Chapter Text
JUNE 1997
“Expelliarmus!” Draco yelled, disarming Dumbledore, sending the elderly wizard backward. He summoned the old man’s wand and pocketed it, not knowing its true power. The hawthorn wand was gripped tight, still pointed at his headmaster, but he felt the hum of magic radiating from the Elder Wand against his body. It was distracting, it called to him, but fear prevented him from using it.
And then the foolish old man talked, talked as if they were discussing his choice of career after graduation, when, in fact, he brought all of Draco’s darkest deeds to the surface. Finally, the words that rang in his ears for months afterward: “I can help you, Draco.”
Draco shook violently. “Nobody can. He told me to do it or he’ll kill me. I’ve got no choice.”
“Come over to the right side, Draco, and we can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine. What is more, I can send members of the Order to your mother tonight to hide her likewise. Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban… when the time comes we can protect him too…” Draco wanted to snort at that. His father was beyond any saving, and probably so was he himself. The darkness had become too ingratiating in his soul, too prominent in his thoughts.
Dumbledore didn’t want to let go. “Come over to the right side, Draco...you are not a killer.” No, he wasn’t yet; he hadn’t killed anyone. But he it was only a small step away from becoming a murderer, wasn’t he?
“But I got this far, didn’t I? They thought I’d die in the attempt, but I’m here...I’m the one with the wand...you’re at my mercy…”
That amused twinkle he had seen in the headmaster’s eyes the past six years was insistent but also held a certain cold truth. “No, Draco, it is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now.”
Mercy. Forgiveness. He wanted that, the young wizard suddenly realized. He wanted to be good . Not good like Potter, for he was as damaged by the power plays surrounding them as the Malfoy heir. But maybe good like the Chosen One’s best friend with her incessant belief in life. But...could he be like that? Could he be brave and redeemed? Did he even deserve that? Maybe...
He dropped the wand a fraction. Then, footsteps thundered up the stairs. And after the thunder came the green lightning from his godfather’s wand, sending Dumbledore tumbling down. In shock and relief, Draco observed the scene as a passive bystander, until he felt his Aunt Bellatrix pluck Dumbledore’s wand from his pocket. He had to swallow down the sudden urge to reach for it and snag it back from her unworthy grasp. That wand was rightfully his, after all! Though a moment later, he was seized by his collar, and Severus dragged him away from what had been his home in the past years.
—xoxox—
APRIL 1998
For over a year, something felt off with Draco’s magic, yet he couldn’t figure out why. He was excelling in his studies under the new regime, but he didn’t feel good enough—powerful enough. As he sat at the dinner table awaiting the guest of honor for their Easter brunch, he twirled the ten-inch hawthorn wand between his long, agile fingers. This was the wand that chose him that fateful day at Ollivander’s, yet it didn’t feel right anymore.
“Draco, put that away. Table manners,” his mother chided.
He rolled his eyes and tucked it into the pocket of his robes. He looked over to his father, looking absolutely pathetic, who no longer sat at the head of the table, but to the right of it. His mother next to his father, and he in the third seat. This was no longer Malfoy Manor. Propriety and decorum had gone out the window after the commandeering of their home. It was a military fortress housing killers, the dementedly blood-thirsty, pawns in all ranks, and prisoners of war. While Lucius reassured his wife and son that this was an honor, anyone could tell Narcissa viewed this as a defilement of ancient traditions.
The Dark Lord strolled into the dining room. “No need to rise,” he told his followers as they began to push their chairs out. “I won’t be joining you for this lovely meal. An urgent matter has arisen, and I must depart.”
Draco looks up to his master and his eyes are drawn to the ancient looking wand. His hand started to tingle and recalled how it felt when held in his own hand as if it were calling to him.
“Do you need assistance, my Lord?” Bellatrix offered, always seeking approval.
“Not necessary, my most loyal servant. I must do this alone,” he hissed.
Draco’s stomach lurched at how disgusting their interactions were, all while under his uncle’s nose. At least he had a nose.
“Farewell,” Voldemort called and left in a flourish.
Ever the host, Narcissa waved her wand, and the lavish meal presented itself from the kitchens below. “Please, enjoy your meal. I know many of you have assignments after this and must be on your way. “
“Thank Merlin,” Draco muttered. He looked forward to a mostly empty home and some quiet by the fire in the drawing room.
A few bites of roast lamb and carrots were all Draco managed to choke down before his appetite left completely. Hearing the Death Eaters reliving their conquests, elaborating on the muggle women they had tasted and flayed, whilst spooning globs of chocolate mousse into their gullets, wasn't his topic of choice for dinner conversation.
He sat in silence for the remainder of the meal, pushing the vegetables on his plate around with his head propped on his elbow. After what seemed like ages, he heard his Father's voice beckoning for Draco to follow his mother and him into the drawing room. It was the only place that offered the Malfoy family any semblance of comfort in a time where darkness infected their ancestral home.
Draco followed somberly behind his parents, dragging his feet on the marbled floor, hypnotized by the echoing sound that answered back from the vast hallway; his wand tucked into his back pocket, and his hands motionless at his sides.
“Come, Draco,” Lucius’ graveled voice called out. He looked up to see they had already arrived in the drawing room. His mother already seated in front of the large ornate fireplace, her gloved hands atop one another in a rigid pose. Etiquette always prevailed, it would seem, even when her world was crumbling around her.
Lucius moved to stand beside Narcissa, placing a hand upon her shoulder when reaching her and giving it a subtle squeeze. He motioned with the other for Draco to take the empty seat beside them. Not wishing to argue the fact that he was entirely capable of forming a decision on his own, whether or not he remained standing. Draco did as his father wished and sunk into the awaiting chair. Relishing in the warmth that awaited him there. The heat radiating from the fireplace working its own brand of magic and soothing the chill that had set in his bones from his brush with Voldemort's presence earlier.
If only it were enough. The chill could be soothed, but never fully removed. The evidence of that was his father. Once pristine like old china, now decrepit and standing on one leg. Or cane… Draco glanced up at his father from his periphery, a soft look at his mother in the interim. With his gaze returned to the fireplace, Draco asked, “Did you want something, Father?”
Lucius looked down at son briefly before looking away and replying, “Must I want something in order to have my family together?”
Draco hadn’t a clue on how to answer that, and so he didn’t. Instead, he and his parents were distracted by a ruckus happening elsewhere in the Manor. The three of them exchanged worried expressions before following the noise. Draco, with his wand in hand, yet not so ready to deal with what chaos was transpiring in his home, had made it to the main parlor room first. At the sight, he very nearly dropped his wand.
The red hair was an easy spot. Weasley. The girl held very intently by a Snatcher was no doubt, Granger. And the third person was terribly swollen in the face, but who else could it be but Potter if the other two were in his home?
“Ah, Draco,” his Aunt Bellatrix smiled ravenously as she beckoned him with a crooked finger. “Come here, darling. I have a task for you.”
Draco’s feet felt like lead, but he obeyed. He walked over, a sick feeling in his stomach as she took his hand and pulled him over to the puffy-faced teenager.
“This could very well be who we’re looking for, don’t you think?” Bellatrix said as she urged him to get as close Potter’s face as possible.
“I… I can’t be sure.” Draco swallowed. “Last I checked, Potter’s face wasn’t so malformed.”
“Malformed,” she repeated with a soft hum before looking over her shoulder at the two other captives. She bared yellow teeth and held a mischievous glint in her eye. “Or perhaps just altered. Oh,” she giggled maniacally as she walked away. “Naughty children you are.”
Draco could hear his aunt talking to the Snatchers. He could hear other Death Eaters coming into the room. He could hear his father over his shoulder, telling him to be sure . There was just...too much. Too much talking. Too many people walking. Too much... screaming?
Before Draco knew it, Potter was taken from off the floor and dragged along with the redhead down the to cellar. The only remainder of the trio left was Granger, and his chest sank to his stomach as he watched his aunt throw her to the floor and then hover over her like a preying animal.
“How did you get into my vault?!”
“I didn’t!” Hermione cried. “I didn’t! I swear that I didn’t!”
Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.”
The moment Bellatrix’s cursed dagger came into view, Draco turned his head. He didn’t want to see what she was about to do, but damn it he could still hear it. Granger’s screams. Her pleas. And if he listened well enough, he swore to Merlin he could hear every scratch that dagger made into her skin, something heinous that made his own flesh feel as though it was being defiled.
“It’s really him!”
Draco pulled his head up, briefly seeing his aunt’s handiwork and having the sudden urge to vomit. He redirected his attention to the Death Eater who could be seen coming out of the cellar.
“Just checked in on ‘em!” He continued. “It’s Potter! Face went down and everything; it’s really him!”
Bellatrix’s face lit up. She even jiggled up and down in her excitement. “We can call him. We can call the Dark Lord!”
“ I will call him,” Lucius announced, already prepared to roll up his sleeve. Draco had never whipped his head in someone’s direction so hard in his life, and he ignored the pain he felt reverberating from the base of his head down to his neck.
“I’m the one who realized it was him!” Rowle shouted. “ I’ll do the calling.”
Lucius puffed up his chest. “It’s my house!”
“Last I checked it was the Dark Lord’s house,” Rowle smirked. “You have no power here anymore.”
Those were fighting words, Draco knew, but even though he should be showing concerning much like he could see his mother doing, there was an internal dread at seeing Bellatrix in the background. Her sleeve was raised. A finger was on her Dark Mark, and her glee was evident in her smile and the little laugh that accompanied it.
“Time to bring the boys! Time to bring the boys!” Bellatrix sang happily. “Cissy, go bring the boys!”
Narcissa was visibly shaken, but in the wake of Voldemort returning any moment she hurried off to the cellar. The verbal fight between Draco’s father and Rowle had turned into wands drawn. And Draco himself was standing idly by, weak in every limb, and spying Granger on the floor, actively bleeding from the arm. In the few seconds it took between his mother bringing up Potter and Weasley from the cellar, and the whooshing sound of Voldemort appearing in the middle of the room, Draco and Granger had locked eyes.
Grey eyes stared into brown, and Draco could feel his entire being put on hold for a moment. He saw pain, a lot of it, recognizable to him because he saw it every time he looked into a mirror. Beneath the pain lay anger at the injustice of their situation, but what shocked him the most was the defiance the young woman’s face bore. Unrelenting. Desperate. Hopeful.
In that moment, something cracked inside of Draco and freed an emotion he never thought he held within him: bravery. Dumbledore’s words, spoken on the brink of his murder so long ago on that cursed tower - suddenly, they made sense. But how the Hell could he act upon his newfound chutzpah?
Faintly, he registered an epic fight ensuing around him, and only then he realized that he was still staring into Granger’s eyes. Blinking, he finally severed this intimate feeling connection and took in the situation around him: instead of hexes and curses being fired, he saw Potter wrangling one of the Snatchers on the floor, panting, boxing, punching. The Dark Lord, however, stood in some distance away from the scene, emitting a hissing sound that could be interpreted at laughter. He didn’t even step in? Though, the mortal enemy at his feet, fighting like the lowest of the muggles must amuse him to no end. Surely, it did the trick for Bellatrix, for the woman laughed loudly. She had left Granger lying on the floor like waste waiting to be disposed of by the house elves.
Then, several things happened in short succession. Draco found the courage to move—run indeed—towards the helpless brunette. He heard Potter, who must have succeeded in the fist fight, scream, “ Expelliarmus! ” and almost laughed at the stupidity of the spell, but was stopped by the Dark Lord's inhuman roar. Draco turned his head in the precise moment when the wand flew from Voldemort’s hand. Time slowed, and all the young wizard could focus on was the powerful calling of that newly freed wand. Unconsciously, he stretched his hand out, his loyal hawthorn wand clattering to the floor — only to be replaced by the unknown, yet familiar wood of another.
Immediately, a tingling coursed through Draco, and he felt oddly complete. For a second, his gaze locked with the Dark Lord, only to see a sudden realization in the snake man’s eyes. That didn’t shock Draco, however. Breaking the eye contact, he decided it was the best to disappear, though, not alone.
Ignoring the surprised gasp from Potter, surely because the wand had landed in Draco’s hands and not his own, he crouched down beneath the still sobbing girl, only to be beaten to her by the Weasel.
“Hands off of her!” the redhead yelled, trying to shield her from him.
“I’m going to fucking help you. Now, let me think!”
It took everything not to turn back around to the sounds behind him, but Weasley screaming, “Hold them off as long as you can, Harry!” made him assume that Potter put up a fight. Though, that wouldn’t keep the flood of experienced Death Eaters and the Dark Lord away from them for long.
They needed an escape plan. Now. But there was no one left in his house loyal to him now.
Was there?
Things connected in his head when he looked down at Granger, who now gripped his hand with her own, desperately holding tight to him and the Weasel. He breathed in deeply and prayed to Merlin and whoever would listen to him that fate worked for him for once.
“Dobby!”
In the middle of the chaos, a tiny creature appeared, his bulging eyes assessing the situation, not shaken in the slightest.
“Master Draco, Dobby came to help Harry Potter and his friends.”
“Whatever! Get us out!” Draco commanded impatiently. He more felt than saw Potter stepping closer to him and then crouching down on his injured friend’s side, clinging to her.
“Bring us somewhere safe!” Weasley added.
From the corner of his eye, he could see his mother, struggling to get closer to him. But she was held back by his father.
“Noooo!” An inhuman cry came from the Dark Lord. Draco’s head whipped around again, only to see his aunt reacting to her master’s unspoken demand. In the same moment, Dobby seized his hand, and he spun on the spot to Disapparate. As he turned into darkness, he caught one last view of the drawing room: of the pale, frozen figure of his mother, of the streak of brown that was Granger’s hair, and a blur of flying silver, as Bellatrix’ knife flew across the room at the place where he was vanishing—
—xoxox—
The air was crisp and salty. Draco knew they were by the sea, but where.
"Dobby, is this Shell Cottage?" Harry whispered.
Draco and Ron were still supporting Hermione's curse-weakened body and looked up for the elf.
"DOBBY!" Harry called and ran to the elf as he saw his small body collapse on the shore.
"Come on!" Draco urged Granger and Weasley to catch up.
Potter held Dobby's trembling body in his arms and muttered, "Dobby, no, don't die, don't die—"
Draco gazed upon his loyal childhood servant. The one who snuck him snacks when Father was overly strict, the one who fixed his toys when he broke them during a tantrum. The large, orb-like eyes looked up to Harry, then to Draco. "Master Draco...I knew you were a good boy...Harry...Potter..." And he was gone.
Harry openly sobbed, Hermione allowed tears to trickle down, Ron remained stoic, and Draco brusquely wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
—xoxox—
While Harry mourned the elf outside, Draco helped Ron bring Hermione up to the house to rest and be tended to by Fleur. Draco's appearance in front of the young Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Dean Thomas, Luna Lovegood, and Griphook came as a shock, though they weren't sure if it was an unwelcome one yet. They knew that he had called for aid and assisted in the rescue, but his desire to do so was unknown.
Bill knew Harry might be out there mourning for some time, so he cut to the chase. "Malfoy, we know who you are, and you know who we are. It's apparent this is an Order safe house. Give me three reasons not to restrain you and pass you on to less sympathetic members of our organization."
Impressed, Draco said, "I knew there had to be at least one intelligent Weasley."
"Watch it Malfoy," Ron interjected. "You may have helped us get out, but I think he was talking about me. I would have no problem—"
"Shut it. I wasn't talking to you, and you interrupted your brother," turning back to the ruggedly handsome Weasley with his fiercely elegant wife, he asked, "May I call you Bill? I figured calling you Weasley will get unnecessarily complicated."
Fleur stifled a laugh and nodded. Bill smirked, "You have a lot of nerve, Malfoy, but yes. Call me Bill."
"Thank you, Bill. Reason one, though I've been at school most of the year, the past few days, I've been living at the epicenter of The Dark Lord's operations. I can tell you all the most up-to-date plans and who is involved..."
"Go on," Bill urged.
"Two, I'm tired of being terrified for myself, my friends, and family. Nothing is ours anymore. We're not the big players in the Dark Lord's production. We're merely his financiers, albeit unwillingly. Our family's fortunes are dwindling daily. But it's more than that. I can't take being connected to the horrors anymore."
Ron huffs in disbelief.
"Believe it or not, Weasley, I'm going to keep calling you that, because you're nowhere near as interesting as your brother to have a proper name—"
"Malfoy, stay on track ," Bill said sternly.
He rolled his eyes and continued, "Believe it or not, the idea of my name being associated with rape, murder, torture, and cannibalism doesn't sit well with me. I do have some semblance of humanity," he raised his eyebrow attempting to intimidate Ron, "But mostly. This wand . It chose me, and I think I'm destined to help Potter."
As Ron got ready for another round of verbal sparring, Harry came through the door. His head held high, but his eyes swollen from mourning the loss of the House-elf who had meant so much. Who had sacrificed his life to rescue them all from a situation caused by his stupidity? Due to the utterance of Voldemort's name, yet another death on his hands.
Bill glanced up at him, no longer caring of continuing his conversation with Draco.
“Harry?” Bill questioned, worried by the almost passive-almost emotionless- expression on the worn wizard's face.
Harry glanced up at the oldest Weasley, upon hearing his name. He barely registered the movement of his lips, but finally after few minutes managed to speak.
“Where is everyone? Ginny? Your parents?”
Everyone in the cramped kitchen went silent. Ron and Harry, waiting with bated breath, and silently praying the news wasn't bad.
Bill proceeded to tell them all the particulars, who had been moved where and when, and Arthur's status as the secret keeper. Finally, Bill told them of Griphook and Ollivanders need of aid and that they would be joining his family, tucked away into hiding within the next hour.
“No, they can't leave yet. I need to talk to them first!" Harry blurted out. He glanced at Malfoy and made a bold decision to trust him, after the events at the Manor, he could see no reason not to.
“Ron and I are going to talk to Griphook, I need you,” He threw Draco a pointed stare and continued, “and Hermione to talk to Ollivander about possibly mending my wand.”
Draco’s face fell a little at the mention of Granger. The last clear picture of her in his mind was of her bleeding out on his Manor floor. Everything between then and now was an honest blur and, quite frankly, he would rather not be around her.
But then again the other option was Potter or Weasley.
“Fine,” Draco relented. The three of them parted ways, and he headed to the room he had helped Weasley take Granger to. He spent about half a second standing outside of the closed bedroom door before entering without knocking. Once past the doorway he wished to Merlin he had retained his manners because he could see it then: a perfect view of the marring his Aunt Bellatrix had done to her.
Mudblood.
Hermione was sitting on her bed, staring at it grotesquely, when he had barged in, and she quickly readjusted her bandages.
“What are you doing here?”
Draco swallowed. “At the risk of taking orders from Potter, he wants both of us to talk to Ollivander about mending his wand.”
“That’s not what I asked you,” Hermione said as she stood. “What are you doing here? You… You helped us.”
He nodded. “I did.”
“Why?”
“I don’t feel like repeating my little speech I gave Bill,” Draco told her, and he remarked how wide her eyes became within a fraction of a second at the mention of his name. “I’m just tired, Granger. And,” he lifted the wand he hadn’t let go of the moment it landed in his hand. “I’m also curious about this.”
Hermione walked over to him swiftly, completely invading Draco’s personal space. He took an unconscious step back, almost regretting it, but maintaining his motion as she examined the wand that he held in his hand.
“That’s Professor Dumbledore’s wand.”
“And it was the Dark Lord’s.” He amended. “And now mine.”
Hermione snapped her eyes to his. “Yours?”
“Yes. At least…it feels like mine. It’s always felt like mine. Ever since the night Dumbledore died.”
The brunette let her gaze return to the wand. With a deep breath, she pulled out pieces of wood that she had in her pocket, remnants of Potter’s wand, Draco assumed and led the way out of the bedroom. “We have to talk to Mr. Ollivander.”
Draco followed her, and they went a short ways down the hall. Unlike him, Hermione had knocked, and a frail voice answered her saying that it was alright to come in.
“I hope we’re not disturbing you,” Hermione said apologetically. Mr. Ollivander smiled, pain lacing his actions, but he seemed grateful for the visit nonetheless. That is until he realized that Draco had come in behind her. She noticed immediately and shook her head. “It’s fine, Mr. Ollivander. I promise.”
With no choice but to believe her, Mr. Ollivander nodded. “What is it that you have there?”
Hermione presented Harry’s broken wand and set it beside him on the bed. “Is it possible for it to be fixed?”
Mr. Ollivander frowned. “It is terribly broken. This wand, I’m afraid, is quite beyond repair.”
“Oh,” Hermione sadly replied. “Harry won’t like that very much. He’s quite attached to this.”
“When a wand chooses the wizard, there is always a sense of attachment.” Mr. Ollivander said fondly. “To have it destroyed and replaced is like losing a part of yourself.”
“Does a wand ever just come to you?” Draco suddenly asked. He took a tentative step forward, only going closer when Mr. Ollivander gave him the okay to advance. He raised the wand eye level for the old man to see, but he didn’t let him touch it. He’d let no one touch it. “Potter disarmed the Dark Lord, but it came to me instead.”
Mr. Ollivander’s eyes flashed to his quickly. “Did it really?”
“Yes. What’s more is that I’ve felt connected to this wand for a year.”
“A year, you say? That is…quite extraordinary. Wands do have connections to wizards, but I have never heard of one so strong before. Not to mention when you, yourself, did not do the disarming.”
“But he did.” Hermione piped up. She turned to Draco before adding, “Harry told me that you disarmed Dumbledore that night. That said, the wand would belong to you.”
“In that case, yes.” Mr. Ollivander mused. “As for the powerful connection however, it is still a mystery. Wands, no matter the attachment to the wizard, rarely ever have such an effect as you describe, Mr. Malfoy. There is only one wand I can think of that could produce such an effect, but…it is only a rumor.”
Draco’s interest was piqued. “What’s a rumor?”
“The Elder Wand.”
Draco snorted. “The Wand of Destiny is nothing more than a myth!”
“Is it, Draco?” That Granger used his first name threw him off track for a moment, but he quickly regained his footing.
“Yes, of course! Like the other Deathly Hallows!” Now it was his turn to surprise the bushy-haired brunette, it seemed, for she became uncharacteristically quiet. He didn’t like the competitive twinkle in her brown eyes. However, even if it made him feel like an Arithmancy riddle, everything was better than the almost broken creature she had been in the manor.
“They maybe a children's tale for you, but for Him, they are very much real. So real that the location of the Elder Wand was the reason I was brought to your home in the first place.” The longer the old man spoke, the more his voice trembled. Granger seemed to catch that, too, for she practically shoved him out of the room.
“We have to talk. Come on, let’s go somewhere quiet.”
Somehow, Draco was glad the bossiness in the witch was back, but on the other side…
Soon enough, they had settled down on a bench near the water, the wind blowing loud enough around them, so no Muffliato was necessary, even if his new wand practically vibrated in the restless anticipation to be used. As soon as she had sat down, Granger began to talk — as it was to be expected.
“The Hallows — they're real.” She pushed an old book into his face. “The Resurrection Stone, the Cloak of Invisibility; they exist. It’s all in the books.”
“Yeah, I expected you to bring up a book. But, Granger, seriously, this is a book for children. No way…”
“Harry has had the Invisibility cloak since first year,” she interrupted him. “And I’ve seen the symbol of the Hallows in Godric’s Hollow.”
“That doesn’t mean anything! The Dark Lord—”
The annoying woman interrupted him again, “—Killed two people to get the information where the Elder Wand is and tortured Ollivander on top of that.”
“The Dark Lord doesn’t need a reason to kill and torture people these days, nor does my dear auntie, apparently.” Draco was aware of how bitter his voice sounded, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander to Granger’s arm, firmly covered by her sleeve.
“Look, Draco,” she used his name again, why did she do that? “this excuse of a wizard, he...I suspect he wants to make himself the Master of Death. He seeks to be invulnerable.” Cogs turned heavily in the blond’s head, connecting bits and pieces of overheard conversations, of whispered stories.
“You say Potter has the cloak? When I am indeed the Master of the Elder Wand—”
“—Then it’s not longer only Harry he is after, but also you.” Draco wasn’t annoyed by her interruption this time. Nevertheless, it chilled him to the core. Unbelieving, his brain still fighting to make sense of this whole mess and his role in it, he gained his courage, and asked, as confident as he could muster, “Assuming all of this is true...what do we do now?”
The smirk on Granger’s face terrified him more than any duel.
Harry and Ron emerged from the room Griphook was recovering from and headed outside to find Hermione and Malfoy. When they found them sitting on the bench, Harry noticed Hermione's almost sinister smile.
"You feeling alright, 'Mione?" Ron asked as he rubbed her back comfortingly.
"Better. Fleur is an excellent potioneer. The recovery tonic she gave me helped the fatigue, but the wound is taking a little longer to heal, but at least it doesn't hurt anymore," she gently rubbed her bandage.
Draco clammed up not wanting to say anything incriminating to start another fight. At this point, he just wanted answers and a plan.
"What did you two find out?" Harry asked, waiting to tell Hermione and Draco what he and Ron found out.
"It's the Elder Wand," Hermione said bluntly.
"Bollocks. It's a fairytale. I still don't buy it." Draco's words were dripping with cynicism.
"Have you used it yet?" Harry asked curiously.
Hesitating, Draco replied, "No. I—"
"I have a theory," Harry started. "I’m guessing Ollivander said he couldn't fix my wand, right?"
"Correct. He said it wasn't possible," Hermione replied.
"Hermione, take out the pieces," Harry commanded. "Malfoy, if that is the most powerful wand in all existence, it might be able to repair it."
Draco crossed his arms still skeptical. The three sets of unamused eyes bore into him, "Fine. I'll go along with you silly theory. Reparo. "
The bright red Phoenix plume straightened itself out as the fractured splinters of holly fused around the core. Harry's wand glowed gold as the powerful magic returned. Harry smiled smugly and said, "Excellent. Just as I thought. It is the Wand of Destiny. You know what this means, don't you?"
"The combined forces of the Vol—" Hermione caught herself before breaking the taboo, "His wand's brother and the Elder Wand, you're combined effort could take him down, well, after we destroy all the horcruxes."
"Horcruxes?" Draco stammered as the pieces started to come together. "He made horcruxes? "
"You know what a horcrux is?" Ron said with a tone of disbelief.
"Weasley, you're joking, right? I live in bad guy central with one of the oldest, most extensive magical libraries in all of Britain," Draco spat thoroughly annoyed. "How many?"
Harry swallowed, "Seven. Three have been destroyed. A ring, a locket, and a diary."
"A diary..." he said in a whisper, knowing exactly which diary.
"Yes, Malfoy. That diary your dear, old dad gave to Ginny and nearly killed her," Ron came face to face with Draco, seething, not knowing how to calm himself down.
"Ron, Draco, please," Hermione squeezed between the two of them and put a hand on each of their chests, pushing them apart. Draco's eyes flicked down to her hand but didn't ask her to move it. She continued. "We need each other right now. Draco wields the weapon that can help Harry take Him down. And Draco needs us to protect him. He's now a target. You know He knows."
For the first time since arriving, the thought of his mother, alone in that home came to him. What was the Dark Lord doing to her? Another royal mistake by the Malfoy men, putting her in harm's way.
"We also need him for one more thing." Harry paused, "We need his help to break into the Lestrange vault."
After their discussion, they quickly found their way back into the cottage and heading up the stairs. Quite eager to talk with the goblin once again. Once the foursome piled into the goblins room, they spent the next twenty minutes discussing Gringotts security. As well as striking a deal with the surly creature for his aide in the break-in.
“I can’t believe you agreed to give him the sword!” Hermione chastised Harry quietly, as they walked back to the house. Ron had quickly ran up the stairs and disappeared when the smell of Fleur's cooking filled his nostrils. Draco agreed with Hermione, the goblin could've been persuaded with something else surely...but they were hard pressed for time. So he could partly understand Potters hasty agreement to the devious goblins demands. Sure, Griphook would get them into the vaults, but at the expense of the sword, their only means of destroying the Horcruxes. Solid plan really, how the hell had they survived this long?
“We need him. We have no choice, Hermione.” Harry answered as Draco trailed behind them up the stairs.
Before Hermione could retort, they heard a commotion from the front of the cottage. A loud cacophony of thankful and delighted cries of “CONGRATULATIONS Remus!” hit their ears and Harry and Hermione quickened their pace, dashing off towards the joyous sounds and leaving Draco in confusion, alone, standing in the doorway.
When he finally joined the gathering of order members in the foyer, he saw their old Defense teacher being hugged by Hermione, a twinge of jealousy at the comfort a simple hug could bring someone, shot through him briefly before he shook off the odd sensation.
He witnessed the pale-faced man gather Harry in his arms next, pressing him tightly into his body and slightly swaying the tired teenager.
“You’ll be Godfather?” Remus asked upon releasing Harry.
“Me?” Harry asked, unsure if he had heard correctly.
“Of course, and Dora agrees as well. No better choice.”
“Well….yeah….I mean….I would be honored.” Harry stated as Fleur was asking Lupin to stay for dinner.
“No, I really. I can’t stay. I must be getting back to Dora and Teddy. Harry, It's so good to see you..so so good.” With that said Remus swept out of the cottage leaving everyone in high spirits, enjoying the rare bit of sunshine that had befallen them during such dark and trying times. Happiness during war was something to be cherished.
—xoxox—
The next morning, when all plans had been finalized and theirs supplies packed into Hermione's beaded bag, the foursome found themselves staring at the long black hair grasped in Hermione's fingers.
“Bleeding hell, that’s a terrible sight.” Ron grimaced. Draco couldn’t help but agree, although he didn’t say anything out loud. Seeing his Aunt Bella standing before him, although not truly her, made the…the…the Elder Wand tingle in his hand.
“Considering what she did to me, I don’t quite like it either.” Hermione frowned. Draco frowned right along with her and surveyed his surroundings while going over this absolutely insane plan these people had roped him into.
They were all standing outside of the cottage. Granger, polyjuiced as his aunt. Weasley, camouflaged into a believable Deatheater or Snatcher. Potter and that goblin would be under an invisibility cloak -another Hallow apparently. Draco himself was in the same boat as Weasley with a couple of tweaks here and there, so he looked nothing like himself. As Granger had said, he was very much in danger same as Potter. For him to walk around as himself would be suicide.
“Alright, let’s get going,” Harry said. They all held hands which made Draco cringe. He was standing next to Granger, which meant he was holding onto an imitation of his aunt’s hand. He wished more than anything that it was Granger, truly Granger, that he was holding onto instead. And despite the oddity of his desire, he didn’t question it as they all disapparated and landed in an alley near Gringotts.
“Remember, getting into my aunt’s vault isn’t going to be easy,” Draco told them all, specifically Granger. “Make them believe it.”
Hermione could feel the weight of this task on her shoulders, but she took a deep breath and nodded. She walked ahead, Draco and Ron walking on either side of her as some common lackeys.
“Scowl or something!” Draco hissed. Hermione turned and glared at him, causing him to smirk. “Yes, quite like that.”
It didn’t take them long to make it to Gringotts, and once inside the seriousness of their endeavor was heavy in their mouths. The busy goblins balancing coins and writing down amounts slowed their movements as the group of “Deatheaters” walked along the marble floors to the main front desk.
Hermione coughed to get the main goblin’s attention, and Draco nearly groaned aloud at her demureness.
“I want to see my vault.” She said. “Now.” She added as an afterthought.
The goblin, still writing, replied. “I will need to see your key, Miss.”
“If you looked up from your pesky writings you’d see that she doesn’t need one,” Draco answered. The goblin reacted to the tone, and Draco feared that his voice might have been recognized, but instead, the goblin blinked as he saw who exactly was asking for vault access.
“Miss Lestrange,” he said with a straightened back. “I was told you wouldn’t be coming here for a while.”
Draco’s heart quickened. If the way Granger’s left hand was fidgeting behind her back was any indication, she was on the verge of panicking too.
“Oh really?” She replied, trying to maintain a voice of calm. “Well, it’s obvious that information was mistaken, wasn’t it?”
The goblin smiled. He set his quill down and leaned forward slightly as he said, “As I heard it from you, I don’t think it was a mistake at all. Who are-?”
Draco had been prepared to curse the goblin and head straight to the vaults. From a side glance, he could see Weasley preparing to do the same. However, before either of them could make a move, the goblin before them became incredibly…compliant. He began to smile and then nodded robotically.
“The Lestrange vault. Yes, yes,” he told them as he left his post. “Follow me, please.”
The three of them followed the goblin, whose name they could now see as Bogrod on his nametag, and hurried their way onto a cart. Completely stripped of his own will, Griphook took the reins of the cart and drove them all deeper into the vaults.
“Imperius Curse,” Draco said as Harry pulled off his invisibility cloak. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Potter.”
“Necessary measures,” Harry replied. Draco nodded as the cart swerved and swiveled this way and that. He, himself, recognized one of the several vaults that belonged to his family, and yes, there would be others, further into the vault that required heavy protective measures. Including the one that was up ahead and that he was cursing himself for not remembering.
“What is that?” Ron shouted as he spotted what could be described as nothing more than a waterfall.
“Stop the cart!” Hermione cried.
“I can’t!” Griphook shouted back. The group let out individual shouts as the cart drove through the water. Hermione was herself again. Alterations on Draco and Ron were gone too. And the cart—the cart had picked up speed and was moving dangerously, tilting wildly off its tracks as it sped over a never-ending abyss below.
“The cart’s going to crash!”
Draco’s eyes grew wide as he saw the cart’s impending derailment. His left arm immediately stretched out across Hermione, although it would be interesting what that would do. In his right, he had pulled out his wand.
“Hold on!”