Dark Times for Draco Malfoy

*Spoiler alert! From here on, the chapters follow the scenes unfolding in The Deathly Hallows. Be warned."


It went down as the Bloody Summer of '97. July saw a string of murders and abductions never seen before in the history of wizard kind. For every fifth dead Muggle-born witch or wizard, there died a Ministry official whose connections with the Death Eaters were either known or vague. First was Bartholomew Crestdale. He was a senior member of the Wizengamot, a traditional politician harbouring so much reluctance towards Muggle-borns he'd summoned a demon to help spread fear amongst the half-breeds. He was found after being missing for two days. His throat slit by a sharp knife of sorts. Possibly a dagger.
Next up was Charles Pendragon. A former governor whose ties to the Death Eaters were becoming a little too obvious. The Daily Prophet was teeming with pictures as his body was discovered in the middle of his garden. Someone had hexed him with a body-bind curse then put him inside a coffin. Someone had buried him alive. His garden was full of opened graves. And the readers cringed in disgust as they read of how Pendragon probably was responsible for the deaths of an untold number of Muggle-born infants and children. Next day, two whole pages worth of names of missing Muggle-born children over the past two decades, was printed. The public was in an uproar. Rumours would have it that someone had spotted a young man in the very same garden the evening before. He had been wearing black. His hair had been blond.
At the peak of the hysteria, another Ministry employee was found dead. The old man was naked and impaled by a pole. The sharp end was jutting out of his throat. Folkvar Umbridge had, like his younger sister, been an attentive and diligent agent of the Ministry, deeply involved in the new Muggle-born Registration Commission. It turned out he had a personal little altar in the attic, dedicated to unmentionable demons. The floor was littered with the underwears of young boys. He was alive when they found him, with the Dark Mark tattooed on his forehead, rambling about a demon with black wings. Not six hours after he was found, Folkvar Umbridge committed suicide whilst in hospital. An investigation was launched, as there were discovered human bones in a mass grave beneath the living room floor of Umbridge's apartment. His sister, Dolores, was strangely evasive, not giving any interviews about the death of her brother.
Then there was Gordon Heppulus. A cunning businessman who'd bought his way into the Ministry. A good old fashioned traditional Slytherin with focus on family values. Or rather; Blood purity. He had the blood of many an ill-fated Muggle-born as well as Muggles on his hands. But he never did the dirty work himself. His favourite method was to hex animals into bloodlust and then set them loose on those 'of lesser breeding' on the world. Rising fast in ranks amongst the Ministry officials these days, Gordon Heppulus' blooming career had come to an abrupt and sticky end. Someone had tied him to a wooden cart and then cut his legs off. He'd bled to death. The rumours of a demon with black wings began to grow in society.
They all remembered the horrid story in the Daily Prophet about unfortunate Draco Malfoy and how he'd been targeted by an eudaimon. The picture of his mother, tear-drenched and miserable, was still vivid in their minds. Assuming that it was the same demon who now targeted other people, the eudaimon was soon known as the Malfoy Demon. The Daily Prophet pressed on, spinning another section on this: If it were in deed so that an eudaimon moved on to its next victim once the previous target was dead, it was now safe to assume that Draco Malfoy, aged seventeen, now was dead.


Having read the final word 'dead', Lucius Malfoy put the paper down and pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off an oncoming headache. Back in his mansion, he felt far from comfortable. Lord Voldemort was standing by the window, unmoving, frozen like a statue. The drawing room was quiet and filled with tension.

“We all mourn your loss, Lucius” Lord Voldemort said after a while. His words held no emotions which could have been associated with empathy or sympathy. “But we're losing good men. People with ideals and ambition. People who understood the need for a new world order. In a sense, Lucius, your son is responsible. Had he not faltered–!”

“ –my lord, given the circumstances he did his best to fulfil your wishes!” Lucius hissed. He looked up at Voldemort, barely able to restrain himself. He watched as Lord Voldemort noticed his strong reaction. The snake-like creature turned to face him, gathering his hands at the small of his back.

“Had I known you would display such … ingratitude – !”

“I am most grateful for my freedom, my lord, you must think nothing else!” Lucius interrupted. He got up from his chair, anxious he had displeased his dark lord. “I most sincerely beg you not to hold it against me. My son is dead! My only child!”

“Thanks to young Draco's incapacities as a Death Eater, getting inside Hogwarts will be a lot more difficult. Dumbledore is … tough as nails. He's enduring more than I first expected. I believe we must look for an alternative to the Cruciatus curse.” Voldemort kept his gaze at Lucius. The elder blond held no reply to this. He'd spent the previous night in deep conversation with Severus Snape, listening intently as the former school mate related to him Draco's demise over the course of the school year. The tales of the sexual abuse in public, the incidents where Snape had found Draco battered and bloody time and again was highly disturbing. Snape painted a sombre picture of Draco and how the boy had withered away in front of all of them into a shadow of himself, suffering from anxiety, paranoia and starvation. When Severus had relayed to him the story of how Draco was kicked out of Slytherin House, Lucius had cringed in his chair and looked away, emptying his glass of brandy. It had been the final blow to tip Lucius otherwise neatly scaled emotions. Yes, every Slytherin for himself, Lucius knew. But this – this was betrayal of the worst possible sort.


Malfoy Manor
Lucius Malfoy stayed up late. He could not let go. The stories about Draco during his school year mingled with the disturbing bits and pieces of information which Narcissa so hysterically related to him. She was convinced that Draco and Pansy Parkinson had gone off together and married in secrecy somewhere. Lucius hardly recognized his wife. But he did however recognize the disturbing signs of madness which haunted the members of the house of Black. She was getting more whimsical by the day, speaking to herself, crying and laughing then laughing and crying, talking about Draco then to Draco as if he were there. She seemed halfway in some mourning process, and was spending considerable time in his old room. In the end, beneath the fancies in her mind, she was inevitably his mother and he was her child. Any intimacy with Narcissa was difficult, and Lucius felt incapable of helping her. He had enough with himself and the mess he had been plunged into once he'd been released from Azkaban.

Spinning his troubled thoughts into his dreams, the sombre reality finally faded away and Lucius found sleep. At least, he dreamt he was asleep. The bedroom window was wide open to get some fresh air. The curtains billowed in the faint breeze. In his dream, Lucius opened his eyes, staring as a rustle of clothing caught his attention. Suddenly, Draco was standing in front of the window. It appeared as if he'd just climbed through it. How he'd gotten past Voldemort's recent charms, Lucius had no idea.

The boy had grown. He was taller than Lucius could remember. Then again, he hadn't seen his son in a year. The boy had grown some serious muscle, with broad chest and thin waist. The blond looked dashing and glowing. He was looking at his father with a serious expression of face. An inexplicable aura of evil surrounded Draco. Lucius shuddered from intrigue and fright.

Draco put one finger in front of his lips, urging his father to stay quiet. Lucius understood, and it soothed his suspicions. Draco had sneaked back into their home to see him. The boy was dressed in a black suit, black tie and black shoes, just the way he'd been the last time they'd seen each other, during the trial. Impeccably dressed, Draco bore no sign of torture. He took off his jacket, took some determined steps forward and placed it on the bedpost. His blue eyes, which were his father's eyes, kept Lucius nailed to the spot. Those eyes were captivating, sparkling with – with desire and determination. His curiosity aroused, Lucius spread his legs to give his son some room as the boy climbed unto the end of the bed. He watched breathlessly as Draco paused to undo the sleeve of his left arm. He unravelled a familiar tattoo. The snake and the skull. The mark of a Death Eater. Lucius was going to say something about how proud he was of his son, and he opened his mouth. Just then, the snake on Draco's forearm came alive. It slithered out of the skull, down Draco's wrist and onto the fabric covering Lucius' leg. Looking from the live snake to Draco, Lucius shuddered as he was met with only a cold and evil stare. The snake quickly grew, until its size was as thick as a grown man's wrist and about a metre and a half long. Lucius was petrified, he couldn't move. Quite despite himself, he laid his body down, feeling the cool and moist skin of the snake slither below the blanket, down past Lucius' pelvic area and between his legs. Every cell in Lucius' body told him to get up and run, but he couldn't move – at all! Panic had long since sunk its venomous teeth into him and he was breathing fast. The snake's head was probing, searching, and Lucius clenched his thighs together – shocked, disgusted and embarrassed at the same time. Draco was only watching – silently – with condemnation in his eyes.

Then, the boy opened his mouth. And he spoke in Parsel tongue.

All colour seemed drained from Draco's face. He was almost grey, his white-yellow hair shining angelic against the black veils surrounding the bed. The room seemed to tighten, to diminish. The walls fell closer, swallowing the windows. And Lucius heard a commanding voice in his head:

“Malfoy Manor shall have a new lord. You will surrender the Malfoy ring.”

Lucius had never believed that Draco possessed the ability to speak Parsel tongue. His surprise was so great he found he could move his arm, extending his hand to Draco. The snake continued to slither beneath the blanket, and Lucius felt strangely aroused. Father and son touched. The air went electrical, and the ring moved with great ease into Draco's hand. His eyes were wide and burning icy blue. He then took the hem of the blanket and pulled it off, revealing Lucius' naked body. The older Malfoy was shivering and sweating at the same time. He held his breath as he watched Draco move closer on hands and legs, almost straddling his own father. Draco was calm, calculative and cold. The snake coiled and slithered between them, wrapping itself around their limbs, connecting the bodies of father and son. Draco bent his head down and kissed his father.

The Malfoy ring was the sign of the rightful master of Malfoy Manor. It had been crafted back in the mid – 1330s, by one of the earliest recorded Malfoys ever. Malfoy Manor – or Wardour Castle as it is known in the Muggle world – wasn't built until forty years later, in 1392. Residing near the town of Tisbury in southern Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor quickly rose to fame as the stronghold of an honourable, wealthy family which supposedly dealt in the Dark Arts. Originally it sported a hexagonal design protected by a wide ditch, but since the middle ages it was rebuilt at least twice, last time during the mid – 1770s. There had always been a master of Malfoy Manor. Always.

There was no time to think. Lucius looked from Draco's face, down to between the boy's clothed legs. The head of the snake protruded, advanced carefully. Looking up to his son hovering above him once more, Lucius looked straight into a face of evil. His son's handsome features were distorted by pure malice. Draco – or whatever he was – growled, then made a hissing sound, opening his mouth wide as a snake going for a kill. Lucius screamed in terror as the snake below Draco's legs shot forward, digging its fangs deep into his entrance. It moved to strike again, plunging inside his unprepared opening, drawing blood, biting and tearing. Blood gushed out and pain bloomed in Lucius' groin as the snake forced itself inside.

Awaking to the noise of his own scream, Lucius tumbled out of bed. He stepped on the hem of his night robe and ended up crawling away from the bed on hands and knees. He moaned and gasped for air, out of his wits, mad with terror. He didn't stop until he reached the wall by the door. Then he remembered the ring. He examined his right hand again and again, wild-eyed. Terror filled him anew until he felt downright sick. The ring was gone. He felt bloated. His stomach hurt. He couldn't hold whatever was inside, and he squatted, wishing he could escape the embarrassment of doing such business outside the loo. He had a dreadful suspicion about what was coming. He almost didn't dare to look, but crawled away once it was done. A trail of blood left him the way a trail of slime left a slug. He held his breath. Terror was a knot which had tightened in his chest. Turning his head, he traced the blood red line back to the spot. There it was – a dead snake, covered in excrement and blood. It had been inside him. It hadn't been just a dream!

Lucius collapsed on the floor, sobbing wildly. His son's evil face still flared across his retinas. This was only the start, Lucius heard a thought in the back of his head. This was only the beginning of something very, very evil.


Privet Drive, Surrey
Just as Lucius awoke from his terrible dream, released from the clutches of a nightmare, did Harry Potter embark into his own nightmare. It was odd in deed. He dreamt it was his seventh year at Hogwarts, and that he – Harry Potter – was out jogging! He didn't normally do this. But today, this very afternoon, Harry knew for a fact that someone else was out jogging as well. And that was a boy Harry Potter had come to feel strongly for. Maybe, just maybe Harry would get lucky and run into the chap. Just maybe. He hoped against hopes as he sauntered along the narrow paths of the Forbidden Forest, walking more than actually running. Sports wasn't really his thing.

Harry pressed on, moving his feet. Twilight was upon him, and it was time to head back. Coming out of the forest, Harry headed for a short cut. He was reaching the grassy, billowing height towards the actual castle. Then, out of the bushes on his left side, along a narrow path, bolted Draco Malfoy. He ran straight into Harry and almost fell over him. The Gryffindor fell over and into the nearest ditch. Growling, Harry got back on his feet, watching Draco with his infamous sneer as the former Slytherin rushed on back to the castle, his blond hair softly swaying as he jogged on in a ferocious tempo. His anger spurred, Harry ran after him and entered the castle just seconds after. Draco was lying on the floor of the boy's lavatory, face down, gasping for air. Sweat ran from his forehead and his entire body worked to compensate the need for air. Harry fell to his knees, feeling deflated. Seeing Harry next to him made Draco get to his feet. The unspoken rejection hit Harry in the gut. He got to his feet and lunged out for Draco just as the blond passed him.

“Why did you have to go and push me like that?! ” Harry snarled at Draco a little more severly than first intended, digging his fingers into the ample flesh on the boy's shoulder. Draco writhed in pain, then wrung himself loose from the touch.

“Wasn't my fault you were in the way.” Draco gave him a lopsided smile.

“You can't help yourself, can you, Malfoy?! You have absolutely no regard for other people's feelings. Truly, I'm convinced you're totally calloused, void of anything remotely resembling empathy. No wonder you don't have any friends!” Harry bellowed as he watched the former Slytherin peel off his soaked t-shirt and toss it in a bin for dirty laundry. Taking his eyes off that chest and those well-muscled upper arms was next to impossible. Draco caught him staring, and Potter turned away in embarrassment. Damn the blond git!

“Get over yourself, Potter! You're old news. There's a new Chosen One in town, and that's me! The Heir of Slytherin!” Draco replied venomously, shutting the cubicle door. It held enough room for a toilet, a sink and shower for one person. Harry produced his wand, wondering if he ought to – to do something but he had no idea what. Malfoy was being outrageous, and Harry was letting his emotions get the better of him. Friendliness was pointless.

“And – and here I thought you had gone and changed till the better. But guess what, you're still the same loathsome cockroach you were last year!” Harry bellowed. He was so angry his wand shook with restrained magic. As usual, the instant reaction from Malfoy failed to show itself. Harry trudged into the living room. Turning, he saw the bathroom door open violently. Out strode a naked Draco Malfoy with a daredevil look in his eye, his jaw set on retaliation. Harry raised his arm to aim at Malfoy's chest, but the blond strode on resolutely, meeting the tip of Harry's wand with his bared chest. The pale, naked apparition of a bedroom god completely caught Harry off his guard, and the first thought flying through his head was that he couldn't hex a nude person. The blond hair on Draco's head was ruffled, partly covering his eyes which had grown dark. He grabbed Harry by the collar of his shirt, wrung the wand out of his hand and dragged the Gryffindor with him, much to the astonishment of the other students. Before he knew it, Harry found himself in the tiny bathroom with Draco. The door shut behind them, and Harry gasped as the water hit his face, blurring his glasses and his general vision. He felt like a reluctant dog forced into having a bath. Malfoy shoved him into the shower, them pinned him to the wall. .The water fell so heavily Harry gasped for air. He sputtered and cursed, only half fighting the forceful handling. His senses were overcome and inside, he actually felt joy. He was alone, in a compromising situation with Draco. The blond locked the Gryffindor's head with his hands and planted his lips violently on Harry's. For a heartbeat or two, the only palpable sound was that of the water cascading over their heads, and Harry could not mistake the way Draco was grinding his groin into Harry's nether parts.
Harry felt something give inside him. It was a long bottled up frustration over not knowing the other party's mind, and now – with this kiss – Harry was receiving confirmation on emotions he'd only dreamt that Draco may have had. But how long could they stand like this? People were still laughing outside the cubicle, but soon it would get awkward. And what of Draco? Lingering any longer now would give away Harry's feelings, and Draco would realise just to what extent the Gryffindor were in love with him.

Harry broke the kiss and shoved Malfoy away, instantly regretting the action. He reached for Draco again, locked his fingers around the strong muscles in the blond's neck and pulled him close, kissing him a second time. Close, but not close. Why couldn't things stay simple like they used to?

Harry woke in an uproar. He was bathing in his own sweat. The sheets in his bed was clinging to his skin and the whole room smelled. Was it sulphur?

Harry got up and tip-toed down stairs for a glass of water. Then he went back to bed. He glanced at the watch. It showed three in the morning. Again, he thought, this fascination with Draco Malfoy. Why? Ever since that eudaimon had showed up in September last year, Draco Malfoy had become more and more present in Harry's thoughts. It was as if this supernatural entity affected everything and everyone it came into contact with, either it were directly or indirectly. Dreams and their meanings never came through in clarity to Harry Potter, but this – this shower thing was really stretching it far. It was beyond anything he'd ever dreamt before. It was beyond absurd.


Longbottom Residence, Kent.
It was absurd to be lying like that, sleepless hour after hour, Neville Longbottom thought. He glanced at his watch. It was 02:57 in the morning and he hadn't been able to sleep for the past three hours. His hand travelled down beneath his sleeping blanket. Figuring he'd might just as well try to alleviate some stress or whatever it was that was on his mind, he found his manhood and began to fondle it absent-mindedly. He shut his eyes. Opening them again, he turned his head as he heard a rustle of fabric. For some reason, Draco Malfoy was lying next to him. He seemed asleep, but soon opened his eyes. Through the pale moonlight of the window, through the persistent song of grasshoppers in the fields outside his window, Neville opened his eyes wide to take in the sight of the ethereal beauty lying beside him. Draco's pale skin might have sparkled in the moonlight had it been any whiter. His hair – those blond locks – fell onto the pillow like rich, soft feathers – making Neville wan to comb his fingers through it. Draco's hand was also beneath his blanket. His naked chest rose and fell. He held a slight blush in his cheeks, making him look aroused. Neville swallowed, almost forgetting to keep on stroking. He thought it imprudent at first, but Draco seemed very natural about what he was doing, which was a perfect and far more passionate reflection of Neville's ministrations to himself. Neville closed his mouth, awed to be doing something so intimate with someone like Draco Malfoy. The blond was, in Neville's eyes the very epitome of sexiness, bold and naturally elegant. How he admired the former Slytherin! The Gryffindor managed to focus on his own stroking, and he felt the urge to keep up with Draco and his progress. It seemed they were nearing their peaks together, yet each on his own. Neville wanted to reach for Draco, he wanted to touch, to roll over to the blond and kiss him. But the blond gave no sign indicating he wanted more than to just lay there. Neville suppressed the urge, frightened he'd spoil the moment. It felt as though something was pulling them further to the orgasm. There was this inexplicable beckoning – a sensation that someone was standing in front of their beds, urging them both forward and onward to their orgasms. Neville felt compelled, nay, commanded to come. And he enjoyed the sensation of submission. Turning his head to gaze at Draco again, he found the blond to be staring at him. Just as Neville locked eyes with him, they both came, moaning out their pleasure. Then came the frightening part: First, Neville saw the black wings, growing from behind the end of his bed. Then, the hands, the head and the eyes. Those brown orbs captivated him, and some invisible weight pressed Neville's body into the mattress. The eudaimon rose to his full length and moved quickly. He was on top of Draco's legs in an instant, greedily licking the sperm which had been ejected. Neville watched in fright as the eudaimon finished all too quickly and turned his attention towards Neville. The boy wanted to scream. Draco was laying docile and half asleep on his side of the bed, looking as if he did not care. The eudaimon began to move closer.

Neville awoke to his own screams and sat up in bed. He was shivering, sweating and mildly disoriented. Looking beneath his blanket, he both saw and felt the sticky substance which was his own sperm. He glanced at the other side of his large-sized bed, and for a moment, the image of a sated Draco Malfoy lingered there. Neville had to look twice. There was a depression in the vacant pillow. As if someone had rested a head there.


Spinner's End, northern England
It was about three in the morning when there was an insistent knocking on the door of Severus Snape's house. Severus rose quickly from his bed. Getting dressed in a night robe, he trained his wand and went downstairs. He took a peek through the window of the first floor looking down on the pavement outside. Outside was a young man. His hair was cropped. It was blond. Severus instantly recognized the frail frame of Draco Malfoy. He leapt down the final steps and bounced to the front door. There, he drew his breath, then opened the door carefully. It could of course be someone else. It cold be the work of polyjuice potion. The young man's face was bathed in shadow. He was looking down at the pavement, and Snape instantly saw the state of his clothes. Then the boy looked up at the elder professor. Draco's handsome face was smeared in blood. He looked tired. And a little lost.

“Are you alone?” He asked quietly, not once tearing his gaze away from Snape's dark orbs.

“I am” Snape replied most simply, yet the words together held a world worth of meaning. Snape made way and the boy entered his house. No sooner had Draco Malfoy entered the same living room where his mother had pleaded for Snape to protect her son over a year ago, before Draco turned and said: “I've killed Crabbe's dad.”

The statement lingered in the air for a moment. Then Snape replied stoically: “So … it is you then. Who is behind the killings.”

“Not just me. Sometimes it's … him. Other times, both of us …!”

“He's turning you into a killing machine. A weapon of destruction.”

“These people would have helped create a society quite hazardous to half-breeds and Muggle-borns. A world in which my wife and child would be persecuted.”

“Justify it any way you want, Mr. Malfoy. You're now fulfilling your end of your bargain with that eudaimon.”

“If I must kill for him, then that is what I must do. For Hermione. For the baby. For myself.” Draco took a step closer to Snape.

“Did you know that your master has been to Malfoy Manor? That he has seen your father? That he has retrieved the Malfoy Ring? It would seem that your master is taking control of things” Snape continued.

“Yes I am.”

“Then you perhaps also know that the Dark Lord has no intention of budging. He intends to make Malfoy Manor his headquarters from which he will seize control of the Ministry and thus the wizarding world. Every week, more miscreants are joining his forces, trudging the corridors of your once beloved home.”

“I've already spoken to Melchior about it. I will not let my home” Draco said in sudden anger, “go down in history as some nest of evil from which Voldemort regained his power” Draco growled, “I will not let that – that pathetic excuse for a dark wizard drag down the Malfoy name!” The room seemed to fill with a sudden, evil chill, and Snape involuntarily shuddered. In the scarce light from the still glowing embers of Snape's fireplace, Draco's face was alive with shadows which made him look quite demonic. “My father's dealings with the Dark Lord will be undone” Draco continued, his voice blending with creepiness. “Malfoy Manor – shall burn to the ground. And I'll make sure that as many Death Eaters as possible burn down with it!”

Malfoy looked positively mad, the way he was standing on the living room floor. Snape looked at his feet. No, the boy wasn't standing. He was hovering. His feet hung, missing the carpet with about two inches. Draco's lips parted in a wicked grin. His mouth grinned but his eyes weren't following the motion. From between his teeth poured fine lines of blood. Dripping down his chin, it coloured the chin red, before the fluid dripped down on his shirt. Severus Snape felt anxiety grip him, and he involuntarily took some steps back. Now, the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor saw Malfoy's hands. They were coloured red and black, as if Draco had clawed his way into someone's gut.

“Wh – what did you do with Mister Crabbe?!” Snape wanted to know.

“I dug my hand into his fat belly and pulled out his intestines. It was the last thing he ever saw before he died. He screamed like a pig! A pig!” Malfoy bellowed that last. His expression of face began to change from utter evil to hysteria. Snape saw it: It was as if the boy awoke from some trance. Draco descended, landed steadily on the floor. He looked at his hands, not quite understanding why they were covered in blood. Then he apparently remembered as something akin to recognition hasted across his features.

“I – killed Crabbe's dad …!” he half whispered, half wailed. Only now did Snape attempt to approach the boy.

“Come. Let's clean you up” he said, gently touching Draco's right shoulder and motioning for the youth to go upstairs to the bathroom. It was half past three in the morning.

Snape looked away as the boy undressed. He wondered if this were the first signs of the infamous madness which ensued when one was targeted by an eudaimon. In such a case, the eudaimon wasn't keeping his word. Severus glanced at Draco's naked body. The boy had grown in length. He was sinewy, and his forearms bulged with the promise of some serious muscle to come if he kept up his tempo as an agile assassin. Draco had been out into the sun this summer. Many days had been spent on the Sparrow ships together with Hermione since they got married. And Draco had climbed masts, trimmed sails and hauled ropes the good old fashioned way they did it three hundred years ago. No longer the sulky, pale-faced youth, but a young man heading straight towards his prime.

“We need to talk about Dumbledore” Severus said whilst Draco borrowed his shower. He stayed because he was anxious Draco might collapse in the shower or throw another fit the way he had in the living room. All though he knew a thing or two about demons and exorcism, Snape felt like a novice when it came to handling eudaimons. Moments later, the young Malfoy re-appeared. He picked up a clean towel and dried up. Tearing his gaze away from the youth was hard. “I intend to keep my promise to him. I swore to him that he would die by my hand and no one else's.”

Draco only stared at him for half a minute before he said: “Where's your bed? I must rest a little before I return to her. I cannot – I feel so – so used!”

“Will your dark lord attempt to stop me?” Snape wanted to know, showing the young man the way to a tiny room with a double bed in it.

“I don't know. He has promised to me that he will provide me with the means necessary to take out Malfoy Manor. There has never been a word mentioned about Dumbledore.”

Draco glanced at the night stand. It was an old copy of the Daily Prophet laid out on page four about Professor Albus Dumbedore's disappearance. Missing since Friday the Fifteenth of July. Draco picked up the newspaper and skimmed the article.

“It's Potter's birthday today.”

“In deed” Snape replied. He placed one hand on Draco's right naked shoulder. Draco put the newspaper down. Snape planted a careful kiss where his hand had just rested. “Do I … have your permission?” Severus asked quietly. In response, Draco stole under the sleeping blanket and made himself comfortable.

“Please” the boy begged. He watched as the older professor undressed in the half dark, amused at how Snape blundered with his socks. They seemed determined to object being peeled off in a hurry. When he was ready, however, Draco cast the blanket aside, revealing his nude, warm frame. Snape felt as if he dived into bliss as he gently placed himself on top of the boy, relishing in the sensation of warm, solid flesh beneath him. For someone so rigid and serious as Snape was in public, he was surprisingly warm and passionate in bed. Not having any one but Draco to pour his love on, that love came in abundance when first permitted to flow freely. For the longest of times, Snape did nothing but plant kisses on the boy's lips and neck. Nuzzling the chest, Snape worked his way downwards, memorizing every inch of flesh available to him.

“I'm quite surprised you would kiss such an old man as myself” Snape whispered, before kissing the boy again.

“I'd much rather kiss an experienced old man – like yourself, as you say – than some giggling maiden who doesn't know where to keep her teeth” Draco returned the sentiment and smiled briefly, never taking his eyes off Snape's dark orbs. Severus was gentle. Very – oh so very gentle.

“I won't break, you know. I'm not made of glass” Draco told him quietly. He was conscious of their gaze-lock as Snape proceeded to push gently towards Draco's entrance. Holding back, he waited for Draco's reaction. But none came. Finding he could not tear his eyes away from those breath-taking icy blue orbs, Snape continued to push until he was all the way inside. It was both frustrating and relieving at once. Frustrating, because Draco seemed quite used to this treatment now. Quite the young yet seasoned lover, he no longer held any surprises. There were no innocence to protect any more. No virginity or modesty. The eudaimon had broken Draco and tamed him, and Draco had been taught how to endure all comforts and discomforts that sex had to offer. There was something shallow and mechanic about the way Draco behaved while they made love. There was no fear in his eyes, yet he didn't seem to take any particular pleasure in it either. Snape was relieved that Draco seemed relaxed about it. The boy had no pains.

When the intercourse was over, Snape removed himself and lay down next to the blond. Draco wanted to draw away, to turn his back to Severus, but the older man refused him and made him rest his head on his chest.

“If I am next, then I would give you my thanks. For giving me this moment, first.”

“What do you mean?” Draco said, sounding sleepy.

“The people you have taken out, are more or less Death Eaters. And then you come to me. You haven't stated your purpose here yet, so I must assume – !”

To this, Draco lifted his head and propped himself up on his elbows.

“ –you mustn't think so! That's not why I came. I felt tired. I wanted comfort –!”

“ –comfort? It that the name you use for what we just did?”

“ –as undeserving as I may be, I am still in want of a father's affection, and in Lucius' absence –!”

“ –you came to me. I am flattered that you would, Draco. But if it was fatherly comfort I was supposed to be giving you, I would have refrained from bedding you. It is not right.”

“ –I know of no other way of repaying your hospitality.”

“That eudaimon is turning you into a whore.”

“Say no more, please. Just let me lay here, in you arms, and pretend that I'm five years old and that you're my dad.”

Draco's voice gave way into a sob. He buried his face into Snape's chest. The older man had turned on his side, allowing Draco to get closer.

“After the wedding” Draco said, his voice muffled against Snape's skin, “he began to change. He's gone cold again. And hateful. And when I can't bring myself to kill them, he possesses me, and makes me go all the way. All those infant bodies …!”

Severus Snape wrapped his arms tighter around the sobbing blond. He understood now, why Draco had come. Only a Slytherin who dealt with the forces of darkness would be able to understand another Slytherin in the same position. Draco was beside himself with fright over all of the dreadful things he'd been forced to do.

“Remember, dear boy” Snape said comfortingly, “that in the service of the Dark Lord at Malfoy Manor, you would have been made to do much worse things. Bad things to good people. Now, you are beckoned to do bad things to bad people for the sake of goodness. Because of you, there are parents out there who now will finally know what happened to their children. Because of you, these bad people will never harm any one ever again.” He felt the shivering ex-Slytherin relax in his arms. The sobbing subsided, and Draco calmed his breathing as he focused on Snape's words and his gentle tone of voice instead of his own despair. “Perhaps” Severus ventured on, softening his tone even more, “it would be prudent to think of him possessing you as an opportunity rather than punishment. Think of the abilities it gives you – of all the things you can do. Of all the people you can help. You will have access to places and people the Order of the Phoenix could only dream of. Do not be the victim, Draco! Remember that you're a Slytherin. And Slytherins always turn the situation however dire to their advantage” Severus whispered. His lips ghosted Draco's forehead and brows. The boy was docile now, his eyes narrow slits. He was listening intently to Snape's mild words, and Snape could literally see how the words were soaked up. He was in desperately want of encouragement. Of a light at the end of the tunnel.

Severus was more flattered than he cared to admit. The boy was silent, snoring lightly, his limbs placid and relaxed. Lately, he'd felt as if he had two children: Harry and Draco. The two boys were constantly on his mind, and he found himself worrying about their safety. Lord Voldemort was a vortex which kept pulling the boys in to certain destruction. And Snape felt caught in the middle, present to witness it all, yet unable to do something about it. To have one of them openly tell Snape that he was considered just that – a father of sorts – was invaluable. It gave the older Slytherin focus. Closing his eyes, Snape for once fell asleep in a state of bliss, dreaming of a girl named Lily.


The Lighthouse Farm.
Hermione Granger Malfoy couldn't believe the wedding invitation she had received. It was for her and Draco, and they had been invited to The Burrow as guests to witness the wedding between Fleur Delacour and Bill Weasley. She couldn't fathom why she and Draco had been invited, but it dawned on her that this was an opportunity to meet up with Harry, as he would be shacking up with Ron after leaving Privet Drive. She showed the invitation to Draco. He was less enthusiastic about it, but promised to go with her nonetheless, 'sacrificing' himself for the greater good. He watched her giggle over his joke. Scooping up Hermione and her growing belly in his arms, Draco smiled warmly and kissed her deeply. She was his shelter – his warm and welcoming haven at the end of the day, and not one day went by without him reminding her of that fact. He watched Hermione free herself from his embrace. She sidled over to the closet in their bedroom, and she muttered something about having absolutely nothing to wear to the wedding. She was in the right, he knew. She could hardly fit into any of her old clothes. It was so good to watch her go on about the familiar things; Clothes, Harry Potter and the economy. Draco listened to her with great interest when they discussed the future. They were both quite set on having a house of their own somewhere, and they often discussed Hermione's plans concerning a career within the Ministry. Draco loved it. It were daily things – things with hope attached to it – which was so very far from the nightmarish state he was in whenever Melchior summoned him on a mission. He needed the daily things and conversations so badly. He needed to feel down to earth, to be awake and a part of reality. For at night, standing over someone's body with bloody hands knowing he'd just killed, was insane.

The Wedding at The Burrow
Draco and Hermione Malfoy were greeted when they arrived, by a red-haired, slightly pudgy boy whom Draco instantly recognized as Harry Potter. He presented himself as 'Barney', a cousin of Ron's. Draco didn't know whether to laugh or cry, for Harry looked absolutely ridiculous. It was a disguise which didn't suit him at all. Arthur Weasley was quick to intercept, offering his hand to Draco. The blond took it and shook it politely, congratulating him on the event of his son's marriage. No sooner had Arthur spoken and begun to reflect upon it in a reply, before Molly Weasley basically shoved her husband aside and shook Draco's hand. Their over-friendliness was on the point of embarrassment, and Draco understood why. It was about Ron, and the episode at Hogwarts where he'd been under the Imperius Curse. He had nearly raped Hermione. Molly paid Hermione every possible attention, and when the moment came for Ron to say hello, Molly withdrew a little, surveying her son all the time. It became evident that Ron's misdeeds at Hogwarts hadn't gone unnoticed at The Burrow. From the stern mask Molly Weasley put up when Ron approached Hermione, Draco could only begin to imagine the stirrup and the conflict Ron probably had been facing with his parents. He knew Dumbledore had been writing to the Weasley's , explaining the circumstances. The red-head had obviously received an earful and them some from his mother. Ron offered Hermione his hand, asking after her health. She smiled, a little shy, and replied that she was all right. Ron's gaze lingered at the golden wedding ring on her slender finger. He swallowed, then smiled faintly. From behind his back appeared Lavender Brown. She seemed annoyed, but winced as soon as Molly shot her a stern glance. The two were obviously not getting along. Ron turned his attention to Draco, and his cheeks went flush as he extended his hand to the former Slytherin, not knowing what sort of response he'd get. Molly looked anxious. Arthur held his breath. Harry/Barney was silent. Draco took Ron's hand and shook it with a tight grip and a courteous nod. Ron winced a little. Draco silently asserted his position as Hermione's chosen one. Draco left it at that. There was no need for words or duels.

Draco's appearance caused quite a stir in the presence of the other guests. Not only was he known as the son of a Death Eater, he was also the only known official target of a legendary creature known as an eudaimon. It meant that Draco must have done some terrible, terrible things in his past to be singled out by such an entity. Everybody had their guesses but no one had any facts. About half of the guests stared at him as if he was Voldemort himself. The other half held sympathetic, knowing looks. Draco found himself alone with this crowd for considerable time. Harry/Barney and Ron had more or less dragged Hermione off, muttering about the last testament of Dumbledore and that she was in it. He gladly let her go. It was vital for her happiness that she maintained contact with Harry at least. When she returned a good twenty minutes later,Hermione looked upset, and she was clutching a tiny children's book called Beedle the Bard.

“ … oh dear is that the Muggle-born?” they heard a rather loud woman chatter away to a rather flush looking Molly Weasley. “Well would you look at that. His wife, you say? Well, you do know what they call Him, now right? The Malfoy Demon. Aye, and that young fellow is supposed to have been spotted at the scene of the crime on several occasions, I tell you. Hearsay of course …! Now I don't know about her. Bad posture and skinny ankles. Typically Muggle upbringing if you ask me. And that belly. I'm sure she should be rounder by now. Bigger, you know. Is she doing quite well in a marriage with that sort of men?! He must surely be dealing with the Dark Arts. Are you quite sure Ronald's not the father?”

Ron and his mother looked as if they were ready to disappear into each their black hole. Hermione was on the verge of exploding. She held Draco's hand hard and dragged him outside. She was so beside herself she hardly knew what to do. Outside, they were caught up by Ron. He had run after them and said apologetically:

“Auntie Muriel..! Don't take it personally. She's rude to everyone. Please don't go.”

“Don't take it personally?! Bad posture and skinny ankles?! Typically Muggle upbringing?! That sort of men?!” Hermione sizzled. Ron was in lack of a reply. He looked from Hermione to Draco and back to Hermione.

“We came here to honour your brother and his bride. We're grateful for the invitation, Ronald, but had I known we would become the laughing stock of the party I should as soon as have talked Hermione out of this” Draco told Ron quite diplomatically and within earshot of Arthur Weasley.

“I'm honestly sorry. The invitation was mum's attempt at setting things straight between us. It's just that, well, what you've been doing is the talk all over the wizarding world. You know. The, uh, killings and all that. Cause it's you, right? You're the, uh, Malfoy Demon?!”

Draco hesitated. Then he found some words. “Now I really feel like leaving. Hermione?”

“Oh please, young mister Malfoy, Hermione!” Arthur Weasley urged them, sounding desperate, “look, the ceremony is about to start and everybody is already finding seats. Surely you could spare a few more minutes?”

Draco looked from Arthur to Hermione, and she gazed at him once with her big brown puppy eyes, and he knew he had lost. It was an easy resignation. She wanted to spend more time with Harry, here on The Burrow which she had come to love over the years. There was no denying the plea in her eyes. Had not Melchior intervened with his sadistic plan to see her off with Draco, this would have been Hermione's next choice of home. All though things weren't back to normal between her and Ron, Draco pictured a distant future where they probably could love each other again. It seemed as if Ron and Hermione were made for each other, sometimes. Only, she had been forced into Draco's arms instead. Upbringing-wise, they had much more in common than Hermione had with Draco. His lament over these things were broken as they were seated. Harry/Barny seated himself next to Dracoas to while Hermione seated herself on the other side of Draco, thus shielding him from the awkward sensation of watching as people avoided seating themselves near him. No body thought twice about sitting next to Barney. He was just another ordinary Weasley, and that was all good. The perfect buffer zone.

The bride was beautiful, but she didn't glow the way Hermione did. The recently wed Mrs. Malfoy sat next to Draco holding his hand. She had moist in her eyes, and she glanced dreamily at her husband from time to time. This was a strong reminder of her own wedding just a few weeks ago. Draco had given her exactly what she wanted.

She had known it from the first moment she'd laid eyes on it. It was tiny, intimate and draughty. St. Moluag's Church at Eoropie was an old stone church from the sixteenth century, and it was like out of a dream she'd had ever since she was a little girl. Draco had shown it to her on one of their many walks. He'd brought her there with a picnic basket. They had made love in the church afterwards, and while he had still been inside her, she had whispered to him that this was where she wanted to get married. They agreed on a short but important guest list. Draco insisted on Neville Longbottom, but he couldn't get himself to ask if he could endure the task of being best man. Neville on the other hand, after having been invited by Hermione, promptly insisted upon having the task whether Draco liked it or not. And he insisted upon staying for a week. Getting to know Draco was crucial, and Draco was flattered and overjoyed to suddenly have a schoolmate in the house who was more than attentive to him and his thoughts. Neville set no demands. He wasn't authoritative and did not demand sex the way Melchior had of late. He followed Draco during his every waking moment. And he asked and asked and told Draco countless things about himself, touching in on the most intimate subjects until Draco felt as if he could tell Neville anything and the Gryffindor would accept it. Two days prior to the wedding, came Harry Potter. He was excited to merit an invitation to stay at the Lighthouse Farm, and was anxious about meeting the other eudaimons. The Gryffindor boys displayed such tenderness and care for both Hermione and Draco, that it really moved the former Slytherin. Having Harry in the same house was at first strange, but Neville was a natural on removing the tension from the air and crack the ice between them. He actually got Draco and Harry on talking level from time to time. Neville Longbottom took his task of being best man extremely serious. On the wedding day itself, August 21st, present company included Harry, Neville, Luna, Ginny – who was Hermione's maid of honour – , Luna and Professor Severus Snape. Captain Jack Sparrow was a natural guest of honour, and he stood side by side with a wizarding priest, making sure the marital rites went on properly, and as he said: 'At the opportune moment'. Peter and Malachi with their children also attended. The children made sure there was enough commotion to make it worthwhile, and Alexander got to see his idol Draco Malfoy get married. The children were curious about this. They had never been to a wedding before and had no idea of keeping silent at the right moment, much to the priest's dismay.

“We are gathered here today –!” the minister began.

“ –why must uncle Djaco and Hejmine stand up there?!” Alexander wanted to know. He looked up into Malachi's eyes, full of innocence, expecting a sound answer. His father replied something in a whisper.

“ –to celebrate the union of two faithful souls.” The minister had given the bride and groom an overbearing smile in response of the loud child.

“ -But they are already bonded!” Alexander continued loudly, ignoring Malachi's desperate yet hushed plea for silence. “Hejmine's belly is big!”

Malachi had winced, clearly embarrassed to have such infinite logic spelled out loud by a boy who'd recently celebrated his fifth birthday. Peter was looking shocked. He said nothing, but rubbed his face in his palm, sighing quietly. The scene caused some laughter from the other on lookers, mostly eudaimons. Harry, Neville and the ladies allowed themselves some smiles, finding the atmosphere quite relaxing. The eudaimons actually had a sense of humour. Melchior and Marian were the ones who laughed the loudest, amused at seeing their brother sweat a little. Ah, the bliss of domestic life.

“Draco and Hermione are pure-blooded humans. They cannot go and bond the way your dad and I have” Malachi whispered diplomatically to his five-year old. Looking up, Malachi realised the room had gone quiet. The minister was eyeing him somewhat annoyed, obviously waiting for Malachi to shut up. The minister cleared his throat, then said: “Then I declare you bonded for life.”

The sentence had promptly been followed by a sincere kiss. Hermione beamed of joy. Draco had tears in his eyes. She had never seen him smile so beautifully.

Captain Jack Sparrow had put his flagship, the Black Pearl, to their disposal. The wedding feast was held on board, and Draco and Hermione had danced their wedding dance on deck to the sound of violins, voices and a piano. It had been a summer's day. Blue skies, sun and the noise of sea gulls. Lots and lots of children playing around them. But the one child which meant the most, was the one in Hermione's jutting belly, beneath fine old silk.

Back in the present, the minister raised his wand above the heads of Bill and Fleur. A shower of silver stars spiralled around them, and they kissed. The crowd cheered and clapped and the festivities immediately ensued once congratulations had been dealt out by everyone. Once it was proper, Hermione brought Draco out on the dance floor. While they danced, Draco noticed Harry/Barney in deep conversation with some people. One of them was the terrible Muriel. He did not know the other one, a gentleman.

“Who's that?” he asked Hermione, nodding in Harry's direction.

“That's Elphias Doge. He wrote an article about Dumbledore's mystical disappearance, urging the Ministry to dig deeper and faster to see if they can find Dumbledore alive.”

Draco was about to reply. He was on the verge of telling her about Dumbledore, about Malfoy Manor, but Melchior had made him swear to keep quiet. Harry was unknowingly at a crossroad. If he realised where Dumbledore was now, he would storm to Malfoy Manor and probably save the old headmaster. But it would destroy Harry. And Draco would have to take Harry's place. And Draco would have taken out Voldemort quite easily. But in return, he would also become the next Voldemort. Just as hideous, loathed and powerful. It would corrupt him. The alternative was to keep Harry in the dark. To let things unfold and make Harry take the long way to Malfoy Manor. He wouldn't be able to save Dumbledore. But Harry would live. And defeat Voldemort. And live happily ever after. Draco knew that Harry would never forgive him if he were to disclose the truth later on. It would have to be a secret Draco would take with him to the grave.

The music abruptly stopped as a silver cat materialized in the midst of the dance floor. It spoke with the voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”

The crowd stood puzzled for the latter of a second. The air went cold as the protective enchantment around The Burrow fell. People were bringing out their wands, and in the chaos of fleeing guests, masked Death Eaters descended upon them. Draco felt Hermione take a solid grip on his upper hand. She was already swinging her wand. Apparently surprised by what he saw, one Death Eater froze as he saw Draco Malfoy. He removed his mask. Feeling the pull of Disapparition, Draco briefly met the gaze of Lucius Malfoy before Hermione whisked him, Ron and Harry away to Tottenham Court Road.