The Rolling Ball
There were some days his Little Dove was a godsend, running the more administrative tasks overthrowing the Ministry entailed, and there were others when Draco seemed to curl into himself, casting a dark shadow over Lord Voldemort’s mood.
“Draco, what excuses have you brought me now?” He drawled, genuinely curious about the reason the littlest of his Death Eaters would deny him.
Draco’s eye twitched, the closest thing to an outright sneer he’d been able to pull from the Malfoy recently, “Actually, my lord, I think the time might come soon.”
Voldemort sat forward, intrigue on his face, “Oh?”
“Not immediately, but-”
He scoffed, of course. More excuses. That seemed to be all Malfoy’s were good for.
“Excuse me, my lord.” Draco’s voice cut in, icy cold, “But as I’ve said, these things cannot be rushed.”
“That is all you ever say,” Lord Voldemort replied, he was sick and tired of Draco pushing the deadline, “If you will not deliver on what you have promised me, I will be forced to reconsider our deal.”
This gave Draco pause. He held himself perfectly still, like a rabbit caught in the crosshairs of a hunter’s rifle.
The both of them held like this, simply staring as they considered calling the other’s bluff.
Draco broke first, because of course he did, when faced with the full attention of the Lord Voldemort, “Fine. I’ll begin, but I must-”
“Draco,” He cut in, this was truly annoying, and he was determined to have some proof of loyalty today, “I begin to question your commitment to me. We did make a deal, and I for one value loyalty.”
He looked at the youngest of his disciples, his Little Dove, one of the many jewels in his crown, “Pick up your gun, if you would, Draco.”
Immediately, Draco’s hand went to his back, pulling out the silver machine from where it had been tucked into his waistband, completely without the grace of his usual movement.
“So obedient, was it so hard?” Lord Voldemort asked, eyes fixed on Draco’s face. So beautiful, especially when frozen in fear. His normally porcelain skin lost any colour at all as it drained of blood, and his ethereal silver eyes went so wide they looked like tiny moons in a lake of milk. He knew as soon as he’d heard Lucius and Narcissa had a child that it would be exquisite, and he had been right.
He knew as soon as he’d seen Draco through the small Weasley’s eyes that he would have Draco, and it had only been confirmed when he’d seen the boy in person and been able to feel the cool touch of the Fae in him.
“Please, put it to your temple, Draco.” Lord Voldemort continued.
Unbidden, Draco’s hand turned the barrel of the gun to his forehead, pressing lightly just above his eyebrow.
Draco’s chest began to rise and fall rapidly, breath coming harsher and harsher, “My lord-”
“Draco, my dove, you must understand,” Lord Voldemort stood from his place at the head of the table, walling closer, “You belong to me, you will do what I say, and if I ask something of you, I expect a timely result, am I clear?”
“Yes my lord.” Draco responded, his gaze flickering rapidly.
He looked down at the young Lord Malfoy, considering, as angry as he was, he did still have use for Draco.
“You may put the gun down now,” He said finally.
Draco’s hand dropped like a stone, the gun falling from his grip with a clatter onto the table.
“I need the prisoners in cellar four dealt with, they’ve been exceptionally troublesome, so I want you to make sure it’s slow, Bellatrix will help.”
Draco stood on shaky legs, his eyes distant. It wasn’t until Voldemort tsk’d that he even remembered to shallowly bow, a hastily muttered “Yes, my lord” thrown over his shoulder as he went to carry out the orders.
Truly, he would say he didn’t enjoy such drastic measures, but he would be lying, and he made a habit of not lying to himself.
—-------
Draco stubbled out of the room, uncaring he’d left his gun on the table. He could still feel the cool press of metal at his temple, blood rushing to his face as he thought about what would happen if The Dark Lord had asked him to pull the trigger.
Every one of his carefully laid plans, dashed like that. A snap decision, not even his own.
Draco’s feet moved without thought to the dungeons, only requiring the barest of intent to carry him forward. It wasn’t until he heard the cackling laughter of his aunt that he was forced back into himself.
He paused at the top of the steps, considering how awful it would have been if The Dark Lord had gone through with the order. He certainly wouldn’t be doing this if he had.
But the ends justified the means. Even if the specific means were escaping his memory at the moment. He would carry through, if only to see the other side and know he was the one that had built it.
—------
Draco came back to himself with a violent jerk, shooting upright in bed to clutch at his head and the splitting headache that came with it.
Immediately there was a cool hand on his forehead, and the familiar scent of citrus and ice and sandalwood.
Blaise.
Something in Draco relaxed, and he reached a hand up to Blaise’s wrist, needing the simple touch to ground him.
“What day is it?” he asked. The dry cotton feeling in his mouth told Draco he’d been out of it for more than a few hours.
“Does it matter?” Blaise answered, his tone light enough Draco wasn’t annoyed.
Taking the rare moment of rest offered, he flopped back into the pillows of the bed, distantly recognizing it as the same one he’d been in after Greyback and Potter.
Potter. The smell of grass and lightning and magic.
“Why is Potter here?” Draco questioned, opening a single eye to glare at his fiancé.
“You said you’d call me Harry.” Potter squinted at him, seeming sulky.
When had this become Draco’s life?
“Sure, Harry, why are you here?” Harry opened his mouth to answer, still sullen, when Draco shook his head, “Actually, doesn’t matter. I need to speak with Dumbledore.”
This time it’s both Blaise and Harry that give him strange looks.
Blaise speaks first, “You’ve only just woken up, are you sure?”
It’s nice that Blaise isn’t stopping him, Draco thinks. That was the best thing about his fiancé, he’d never hold Draco back, even if he blatantly disapproved.
“I’m sure,” Draco responded, pushing himself to the edge of the bed, “It’s important.”
Now Harry speaks, “I don’t think-”
“That’s nice, Harry, I don’t particularly care.” Draco snapped, “I need to see Dumbledore. Soon, it’s important.”
Harry’s mouth clicked shut, anger clear on his face, but Draco had spent the better part of seven years on the other end of a temperamental Harry Potter’s wand, and it took more than that to phase him now, “Nope.”
Now Harry looked confused, “ Nope? What-”
“Exactly what I said. No.” Draco replied, finally pushing himself off the bed, one hand going to clutch at the bedpost while he scanned for his cane. Spotting it leaning against the door, Draco took a small step away, testing his knee before he used his full weight. It buckled a small bit, but the ache was better today than it had been yesterday, and that was enough.
Before he could take another step, Blaise was up and at the door, grabbing his cane, “Come on then, we’ll get Lupin to use the floo.”
Harry opened and closed his mouth, jaw twitching, but Draco only grabbed his cane and followed his fiancé out the door.
Eventually, Draco could feel the staticy tingle of Harry’s magic at his back. Draco almost paused, he’d never been able to feel the magic like this, only smell and sense it in abstract terms. This was a genuine physical sensation crawling up the back of his arms and back, only years of society training kept him facing forward.
They walked down the hallway until Draco smelt the lake-and-dog scent of Lupin, with no accompanying feeling, thank Morgana.
“In here,” He said to Blaise, as the door swung open on its own.
Lupin startled, hand shooting to his wand pocket before he registered who exactly was in the room, “Ah, Harry,” his eyes shot left and right, with only a barely perceptible twitch, “Draco.”
“And Zabini!” Blaise smiled, the edges sharp.
Lupin smiled, more sincere than anything Blaise could’ve produced if he’d tried, “Of course. Draco, are you quite sure you should be up?”
“As if I haven’t walked through worse,” Draco replied flippantly, “I need you to get Dumbledore.” He dropped into the chair across from Lupin, hooking his cane on the desk.
A sudden cough developed, and Lupin turned his head politely into his elbow, “Ah, well, he’s quite a busy-”
“Floo him. Merlin only knows what actual administrative duties he has, everyone knows McGonagall runs that school.” Draco pressed, “Just floo the bastard.”
Again, Lupin choked at the bold phrasing, but quickly recovered, “I can’t just-”
“If you don’t,” Draco began, his best and most innocent smile in place, “I will.”
There was silence for a few moments, during which Lupin seemed to seriously be regretting every decision he’d ever made.
Eventually, the professor nodded, “Alright, I’ll pass on a message. However, I’ll give no guarantee he’ll respond.”
“Oh, that’s alright, he will.” Draco knocked his fist on the desk twice, and a large white quill, along with paper and an inkwell appeared. He picked it up with a flourish, the elaborate feather bouncing along as he scribbled a note. The ink appeared a bright red to him, but as Lupin and Harry leaned unsubtly to look over his shoulder, he knew the paper would appear blank.
Merlin-bless secret quills.
Quickly folding the note, Draco passed it on to a resigned Lupin, “I’ll be in the study, he’ll know where to go.”
And with that, he took hold of his cane and stood, turning his back and walking out of the door. Harry scrambled to follow, while Blaise simply waved at Lupin, walking behind Draco at a much more leisurely pace.
“What did the note say?” Harry asked immediately, walking faster to look Draco in the eye.
“Nothing you need to know about,” Draco sneered, “Go run along with your little Gryffindors why don’t you?”
Harry stopped cold in the hallway, causing Blaise to almost run into his back, “I thought we were over this! Why are you such a prick?”
Draco turned on his heel, “because, Potter, I’m in the middle of a war, and you’re pissing me off.”
“God? Why do I even bother with you!” Harry cried, stomping away.
Both Draco and Blaise watched him go, and Draco waited for the smell of grass and lightning to fade before he spoke, “Finally.”
Blaise turned to him, just as resigned as Lupin had been, “I’m not going to like the next few weeks, am I?”
Draco gave him a grim look, “No, you’re really not.”
He didn’t like it, but Draco would need to do this part alone, “We’ll talk tonight.”
Blaise smiled without any humour and looked up at Draco, moving to rub his thumb over Draco’s hand, “It’s close then?”
Draco sighed, “Closer than we ever wanted it to be.”
“How soon?”
“Not immediately,” Draco answered, knowing Blaise would understand, but he switched tone when he felt Dumbledore come through the wards, “But I don’t want you near the action.”
Blaise picked up on the new direction, following Draco’s lead, “That makes no sense, and we both know it Draco, I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
“I know.” Draco said harshly, miming agitation, “Merlin, I know. But that doesn’t mean I want you there if he-”
Draco stopped suddenly, just as Dumbledore came around the corner. Let him chew on that.
“Headmaster,” Blaise said, much more pliant than he’d been with Lupin, “I was just going.”
He and Draco shared a long look, one Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to decipher even had he tried, and left.
If Draco stared at his back for longer than usual, well, it was for the act.
“Trouble in paradise?” Dumbledore asked.
Draco gave him a flat look, “Are all of your personal relationships pristine?”
Dumbledore smiled, “None ever are.”
And with that, they both entered the study. Draco took the large wingback chair behind the desk, another petty power play, but one that worked.
“Can I ask what exactly made you change your mind? I quite remember this being a . . . difficult issue for you.” He sat in the smaller chair with no comment. The bastard.
“Well, previously I had no chance to set things up properly. If you lot had gone in guns blazing it would have surely resulted in the death and destruction of my family and home.”
Dumbledore studied him for a moment, considering, “And you believe it will be less destructive now? These things are never certain.”
“It won't be any less destructive, that I’m sure of, but my parents are no longer Death Eaters.”
This visibly surprised Dumbledore, as much as anything could, “I had not thought Lucius capable of such change.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, “Do you think about my father very often?”
Dumbledore smiled again, “No, no I don’t. But one must admit, your father had always been very unsubtle in his views.”
“Yes well, he may have been in the past, but he’s always been reasonable to a certain extent.” Draco tilted his head, keeping his eyes level with the old headmaster, “But I am now the only Malfoy in Malfoy Manor, and I want The Dark Lord out of my house.”