hellscape
December 26th, 1995
9:05am.
Zabini Lodge in the Swiss Alps.
“Bloody hell, this place is huge,” Theo said.
Pansy grinned at him. “Wait until you see the pool. And the hot tub.”
“How do you remember this place better than I do, Pans?” Blaise asked. She shrugged, picking up her bags and placing them in Theo’s hands, walking up the stairs.
“C’mon everyone, I’ll show you our rooms.” Draco and Blaise followed her up the stairs, smirking at each other as Theo not-so-subtly dropped his bag into the same room as Pansy’s.
Draco chose the room at the far end of the house, which also happened to be the biggest. There was a large stone fireplace in the centre of the back wall, a dark leather couch and matching chair off to the side. The king sized bed was placed in the middle of the room, with dark grey bedding and at least 10 pillows; the entire left wall was a floor to ceiling window, showing the view of the snow-covered evergreens outside, and mountains in the distance. Draco could spot a large bathroom and closet tucked into separate corners of the room. He whistled, putting his bag down and taking off his shoes and cloak, throwing himself onto the bed.
Draco awoke hours later, not having realised that he had fallen asleep; it was dark outside now, and he felt groggy, like his legs were made of jelly and his bones were mushed. He forced himself to move his aching limbs and turned to look at the giant square clock above the fireplace; it was half past 5. He could faintly smell spaghetti wafting into his room.
He yawned, scratching his head and standing up, stretching. Draco went for the bathroom, immediately turning the shower on and shucking his clothes off, stepping under the burning water and staying there until his muscles relaxed and he felt more awake. At the last second, he turned the water ice cold, scrubbing his body with a washcloth and his hair with the tea tree shampoo that was waiting for him on the built-in shelves of the black marble shower. He stepped out, searching for lotion as he dried his body, and stepped into a dark grey jumper that was about two sizes too large for him, and black joggers.
Draco made his way down and around the stairs, turning to find Pansy, Theo, and Blaise in the kitchen. Pansy was trying to read instructions off of a box of something, pushing Theo off her and laughing. Blaise sat on the large counter, using a spoon to eat out of a bowl of raw cookie dough.
“Oi, look who’s finally awake!” Blaise called out. Draco scowled at him.
“Why didn’t any of you wake me up?”
“We thought you must’ve been tired, love- Oh Theo, stop it I’m trying to read!” Pansy stamped her foot down, and Theo held his pointer finger up, which had a small roll of cookie dough on it.\
“Just try it-”
“No! You’re distracting me and I am trying to make us a meal!”
“Pans, why don’t you just get the house elves to do it?” Draco asked, smirking as he pried open a bottle of mango juice.
“Because, I should at least be able to cook one simple meal on my own.” Theo raised a brow at her questioningly, smirking, and Pansy huffed. “And the house elves are all with Mrs. Zabini in Italy right now.”
“What are you making anyway?”
“Spaghetti Aglio e Olio,” She said in an exaggerated Italian accent. “It’s incredibly simple and easy, and I would be able to finish it if bloody Theo would stop pestering me!” She pushed Theo again, and he laughed.
“Here, Theo, I’ll try your cookie dough.” Theo huffed and walked over to Draco.
“Thank you,” he said as Draco took it off his fingers and threw the bit in the trash. Theo began to protest, but Draco held his hands up, picking up a spoon off the counter and dipping it in the dough.
“You honestly think I’m going to eat off your fingers? I don’t know where those have been.”
“I do,” Blaise said, pointing his wooden spoon at Pansy, who was distracted with pouring salt into a pot of boiling water, and simultaneously pouring olive oil and garlic into another pan.
Theo smacked Blaise’s head. “Have some respect for the lady, wanker.” Pansy turned her head around.
“Hmm?”
“Nothing!” The boys said together. Blaise gave Theo a cheeky grin, and Draco smiled as he licked the cookie dough off the spoon. It was surprisingly good.
About 15 minutes later, Pansy announced that their dinner was ready. Theo had already put the cookies in the oven (he had a surprisingly vast knowledge of baking; according to him it was due to spending hours hiding from his father in the kitchens with the house elves.)
“Alright,” Pansy said as she set the table, serving them all heaping piles of spaghetti. “Go on then, try it!”
The boys all looked at each other and picked up their forks, twirling them against spoons and shoving the spaghetti in their mouths.
Draco fought the urge to bend over and spit it out.
Blaise, on the other hand, did not.
Theo coughed good naturedly, giving a thumbs up to Pansy, who was beaming, but their cover was broken by Blaise, who bent to the side and tried to subtly spit his food into a napkin. He wasn’t subtle, of course, Not even a little.
“Blaise!” Pansy yelled, slamming her fork down. “Oh, c’mon, I tried really hard it can’t be that bad-” She took a bite of the food and promptly spit it out, frowning and wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Merlin’s tit.” Theo laughed and got up, rubbing her shoulders and taking her plate.
“It’s alright love, you tried, cooking just isn’t meant for everyone,” he chuckled as the rest of them followed him into the kitchen, carrying their own plates. Pansy frowned, sitting on the high chairs of the breakfast bar.
“Where did I go wrong?” She pouted.
“It might’ve been the four pounds of salt,” Draco said as Blaise responded at the same time,“Everywhere.”
Pansy glared at Blaise menacingly, and Theo poured all their plates into the trash, starting the recipe anew and humming faintly as he went along. Blaise took the cookies out of the oven, and once the spaghetti was ready, they all sat at the kitchen counters, eating the food Theo had made, which was surprisingly good. Pansy managed to find several bottles of sweet wine, and after an hour they all found themselves sitting around the fireplace in the living room, eating cookies and drinking together.
“I wish we could stay here forever,” Draco said.
“Don’t worry, Draco.” Pansy said. “We’ll get to Hogwarts and stick together, like we always have. We don’t have any other options, other than that, right?” The boys all nodded silently, and Theo stood up, returning a moment later with a record player and a set of wizarding chess. Theo and Pansy swayed to the music together as Blaise and Draco went back and forth over the chess board, faces skewed in concentration.
Eventually, when they were all drunk and giggling, and Draco ran out of cigarettes, they made their way to bed, Pansy and Theo laughing loudly together. Draco tried to cover his ears and ignore the sounds of them as best as he could- he would beat Theo’s arse for this in the morning.
Draco lay in his bed, wide awake. He couldn’t fall asleep now, even with the alcohol thrumming in his veins. He closed his eyes.
Don’t think about it.
Put up a wall.
We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.
You are your own worst enemy, Draco.
No. No. He couldn’t do it- he wouldn’t. He refused to be given no choice, no agency in his own damn decisions, to have all his free will taken away and suffocated. Draco’s stomach turned at the thought of what this all meant- being held in his clutches, signing his soul to a devil he had never seen before, whose name he couldn’t even speak aloud. The thought of becoming branded by him, becoming another killer among thousands in his army… If he was lucky. If he wasn’t initiated into the inner circle.
He could…
No. He couldn’t betray his family, his friends like that. Was that really a step he was ready for?
If he went there… if he took that leap… there was no going back. He would be betraying everything he had been raised to be. Risking everything.
Fear gripped his insides like a vise, suffocating him, climbing up his throat and nostrils and forcing all the air out of his body. He took shallow, heaving breaths, trying to find oxygen again, trying to get ahold of himself.
He so badly didn’t want to be afraid anymore.
Without thinking, without giving himself another moment to hesitate, Draco shoved his feet into shoes, pulling on his cloak and grabbing his wand, throwing the hood over his head. He rummaged through his bag, throwing his clothes onto the floor and reaching into the deepest pockets. He pulled out a small, compact mirror. It was obviously old, and rusted. He opened it and whispered:
“Sirius Black.”
~~~
Two months ago; October 24th, 1995.
2:08am.
Pansy’s sixteenth birthday celebration.
Draco stumbled out of The Hog’s Head, where his friends were inside, currently doing body shots on the empty upper floor. He had taken shots… too many. He stumbled again, hitting the corner of the building. Waaaaaaaaay too many. He looked up at the moon, and found the twinkling constellations. He was drunk. Very, very drunk. Draco didn’t ever think he’d been this drunk in his life. He almost lost his footing again, crashing into a hooded figure a few inches shorter than him.
“Sorry,” the figure mumbled.
“Oi!” Draco yelled. “You fink… you can hit me? You will pay!” He held his finger up to the figure, and it chuckled darkly.
“I’m sure,” he said. Masculine. The voice was deep, with a slight rasping edge to it. But the accent… it was old, slightly broken, but familiar. The same accent all pureblood wizards shared; the one that was refined and a bit ancient sounding; lilting.
“Oi!” He yelled again, pulling the figure back by his shoulder. “Who the bloody hell are you?”
He pushed the figure’s cloak back, and was met with long, shoulder length raven hair shot through with white, a scruffy beard. His skin was sunken and waxy, but his elegant cheekbones and slightly hooded eyelids, slate gaze and delicate bones were familiar to Draco. Those were the same cheekbones his mother and aunts shared, the ones he had inherited. He would’ve been handsome, if it weren’t for the slightly vacant, guarded look he had in his eyes; as if he had spent too much time off this Earth, and was having trouble reminding himself he was grounded. The man appeared cleaner than Draco had seen in the paper’s, and was wearing decent, if not a bit tattered dark blue robes.
Sirius Black.
“You…. you’re…” The man rolled his eyes, muttering ‘shite’, and pushing Draco back into an alley. He looked at him once over.
“You’re Cissa’s boy, aren’t you?” He asked. Draco nodded, gulping. Black scoffed. “Of course. I would recognize you anywhere. You look just like-”
“My father, I know,” Draco said, pushing Sirius’s hands off him.
“Actually, I was going to say your mother. You don’t look much like old Lucy to me.” Sirius scrutinised him. Draco looked into his eyes; they were lighter, more silver-grey than he thought. “Yes. You’re all Narcissa.”
Draco watched the older man for a moment, and then drew his wand, remembering himself. “I should report you to the wizengamot,” He said. “I bet I could get a large sum from it.” Sirius glanced down at Draco’s wand.
“I suppose you could, couldn’t you?” Draco smirked haughtily. “But you won’t.” His grip on his wand tightened. How dare he?
“How the fuck would you know that? You don’t know me.” Sirius smirked at him.
“I know you better than you think, Draco. Besides, you haven’t done it already. That tells me enough.”
Draco pressed his wand to Sirius’s neck. “You would do well not to assume the best of me, Black.”
Sirius smiled sadly, his posture relaxed as if there were not a wand digging into his jugular. “You remind me of someone I once knew. Someone very important to me.”
Draco’s pale brows drew together. “What happened to ‘im?”
“He died. Very young.” Draco’s hand shook a bit. From across the street, the door to the Hog’s Head opened, and Theo and Pansy exited, shivering.
“Draco!” Pansy called. She turned to Theo. “I thought he stepped out for a smoke, where the bloody hell did he go?” Draco stared at Pansy and Theo from the alleyway, and then looked back to the older man pressed against the wall, an arms length away from him.
“Your friends are calling you,” he said.
“Yes, yes I- I should go to them.” He stepped forward, and Black grabbed onto his arm, pulling him back.
“Protect your friends Draco. Your family. It’s easy to lose everything. It can happen in the blink of an eye.” He had a blank expression on, like he was floating to space. Draco tugged his arm away, nodding. He took another step forward, but Sirius grabbed onto him again. “Wait.”
Draco looked at him. “Unhand me.”
From his pocket, Sirius produced a small, brass sort of square. He placed it in Draco’s palm, closing his fingers over it. Then, he brought out another one from his own pocket, the twin to the one he had just given Draco. He opened it- it was a mirror. A compact mirror. “If you ever need me, if you ever need to meet or need my help, open that and say my name. I promise I’ll find you.”
Draco looked at the gift in his hand. “Why… why are you giving this to me?”
“Like I said, you remind me of someone. And I wish I could’ve helped him then.”
“How do you know I won’t hand this over to my parents? To the wizengamot, let them find you?”
“I trust you,” Sirius said. It jolted Draco more than he would’ve thought. “It’s just a feeling.”
Draco nodded, and turned to look at his friends across the street, who were stepping back into Hog’s head. He opened his mouth, about to ask his cousin another question, but when he turned to look at him, he was gone.
~~~
Present day; December 27th, 1995.
12:30am.
Zermatt town square.
Draco huffed a breath into his cupped hands, trying to warm himself up. He sat on a lonely park bench in the centre of the small town beneath the Zabini Lodge. The square was completely empty at this time of night, all the shops closed; only the twinkling street lights lit the small area. Draco resisted the urge to get up and begin pacing back and forth, his thoughts racing through his head.
This is a bad idea.
This is definitely a bad, bad idea.
He should go. He should get up and go right now, before he begins something he can’t undo. He really, really should go.
But- there.
A tall, cloaked figure walking towards him in the darkness.
He took a deep breath, straightening his posture.
Well. Here goes nothing, I suppose.
The man sat down next to him, quietly huffing a breath.
“Draco,” He said.
“Sirius,” He replied stiffly. He took down his cloak just a bit, black hair glistening in the weak light. His cousin stared at him for a moment; he had that vacant look again. His eyes suddenly became glassy, and he watched Draco as if he were a ghost.
“And so history repeats itself,” He whispered, steel eyes boring into Draco’s.
Draco tried his best not to shrink under his gaze. He raised a brow, a bit confused as to what the hell his cousin was talking about. “I should hope not. I wasn’t bred for Azkaban.”
Sirius watched him again, and Draco held his breath for a moment. He smirked, and handed Draco a copper mug of what he assumed was hot chocolate, with a mound of whip cream and caramel on the top. He also handed him a chocolate bar, which Draco stared at confusedly.
“The cocoa is good,” Sirius said, wiping his hands on his pants. Draco stared at the drink in his hands, and then back up at Sirius. “Don’t worry, Moony made it. I can’t cook for the life of me.”
“Moony?...”
Sirius’s face screwed up. “Right, erm, Remus, I mean. Moony’s a…” he trailed off a bit, and then shook his head. “Moony is a nickname.”
“Right.”
“Really, it’s good. Moony says it’ll make you feel better. I, erm, I mean, it always made me feel better, so.” Right. Draco took a sip of his drink- it was delicious, of course. Bloody bastards. He took another sip, gulping it down, licking the cream off his lips. Sirius watched him for a moment.
“Why did you call me, Draco?”
He looked up at Sirius. “I… I didn’t know what else to do.”
“What do you mean?”
Draco sighed. He couldn’t. He really couldn’t. There’s no going back after this. Betraying everything, everyone, signing off on his own death sentence-
“Draco,” Sirius said, carefully laying a hand on his shoulder. “I told you once, if you ever needed help, you could call me and I would come. I’m here, Draco.”
He stared into the other man’s eyes- grey eyes that mirrored his own, yet with an open honesty he could not recognize in himself. He took a deep breath.
“My father wants me to take the mark.”
Sirius stared at him with wide eyes, letting out a hissed, “Shite.”
Draco nearly scoffed. “They’re… they’re making plans for me. They want me to prove myself. And…” Gods, Draco could barely force the words out of himself. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. It was wrong. So, so fucking wrong, to betray everything he’s ever been taught his entire life.
He was here, in the middle of a foreign country, spilling secrets to a bloody Gryffindor.
This was so, so wrong.
“And, Draco? And?” Sirius leaned forward.
He looked up, eyes watering against his will. “I need your help, Sirius.”
~~~
7 months later
August 3rd, 1996.
Malfoy Manor.
“Draco.” A soft voice came wobbling through the dark, murky and faint as if he was listening underwater. A hand came to brush against his forehead. “Draco,” the voice repeated.
He groaned, turning his head over as he squeezed his eyes shut, praying to return to dreams of cinnamon clouds and orange blossoms.
“You must wake up, my love.”
He groaned again, burying himself further into his bed. A sigh cut through the air, and then it was fucking freezing.
He curled himself into a ball, reaching for the covers that had been ripped from his body. Simultaneously, the curtains of his windows were cleaved apart, piercing the lovely darkness of his room with harsh sunlight.
“Mother, please,” he whinged.
“Wake up, Draco. You have a big day today.”
Draco cracked an eye open to look at his mother standing above him. She had donned long, black robes for the day, her golden-white locks curled into an elegant updo. Narcissa looked the same as she always did- minus the frown marring her features, and the barely-there line of worry on her forehead.
He sat up. “What do you mean?”
Watery blue eyes landed on him. The older woman sat down carefully on his bedside, smoothing out the wrinkles in the sheets around her.
My mother never fidgets, he thought. Or cries.
She opened her mouth.
“She means,” a shrill voice said from the doorway, “That today is the day our little Draco becomes a man.”
His eyes shot up, widening as he took in the sight before him.
Bellatrix.
His aunt's return from Azkaban had been...
Well. Draco chose not to think about it.
She practically skipped over to them, giggling as she took Draco’s face in her hands, squeezing so hard her nails dug into his neck. “Today, my dear,” she breathed, sharp yellow teeth gleaming in front of his eyes, taking his arm and dragging a knuckle over the inside of his forearm, “You become one of us.”
Draco willed himself not to react. He glanced at his mother, whose face was turned away from them, buried into her hand. Her shoulders were shaking. “You don’t mean-”
Narcissa looked at him, the tears she held back before finally escaping. “It must happen, Draco, today,” she whispered.
He glanced at his aunt again, watching the grotesque grin on her face grow. “But- but it’s too soon, it’s- I thought we had fallen out of His favour-”
“You have,” Bellatrix replied sharply, a sneer on her face. “Your father’s foolish mistakes have dragged you all down with him.” She hummed, doing a twirl around the room excitedly before grabbing Draco’s chin, yanking him to face her. “But our Lord is ever so merciful,” Bella giggled. He felt a coarse curl brush against his cheek. “You’re lucky to have me- the only reason he has decided to accept you is because I convinced him you weren’t as weak as the man you come from. You are half a Black after all.”
He ignored her. “Mother-”
“This is your only chance, Draco,” Bellatrix continued, the laughter in her voice gone. She squeezed his chin tighter. “You must not disappoint.” Her black eyes bored into his. “Or our downfall will be on your shoulders.”
Draco was frozen.
He didn’t move, not as Bella skipped out of the room, not as his mother pressed her lips against his forehead and whispered her apologies. He didn’t move as the sun continued its ascent in the sky and the elves attempted to serve him breakfast. He couldn’t move.
Today you become one of us.
He wasn’t ready.
It’s too fucking soon.
He was supposed to have time. He was supposed to have a year to prepare himself, to come up with a fucking plan; with his fathers fall from grace and recent mistakes, it was no secret the Malfoys no longer held the Dark Lord's favor. He had thought he would be free. And Sirius had said-
Sirius is dead now.
Sirius is dead now.
His father is in Azkaban.
Everyone has chosen a side already.
There was no one left to save him. The responsibilities he was so intent on running from had finally caught up with him.
And his side had been chosen long ago.
He felt like he was in a dream. Actually, as the day dragged on and the time for him to sign off on his death sentence quickly approached, he took comfort in convincing himself that this was all some fucked up, alternate reality that he wasn’t truly living in. The next time he closed his eyes, he would open them again to find himself in his bed, at home, far away from all of this.
He squeezed his lids shut once more standing in Knockturn Alley. He felt his mother take his hand, and heard Bellatrix whisper something into a slot in the heavy door in front of them.
I’m not here. I’m not here. I’m not here.
Eyes open, he studied the room around him- Bourgin & Burkes, a place he had found so comforting once, so familiar.
This is a fucking nightmare.
He shut his eyes again.
Wake up Wake up Wake up Wake up.
Mulciber clapped his shoulder as he walked past. Goyle Sr. gave him an encouraging nod.
He barely processed it at all. Draco was occluding so hard he couldn’t even feel his mother’s hand in his anymore. He felt as if he were walking through a swamp, each step taking all the strength and energy from his body.
This isn’t real.
A chill filled the air. Narcissa squeezed his hand, her teeth chattering and lips blue as she let go of him. Suddenly, he stood alone. Everyone had formed a circle around him.
And a figure stepped into the clearing.
This isn’t real.
Cloaked in black from head to toe, it seemed the circle around Draco grew wider as this figure drew towards him.
A finger lifted his chin. The touch caused a shudder to roll through him, and suddenly his teeth were chattering.
Eyes of scarlet red, glowing beneath a dark hood.
Intently set on him.
This isn’t real.
“Do you accept the honour being bestowed upon you today, young Malfoy?” A voice like grating nails rasped from beneath the hood.
This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.
Blood roared through his head, through his body.
This isn’t real. This isn’t fucking real.
A sharp pinch at his lower back brought him back to the present.
“I do,” he said, his voice sounding shaky and far away.
“Do you pledge your life, your blood, your name, your loyalty and love to your Lord?”
“I do.”
“Step forward.”
He forced his muscles to work, forced his foot to move. Stepping closer to his lord, one step closer to death.
Cold fingers wrapped around his wrist. His sleeve was pushed up.
This isn’t real.
A wand tip pressed into the centre of his forearm. Whispered words, like the hissing of a snake slowly filled the air.
This isn’t real this isn’t real this isn’t real-
Pain. Searing, impossible pain that was so very real it punched him in the gut. He doubled over, waving off the hands that were waiting to catch him, willing himself to remain standing.
It burned. It burned, so badly he thought his arm might fall off. Draco struggled to keep his body centred, to keep his feet steady.
He locked his eyes onto the man, the creature in front of him and focused. Focused on nothing but breathing and channelling every ounce of hatred and regret and fear he felt in this moment into strength for himself.
The wand tip dug in deeper.
The beginnings of jet black scales painted themselves over his veins. He watched as the scales grew, forming its shape-
Just as it had appeared, the markings suddenly began to suck back into themselves.
Fire coursed through his veins.
The scales grew once more.
He burned, his whole body burned, blood boiling and he could feel it, oh, Draco could feel the flames licking up his skin, travelling straight to his heart, settling in a steadily growing ball of white-hot heat.
Hands were gripping his shoulders, holding him steady. Someone was screaming.
The markings stopped their path, wavering ever so slightly, flickering on his skin. It felt like someone was dragging hot needles along each point of black ink. The heat beneath his skin grew impossibly hotter, tangling into webs inside him.
The beginning of the snake’s form flickered once more- it looked as if the mark was fighting itself, fighting its own existence.
Maybe you’re the one fighting, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.
This isn’t fucking real.
The chanting in what Draco had registered as parseltongue grew louder. The wand tip dug deeper.
And suddenly, his knees hit the ground.
Suddenly, the ball of heat he could barely tolerate burst within him.
In that moment, Draco had thought he knew pain.
But this.
It wasn’t hot anymore. No, now as the Dark Lord chanted aggressively in front of him, his wand stabbing into his arm, all Draco felt was cold.
Impossible, freezing fucking cold.
Ice climbed over his veins, invading his bloodstream and growing sharp icicles that stabbed his organs, tore clean through his brain, every inch of skin, every part of his very being.
And then-
Everything went dark.