Chapter Text
A vicious crack, accompanied by a streak of vibrant green, bolted through the air.
Senior Auror Draco Malfoy, flung himself neatly into a forward roll, expertly evading death’s grasp by a hairsbreadth. He was allowed not a moment's time to reconvene, as several more brightly coloured spells of murderous intent were flung directly towards him. There were shouted voices echoing, panic and anger evident in their tones. Draco retaliated, throwing several powerful stunning spells consecutively at a blinding speed, in the direction the attack had come from before ducking behind a large tree. He heard the tell-tale cut off shout, and smirked knowing his aim had been as true as it always was. The play board was evening out.
His breath was coming in a harsh rhythm. Closing his eyes briefly, Draco commanded his body to heel, slowing his breath intake and racing heart immediately. There was what sounded to be a brief scuffle, several yards from Draco’s position behind the broad tree trunk.
Abruptly the atmosphere around him fell silent, the gang of wanted men halting their onslaught against him.
Draco hissed sharply between his teeth, frustration flowing hotly through him. The thick English forest surrounding his targets was making it incredibly difficult for Draco to competently perform approved capturing techniques. With the DMLE’s new regime, he was bound by contractual agreement to only perform spells under the criteria the department deemed necessary.
Foolishly, the DMLE and largely the Ministry of Magic itself, considered the Wizarding world to now be at such a low level of threat, so as to essentially abolish Auror’s use of advanced offensive and defensive magic. This measure of considerable idiocy was the direct cause of Draco’s current increasingly difficult situation. That, and the fact that Draco had stubbornly disobeyed direct orders to not attempt hostile engagement in singularity. Well, it was simply not in Draco’s nature to yield to others, to anyone.
Suddenly, a particularly strong cruciatus curse skimmed Draco’s shoulder, leaving a smoking scorch in his custom-tailored auror robes. The scent of dark magic burned Draco’s nose, making his body seize up in an automated response. Fuck this.
Growling in anger, Draco wrenched himself from the protection of his position and flung out his magic in a net-like arc, controlling its descent into a break-neck speed, to cascade upon his unsuspecting targets. He heard their familiar cries of shock and pain, as the weight of Draco’s metallic-like ropes of fine silvery magic settled over its captives, molding around their forms and rendering them incapacitated, their magic suppressed at the core. A violent wave of morbid satisfaction leapt from the pit of Draco’s stomach, the heat of it spreading through him. He grinned. Stretching his neck from side to side, feeling the excess deffensive magic drain back down into his core, Draco returned his wand to its place in his chest holster.
He calmly strolled forward through the trees with his hands in the pockets of his finely tailored pants, several metres to the shivering bodies of the four wanted criminals on the forest floor. He clicked his tongue as he observed their unappealing forms, cowering under the influence of his malevolent incarnation. In truth, this was the precise kind of magic the DMLE was forcefully cracking down upon. Actually, it was probably several steps beyond. He would most likely receive an official warning for his efforts this afternoon, perhaps even a prohibition of fieldwork for a term. Gritting his teeth against the flare of outrage and sense of oppression at the thought, Draco grasped the modified reusable portkey all Aurors were assigned that was linked directly to the DMLE offices and headquarters. He took a steadying breath, preparing himself for the shit-storm that was likely awaiting his return. He flipped the portkey in the air, catching it neatly as his eyes wandered the still quivering forms beneath him.
Apparently prompted by this visual, one of his prisoners managed to release what seemed to be reminiscent of a snarled well-recited word, “Traitor”.
Draco felt the oh-so-familiar prickling spread across the back of his neck and trickle through the top of his chest. He could feel his eyes glowering, the inextinguishable rage enveloping his being, fueled on by the brutal torrent of dark magic inside him.
“Come on my darlings, let’s go play,” Draco crooned over them, basking in the sudden sharp evidence of fear sparking in their unremarkable eyes.
Their bodies contorted as Draco commanded his magic to further constrict, compacting them into pathetic forms, cowering from the inexplicable physical and coreal* pain.
Draco casually flicked the top of the portkey disguised as a muggle gas cigarette lighter.