Vengeance

Vengeance
Chapter Eight


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Disclaimer – I do not own Harry Potter. All rights and money belong to J.K. Rowling.


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Vengeance is not the point; change is. But the trouble is that in most [people\'s] minds the thought of victory and the thought of punishing the enemy coincide.


Barbara Deming


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Dinner was surreal. That was the only way to explain it. Dining in the small semi-formal dining room with his mother as usual, Draco chatted to her about the inconsequential matters that came up during work, and she filled him in on the nitty-gritty of the estate and the small bits of gossip she had gleaned from her friends.


Everything was normal.


Nevertheless, he was going to die.


Shouldn’t there be something… different? Shouldn’t everyone be behaving differently, acting all dramatic and emotional? Shouldn’t his mother sense his pending doom and throw herself sobbing at his feet, begging him to stop this insanity?


Despite these reflections, Draco was trying to be as attentive to his mother as he possibly could. It may be the last time he ever ate with her after all.


He also noted that the knowledge of his imminent death made him much more morbid.


Sipping on his after-dinner cappuccino, he mused on how everything tasted much more… potent today. Facing death, the heightened adrenalin, fight or flight. Quite exciting, really.


Good God.


I’m turning into a Gryffindor.


“Darling? Are you alright?”


Brought out of his musings by his mother’s innocent question, Draco considered how to answer.


Option one: honesty. ‘No, mum. I’m scared fucking witless because the maniacal King that we serve is going to chop my head off within, oh, a day.’


Option two: hedge a bit. ‘Ah, not really. Feeling a bit under the weather today.’


Option three: bald-faced lie. ‘Yes, mother, of course I’m all right. My mind was on my project at work.’


As this was his emotionally fragile mother, he opted for the third.


Narcissa gave him a measuring look as she quietly sipped her wine. Finally accepting his words at face value, she turned to the waiting house elf to order coffee for herself.


As her head was turned, Draco carefully studied her profile. As elegant as she was beautiful, she was the epitome of what Malfoys looked for in their brides. He remembered her smiling face when he was younger, her devotion to his father. Their voices would mingle after dinner in the study, her soft soprano and his father’s deep baritone a pleasant undertone while he played by the fire quietly. He would watch them as they sat closely together, the only times in his memory that his father’s harsh face would soften.


Those were happy times.


After he came back, his father never relaxed, never played with him or his mother. And his mother’s smile grew more and more strained. And after the Last Battle, after Lucius’s death, his mother suddenly looked old. Aging overnight, his youthful, beautiful mother started to show her age.


Looking at her now, Draco noticed the fine lines bracketing her generous mouth, around her pale blue eyes. He saw the gray shot through her blonde hair and cursed his father for leaving them. And he silently cursed the master that brought it about. He wondered if she would age even more after his death, if her beauty would fade completely away.


As she turned to him with a dazzling smile, he was reminded so strongly of his youth; he forgot his worries and smiled back. “Mother, would you like to retire to the parlor for dessert? I have not spoken to you for some time, and would like to… talk.”


Narcissa’s eyes widened in surprise, and her face transformed into one of happiness. “It would be my pleasure, darling. I’ll just tell the Elves to stoke the fire, and arrange for dinner to be cleaned up.”


Watching his mother’s excitement over so small a thing brought a twinge of guilt. Have I neglected her so much that such a simple thing brings her this much joy?


Draco stood and strode over to where his mother sat, and gave her a playful bow. “My lady, may I escort you to the parlor?” He waggled his eyebrows as his mother blushed, and she let out a small giggle.


She smiled and batted her lashes coyly, “Of course, gallant sir.”


Presenting her with his arm, she gracefully took it. Alighting to the parlor, he escorted Narcissa to her favored sofa. She took off her shoes, sat back and reclined elegantly. Smiling gratefully, she said, “Ahhh… I needed to lie down. That Parkinson woman is getting more and more annoying in her old age.” She grimaced and stuck out her tongue in an oddly uncharacteristic gesture, “Still badgers me about your ‘great loss’ in not marrying her daughter, and how her beauty is wasted on the Crabbe boy. Ha! As if that little pug was good enough for my darling. Matilda always was the most pretentious priss of our year.”


Draco smiled at her fondly. “You never did tell me much about your childhood mum.”


Narcissa looked a little surprised at the question and quirked a half smile, “Where is all this curiosity coming from? You were never much interested before.”


Draco squirmed a little under her sudden scrutiny, “Just humor me.”


Narcissa leaned back father onto the sofa and tucked her bare feet under her before replying. “Alright, alright. I know when to keep my mouth shut,” She suddenly smiled wickedly, “But you owe me the answer to any question I want!”


Draco raised one elegant brow.


His mother looked at him wistfully, and shook her head. “You look so like your father when you do that…” Clearing her throat, she spoke quickly, “What would you like to hear about dear?”


“How about before you came to Hogwarts and met father? I never heard much about your family.”


“Ah. So that’s what you want.” Narcissa grinned. “My sisters and I were so close… closer than most. We shared everything. Secrets, gossip, pranks, you name it. They were my best friends.” She sighed quietly, “Then we went to Hogwarts…”


“And?” Draco prompted.


“We fell in love.” Narcissa smiled wryly. “Blacks love deep, darling. Very deep. Even after all the worry and trouble your father gave me, I love him still. As much as when I married him.”


“And my sisters loved just as deeply. Bella had her Rodolphus, and he was from a good family, so mother and father approved. You know how that turned out; she adores him and does anything he says, poor thing. But Andromeda… poor Andromeda. She fell in love with that Tonks man. And we most definitely did not approve.”


“What happened?”


“He was a Mudblood, and we did all we could to keep her out of his hands, but she wouldn’t have it. She loved him you see. And a Black in love can’t be stopped. She eloped, and was subsequently disowned.” Narcissa sighed dejectedly, “I… I have never seen her since.”


Narcissa shook herself out of her reverie and smirked wickedly, “My turn, darling… Who is she?”


000


Draco felt like a drink. Maybe two. Or three…


Making his way through the wide, quiet hallways of the Manor to his study, he slammed open the door hard enough to leave a dent in the wood paneling. In love? What the bloody hell is she talking about? I am most certainly not in love with anyone.


Throwing himself into his chair dramatically, he slumped down with legs splayed out and arms crossed. Staring out the window at the hazy sunset, he brooded. He rather liked brooding. Very melodramatic and Slytherin in his opinion.


A house elf appeared with a crystal decanter of his favorite firewhiskey and a glass, and placed them on an empty spot on his desk. It was still covered with stacks of books from his earlier research, but did not feel any concern for finding out the thief ticked anymore. What was the point if he was going to die?


Draco supposed that was the question that bothered him the most: what was the point? What did he have to show for his life? He had followed the path his father had set out for him, had made his decision to protect his family the best way he knew how – to ally himself with the strongest wizard of his time. He did as any good Slytherin should do, he survived. It was what he did best. He had no regrets at the time… but now he was questioning his decisions.


Was it worth it?


Draco wasn’t so sure.


He poured himself a shot of firewhiskey as he watched the rain in the gathering darkness. This may be my last night alive... He tossed back the shot of burning liquid, grimacing at the flames licking his esophagus.


Draco wondered if he could fight back, to kill Voldemort before he killed him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, If perfect Potter couldn’t do it, what chance do I have? Looking at the cases of magical objects lining the study, he wondered if anything in there was powerful enough to kill the seemingly indestructible King.


Perhaps. Too bad no one knew what the objects were for.


Draco stood up, poured another shot, and slowly walked to the large windows. As he sipped, he watched the bloody sunset through the light drizzle of rain.


Red at night, sailor’s delight… well, isn’t that ironic?


He remembered the last time he had seen the sky this red. He remembered the last time he thought he was going to die…


000


- Five Years Ago, Hogwarts -


Draco was tired, so tired.


He had received a letter from his father that day, telling him in code that the appointed day for the final all-out attack was tomorrow. After being held in a state of suspense for the past few days, listening to all the rumors, he still couldn’t believe it was actually happening. He was sure that if he actually stopped to think about it, he would be scared shitless.


Hence his restless activity. He had flown for hours, relentlessly pushing the Slytherin Quidditch team to exhaustion. He figured that if he tired himself out, he wouldn’t be able to think about battle, about bloodshed, about losing, about death…


He still didn’t want to go to his lonely bed, to lie awake and wonder what would become of him, what would become of his parents, his friends. So he was wandering the castle in the darkness, hoping to find some semblance of peace.


As he consciously kept his mind blank, he meandered listlessly through the halls, dragging his hand along the rough granite wall. Feeling the texture of the rock on the pads of his fingers, he marveled at the twinge of raw magic he felt coursing from it. Living stone, permanent… Unlike me…


Passing by the door to the Astronomy Tower, he noticed that it was open a crack. Might as well go up… Nothing better to do.


He silently trudged up the twisting staircase, feeling the familiar burn in his quadriceps as he reached the top. I might have overdone it a tad in practice today, Draco groaned quietly, I hope it doesn’t get me killed tomorrow.


He heard a slight shuffle of footsteps, and he whipped out his wand. He lunged, poised to strike… only to face the small, unmoving form of Hermione Granger.


Her hands loose at her sides, she made no move to go for her wand, no move to attack. Her dark, dark eyes locked on his face, waiting uncharacteristically passive to see what he would do.


He then noticed the stains of tears on her stoic face, the puffiness around her eyes.


Granger had been… crying?


He barely remembered Pansy shrieking in laughter about something this morning when he was preoccupied with his father’s letter.


“Mudblood’s parent’s got it last night. The haughty bitch deserves it.” Pansy’s piggish nose scrunched up with delight, “Two less muggles – good riddance.”


One heartbeat passed. Two.


Granger’s strangely lifeless eyes stared into his, begging him to ease her pain.


But his hatred was leached out of him by his fatigue, and he couldn’t bring himself to end her life, to kill someone he had known for so long. Maybe tomorrow, but not tonight. Not now. Not her.


He lowered his wand.


She stood quietly and searched his face for a moment, then shuffled over to the wall to look unseeingly at the dawning sky. Draco, after a moment’s pause, followed her.


They stood silently together, close but not touching, watching the sun rise over the horizon. Blood red, it lifted ponderously, achingly slow. As if it didn’t want to dawn on this day.


Red in morning, sailors take warning…


As he contemplated its terrible beauty, he turned to look at Granger, and watched the unceasing flow of tears flow down her stony face. The sunlight reflected off the trails, leaving streams of fire glittering on her cheeks.


He had never seen her look more beautiful.


Not in class, when she haughtily answered the teacher. Not when she slapped him, when her dark eyes snapped in anger. Not even when her body was heavy with desire, when he saw her dancing by the firelight. Here, her soul was naked to him, her pain raw, unshielded. He couldn’t say anything. He didn’t want to.


Slowly, as if of its own violation, his hand went to his breast pocket, and took out his silk handkerchief. Gently, his large hands he captured her chin. Delicately turning her face to his, he slowly mopped up her tears. Passively, she let him, closing her eyes as a wave of sorrow washed over her, fresh tears spilling over, clinging to her thick lashes wetly.


Cupping her cheek, he brushed them away, his heart heavy in sympathy. He couldn’t possibly be feeling this way… for this Mudblood… But at this moment, he was just a boy, and she was just a girl, poised at the razor’s edge of death. And he was tired, so tired of all the bullshit.


Just for now… I want to feel. Just feel.


Tenderly, he clutched her close to him. His chin rested on top of her wild hair as he felt her body start trembling violently with her sobs as she finally stopped holding back her sorrow. He breathed in her quiet jasmine scent, and felt her tears gradually seep into the fabric of his shirt.


Silently watching the sun rise on the day that would change everything, he wished that the inevitable would never come.


000


- Present, Malfoy Manor -


Leaning against the frame of the window, Draco watched the last glimmer of red leech to inky black, watched the drizzle turn to heavy rain. If he was honest with himself that was the only night he had ever really acted on instinct. His father, Voldemort, himself – they had planned every other moment of his life meticulously.


It was rather sad that he had never felt free until this moment.


Musing to himself that he might as well try to sleep, as it would probably take all night just to close his eyes properly, he lifted his glass of firewhiskey to his lips to drain it.


SCREECH!!!


A heart-rending sound pierced the still air of the manor, causing Draco to drop his glass, shattering it on the floor. “What the bloody hell?!?” Draco shouted. Is that… the perimeter alarm! Oh gods, they are here already!


Quickly pulling out his wand, he ran to the cabinets behind his desk. With a quick “Diffindo!” He blasted apart the glass case holding the Malfoy Sword. Hefting it in his left hand, wand in his right, he smiled grimly. Those fucking bastards won’t take me without a fight. Not here. Not in my home.


Nearly pulling the study door off its hinges, he ran through the dark corridors until he arrived at the main foyer.


“Draco!”


He quickly looked up to see his mother standing on the stairs. Clutching the throat of her peach silk robe, she looked small and terrified. Draco spoke as calmly as he could, “Mother. I need you to go to your room and stay there. Don’t open the door to anyone but me do you hear? Not even Bella. Kill anyone who comes through the door.” Draco swallowed and closed his eyes, “Mum, I need you to be brave. Do this for me. I… I love you.”


Not trusting himself to look at her, he turned and ran towards the sound of the alarm.


The attack was on one of the weaker areas of the mansion. Behind the sedate rose garden, there were no guardbeasts patrolling the immediate area like there were with the other portions of the manor. As with Hogwarts, Gringotts, and the Ministry, Malfoy Manor had anti-apparition wards all around the grounds. Unlike the other edifices, however, Malfoy Manor was unique a few regards- one of which being that there were anti-portkey wards as well. His ancestor, Axis Malfoy, had somehow devised a way to render portkeys ineffective within a one hundred yard radius of Malfoy Manor. A pity he never wrote down how.


As he approached the doors leading to the rose garden, he slowed down. Creeping slowly, making no sudden movements, he made his way to the windows bracketing the French doors. Peering outside, he could see that the alarm had triggered bright lights to appear all around the grounds, illuminating the yard all the way to the forest.


Squinting through the torrent, he tried to see the tell-tale black robes of the Death Eaters. The wards on the house would kill anyone who had the intent to murder one of us, so that should take care of that problem. However, if there was anyone in the group that was just along for the ride, the wards might have been more lenient. Best be careful.


Opening the door and stepping into the deluge of rain, his shirt soon became transparent and his trousers stuck uncomfortably to his legs. Looking around, weapons at ready, he searched for the intruders.


He saw no one.


Baffled, he scanned the walls and gardens for anything suspicious with sharp, icy eyes and saw nothing out of place. Odd, the wards do not go off without reason. Father said the wards have only gone off five times in the history of the Manor.


Under the pounding of the rain, he almost didn’t hear it. A small noise really, but out of place all the same. A tiny groan of pain on his left.


Spinning around into a crouch, he bared his teeth in victory.


I have you now.


Peering intently at the place where the source of the noise came from, he almost didn’t see it, and if it weren’t raining, he definitely wouldn’t have seen it.


The faint outline of a body on the ground.


Invisible.


Draco’s eyes widened in shock. The thief! The fucking thief is here!


Suddenly, as if the figure sensed he had been caught, he leapt up from the ground, and began to run at breakneck speed for the forest.


Draco sprinted after him, chest heaving, long hair flying into his face, water dripping into his eyes, blinding his vision temporarily. The figure was like a ghost, blinking in and out of his sight, outline wavering with the ever-changing angles of the rain.


Spitting out a curse every chance he had, Draco kept missing the bastard as the figure weaved an erratic course through the roses. Tossing his sword behind him to gain more speed, he began to gain on the small ghost. He felt the burning in his legs as they neared the woods, as the figure neared freedom.


Never!


Launching his long body into the air, he smashed into the thief’s legs. Viciously latching onto an ankle, Draco yanked him onto the ground. Wrestling with the squirming bastard, he used his heavy body to cover the thief’s smaller frame. Losing his wand in the brutal struggle, he took a punch to the face that had him tasting the coppery tang of blood.


Draco managed to get one of his arms through the bastard’s legs, and was moving his other arm around the thief’s chest towards his head to pin him down, when he noticed something important.


Breasts.


Holy shit. The thief is a fucking girl?!?


Draco was stunned enough by this revelation to lose his concentration for a moment. Taking advantage of his temporary lapse, the thief viciously lashed out with her foot, hitting Draco in the gut. Pain lanced through his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him, and she quickly used her leverage to roll him over.


Hastily standing up, and giving him an extra kick in the side for good measure, she turned to sprint for the forest.


As she moved, Draco got a clear view of the outline of her form. Something about the figure, how the woman felt in his arms, how the body moved, was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.


Click.


“Granger?”


The apparition froze for a moment, then ran into the forest.


Sitting stock-still on the ground, Draco’s gaze followed the figure in disbelief and shock. Then he looked at the ring on his right ring finger in wonder, and for the first time since Hermione had told him that Voldemort planned to murder him, Draco felt hope.


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A/N: I hope you enjoyed the latest installment! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. This is unbetaed, so as soon as I get it back from my beta, I’ll replace it.