The Ally
Draco absently let his mother lead him to Madam Malkin's robe shop, his mind running with a thousand possibilities. He had decided to play his part, for now, which meant actually thinking of a way to let death eaters into Hogwarts.
He refused to think about his other goal.
His mother had noticed his behavior, of course, but it wasn't new, and she understood what was at stake. He had always been prone to fits of silence when he was taken with a problem or thought, though admittedly they had been nothing compared to this. He had the beginning of a solution to problem one, a cabinet in the room of requirement. He’d found it during a particularly loud party in the slytherin dorms. He'd heard of the room from the older year sevens, eager to pass on their knowledge before they graduated, and had gone with the intent of needing a quiet place to study. He continued to go occasionally, but there wasn't much use with all the empty classrooms in the castle. Especially since Potter and his gang of gryffindors decided to use it for an underground teenage militia.
There was a similar cabinet in a shop in Knockturn alley, one he was almost sure he could use to move things back and forth, if only he could detangle the wards surrounding them. He drifted in and out of awareness as he thought through everything he knew about the Hogwarts warding system, visualizing the matrix of it, barely paying attention to his mother and Madame Malkin. Whatever, his mother would make sure he didn't look like an idiot.
He was up on the podium, hands held out like a git as floating chalk and pins swirled around him, when the bells on the door jingled. He ignored it, for the most part, his mother had stepped out for a moment to do other things around the shops, and she would say something if it were her. It was only when an uncomfortable silence descended on the shop that he clued into the fact something was wrong. He paused, sniffing slightly, but freezing when he sensed familiar ozone and grass.
Shit.
Maybe Potter would have finally learned basic manners and leave him alone, he couldn't afford confrontation right now, not with so much to protect. Salazar forbid his plans fell apart because Potter was too stupid to realize Draco wanted absolutely nothing to do with him this year.
His plans were dashed mercilessly as the silence only grew heavier, the trio obviously waiting for him to say something. He supposed it would be out of character for him not to antagonize Potter. He contemplated calling Granger some names, the quickest way to escalate the scenario, and thus end it sooner, but certain words no longer fit into his mouth after seeing them carved into corpses.
He settled on something rude, but not openly antagonizing, urging them to start the actual fight.
"Do you lot need something, or have you just come to stare?" He looked over his shoulder, careful to look as innocent as possible. Of course, that had stopped working around first year, but it was infuriating to a specific few. He inwardly cheered when a vein visibly popped out in the Weasely's forehead, but Granger pulled both his and Potter's arms until they turned and left.
He felt his shoulders slump in relief, mask falling from his face as easily as it had slipped on, his lungs heaving. He opened his eyes, stiffening as he realized Potter had lingered, staring at him with furrowed brows. He panicked, before settling on his usual self-important sneer. Potter seemed to come back to himself at the expression, and frowned at him before turning and following his friends.
Draco clenched his eyes shut. He was absolutely fucked if Potter clued into the fact he was up to something. Unless he knew Draco was up to something? It was common knowledge among the inner circle that Severus was playing both sides, but exactly how much information was traded was never obvious until after the fact.
Damn it all, he didn't have time to worry about Potter this year. He needed to focus, he needed to convince Blaise and Pansy he was fine, and he needed to find a way to kill the most powerful wizard in about three centuries.
No big deal.
—--------------------
Harry was still reeling from the robe shop when he sees Malfoy again. The blonde boy hadn't seemed himself, which sounded strange, but he supposed he had gone to school with Malfoy for five years. You're bound to pick up on at least some facts in all that time. Come to think of it, he'd known Malfoy for longer than he'd known Ron and Hermione, a fact that made him slightly uncomfortable. But the fact of the matter was, he and Malfoy knew each other in a way few others did. Sure he still hated the prick, but he also knew how Malfoy drank his tea, and that he didn't like eggs, and that the quickest way to make him angry was to bring up his father.
He pushed Malfoy out of his head, he was trying to enjoy one normal summer. Malfoy could wait till school.
He meets up with the Weasleys at Fred and George's shop. Spending some time trying to convince the twins to let him pay this time, while something warm fills his chest as Ron and Hermione jostle at his sides, bickering about one thing or another.
Hermione had practically dragged him out of the shop, chastising them about picking fights before the school year even started. He'd been forbidden from telling either of them about Malfoy, and keeping the secret felt like a physical weight on his shoulders. He shouldn't be keeping secrets from them, but Dumbeldore had pulled him aside after the meeting and made it clear this was not an issue he should 'concern himself' with. Harry heavily disagreed, but it was Dumbeldore who would suffer any consequences if Harry fucked something up, so he kept his mouth shut.
He was lost in his thoughts, torn between happiness at his summer finally being Dursley-free and the guilt of keeping secrets, when he almost dismissed the shock of white hair in the corner of his vision. He does a double take, his neck audibly cracking as he struggles to keep the hair within his sight. He sees Malfoy walking confidently through Diagon, but he was sticking to the sidelines and watching over his shoulders. He pulled back from the Weasley crowd, waving for Ron and Hermione to follow. Pulling out his invisibility cloak, the three of them peel off to trail Malfoy.
—--------------------
Draco was going to be sick, well and truly sick, right in the middle of Knockturn. He had threatened the shopkeep.
With Fenrir Greyback.
He stumbled through the nearest floo, coming out into the thankfully empty entrance hall, before walking as quickly as he could to his rooms. He had just wanted some information. That was all, but the man had to go get all jumpy! He had panicked and emulated the scariest person he could think of, a strategy that was useful when the scariest person in your life was your father, significantly less so when it was a serial-murder-prone blood purist megalomaniac.
He wouldn't wish Greyback on anyone. Just the thought of the decrepit werewolf was enough to make him simultaneously want to spew, hide in a closet, and scrub himself raw. It was often unclear if he was just lustful, bloodthirsty, or both, and the Dark Lord had vaguely threatened his father with letting him loose on the family's personal wings several times. He stumbled to his bathroom, pressing his forehead to the cold marble of the counter.
He could do this. He could be a death eater. No problem! His father did it! Severus did it! He could do it. He needed to do it, there was no other choice. His father had dug their graves, and now they had to lay down and let the dirt cover their faces. He felt a sudden and unexpected rage surge through him. Why? He snarled internally, you just had to get a leg up, didn't you? He grit his teeth, picking up the nearest object and hurling it at the wall. It shattered satisfyingly, the pieces of delicate porcelain spraying everywhere.
This was his father's fault. His chest heaved with the strain of his rage, but what made him the angriest, was the fact he couldn't truly be mad at his father. It was his father, the person Draco looked up to more than anyone, the person Draco had spent sixteen years trying to emulate. And now, when the time came to prove his loyalty to his family, he couldn't even do it properly.
He just couldn't help but think of Blaise in his mother's place. Tied to him permanently as he continued making worse and worse choices, putting both of their lives on the line. Putting his future child on the line.
He couldn't condemn them to this life of fear. He was already cracking under the strain and it had only been a few months. If the Dark Lord was to win?
Draco wouldn't let that happen. Not to his family.