Homecoming
Draco walked until he couldn't feel his feet anymore, only then did he apparate, and only to the outer edge of The Forest. It didn't feel as good as stepping onto Black owned property, but it was a close second.
His leg was pure agony by this point, his knee feeling like it had been freshly bitten all over again, but still Draco kept walking, his cane pushing into the soft earth, leaving a trail of small circles.
Flowers bloomed at his feet, bright red lilies and black roses curving up toward his legs like The Forest itself was trying to welcome him home.
His father would have felt him enter the wards again, possibly, there were few reliable sources on war-wards. They were often so dark and so few that they had almost become purely rumour. Then again, it didn't really matter, just a reflex of the academic mind he'd always loved. Who would have thought fighting on the front lines of a war left so little time for reading?
The Manor itself was in his sight now, and Draco could feel its excitement buzzing all the way from his spot on the edge of The Forest. Almost completely without thought, Draco smiled. Even knowing what he was about to walk into, he couldn't help the relief in his chest at seeing The Manor, his once and forever home.
He walked all the way up the steps, his cane clacking sharply on the stones, and the doors opened for him, blowing back the tails of his pure-white robes. They were unstained, even through his walk in The Forest, it was his land, and the dirt wouldn't dare touch his hems without permission.
The doors opening attracted the attention of some low-level Death Eaters, but he ignored them, choosing instead to climb the winding stairs to the second level. They began to shoot spells, but they bounced off of his robes, ricocheting around him harmlessly.
He walked to the west wing, where he knew he'd find Voldemort. Draco could feel him like a blight, offensive to every sense.
He managed to get to the west doors before he met someone of consequence, but sadly, it was Pettigrew, so Draco kept on. The human rat tried to step in front of Draco, but he wasn't even worth the magic it would take to stun him, so Draco just hit him solidly across the face with his cane, knocking the worm into the wall to whimper and writhe, before he carried on to the study.
Next, it was Aunt Bella, who just seemed to be wandering aimlessly. When she saw him, she only began to laugh, and made no move to stop him, so Draco continued to walk.
Finally, Draco reached the door he wanted. He knocked, but only enough to be counted as polite, before pushing it open.
Voldemort looked up sharply, already smiling at Draco, "I was wondering when you'd come back. I see you've stopped denying yourself."
"I'm here to make a deal, Tom Marvelo Riddle." Draco hadn't known the name, but it rolled off his tongue all the same, and something about it felt true. Truer than Voldemort ever had.
The Dark Lord sneered at the name, but when he spoke, it was only curious, "Under what power?"
"Under my own." Draco answered, "We both know I don't need any other."
Voldemort bared his teeth in what could pass as a smile on someone with lips, "And what, exactly, would this deal entail?"
"I do what you ask of me, to the best of my ability," Draco started, not phased by the growing glee in The Dark Lord's eyes, "And in return, you will not harm those I love, and they, in turn, will be kept away from you, not to interfere with our dealings."
"And how will you do this? You could not command your father anymore than a butterfly could command the wind." Voldemort stood from his desk, moving instead to the couches along the far wall, gesturing for Draco to join him.
Draco did not.
"I could, if I were Lord Malfoy." Draco stated.
Voldemort, if possible, looked even more delighted at this, “You would defy the very man who raised you?”
“I would.” To save him, Draco doesn't say, because I still love him.
Despite his numerous flaws, Draco had always been his father’s son, in the ways that mattered, and in the ways people would remember.
The strangest thing, Draco thought idly, was that he didn't hate Voldemort. He was disgusted, and furious, but there was no hatred burning in his veins, just cold calm and resolution.
“Well then, we’ll go to the duelling grounds, something like this deserves its proper ceremony.” Voldemort stood, holding his elbow out to Draco.
He simply stared at it for a moment, “It's a little late for chivalry, I would say.”
Voldemort bared his teeth again, “It's never too late for manners, dear Draco.”
Fair enough, if The Dark Lord wanted to hold Draco's hand, Draco would let him. He took the outstretched elbow with no outward change in emotion, if this was the part he was to play, he would set the stage.
They walked, in what Draco assumed must have been a strange picture, to the duelling grounds. It struck him that he was probably the only one of appropriate height in the whole of the manor, to walk with The Dark Lord like this. Draco had grown recently, naturally or as a result of becoming Lord, he didn't know, but he was just over 186 centimetres, and still shorter.
If he had been a few years younger, it would have been enough for a full tantrum.
But soon enough, they were in the duelling arena, and Draco stopped having time to think.
The Dark Lord pressed a hand over his left arm, exactly where Draco's own mark sat, and said in his strange, hissing voice, "Lucius."
Within moments, his father appeared with his mother's hand wrapped around his arm in a cruel mirror of Draco's own position with The Dark Lord.
The moment she saw Draco, his mother was in his arms, clinging like she'd never see him again.
If everything went how he planned, she'd be right.
So Draco let go of Voldemort, and wrapped his arms around his mother. He was much taller than her now, even though she wasn't exactly slight herself, so he rested his chin on her hair.
"It's alright, mother. I'm alright."
"Oh Draco," She breathed, hiding her face in his lapel, they were already committing a massive breach of decorum, it wouldn't do for her to be seen crying.
All too aware of their guest at his side, Draco kept his back straight, face blank, and one hand on his cane.
His eyes went to his father, almost without thought. No one's opinion had ever mattered as much to Draco as his fathers, and the part of Draco that was still a small child screamed at him for thinking he could ever do this to him.
Lucius Malfoy simply stared, and Draco couldn't for the life of him read what his father was thinking. Anger at him for abandoning the family? Pride for coming back? Sadness at his obviously diminished state?
His mother drew back, her eyes dry, and she grabbed his arms, face freezing when she finally noticed the cane, "We were so worried."
"I apologise for the sudden disappearance, and all the trouble I must have caused," His eyes went back to The Dark Lord, watching them with snake's eyes, "But I've come home, for good this time."
"Yes, Draco, you are," The Dark Lord put his hand on Draco's shoulder, and he fought not to flinch, "Why don't we explain the reason for this reunion?"
His mother drew back, "Draco, what is he speaking of?"
Draco locked eyes with his father, keeping his voice as blank as possible, he was already disgracing their family, there was no reason to add further insult by appearing emotional, "The Dark Lord and I have come to an agreement-"
"Draco," His father interrupted, finally speaking, "No, you cannot-"
"We are going to make a deal." He finished, pushing through his father's interruption. His resolve wavered, old instinct telling him that if he ran to his father and buried his face into the familiar black robes, he could make it all go away.
But Draco wasn't a small boy anymore, he would have to kneel to reach his fathers side, and Draco refused to kneel for anyone anymore.
So he watched his fathers face break, real and true horror appearing where there was usually perfect calm. It felt wrong to see his father break like this, it had felt wrong for years, ever since he'd returned from Azkaban, ever since Voldemort had come back.
"But first, as is my blood right-" He continued, voice as dispassionate as he could make it.
"No. No, take me instead, my lord, I swear I'll rectify my mistakes-" His father pleaded, coming forward to kneel at The Dark Lord's feet, right in front of where Draco stood at his side, "Not him, please not him-"
"I challenge you for the title of Lord Malfoy, in a duel, terminating either in death or surrender." Draco said, looking straight ahead. He couldn't see his father beg for him.
"Draco-" His mother cried, "This is madness!"
"Do you accept, or do you forfeit?" Draco asked, closing his eyes. If his father chose to forfeit, the magic would reject Lucius Malfoy as Lord, and he would die.
Silence stretched, and Draco heard only the rustle of fabric, before his father spoke, "I accept."
His shoulders slumped, the hardest part was over.
Draco opened his eyes, and saw his father standing in front of him, face resigned, and more broken than Draco had ever seen him before.
The Dark Lord clapped his hands once, "Then I suggest we start."
Draco walked to the middle of the arena, his father trailing after him. His mother readied herself at the centre, taking the place of the adjudicator.
His father left his cane at the edge of the arena, Draco did not.
"You have both agreed to a Lord's Duel-" She began, her voice holding a nearly unrecognisable shake, "The conditions are surrender-"
She took in a deep breath, "Or death. You are both to take nine steps away."
Draco could feel his fathers back against his, warm and solid as he stepped away. Nine steps. The traditional number for a Lord's Duel, symbolising loss and sorrow.
If he and his father had been duelling over a disagreement, they would take 12, to symbolise the old gods and their judgement. It was harder to hit an opponent at twelve paces.
At the ninth step, he and his father paused, waiting on Draco's mother to call start. Draco thumbed the head of his cane, adjusting his grip on his wand, pinched between the pointer, middle, and thumb, just the way his father had taught him. The Malfoy way.
Blaise always said it made him look like a conductor, directing his magic like music, but it was only the way he was taught. Just another inherited elegance he hadn't earned.
His mother called the start, more of a sob than any actual word, and Draco spun.
He threw himself back, narrowly avoiding a stunning spell his father had thrown. Draco was at a disadvantage, though he was the stronger wizard, Draco had been walking for hours on an injured leg, and so his father had the advantage of agility.
Something about the harsh smell of defensive spells clicked within Draco's brain, before he could think, he yelled out "Scintilla!" and huge green sparks shot out of his wand, blinding his father, it bought only a second, but a second was the only thing Draco needed.
His father blinked, and Draco jerked his wand in a wordless expelliarmus.
His father's wand, so similar to his own, both inherited, not bought, sailed into his hand.
Draco's chest heaved, not with exertion, but with nervous energy, "Do you yield?"
Lucius Malfoy opened his mouth, and Draco begged him silently to let it end now, to have trust in his son for once.
"I yield."
Draco let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding, feeling only a second of victory before it began.
He felt the same surge of magic, so much bigger than claiming Grimmauld. Draco was right, being Lord of a manor was very different then being Lord of a townhouse. It coursed through him, turning in his veins.
But as he felt power flood him, filling every corner of his being, he felt something slip away. Something warm and messy and human.
Draco choked, falling to his knees as blood welled in his throat, and when he spat it out onto the floor, it wasn't his blood as he knew it, silky, thin, and free flowing. It was dark and thick, clinging to him in strands, as though holding on for dear life. He could feel every part of him open, blood falling from his nose and ears, even clouding his eyes as he seemed to empty and fill in the same measure.
And Draco knew he had to choose.
He tried desperately to keep the two parts of himself together, holding tight with nothing but will, but his grip was slipping.
He could no longer be both in and out, original and copy, blueprint and model.
So, without knowing fully what he was giving up, only knowing he would need power if he was to survive, Draco pushed his humanity away.
Immediately there was a difference. Sharp pain bloomed in his chest and face as sparks seemed to fly from his very soul, power coming off of him in waves. He bowed under it, clutching his chest as he waited for the agony to stop. It felt like being unmade then pierced back together, held in place with nothing but strings. Everything felt loose, as if his eyes could roll from his head or his fingers fall from his hands.
He felt stretched thin, silt and clay being moulded into something old and new in equal parts.
With everything else, went his fear.
For the first time in his life, the calm he felt wasn't a mask, or forced. Draco could feel with crystal clarity the path he had chosen, and must now take.
It was so freeing, so wonderful that he had to laugh. His voice was different now, missing something that had tethered it down before. It rang out high and clear like bells across the duelling ground. He saw his father's horror, and his mother's flinch, but he didn't care anymore, he had everything he needed now, to save them.
All the power, and he hadn't realised it was only half.
It was finally whole.
So why did he still feel so empty?
There was a hollow feeling in his chest, an undeniable sense of loss he couldn't shake.
But Draco couldn't dwell on it now, his plan was only half finished.
He staggered to his feet, pushing with his cane to force himself fully upright, blood still dripping from his nose. He let out a few more giggles before he managed to get himself under control.
"Well, now that's over . . ." Draco said, mouth settling into a smirk.
The Dark Lord clapped slowly, walking to the middle of the arena, "What a show, though it was much too short for my tastes."
It was quite short, and Draco knew it was because his father hadn't truly wanted to fight. He was torn between bitter anger his father hadn't deemed him capable of a real challenge, and gladness his plan could proceed without further delay.
"So sorry to disappoint, my lord." Draco said simply, "What would you have me do first?"
Voldemort tilted his head, considering, "I see no reason to put off the main event, come."
Draco stepped forward, the picture of a loyal dog, and held out a hand, "Tom Riddle, if I do as you ask, to the best of my ability, and keep Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy from revealing anything they have learned during their time with you, will you spare those of my choosing from violence and death, through yourself or intermediaries?"
The Dark Lord laughed and took Draco's outstretched hand, "Very clever, dear Draco, but I do believe we have a deal."
The magic snapped into place, stronger than Draco had ever felt it before, burning into his chest. He breathed through it, pain mixing into satisfaction. His mood soared, the mental weight of a new deal sitting pleasantly across his shoulders.
Draco could feel them more clearly now, all of the deals he had made like ropes stretching from him and connecting to others, Potter's, Fletcher's, and Voldemort's the strongest and most stable among them.
The Dark Lord lifted his right sleeve, examining the deal mark on his wrist with a detached curiosity. It wasn't the typical black mark Draco expected, instead, it was an ouroboros.
A black snake stretched around The Dark Lord's wrist, swallowing its own tail and forming a cuff, shining with the dark green of Draco's magic.
"It is quite different from what I had expected." Voldemort remarked, shifting his hand to catch the light.
"It is rather unique among the mark's i've seen, usually they present as solid bands." Draco said, brows furrowing.
The Dark Lord smiled at that cruel and cold, "Well, I believe you have something else to do?"
Draco dipped his head, turning on his heel to face his mother and father, "You will not speak of anything you know, or have learned during your time as Death Eaters about Lord Voldemort, to anyone, unless given explicit permission."
He turned his head away, guilt gnawing at him, "You will stay at the french townhouse, and are not to re-enter Britain, you have twenty four hours to make your goodbyes, be inconspicuous."
"Very good, Draco, you will be most helpful." The Dark Lord ghosted a hand over Draco's head, and without further words, he turned and left.
What an overt display of power. A bit heavy handed for Draco's taste, but still effective, making Draco's parents watch him sign his figurative soul away.
"How rude." Draco sighed, repressing a shudder.
"DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY BLACK!" His mother snarled, "Avez-vous perdu la tête?"
"Maman," Draco started, walking forward to take her hand, "I know what I'm doing, have a small amount of faith, would you?"
"Draco, I hope you have a decent plan." His father spoke, face back to his usual calm slightly disappointed look, no evidence of his earlier fear.
Draco drew himself up, settling back into the pureblood air he had been raised to have, "I do, and I will take care of it."
His father didn't acknowledge this with anything more than a slight pursing of his lips, so Draco turned instead to his mother, "I've given you a full day for a reason, pack fully, it might be a long while before you can return."
He stepped close, drawing her into his arms, her hand trapped between them. She startled slightly, Draco hadn't initiated any touch with his parents since he was very small, but eventually, she relaxed.
Draco held his mother tight, not sure when he would get the chance again, and leaned his face close to her ear, using the shield of their bodies to pass her the ring he wore on his neck always, "The keyword is 'waltz.' Tell Blaise everything, if he asks."
He stepped back, "I'll tell the house elfs to make Bouillabaisse, you should stay for dinner and leave in the morning."
His mother studied his face, looking for any hesitancy, most likely, but when she found none, she stepped back too, taking his father's arm, "Absolutely, we miss you terribly during the school year, it will be lovely to eat together again."
Draco smiled slightly, genuinely this time, and followed his parents back into the house. In the morning, they would leave and Draco could begin his work, but for now, he would enjoy a final dinner with his parents.