Chapter 4
He liked to pretend that the tattoo on his arm didn't still burn now that the dark lord was vanquished. liked to pretend it wasn't there even more, that it was nothing more than slightly darkened skin with no shape or image. Then he would look down randomly, when his sleeves were rolled up as he worked, and see it. Every glance, every glimmer, every reminder of it, he could practically feel the pain radiating through his body, could relive the experience of how his arm had burned when he had received it.
The healing process had been slow, the dark lord adamant that anyone who took his mark should heal the muggle way, to show how inferior they really were, to highlight why the muggles, the muggle born, why they all had to die.
Even when he had taken the mark, he hadn't agreed with the ideals and thoughts, but to save his mother he would have done anything.
Her screams were still in his nightmares, waking him up in a cold sweat most nights. There were many mornings he was awake before even the sun was in the sky, and he made his way to the owlery quickly, sending off a letter just to make sure his mother was in fact safe, that his nightmares weren't in fact coming true.
The tattoo itched now, and he idly scratched it with the point of his wand as he studied ingredients in the potions cupboard. He hadn't restocked at the end of the last school year, had felt no real desire too when most of the ingredients would go bad or need to be spelled to last for the following year. and if possible, draco always preferred to work with the freshest ingredients possible. All the potions books said that you could get the same results with dried, or stasised ingredients, but he didn't agree. There was always a slight difference, he could always tell when one had been used as opposed to the other.
If he was going to be responsible for shaping the minds of those creating potions for the next generation, he was going to do it correctly.
With this thought, his mind turned to Severus Snape, the potions master from when he was in school. How people had looked at him with fear, with terror, with mistrust. How often had Potter condemned him for a crime without holding any proof? In the end, the lack of proof was what had killed him.
As hard as he tried to forget the day of his death it was a stain on his soul, one he could recall at a seconds notice. The Dark Lord had summoned them all there to Malfoy Manor, all his Death Eaters. He had wanted to hold a grand feast, they were close to winning the war, close to winning it all.
Severus walked through the door, his robes swirling around him. He walked up to Voldemort, knelt down in front of him, and pledged his devotion. Voldemort had unsheathed his wand, the wand he had stolen from Dumbledore, and held it at Severus’s throat.
“My Lord?” Severus’s voice had been calm, had been collected, but even Draco could hear the faint tinge of fear. Rarely did anyone survive being held at the end of Voldemort’s wand.
“I have heard some interesting information Severus, some information I think it is prudent you hear as well.”
“My Lord,” Severus had answered calmly, his voice nasally, his demeanor tense, rigid, calm. Draco had stood in the back of the room, not quite in the inner circle yet, watching. His back had been to the wall, his eyes wide, staring at everything that was happening. He may have been seventeen, may have been considered an adult, but all he really wanted in that moment was his mother. He wanted her hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from everything that was happening. Because even with that short, exchange, he knew something bad was going to happen.
“I have been told that you have not completed your last few missions, that you have, in fact, been helping The Order against me.” Voldemort’s snake slit eyes glowed red, glowed with accusation, and Draco felt his heartbeat quicken in his chest, his breaths became more erratic, and fear made him lightheaded.
“And who is spreading these baseless lies about me, My Lord.” But his hand twitched. It was a small movement, ever so slight, but it was enough to convey his tremor. Draco hoped Voldemort hadn't seen it, hoped that no one else but him had seen it. He was already privy to hundreds of secrets, what was one more?
“Crucio.” Voldemort said the word so calmly, no anger, no frustration, no condemnation in his voice. Then Snape was on the ground, writhing in pain, his limbs twitching, blood pouring from his mouth where he had to have been his tongue. It was the first time Draco had seen anyone use that unforgivable spell that calmly, that rationally. Like it was just another tool in his day to day job.
Draco’s eyes had sought his father, had sought confirmation that this was not normal. He couldn't imagine a world in which it was normal to show up and be tortured, just because there might be some information about you that might be true.
But his father’s eyes were just as wide, just as fearful. He turned his head ever so slightly, conveying he wanted Draco out of the room, out of the way. That he didn't want his son in this room for whatever might happen. He turned to follow his father's instructions, grateful to be able to slip away from what he was sure was going to be a traumatic evening.
“I think the younger Malfoy should come here to answer some of my questions, to help shed light on to why someone else was suspicious of Severus, who has been in my service quite a while.” Voldemort’s voice has been cool
Draco’s footsteps stopped, he didn't know what to do, frozen in the doorway of safety, and danger. His breath shuddered out, he closed his eyes, and then his mask slipped into place. He was no longer Draco Malfoy, child. He was Draco Malfoy, cold and cruel death eater. He walked with confidence up to Voldemort, knelt before him, head bowed, opening himself up to any form of punishment.
“My Lord, how may I serve you?” The screaming child inside of him that had never stood a chance, that had never had a hope for a positive and bright future was pounding against the prison cell he had created for him in his mind.
“Dumbledore and Severus were close in Hogwarts, were they not?”
“I cannot speak to that my lord. I did not see them speaking together more often than I saw other professors speaking to Dumbledore.”
“Do you say this to protect your Head of House Malfoy?” The words were icy down his back.
“No, my Lord. I say that because it is truth, and I refuse to lie to you, or make a story up to gain your favor. If I had seen anything happening between them, anything I thought might be suspicious, I would of course report it to you at once.” His head was still bowed down, his neck exposed.
Any icy calm had washed over him, because he realized in this moment there were only two outcomes for him. He was either going to die, or he was going to live. And dying truthfully seemed preferable.
“Crucio.” He heard the word and did his best to brace for the pain that was sure to follow, but the spell never hit him. Snape started screaming again, tears leaking down his eyes, black robes wet with the stain of blood from the tongue he had bitten brutally. He looked up at Voldemort, eyes fixed upon him, waiting to see what would come next.
“I appreciate your honesty Malfoy. As you did not see anything, there are no further questions about Snape. Though I did notice you were attempting to leave my little party before anyone else went.” Those cold empty eyes turned to him, pinning him down to the ground, making his legs leaden. “Where were you going? And as you just told me you refuse to lie to me, I would assume this is the truth?”
His mind raced even as a smile curved his lips. “Of course my lord. My father was traveling previously, and found something you might be interested in. He had forgotten to bring with him to your” there was only the slightest hesitation on the word, “party today, and while you were busy, he motioned for me to retrieve it. that is where I was going my Lord.”
Voldemort's head turned quickly to face his father, and Draco prayed that his father was smart enough to play along. He had been dumb enough to get them into this mess, and Draco wasn't entirely positive he would be smart enough. “Lucius, is this correct? Is that were the young Malfoy was going?”
“Yes, my lord.” His fathers voice was just as cool and collected as his own had been, and the pit in his stomach grew when he realized this was where his demeanor had come from. “The Malfoy’s always work to ensure you have the best and most interesting items, and what I had found seemed perfect for you.”
Snape was still screaming, the walls of Malfoy Manor somehow darker, shrinking, becoming claustrophobic. Draco wanted to open his mouth and scream. Scream and scream and never stop. Instead, he stayed down on one knee, waiting for Voldemort to command him on what to do next.
“I want to trust you young Malfoy, but with Snape’s betrayal of working with the order, I don't know that I can. If someone has trusted and as loyal, at least I thought, as he was, how can I trust the next generation?” Listening to Voldemort talk, Draco tried to figure out who had said something, anything, to lead to this chain of events. What information could there possibly be that could condemn snape, the most devout of them all?
Snape, who had killed Dumbledore when Draco couldn't. Snape, who had protected him and helped him as much as he could to protect him from Voldemort.
There was movement in the middle of the room, and still Draco did not turn to look, did not take his eyes off of Voldemort in front of him, waiting for the permission to move.
Even as the others gasped, roared in laughter, cheered, Draco did not move, and neither did Voldemort. When the room had grown silent, when there was no more movement, no sound of clinking chains, Voldemort spoke again. “Young Malfoy, why don't you turn around and see what has arrived.”
His stomach churned so quickly it took all of his willpower to not vomit. The only thing to find the individual laying on the table was the eye that swirled around, looking at anything and everything. he didn't let any of it show on his face as he stared at what was left of Mad Eye Moody.
There were chunks missing from his body, pieces of his arms torn away as though by teeth from an animal with sharp teeth. His chest moved slowly, painfully, there was a wheezing sound in the air that made the already tense and uncomfortable room even worse. “Severus.” His voice was garbled, gravely, like he had been screaming for a long time and even saying three syllables was three too many. “Severus please.”
Snape was still on the ground, chest heaving, eyes wide, as he stared at what was left of the person on the table. “Mad Eye here had some interesting things to tell me, especially how Severus was visiting one of the order’s safehouses quite recently. In fact, that is where I saw the two of them together myself.” Draco didn't turn around to look back at Voldemort, didn't feel safe too with how disgusting, how awful what was in front of him was.
“If you want my trust Draco, you are to kill both of them. I know Dumbledore died at Severus’s hands, know you were not able to do so. If what you say is true, and your father does want you to go and fetch a gift for me, then there should be no issues in killing both of them right now.” Voldemort’s voice was terrifying, but Draco still didn't turn around. He couldn't even show a twist in his lips as he frowned, all eyes in the room turning to him, staring at him, waiting for him.
It felt like the only person breathing in the room was Mad Eye, whose every breath was a plead for death. Draco pulled his wand out of his holster, concentrating on keeping it steady in his hand. “No Draco. Not with your wand. Use your hands.” He couldn't stop the trembling in them now as he turned back to Voldemort.
“I said, use your hands. It is easy to kill with a wand, there is nothing personal in it. Severus has betrayed us deeply, brutally, conveyed our secrets to the Order, and by extension worked on saving those filthy muggles. He must die, as must Moody, but I want to see you use your hands. I want to know you have the dedication to our cause to do what is necessary.”
Still, Draco didn't move, barely breathed. “And if that is something you cannot do, if you are not that dedicated, you can let your father do it instead, but know you will be added to the list of people that will die.” Voldemort's words had goosebumps rising on his flesh. How he managed to keep his face calm, to keep his voice calm, amazed him.
He had a decision. He could die, he could be put out of his misery and never have to experience any of this ever again. Never be worried or scared.
His mother’s face popped into his mind, and he knew that he couldn't walk away. Lucius was in too deep to be able to protect anyone anymore.
“Who would you prefer I start with, My Lord?” His voice sounded distant to his own ears as he tried to distance himself, tried to remove himself from the situation. Already he knew this would haunt his nightmares, but he couldn't let that impact him now.
“Why don’t you start with Moody. I am not quite finished teaching Severus his lesson yet.”
“As you wish my lord.” Draco barely heard Severus scream as he climbed onto the table, straddled what was left of Moody's body, and put his hands on his throat.
The tears were burning in the back of his eyes as the feel of Mad Eye’s still warm flesh burned its imprint into his hands. He couldn't cry, couldn't react, couldn’t do anything that would put a more negative light on his family.
And so, he squeezed.
In his mind he screamed sorries, screamed empty platitudes that would never absolve him for what he was doing, what he had done. But it didn't stop him saying it, didn't stop him from wishing everything could be different.
Moody’s hands hadn't been tied down, and only breaths away from death his hands came up, scratching into Draco’s skin. The pain helped to center him, to help remove him from his actions, from what he was doing, and then Mad Eye was dead, hands that had been desperately clutching at Draco dropping back to the table, eye that had been spinning, that could see through so many things and people, stopped moving.
Still Draco didn't stop squeezing, didn't let go, not until he was entirely certain.
Then he crawled off of the table and turned to face Voldemort. “Are you ready for Snape’s death, my lord?” he had asked.
“Draco.” Suddenly he was back in the present, Mad Eye’s blood no longer staining him from where he had knelt over him. He was disoriented, not entirely sure of where he was, but still he turned, smile on his face, ready to handle anything that was there. It was something he had grown used to doing, putting on a mask that faked what it was everyone else needed from him so that he would be safe. If he was safe, his mother would be safe.
“Yes Professor.” he spoke once he recognized who was standing in front of him. He had no idea how old Minerva was, only knew that she was ancient, powerful, and terrifying. He had seen her on the day of the Battle of Hogwarts, had seen the viciousness she had when she had fought to defend what she had loved.
“I have found someone to tutor you for your N.E.W.T.S.” She was smiling as she said it, and it took everything in him not to sneer. As if he needed a tutor, as if he needed help. He was in Voldemort’s inner circle, he had achieved top marks when he was attending Hogwarts. Why would he need help now?
“Thank you, Professor, for your consideration. Who is that will be helping me.” It did no good to say any of the words out loud, knowing that they wouldn't be heard. No one listened to him, no one actually cared how he felt about things, or consulted him for his opinion. now, they just told him what to do, when, and how. Then he was expected to follow along and pretend he was ok with it.
“Hermione Granger has accepted the role of Head Librarian here at Hogwarts. I think she will be an excellent partner for you to work with.” Minerva practically glowed with her reveal, and if Draco hadn't had practice in concealing his emotions, his thoughts, his feelings, he would have grimaced.
The Golden Girl. A member of the bloody glorious trio that had saved their world. She would be helping him. The memories he had of the scent of her hair when he had walked past her in the hall, or the way she lit up when she had the answer to a question were pushed aside in disgust. His father would have a fit if he knew his son was being helped by a mudblood.
“Thank you for letting me know professor. when should I seek her out?” Minerva’ smile dimmed ever so slightly, and he wondered if his mask was slipping, if she could see what he was hiding underneath. the rage, the anger, the pain, the nightmares.
“Whenever you wish Mr. Malfoy. I have already let her know you will be meeting with her, and the rest is up to you.” She smiled at him softly, a slight twinkle in her eye that said she knew something he didn't. “Don’t forget to get that list of necessary ingredients to me by the end of the week, otherwise your order will have no hope of coming in on time.” She didn't give him a chance to respond, green robes swirling around her as she turned and walked out of the potions dungeon.
Only when he was sure she was gone, when he was positive there was no one else around, did the mask on his face slip into anger. Why did everyone think they had the right to tell him what to do and when? He had lived through his father, through Voldemort, through Hogwarts, through Severus, through Dumbledore. Hadn't he earned a sliver of freedom, a sliver of peace?
Even his mother was chiding his decision to become Hogwarts Potion Master. the letters arrived weekly, asking when he was going to come him, when was he going to take over his role as Head of Malfoy house. There were so many things he could be doing to improve their standing, to improve their life.
Didn't anyone understand that he couldn't do it anymore? that he was tired, empty, running on fumes. He just wanted to know what it was like to exist without anyone else’s rules and expectations thrust upon him. Just because his mother loved him, wanted what was best for him, didn't mean she knew what it was he needed.
For the barest of seconds, he let his forehead touch the cool stone of the potions room, let the chill flow through his body and calm him. And then he put his smirk onto his face, hiding every emotion underneath.
He needed to find Granger to let her know he was going to accept her help.