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ferretface_gitIt happened so quickly. The blink of an eye, it couldn't have been anything but magic. When he closed his eyes, he was sitting in the sun, the ocean stretched out ahead of him. When he opened them, he was in a dimly lit room, vast and chilled, a warmthless fire flickering in a grey stone hearth to his left. He sat regally in a wingback chair, plush velvet cushions cradling him, soft in contrast to the stiff robes he wore.
"Draco, come here."
This night was five years behind him, but he remembered it well. Down to the very last detail. His last night at Malfoy Manor. His last night with magic. His mother and father stood there, looking at him expectantly, and it was as if no time had passed at all. He rose, crossing the room in long, purposeful strides, going to great pains not to give away the excitement threatening to tear him to pieces. In his hand, was a wand, and he could feel the power in it. An extension of himself. Oh, how he'd missed it.
All three of them stood with their backs to the hearth, faces tipped toward the ground, but he knew, even without looking, that Greyback was right. He'd caught Harry Potter. The Dark Lord would be so pleased.
Draco paused, thought about denying it all over again. Defying his parents. Not out of fear this time. No, these were entirely different reasons.
She was already in the basement. Had been, for weeks. He knew that, too.
"Yes. That's them. That's Harry Potter," he heard himself say, looking straight into Potter's swollen eyes, a sneer of triumph on his face. He'd won. He'd come home, finally, and for once, he'd put himself in the Dark Lord's good graces. He would be a legend. He would be the one to deliver Potter to his executioner.
But then... The world went white.
~~~
He was sitting in a chair. Wingback, flickering fire, everything the same as before, and he hissed out a curse, ignoring the displeased looks of his parents.
"Draco? Did you not hear your mother? Come here," Lucius barked, and Draco stood, mind whirring -- Cursing the island. Cursing his parents. Cursing the Dark Lord. Cursing Luna Lovegood with every fiber of his being. What the bloody hell was he doing here? What kind of cruel joke could this have possibly been?
"I can't be sure," he answered simply, then he turned on his heel and marched out, despite the protest of his father. His mother's shrieking voice.
He didn't make it very far.
~~~
Five times. Five times the world went white and he found himself back in that chair. Five times too bloody many.
"Draco, come here."
He rose, he went through the motions of that night. No, he couldn't be sure. Yes, maybe that was Granger. Yes, that was Arthur Weasley's son. Then, his Aunt was sweeping into the room and he suppressed a shiver, watching distantly as she fought with Greyback and his men, as she'd done before.
"If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me," he heard her say, and he grabbed both men by the arms, shoving them toward the door, his wand at their backs. The first two times this played out, he'd killed them in the garden, a flash of green and their dead and sightless eyes staring up at him from the cobblestone. This time, he shoved them into the yard and left them there for his Aunt to deal with.
And then, he slipped back inside, marching quietly toward the cellar and for the first time since all this had begun, he tapped the heavy door with his wand.
"Draco, come here."
This night was five years behind him, but he remembered it well. Down to the very last detail. His last night at Malfoy Manor. His last night with magic. His mother and father stood there, looking at him expectantly, and it was as if no time had passed at all. He rose, crossing the room in long, purposeful strides, going to great pains not to give away the excitement threatening to tear him to pieces. In his hand, was a wand, and he could feel the power in it. An extension of himself. Oh, how he'd missed it.
All three of them stood with their backs to the hearth, faces tipped toward the ground, but he knew, even without looking, that Greyback was right. He'd caught Harry Potter. The Dark Lord would be so pleased.
Draco paused, thought about denying it all over again. Defying his parents. Not out of fear this time. No, these were entirely different reasons.
She was already in the basement. Had been, for weeks. He knew that, too.
"Yes. That's them. That's Harry Potter," he heard himself say, looking straight into Potter's swollen eyes, a sneer of triumph on his face. He'd won. He'd come home, finally, and for once, he'd put himself in the Dark Lord's good graces. He would be a legend. He would be the one to deliver Potter to his executioner.
But then... The world went white.
~~~
He was sitting in a chair. Wingback, flickering fire, everything the same as before, and he hissed out a curse, ignoring the displeased looks of his parents.
"Draco? Did you not hear your mother? Come here," Lucius barked, and Draco stood, mind whirring -- Cursing the island. Cursing his parents. Cursing the Dark Lord. Cursing Luna Lovegood with every fiber of his being. What the bloody hell was he doing here? What kind of cruel joke could this have possibly been?
"I can't be sure," he answered simply, then he turned on his heel and marched out, despite the protest of his father. His mother's shrieking voice.
He didn't make it very far.
~~~
Five times. Five times the world went white and he found himself back in that chair. Five times too bloody many.
"Draco, come here."
He rose, he went through the motions of that night. No, he couldn't be sure. Yes, maybe that was Granger. Yes, that was Arthur Weasley's son. Then, his Aunt was sweeping into the room and he suppressed a shiver, watching distantly as she fought with Greyback and his men, as she'd done before.
"If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me," he heard her say, and he grabbed both men by the arms, shoving them toward the door, his wand at their backs. The first two times this played out, he'd killed them in the garden, a flash of green and their dead and sightless eyes staring up at him from the cobblestone. This time, he shoved them into the yard and left them there for his Aunt to deal with.
And then, he slipped back inside, marching quietly toward the cellar and for the first time since all this had begun, he tapped the heavy door with his wand.
