The Beginning of the End Pt. 3
When Draco came down from the first wave of anger and regret, the second crashed down upon him twice as hard.
He had given them everything. All that he had, poured into their absurd “order” because Draco had been foolish enough to think they could help.
He was such an idiot. He knew better. He hadn't trusted anyone, not even Blaise, with the kinds of things he told fucking Dumbledore.
"FUCK!” He screamed again, trusting the house to muffle him, “FUCK!”
Once again he fell, his knee collapsing. Not even his body would listen to him. The mighty Lord Black, reduced to a screaming child.
He was almost grateful that they had shown their hand; now, he didn't have to wait. He could do things his way, and too bad if they fucked with Dumbledore’s plans, in fact, all the better!
Let the bastard and his Order burn.
It was only when he felt the familiar tickle of flame that he realised his hands were both on fire. He flicked them both harshly, he needed to get it together. There was no way he could do what he needed to do like this.
"Kreature." He said to the empty room.
The elf didn't even bother apperating, instead walking in from the small side room personal elfs of the Lord usually stayed in, "Yes?"
"Two elderberry teas, if you would."
When Kreature came back with the tea, Draco took one and gestured to the nearby footstool, "Sit with me awhile."
And Kreature did. He sat with Draco on the floor while they both sipped their tea.
Draco closed his eyes and tried to picture it was a few weeks ago, right before he left, when he and Bliase had gone to Madam Puddifoots over the winter holidays. What he would give to live in that moment forever, to forget about Dumbledore and Moody and Sirius.
And he did want to forget Sirius. Seeing him stand behind Moody, planning the murder of Draco's parents, it brought him back to his first time under cruciatus. How his mother had just stood at the side, watching, and how later, it would be his mother and father, stood to the side as he writhed on the floor in endless agony.
Somehow, this had been worse.
The pain Draco felt now wasn't the searing stabs of a cruciatus, it was a cold numb. The knowledge that he had no one to stand by his side now but an old elf. The knowledge he'd left the one person who would have stood for him against anything. But he didn't regret leaving Blaise, not really. He would suffer this a million times over if it meant Blaise didn't have to deal with this pain.
Draco knew he would come to regret a lot of things, but leaving Blaise would never be one of them.
Speaking of regrets, it was time to get ready. Finishing his tea in one large gulp, he stood and walked over to the closet. He needed something suitably dramatic, but still easy to move in.
A white duelling robe swung to the front. It was entirely unlike anything Draco had ever seen, and when he ran a reverent hand over the collar, it was softer than any silk he'd ever touched.
It must have been acromantula silk, and Draco hurriedly pulled the tag from off the hanger.
1678, Leo Black.
Three hundred years old, and still looking brand new. Draco pulls the robes closer, and subtle patterns make themselves known all over the clothes. Barely-there dragons twined over the whole of the garment, the silk running a different direction, so that they were only visible under close inspection.
It smelt heavily of magic, a heady smoke, and the buzz of ozone, practically drenched in protection charms.
Draco pulled it on, and it fit itself perfectly to his body, despite the fact Leo must have been half a foot shorter than he was. He went about the rest of his preparation in a daze, tucking his gun into a magically enlarged pocket in the robe. He didn't have much he wanted to bring, it's not like he was going anywhere destitute. He took special care to tuck Blaise's ring into his collar, he refused to have it taken from him again.
Draco couldn't apparate out, it just felt wrong, to leave Grimmauld like that, sudden and disingenuous.
Blaise would make fun of him, for being sanctimonious, but Blaise wasn't a Lord. He wouldn't be able to feel the way the house was mourning. He tried to lift the wards, and felt a small bit of resistance. He tried to reassure the house that he would be back, but even he didn't know if that was true. The house couldn't ignore the will of its Lord for long, and it let him peel back the wards. Immediately he felt several people leave, and was glad for it, it would make his own exit easier.
Draco opened the door in his rooms directly to the front door, but he couldn't make himself move through it yet. The house seemed to condense around him, trying to keep him in its walls, but as much as Draco loved Grimmauld, he had other things to attend to.
He pulled himself into the same calm that he used often, pushing every bit of anger and sadness down until he couldn't feel it anymore. It was just when he put his hand on the door that he sensed Sirius behind him.
He smelled like mandrake leaves, rainstorms, and black coffee, "Draco, Where are you going?"
"Nowhere, Sirius, go back to bed." He must have been woken up by the wards lifting.
"Really? After everything, you'd leave? Just like that?"
The question rankled at Draco, but he kept his head, "They're my family Sirius, I have a duty-"
"THEM?" Sirius shouted, "How could you say that! You know what they're like! They'll kill you!" Sirius seemed frantic, and Draco was suddenly sad for him, that he couldn't understand the way Draco did, about family. If he wanted to believe Draco's family monsters, then Draco would let him. If he wanted to live in a daydream, where it was all black or all white, Draco would not wake him.
"Because no one else has tried to do that here. You ran away Sirius, and that's fine, your parents had a spare, but mine don't have that luxury. I'm their only chance." He didn't know why he wanted Sirius to understand so badly.
"Oh don't tell me about duty. What about loyalty? What about Grimmauld? You're Lord Black, not Lord Malfoy." He spat, nearly shaking with the effort.
"Loyalty? Is that a conversation you want to have with me Sirius?" Draco stepped closer, when would they understand? Why couldn't they see, "Why do you think I got this fucking mark?"
He drew up his sleeve, begging Sirius to either condemn him or move on, he couldn't take more of this hot and cold attitude, "Why do you think I got this fucking mark? For fun? Because I wanted to? I know you can turn your back at the drop of a hat, but I can't. My loyalty extends past the laws of polite society, They're my family, and I will love them no matter what. I will die for them, no matter what. I will kill for them, no matter what."
He stepped closer to Sirius, "So, speak to me of fucking loyalty, Sirius, see what happens."
Sirius seemed to seethe, staring at Draco with something wild behind his eyes, "I won't let you."
Draco wished they lived in a world where Sirius could stop him. A world where Draco was really just a kid, who could still trust the adults to curb him.
But as it was, Draco was Sirius' Lord, and that wasn't the world they lived in, "Don't make me do it, Sirius, please." He didn't want to be a man like that.
They looked at each other for a moment, but Draco could see that Sirius wouldn't let him go. Draco wished he would try something to make him stay, but Sirius stayed silent, so Draco's hand was forced, "By order of Lord Black, you are not to tell anyone of my leaving, unless they directly ask you where I went."
Sirius growled, anger taking over where desperation failed, "Get fucked, Draco."
Draco only smiled, finally opening the door. It was raining. Fat droplets rolled down his face and into his mouth, and Draco was surprised not to taste the salt of tears.
He didn't feel like he had to cry anymore, the sky was doing it for him.
He turned back to his cousin, the one who insisted on believing every Black and Malfoy a bigoted murderer, except Draco. There was a kind of sweet childishness to it, that Sirius could exclude him from his own blood.
After all, Sirius was his family too, "I would do the same for you, Sirius."