Reprised
Draco felt the tremor in the wards and left immediately, though it wasn’t just the house pulling at him. The magic he’d sunk into the deal with Mundungus seemed to writhe, making his skin crawl.
The thieving wretch had come through the main floo, and Draco took the longer route purposefully, not using any of the doors Grimmauld Place provided for him, needing the time to let his anger simmer.
He felt sharp. Sharper even than when he had first made this deal, sharper than when he had found out Dumbledore had been poisoning the Order against him. Which made no sense, this was a vastly better day, but who was Draco to judge his own mental state? He’d long ago given up with that.
It felt so good to have an outlet for his anger, and he could feel the house in the back of his mind agreeing. Though, Draco could tell the house was annoyed with Mundungus’ return, past the basic irritation at having a worm like him within its walls.
No, it was almost . . . desperate.
It seemed like Number 12 Grimmauld Place was trying to point Draco to something, but it was evidently not something within its power to show.
Before he could think on it more, Draco was in the main sitting room, looking down his nose at one Mundungus Fletcher.
When he stepped through the door, it slammed close, all exits disappearing, including the windows and fireplace.
Draco mentally sent his thanks, and settled his cane by the door, making himself at home in the large arm chair, “Hello, Mundungus, how was your errand?”
The worm froze, so Draco continued, “If you don’t have every piece of my property you’ve ever so much as laid your grubby hands on in that sack, I’ll make good on my threats, and you’ll see how unstable I can be.”
Mundungus paled, though he put on a very brave face, “I’ve gotten everything I can,” He spat.
Draco paused, “So you didn’t retrieve all of it.”
The Gryffindor looked away, muttering.
“Speak up.” Draco hissed, hands scratching gouges into the arm of the chair.
“There was a necklace-” He said finally.
“Where is it then?” Draco questioned, expression stormy. He could feel magic stirring in his chest, a cool burn rushing through his veins.
The moment felt heavier than it should have, Draco thought.
“What is your excuse for not completing the task I gave you?”
“It’s in the fucking Ministry! I can’t exactly waltz in now can I?” Mundungus exploded, throwing his hands up as the deal he’d made with Draco no doubt tightened around his throat.
Everything went still.
“You stole something of mine, and put it in the Ministry of Magic?” Draco screeched, shooting out of his chair and stalking towards Mundungus.
The order member scrambled, pushing his hands up, “I sold it! I tried to get it back but that pink bitch refused to give it!”
Oh, Draco doubted it was just a sale Mundungus used the missing necklace for. He’d personally overseen the new legislation coming out recently, the muggle-born registry was a particularly beautiful spin, even if Draco shuddered to think about what was undoubtedly going to happen with it.
Oh, of course mixed-blood individuals should be registered! It was only for their protection! What with all of those nasty rumours of Death Eater resurgence! Just a precaution!
And if a poor order member had a family member they needed off of said registry, alongside a house full of prized pure-blood artefacts . . . well, Draco couldn’t say he wouldn’t take the same route.
So Draco knew exactly what was going on, and why Mundungus could not retrieve whatever it was he’d left out.
And though it pained him to admit, he’d spent a fair amount of time during his third year in the presence of someone who’s first and only description was simply ‘Pink.’
Draco sat back down, “Alright. I understand.”
Mundungus started, staring with wide eyes, “What?”
“You heard me,” Draco answered, “I understand. You needed a bribe.”
He smiled, “But we did have a deal, didn’t we?”
Draco stood, “Kreature.”
The elf popped into the room, “Yes Lord Draco?”
“How much foot traffic does the dungeon see?”
Kreature smiled, “None at all, if Lord Draco decrees it.”
“No-” Mundungus tried, “I’ll get it back-”
But Draco only smiled, reaching a hand into his pocket, where he kept a knife, stolen from his aunt a few days ago, “Perfect.”
—-------
The Ministry was a cold building, some remnant of pureblood culture even here, in the supposedly neutral place. It was seen as a horrendous breach of etiquette to have a warm house.
Robes, though they could be charmed to adjust for temperature, were warm, and not everyone had the money to spend frivolously on cooling fabrics, even purebloods. So to force your guest to forgo their best and most stylish clothes in favour of something more suited to your house's specific climate was quite rude.
It was a marvel, thought Draco, that no one ever thought to question the true extent of pureblood culture. Even as they condemned it, people like Dumbledore accepted the old ways, as long as they could get away without mentioning their origins.
It was shameful to condemn a system while working it to your advantage. At least Draco was honest about it.
He descended into the Ministry thinking these thoughts, hiding behind nothing, as he knew his way around enough to avoid ever being seen. Perks of having a high-ranking father, Draco had spent many days running through back-door entrances and hallways here, and he could probably get all the way to the Department of Mysteries if he wanted to.
Thankfully, the Department of Muggle-born Registration wasn’t nearly so hard to find.
He stepped into the office, seemingly phasing through a painting in an abandoned hallway. The department might be important for The Dark Lord's plans, but Umbridge had always been too annoying to even pretend to favour.
There was a young witch at the desk in front of Umbridge's door, no doubt some niece of a member of the inner circle. No matter, Draco could do this in his sleep.
“Hello,” He called, letting his voice dip lower, pulling on a small smile, “I’m here to see Ms. Umbridge.”
“Oh!” The girl startled, looking up as recognition dawned on her face, “I-” she looked down, flustered, definitely someone's niece, she recognised him, “I’m sorry, did you have an appointment?”
Draco grinned, even if this witch was a good few years older than he was, they both knew he had the upper hand, “Oh, nothing like that, I was just in the area, thought I’d stop by and say hello to my old teacher.”
“I’m really not supposed to-”
“Please?” Draco asked, leaning over the desk slightly, “I’m on an errand and can’t dally, but seeing an old student might improve her mood a bit.”
The receptionist looked around at the mention of ‘an errand’ but seemed to relent at the chance her boss might be a bit more bearable, “Alright, she’s just having her afternoon tea.”
“Thank you,” Draco smiled, “I won't forget it.”
The witch smiled, blushing slightly before returning to her work. Draco pushed away from the desk, knocking politely on the door and waiting before he entered. Though he could easily force his way through, his game would have to be played much slower than that.
“Come in!” A shrill voice called, heavy with thinly veiled annoyance.
“Professor!” Draco tried to infuse as much glee into the syllables as possible, but anyone who knew him at all would have seen straight through it.
Umbridge took the bait, “Draco, my dear! Hello!” She crowed, her irritation no less hidden, but instead replaced with a small amount of fear, “I haven't seen you in ages!”
“So sorry professor, but I’ve been quite occupied as of late.” Draco smiled, the same smile he’d learned from his father, sinister and secretive and inviting.
It was immediately obvious what he was here for, the bright green pendant resting on Umbridge's chest, probably the only thing in the room besides Draco not doused in pink.
Umbridge seemed taken off guard at the blatant reference, but gathered herself quickly enough, “Ah yes! Aren’t we all?” She laughed.
She paused, looking Draco up and down, “Though I haven’t heard any word of your attendance at Hogwarts?”
The toad seemed to think she was subtle, Draco played along, adopting the role of the arrogant schoolboy he once was, “Father’s decided my skills would best be spent elsewhere.”
He let his chest puff and mouth quirk, feigning proud joy at being so mature as to be allowed to drop out.
The necklace seemed to call to him, fighting to draw his eyes its way.
Umbridge smiled thinly, “Well, an education is always important, wouldn’t you say?”
There it was, the backhanded condescension she loved so dearly.
“Well professor, when you’re a Malfoy, there are just things that are below you,” He paused, “When ranked against other things, of course.”
He smiled, not letting her in on the fact he knew exactly what she thought of him dropping out. Draco had the sneaking suspicion that if he kept referencing his work as a Death Eater she might just drop dead from the absolute gall of it all, and he could remove the pendant with no problem.
“Of course, of course,” She echoed, “I suppose I’m just a traditionalist.”
At this, she smirked, and Draco’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly.
It was the height of insult, to imply he was forgoing tradition, one she would not get away with.
“Speaking of tradition, Professor, I do really hate to ask this . . .” Draco trailed off, watching with glee as her face froze, “But I have a few orders to carry out . . .”
“On whose behalf?” Umbridge sniffed, looking away as her face paled, “I didn’t know you were employed by the ministry.”
“Professor.” Draco replied simply, as though he was talking to a child, “I don't speak of Ministry orders.”
She took a step back, quietly reaching for her desk, where her wand no doubt sat, “Well, Ministry orders are the only ones I follow.”
“Dolores,” Draco smiled, stepping forward, “Give me the necklace.”
“What?” She cried, “My necklace? Absolutely not!”
In her surprise, she stopped reaching for her wand, so Draco drew his own, “Dolores, It’s in both of our best interests if you give me my necklace.”
As if sensing it was being talked about, the deep emerald of the pendant seemed to gleam, light swirling and catching the light in odd patterns.
“Why my necklace of all things! It’s a family heirloom you know! ‘S’ for Selwyn!” She cried, clutching at the silver chain.
Dolores Umbridge had no relation to the Selwyn family, he would know.
Draco cast a silencing spell, not that they would have to worry about the receptionist, Ministry doors were very thick for this exact reason, “Dolores, please give me the necklace.”
Agitation prickled at his face, something almost animalistic rising in his chest as he bared his teeth. It was his, and Draco wouldn’t let anyone take anything from him, ever.
His hand tightened around the wand, knuckles going white.
“Alright, alright! Just please don’t hurt me! Oh you brute!” Dolores cried, reaching up to unclasp the necklace from around her throat.
The necklace didn’t seem to like being given up so easily, and immediately turned red hot, burning her hand as she reached out to drop it.
Draco caught it easily, all heat gone, only cool silver left.
It was heavier than he thought it looked, but also lighter somehow, like some invisible pressure behind his eyes was lifted now that he finally had the necklace in hand. Draco lost himself for a moment, tracing the ornate green and black and silver of it with his eyes, taking in every dip and delicate curve.
Dolores let out a shrill wail and he came back to himself. He’d gotten what he came for, he could leave.
But, Draco thought, she was the type to make trouble, not on the side of the Order, or the Death Eaters, only herself.
Draco knew how dangerous an individual on their own side was.
Being completely true to himself, Draco knew he could simply obliviate the woman, and erase every memory of the necklace from her mind. It was the easiest, most effective way to finish this. The undeniable best route.
But something stirred within him, the same something he’d felt the day he’d become Lord Malfoy, bolstered by some other unidentifiable thing.
Draco watched with sick fascination as his once-professor began to cry. Her face went all splotchy and red, almost mimicking the pink lace she was surrounded by.
Dolores turned her face away. What was it that had her so afraid? What was different between him now, him only a few moments ago, and him in third year?
He was happy she was crying, it was strangely gratifying to watch someone react in an expected way. To know he had done something, and it had produced such a simple reaction.
Draco pointed his wand, and felt magic burn in his veins.
“Avada Kedavra.”
—-------
Draco smiled at the receptionist as he walked out, leaning over the desk and tilting his head just so. When the young witch blushed, Draco raised his wand and killed her too.
Vanishing spells were so handy when used correctly.