I killed her on the spot, with the spell I’d meant for him.
The bile forced its way up this time, Draco balancing on the trunk of a tree as his stomach emptied of its contents. He forced himself to continue reading.
Tick tock tick tock, little Malfoy. Your mother is in pain. Do you remember how much fun we had before? I have only drawn blood from her once and she is such a baby about it. You are well trained, Draco. I want you back. I need you back if your mother is to live. Who filled your head with these delusions of freedom? You belong to me and you always will. You will come back this upcoming weekend, but I will allow you to return to Hogwarts as well. Your price of survival has gone up. I will tell you your task when you come, and if you don’t I will send you your mother piece by piece until you do. Be a good snake, little one. I do wish you’d come back, I have the perfect idea of what we can do to give me more of your life power. You might not like it but you’d do anything for your mother, correct?
Draco almost dropped the letter, angry and betrayed. His mother had told them the whole story, those last few words being his own. She hadn’t lied to protect herself, Merlin why could his family only lie when it benefited the Dark Lord? Why could his mother not lie for him, for herself?
Draco turned suddenly back towards Hogwarts, a new dread sitting heavy in his stomach. His coughs started up again, tearing themselves from his throat as Voldemort lived off his youth, his body rippling in pain. Draco knew that he would eventually be reduced to a shell of the person he tried to be, but he wouldn’t let that happen yet. No matter how much he wished he could switch off the part of his brain that cared for his mother, he couldn’t.
He wasn’t strong enough. After everything he said to her, the strength he had pretended to have. If he died now she might too, and he would be haunted even in the depths of hell by that. He would go see Voldemort. Always, always. He would always give in.
…
The art of splitting one’s soul was never linear. Small aspects could change depending on the object. With those inanimate it was mostly the same, a one way ticket for the soul. But with humans it got complicated. It depended on the event, the death, and even the mind. That’s why Draco was chained up in the living room of the manor, stripped to solely his underwear as Voldemort held a deatheater meeting.
His horcrux had been complicated. Voldemort wanted his youth when he made it, but to take it he still had to transfer part of himself to Draco. The part of his soul that lived within Draco feasted on his blood, on whatever nutrients were coursing through his body. And the Dark Lord found that the best way to milk them was to keep him in pain. He did this in mass through torture. Draco hadn’t been able to look at his reflection in months. He didn’t know how many scars littered his body. He didn’t want to.
There were two ways he kept the torture going, physical or transferred. Exhibit one: Draco chained up as if a part of a show. It wasn’t usually during meetings, but he supposed this was punishment. Draco tried to hide his disgust at being so exposed to a group of the most vile people in the world. He did not look towards his mother.
“Oh, Draco, I almost forgot about you,” Voldemort sneered in condescension as he made his way towards his prisoner. “This little Malfoy is the reason I stay so young. Part of me resides inside him, and it likes pain.”
Draco tried to keep his head down as he was circled, but his head was swimming. What would this be, what could be worse than what he’d already endured? The cruciatus curse had almost broken his mind, especially since Voldemort pushed it longer and longer each time. Imperio had made him bang his own head against a wall until he blacked out.
“Severus, do you remember that spell you discovered all those years ago? I’m trying to recall it’s name.”
Draco’s head shot up, searching the room of eager faces until he found that of his godfather. He hadn’t realized he was in attendance. He wanted to die from embarrassment. Now this was real. Someone important in his life and outside of his family knew what was going on. He was ashamed even though it wasn’t his fault. He should’ve been angry that the two most important adults in his life were watching a monster torture a powerless snake, but he couldn’t find it in him. This was just how it was.
He raked his eyes away from Severus’, trying to ignore how wide they were with worry.
“I’m not sure I recall, my Lord,” he finally responded, his speech only slightly shaken.
Voldemort turned on him, wand pointed in offense.
“I’m sure you do. Don’t make me force it out of—”
“Just tell him!” Draco yelled, voice rich with severity as he interrupted. He was yanking at the restraints that bound him, bruising his wrists and ankles. No one was dying for him. No one deserved to die but him and Voldemort. “Merlin, just tell him the bloody spell! I’m not important!”
Severus’ face dropped as Draco said it, his mother had to stifle a cry. The emotion of the rest was split, some still enjoying the spectacle and others disturbed by a teenagers disconcert for his own torture. Those who cared probably had children, maybe some of them were his schoolmates. It didn’t matter, it wouldn’t change their blind loyalty to a man who wanted to own the world.
The Dark Lord had his wand pressed to Severus’ neck now, right next to his adam’s apple.
“Dammit, Severus!” he cried, wild in his shackles. “I’ll never forgive you if you don’t tell him.”
The barely concealed pain on the professor’s face split into decision, turning his gaze upward to his master. He and Draco had an understanding. They did what was best for each other, and they respected those decisions of the other.
“Sectumsempra,” he sighed through grit teeth.
Voldemort was satisfied immediately, back in front of Draco in an instant. He tried to keep his head down, to do anything but show fear, but a wand tip appeared under his chin, forcing his attention forward.
“Look at me when I’m in front of you, boy.”
Draco’s brows furrowed in defiance, but his body made no movement to signify that he wanted away. He knew he had to bear this. He would so they didn’t have to.
His eyes were locked on Voldemort’s so he didn’t see his wand move, aimed directly at his chest. His ears had already drowned out his surroundings, leaving only a peaceful ringing, the alarm before battle. He saw the word form on his lips and then there was an invisible force hacking at his body, forcing him to gasp, to scream wildly in pain.
It was horrible, he swore he could feel a rib get cut clean in half. He wanted to double over but he feared his skull would be split open.
Instead he screamed, and screamed, and despite himself, begged. He begged until he started coughing up blood and was unable to make noise without drowning in it. He thought he heard someone shout that he was dying, and for a fleeting moment he was happy.
If he was accidentally killed, there wouldn’t be anyone to blame, to harm. Except maybe he’d turn it on Severus, seeing as it was his spell. The feeling was gone as quickly as it came, sudden suffocation taking its place. He thought a lung had to have collapsed as he gasped and coughed and gasped some more. Chest, stomach, thigh, back, bicep. He didn’t know what was cutting him but it was changing speed and direction irrationally, and he couldn’t track it. He could barely keep his eyes open anymore.
He closed them for a moment, trying to steady himself and just breath before a gust of wind raced by his head and he pictured his brain spilling out of his skull.
The force stopped just short, drawing only the smallest drop of blood from the bridge of his nose.
“That’s enough,” Voldemort drawled. “Don’t want to ruin your pretty face.”
Draco could barely register his surroundings, but he felt his jaw grabbed and forced up. His breath came out in wheezes, his life spilling onto the floor from cut after cut. All he could think was that he had taken too much, that there was no way he’d recover from this if they didn’t let him get treated. Maybe they’d make an exception this time, to keep him alive.
Draco spit more blood onto the ground at Voldemort’s feet, he felt his jaw strain against snapping under the grip.
“Disgusting. Let’s finish our meeting.”
He threw Draco’s head back harder than he’d needed to, knocking it back against the metal cuffs. Everything was spinning but he tried to keep up. He tried to keep his fighting glare on his captor as he talked but soon darkness was encroaching. Draco felt his consciousness slip away from him as his limbs went limp and he sagged forward as much as his chains would allow.
Harry
It was thanks to Hermione that Harry was given a significant lead in the Malfoy situation.
Dinner had just ended when she came running into the boys dorm, hair bobbing ferociously in her haste.
“Snape and Malfoy are up to something! I saw them heading towards his office when I was making my way to drop of the book I finished during dinner.”
Harry jumped up immediately, a little surprised at her commitment to the cause when she didn’t even know the full extent. It seemed she took his whims more serious than he thought. He did tend to be correct a lot of the time, afterall.
“Mate, what in Godrick’s name? Maybe they’re just having a chat!”
There was no time, and Harry was already out the door, invisibility cloak in hand. He had to be there before the door shut or he’d be locked out forever.
He ran as fast as he could, so fast his feat were surely peaking out from the cloak, but he didn’t care. There was no way they wouldn’t be in Snape’s office already.
When he rounded the corner to the dungeon halls he saw his greasy professor trapped in conversation with Slughorn. Perfect. He was stuck in conversation about the morality of the contortion potion, and Harry slipped past them unnoticed.
The door to the professors quarters was wide open, and Harry slid in unnoticed. He hardly breathed as he watched Malfoy pace back and forth, nervous for what Harry hoped he would soon know.
He waited patiently and after what felt like half an hour Snape finally appeared. Malfoy immediately rose from the chair he had ended up in. The door clicked shut and Harry was stuck until it opened again. He found a comfortable corner to observe from, out of the way from any movement.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Snape started, more worried than upset. “It’s been a week, how are your wounds?”
Malfoy grimaced, hand clutching over his ribcage.
“Fine. He let mother heal the broken bones before I returned.”
“And the cuts?”
Harry was confused, when had Malfoy had time to get injured? The blonde closed his eyes as if steadying himself.
“I stitched them up.”
The shock on Snape’s face was almost humorous to Harry until he realized that he’d never scene his professor so genuinely concerned.
“Let me see, Draco. I need to make sure they’re not infected.”
Malfoy’s feet carried him backwards, shuffling away from whatever this thick tension was.
“No, I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine! You’re being tortured and pawned and I can see that it’s eating away at you! You look so sick—”
Snape’s hand was immediately swatted away as he reached for Malfoy’s pointy cheekbone. It looked almost like a fatherly action, and the thought sent chills further down Harry’s spine.
“Don’t touch me!”
The conviction in his voice jolted Harry almost as much as it did Snape, who took a few steps back.
“I- I’m just tired, Severus. I thought maybe it’d be over, but I just made things worse. I thought I could value my life above her’s, after everything they’ve done to me. Not just in this war, but my whole life. But- I guess in the end i’m still their son, and I can’t let him kill her, or you, I just can’t.”
Harry’s heart caught in his throat. If he was not who he was, and did not know all he did, he thought he might could feel sorry for the boy that stood, barely concealing tears, in front of his forlorn ex- potions professor. But he was Harry Potter, and he was a warrior in this war just like Malfoy.
After a long moments silence, Snape spoke up again.
“Let me help you, Draco. You know that is all I want.”
The emotion that Malfoy was holding back was clear. Harry wondered why he looked so ashamed.
“I’m disgusting,” Malfoy whispered. “Please, just look quickly.”
Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away as Malfoy removed his robe, carefully unbuttoning his shirt until bare skin was revealed as it slipped off his arms. It took every ounce of will inside him to stop Harry exclaiming, to stop his anger from exploding at those who would hurt a child.
Malfoy’s head was turned away, eyes closed shut so harshly that Harry imagined he had to be getting a headache. He realized with a start that he was shielding himself from his own body, too repulsed to look at it.
Harry couldn’t stop himself as his eyes trailed over the boys torso. Snape was silently applying some salve to some gruesome looking cuts. The stitching was rough and uneven and Harry could tell immediately that he had struggled to reach his own back. It wasn’t just those fresh wounds that covered his body, though. So much of him was covered in scars, scars that should have faded if treated properly, if covered with the healing of dittany.
For some reason Harry could not force his eyes away, sparkles seeming to dance their way across his marred skin as it shone under the flickering candlelight of the room. He wanted Malfoy to realize that this did not make him ugly and disfigured, but he had no idea what made a Malfoy. If appearances meant something to anyone, it was that family.
“You are going to have to learn to live like this,” Snape finally spoke. “You can’t hate yourself for things you cannot change.”
Harry wanted to urge him of this too, surprised to be agreeing with a man who seemed to hate his guts. Malfoy’s only response was the violent shaking of his head side to side as he slid carefully back into his shirt. His hands didn’t stop trembling until he’d done up the last button.
“It doesn’t matter that I’m unsightly. I shouldn’t have the guts to be vain. I’ll be dead in no time, anyway.”
Snape pinched the place between his eyebrows, sighing as he sat down on the edge of a dark green sofa.
“Listen to me, I made the Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa. I swore my life to her, that I would protect you. You can’t be expelled over this.”
“Why does no one listen to me when I say that I’m going to die soon?! It’s my destiny and I wait for it every day,” Malfoy exploded, Harry’s frown matching Snape’s again. “I don’t care about the stupid vow! How does that make the situation any less shit?! If she wanted me protected she should’ve taken me away from this life, but she’s sick for power just like my father, and it’s all she’ll ever know. Somebody has to do what I’ve been tasked with, and I know, despite how well you think you’ve hidden it, that with every ounce of your being you don’t want to kill Albus Dumbledore.”
The scream that caught in Harry’s throat was a beast to restrain. He wanted to lunge at the pair, to make them tell him everything and to make them sorry they’d ever stepped foot in his school, but then Draco spoke again, quieter still, and he waited.
“I don’t want you to become like the monsters I live with. Please, you’ve always been the one person in my life I could look up to, how can I live knowing you’ve done something so… so disgusting just to protect me? I’m pathetic and it would be better if my whole family died! But… I can’t. Do you understand? I’m biding time, biding it until Harry Potter saves us all. I believe that now, you know. I think I always did. I—”
He was forced to pause as he gagged and Harry stared in awe. His name, again, had been spoken from Malfoy’s lips in a way that sounded like prayer. His name was important to a lot of people, a beacon of hope, but in that moment he knew no one had ever said it so religiously before. The sound of it made Harry feel like a god, and some small part of him that could look past the horrible context of the conversation wanted to be one for Malfoy.
“No part of me believes that I have the guts to kill anyone, let alone Dumbledore. You know what they say, once a coward always a coward. But if that’s what’s expected of me then I will at least try, or, at least act like I’m trying. If I’m killed in my attempt, perhaps he will at least spare those who raised me.”
Snape seemed wobbly on his feet, and for the first time Harry noticed that the relationship between the blonde and him had always been more familiar than prompted.
“Dra-”
“That includes you, y’know? I won’t have him my Godfather. I won’t let him, you’ve been too good to me. I know you play spy for both sides, and I think I know which of those sides you’re lying to.”
Harry was stunned. Godfather? How hadn’t he known? He could hear Snape swallow before he continued.
“How? Have I not—”
To the surprise of the lot, Malfoy cracked a smile. It was weak, but it was there.
“Don’t worry. It’s not obvious, you’re a damned good actor. Honestly, it was more of a hope. Thanks for confirming it. This world needs more good guys, you got it? I wont have my Godfather killing his own headmaster to protect me, even if I do think the guys a total bitch to Potter. He’s crucial in your fight.”
Snape grumbled, annoyed. “Your father is safe in Azkaban, and we can get your mother out-”
“Yeah, right,” he spit. “Safe, as if Riddle doesn’t have pawns everywhere. And my mother shouldn’t be subjected to a pitiful life of running and hiding!”
“What do you want then, Draco? What would you have me do?”
Draco stumbled over to the couch, consumed suddenly by what looked like uncomfortable pain.
“You have to keep your promise,” he managed through clenched teeth. “I get that—” he was cut off by a full body wince before he continued. Harry didn’t understand what was happening. “I get it. But we can find another way, I know—”
“There’s not another way! This is happening whether you like it or not. We’re both surviving this.”
“Okay, maybe this year I survive, but next? Or the one after that? You know what’s coming for me, I’m a h—”
Harry wanted to groan as the conversation was cut short, he was learning so much from it. But Malfoy swayed a bit, failing to stifle a fit of coughs. He seemed to curl in on himself, body shaking at whatever was raging through it. Snape was at his side in an instant. At the same moment, a sharp pain shot through Harry’s scar and he bit his lip so hard to stifle his gasp that he could taste blood.
He watched as Malfoy slumped into a limp form, curled up on the edge of the sofa. The pain in his head subsided as the boy lost consciousness, and that was when he knew there was something more going on. He had a lot of information to comb through now, but he felt in his core that the most important thing he gained from the conversation was that Draco’s sickness was not just from being tired, if his scar pain was any indication. Something was up, and it was all connected to Voldemort.