Homecoming Reprise
Draco sat in an empty parlour room, toying with his wand, and waiting.
He truly did feel bad about the deception, but they’d come to realise this was the best path. Severus would forgive him, eventually. His godfather knew they were being led into a trap, but he had no idea to what extent.
The order, plus Severus, would be trapped in The Manor indefinitely, with no access to defensive magic. The house elves were still there, so they wouldn’t starve, but no smart wizard would speak freely in front of another man’s elf. All the important rooms would be closed off, of course, but even if they could disable some of the wards, Draco would feel everything.
The Manor was his home, and it would obey him.
Even if it didn’t necessarily appreciate the methods. Oh well.
Feeling several unfamiliar magical signatures step foot onto Malfoy land, Draco took a deep breath. They were muted, obviously being smart enough to try and disguise themselves, but they were foolish for thinking they could hide any kind of magic from him. He waited, letting The Manor deal with them as it saw fit for now. Too much silence would make them suspicious, so Draco gave The Manor permission to be a little extra spooky.
He could feel The Manor’s pleasure at being allowed to show off a little, and Draco let himself have a moment of content. Nowadays, his sense of theatre was very dulled.
They were getting close now, and a sense of anticipation welled up in Draco. If he closed his eyes and focused, he could almost see them, converging just outside of where a normal wizard’s senses ended.
How would they do it? Draco thought to himself, he’d initially expect them to just barge on in, especially with the forewarning of it being empty, but even Draco had to admit they were smarter than that. Draco had convinced the rest of the Death Eaters to leave a few of their ranks behind, turns out genocidal idiots were quite keen on the ‘for the greater good’ argument. That would keep them sharp.
They’d experience just enough resistance to make them feel accomplished, and to not worry about where all of the important people were.
As he felt them enter The Manor, he let his senses linger only long enough to confirm that they would kill, or at least incapacitate, the dummies.
Then he let the real wards snap closed.
These wards were not built for times of peace. These were the War Wards, meant to keep people in just as much as out. They would have very limited magic, and nothing of any substance could enter or be removed.
No owls, no accios, not even a patronus could leave.
These were wards built on blood and intent, and they had been made for far more powerful things than wizards.
Draco finally allowed himself to draw back into his own body, putting The Manor out of his mind for now. He stood, stretching out his arms above his head as he prepared for what he must do next.
He’d fought it. Oh, how he’d fought it. But if Draco wanted to be free of Voldemort, if he wanted his family to be free of Voldemort, he must first let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts.
If he was a religious man, and truthfully, he wished he was, he’d pray that Blaise had upheld his task.
But Draco wasn’t a religious man, he was just Draco, and that would have to be enough.
He drew himself up, using his cane to balance the familiar twinge in his leg, and let any doubt wash off. His world began to narrow, nothing but here and now mattered. There was a disconnect within him, he’d be an idiot not to see it, but he nonetheless clinged to it, knowing he’d be drawn under and drown if he let himself truly feel the weight of what he was doing.
Draco was himself, and wasn’t. The hands that pulled open the door to the backroom of Borgin and Burkes were Draco’s, but they didn’t feel like his. It was like he was a puppet master, pulling the strings on a limp doll.
One foot in front of another, Draco saw the inner circle crowded into the cramped room, all huddled around one half of the vanishing cabinet. Draco raised his wand, a mostly aesthetic gesture, as he knew this cabinet inside and out. Honestly, he could probably recreate it from memory with one hand tied behind his back.
There should be nothing further that needed done, Draco had been dragging this out as long as possible, mostly through lies.
It was almost nostalgic, seeing it again.
Draco stepped through the crowd easily, coming to a pause when he caught sight of Voldemort himself.
“I wasn’t aware you’d be joining us,” he said simply, not letting his tone lean either way.
“It’s something that deserves my personal attention, don’t you think?” The Dark Lord asked in return, the closest thing to a smile he could make on his face.
Draco resisted the urge to sigh, he was right, of course, but that didn’t mean Draco had to like it.
Electing not to respond, Draco stepped forward, raising his wand with a showy motion. These people were probably the only ones more dramatic than he was, and they were looking for a show.
The cabinet glowed silver for a moment, before slowly turning black. A simple bit of magic meant for children, but effective.
“It’s done.” He called, turning to face Voldemort, “How would you like to proceed?”
Voldemort hummed, looking at Draco with scepticism, “I think it’s rather fitting you go first and clear the way. I’m sure your classmates will be overjoyed at your return.”
“After all,” he continues, his already cold voice dipping into something almost glacial, “You still have a task you’ve yet to complete.”
If Draco were capable of fear, he would have frozen. Luckily for him, the point where Draco had any sense of self preservation was long gone.
“Alright,” He agreed, putting the jeers of the surrounding Death Eaters behind him. He stepped up to the cabinet, his hand curling around the familiar mahogany. He hoisted himself into the cramped space, closing the door behind him.
There was no feeling. Nothing but endless darkness.No indication it had worked at all.
Draco reached to push open the door, his hand faltering slightly.
What if it didn’t work? What if he stepped out to the same cramped room, with flickering lights, and Voldemort ready to kill him for his uselessness?
He pushed the door open, prepared to see Borgin and Burkes, but he could tell immediately that it had worked. Hoogwarts had a very specific feel, one any student could recognize, even without his unique situation.
It was like stepping into a warmly lit room and immediately being handed a glass. It was the feeling of cold snow landing on your nose as you laughed.
The feeling of safety and youth.
If it had been a few months ago, it would have given Draco pause. This was the desecration of holy ground. Sacrilege and pure evil.
He was dooming hundreds to die, for his own selfish gain.
And he wished he cared about that.
Truth was, Draco didn’t care. Not right now.
There was a part of him that cried, a part of him that didn’t want to do this at all, but that part of him had died a long time ago. That part of him couldn’t have survived this, not the way he was doing it.
Draco was almost glad, in a way. Glad for the numbness that ringed in his skull instead of the pain.
So instead of taking the moment to reevaluate his choice, Draco stepped out of the cabinet, and into the room of requirement. He found the door, winding through the towers of lost things, cast a disillusionment spell, and began the walk to the Headmaster’s office.