Vengeance

Vengeance
Chapter Nine

000


Disclaimer – I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from this story, all Harry Potter copyrights belong to J.K. Rowling.


000


At last is Hector stretch\'d upon the plain, Who fear\'d no vengeance for Patroclus slain: Then, Prince! You should have fear\'d, what now you feel; Achilles absent was Achilles still: Yet a short space the great avenger stayed, Then low in dust thy strength and glory laid.


Homer

000


‘Helena’ had a headache.


And a backache. And just about an everything-ache, really. Oh, and a bruise the exact shape (and size, or so it felt) of Africa on her bum.


But to the manager of ‘The White Devil’ she had a severe headache. Therefore, she had an excuse not to practice today, but would have to be there tomorrow. That should give her enough time for the potion to heal the bruises, anyway.


Damn, Malfoy’s house is a bitch, Hermione grumbled to herself as she stretched out wearily on her sofa, Who could have known that it would hit back that hard? I thought I had all of the wards cracked. They must have a few that the ministry and Voldemort do not know about.


Hermione grabbed her vial of Pain-Away! Potion and squirted a generous dollop onto her palm. As she massaged the lotion into her skin, she felt an instantaneous lessening of her aches. She signed contentedly and thought, Only two more applications and the bruising will be gone, thank the gods. That would be difficult to explain.


Leaning back, she reached out a hand a flicked on the Wizarding Wireless. As she absently listened to the propaganda bullshit that filled the news, she took account of her injuries. Some bruised ribs, various pains along her right side, and a nasty bump on the head. Most of the injuries came before her little tussle with Malfoy, although that hadn’t exactly helped matters much.


She wondered what sort of magic caused her injuries. She had researched Malfoy Manor thoroughly, combing all Ministry documentation available. Obviously, the Malfoys had managed to keep some vital information out of those records. She supposed it was an awfully sneaky thing for them to do, but she couldn’t say that she wouldn’t do the same.


She closed her eyes and smiled a little humorless smile, thinking of what Ron would have said about such an out of character move. The girl she once was would have balked at such an overt infraction of the law.


Now she thought it was smart.


Only a fool trusts those in power.


It was a hard lesson for her to learn, but she had learned it. Oh, yes, she had learned it. Yet the price… she didn’t like to think about the price.


As a syrupy female voice complained about the ‘Mudblood problems’ of America on the Wireless, Hermione buried her face into the soft cushions of her sofa. Maybe I should go to the camp and check the roll. Maybe I should go to Beauxbatons and steal their roll as well, as Voldemort has to be going for the other European countries next. Now that Britain is secure, he could attack anyone. Hermione groaned as she thought of all the things that she had to do to keep ahead of Voldemort, all those people whose lives depended on her… My plan has to work. It has to…


Abruptly deciding that worrying would do her no good and that listening to Voldemort’s garbage was just making her angry, she flipped the Wireless off. I will just take a bath, and then nap for a while. Ginny did get me those Massaging Bath Salts from Austria for my birthday...


“You aren’t busy, are you?”


Hermione leapt off the couch at the sound of the voice, wand ready, and stiffness forgotten. She looked sharply at the entrance to the flat, and spying no one, systematically scanned the rest of the room. She turned towards the sound of chuckling, and found a familiar head grinning in the hearth.


“You’re not supposed to Floo me here,” Hermione hissed, “If we’re caught, everything I have worked for is for nothing! How could you be so…”


“This is important,” interrupted the voice.


“Is it important enough to warrant this idiotically blatant opportunity for exposure?”


“They are going to kill him. Tomorrow.”


Hermione looked at the head in the fireplace for a long moment. She closed her eyes tightly as she drew an unsteady breath. When she opened them, all traces of softness, all evidence of her fatigue was gone.


“Tell me everything.”


000


Draco started at the letter in his hands for a long moment. And another. And another…


His Majesty requests your presence after luncheon to discuss the progress of the Gringotts case.


Short and to the point, it did not sound like an invitation to his death at all. Nevertheless, he knew how the King’s mind worked. If he wanted to discuss the robbery under normal circumstances, he would have painfully activated the Dark Mark branded on Draco’s forearm. This was formal and polite.


Draco was fucked.


Finally looking up from the letter, he met his Mum’s worried eyes over the remains of their breakfast.


“Draco?”


He closed his eyes at the anguish he heard in her voice. She knew. Somehow, she knew the seriousness of the situation. He didn’t want to do this to her. He had wanted to keep her safe, but the taint of the Dark King had reached into her world anyway. Damn.


Opening his eyes, he caught her blue ones and held them. “Mum… I want you to do something for me.”


“Anything, darling.”


“Stay inside the house no matter what. If I don’t come back tonight, you mustn’t come looking for me. Even if I seem to send a message telling you to meet me somewhere, do not leave the Manor. If I do not come back, this will be the only safe place for you. The Manor’s wards are strong enough to keep the King’s forces away. I hope.”


His mother just looked at him in shock for a moment. He slowly saw tears fill her beautiful eyes as she realized that she might never see him again. Never see her little boy…


Suddenly she stood, knocking over her chair and flew to his side. Falling to her knees, she wrapped her arms around his legs and burrowed her head into his lap as she sobbed. “Stay, baby. Please. They can’t get to you here. I know it!” Her grip tightened convulsively, “I can’t lose you too. I can’t. You’re all I have left.”


Draco ran his hand through her blonde hair, desperately trying to soothe her. His throat tightened at the sight of her grief, at the sight of her tearstained face. Their family was not given to expressing their emotions openly, so this… this shook him.


“Mother… This is something I have to do. I have to go- running will only make our problems worse.” He desperately tried to explain something that he did not even understand himself. “If I stay here, you and I will be cut off from the world. We couldn’t leave here, ever. Do you understand that? Forever is a long time, Mum. If I go now, there is a chance, albeit very slight one, that we may be able to live in peace someday.”


Narcissa looked at him with tortured eyes, “Why you? Why do you have to be so brave?”


Draco tore his gaze from hers, looked at his hands, his ring, his responsibilities, and blinked back painful tears. “I don’t know Mum. I don’t know.”


000


Draco did not Floo into Hogwarts as he would for a normal meeting. Instead, he Apparated into Hogsmeade an hour before he was expected in the castle. He hoped it would give him enough time to compose himself. He had thought about it carefully the night before. He just needed to review his plan, and then pray to every deity that he knew that it would work.


He had turned the ring three times this morning, calling for The Rebellion’s aid. He had hoped that someone would take him away in time for him to ‘disappear’ silently, but no one had come for him yet.


He was not entirely sure they would.


As he walked through the desolate, deserted streets of Hogsmeade, he wondered why he was even here. He knew what was coming, at least in part. Unfortunately, he had witnessed a number of ‘traitors’ being punished for their transgressions against the Crown. It was something he only remembered when he was startled awake from night terrors, too scared to breathe.


He could have waited for The Rebellion to pick him up in a desolate place. Or even a nice one, just somewhere that he wouldn’t be recognized. He always did fancy the Mediterranean. So why was he setting himself up for this?


Draco kicked a small stone lying on the road, and looked up into the slate-grey sky. Looks like rain. How appropriate. As he rounded the familiar bend in the road, Hogwarts came into view.


He paused for a moment, eyes still. He remembered other days, exactly like this, walking back from Hogsmeade. Greg and Vince with pockets full of sweets, Pansy yakking incessantly about who was taking whom to Madame Puddifoot’s, and Blaise silently smirking at their pettiness. He wished he could steal a Time Turner to go back and escape from all of this madness…


No. That would be the coward’s way out. Draco was so tired of being a coward. He had been a coward all of his life. His choices did not leave room for selfless acts of heroism, for nobility, for honor. In addition, for most of his life, Draco had thought those things were worthless, the inventions of mindless fools who weren’t smart enough to think for themselves. He had fought as hard as a Slytherin should- enough to further his own ambitions, and no more.


Where had it gotten him? He was standing in the hills of Scotland, about to die. If he had sided with Potty and Weasel, would that have made a difference? If he had defied his family back then, would Voldemort be in power now? If he had the courage to take her hand openly in friendship, would he have been happy?


If…if… If only…


But here, in the now, there was only one thing he could do to set things right. Only one thing he could do so his family could survive.


He had to find out why that bloody orb was so important to Voldemort, and use it to destroy him.


It was the only hope he had left.


So here he was, a damn fool, sitting on Voldemort’s doorstep like a good little puppy cringing in the anticipation of a hit. However, unlike that puppy, he had a defense. The ring was supposed to give him some protection from curses, not against the Avada Kedavra, of course, but most others. So he would be in pain, he supposed, but he could act it up a little, make it more convincing to the audience. It would be like Third Year again, playing up a minor injury.


In addition, Draco was a highly accomplished Occlumens, and knew a good deal about Legilimency. He would hide the true extent of his pain from Voldemort by keeping up his mental defenses. He knew that Voldemort would be using Legilimency to pick his brain about his supposed ‘Rebel’ affiliations. If he was lucky, Draco could skim a few of Voldemort’s thoughts. If he wasn’t, Voldemort would savage his mind. Draco could not let him succeed. There was too much information that Voldemort mustn’t have, too much in his brain that was sacred.


And, of course, he had an emergency portkey. He hadn’t gone completely stupid.


The sweet smell of Jasmine, the salty taste of tears, the bloody splash of a sunrise…


He hesitated at the portcullis of the Castle, lost in the memories, and looked over his shoulder at the Forbidden Forest. I could still go back. I don’t have to do this. Ghosts of memory chased him, of students in their robes, of Quidditch, of laughter…


He stepped inside.


Quickly, his feet led him to the Great Hall. He encountered no one on the way there.


As he was contemplating the strangeness of that fact, the door slowly swung open.


Oh, Draco thought absently, everyone is already here.


Indeed, lining the Hall were the Death Eaters in full regalia. Silent, forbidding, the eerie silver masks expressionless, they stood at attention. They were the deadly courtiers to an equally deadly King.


Oh, hell. Motherfucking hell. I am so screwed.


He had walked into his own execution.


Draco smiled.


Outwardly calm, he languidly strolled to the throne. He had dressed with care; his exquisite black robes flowed gracefully over a tastefully tailored suit, highlighting his elegant frame. His long, moon-pale hair was tied in a neat tail; his sharp features were hewn from granite. Perfectly polished knee-high Hessians clacked harshly in the silent room with every careful step.


As he approached, Draco’s steel-colored eyes rose to the throne. Lounging indolently on the dais was Theodore Nott. As Draco watched, the corners of Nott’s mouth lifted and stretched into a bitter caricature of a smile. His black eyes glittered with the promise of pain.


Dark eyes gleamed with passion as she danced in the firelight, soft lips parted, waiting for her lover’s kiss…


Shaking off the nagging memory, Draco smirked at him.


Lifting his head, Draco’s eyes traced the crimson-colored throne, avoiding the gaze of the one creature that could rip through his carefully constructed barriers.


Steeling himself, Draco raised his eyes and met orbs the color of blood.


let me in you are mine you insolent boy let me IN!


No!


Repelling the initial mental invasion deftly, Draco stepped forward smoothly, “I see I missed the memo about the dress code. Shall I have an Elf fetch my formal robes?”


Voldemort’s lipless mouth contracted briefly, his eyes narrowed at Draco’s impudent tone. “Is that how you speak to your King?” he hissed, “I will not tolerate insolence, boy.”


“Forgive me, Your Eminence,” Draco smoothly executed a deep bow and kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robes, “My investigation has been going so well that I forgot myself.”


“Indeed?” Nott’s full lips compressed upon hearing the King’s interested tone. I must distract him.


Nott rose awkwardly from his perch, and he strutted down the dais to Draco. His smaller frame circled Draco’s lean one like a wary fly trying to land on particularly juicy cutlet of beef. He swiftly grabbed Draco’s arm and sneered, “So you say, Malfoy, but what evidence have you to show us?”


Draco sniffed disdainfully, “None that I need to show you, Nott.” His hand darted out and with Seeker’s reflexes caught Nott’s throat in a crushing grip. As Nott started to turn purple and struggled against his tight grip, Draco brought his face close to his. “You are not my king. Don’t ever touch me again, you low-bred scum.”


Voldemort’s chilling laughter filled the hall as Nott fought to breathe. “Release my pet, Lord Malfoy.”


Draco’s gaze rose to meet Voldemort’s scarlet one as he held Nott’s throat fast. Then, as swifty as he had caught him, Draco flicked his wrist and Nott fell to the floor. Gasping for air, eyes bulging, he glared at Draco, delighting in his vengeance with every harsh breath.


Draco ignored him and concentrated upon the true threat. Voldemort.


“You know why you are here, young Malfoy.”


Draco, heart beating nearly out of his chest, nevertheless managed to answer coolly. “On the contrary, My Lord, I do not. I was to give a simple report, but this seems to be a formal meeting.” Hands spread innocently, Draco smiled engagingly, “You see, I am at a loss.”


“Ah, that is what I always liked about you. You lie so prettily.” Voldemort sighed in mock sorrow, “You always were an amusing pet. Such a pity you have to die.”


Draco allowed his eyes to widen, enough to show shock, but not enough to convey real fear. No weakness, Draco thought, no weakness.


“Your Excellency, what do you mean?”


Voldemort stared at him with cold disdain, “You begin to bore me, young Malfoy. Where are your Rebel friends?”


you little shit let me IN you worthless piece of scum


Draco parried the forceful attack with one of his own. Entering the mind of the shocked Dark King with skill as sharp as a scalpel, he grasped at a wild flurry of images- a map of Europe, Nott laughing sadistically, a dark, empty vault, an enormous chateau, and a large woman who seemed vaguely familiar bound and screaming in anguish, blood trickling slowly down her face.


“Insolent boy! Crucio!”


Draco’s muscles instantly seized up in agony. Pain snaked down his spine from his skull, where it exploded in his legs, crushing them in a vice. His lungs were on fire, and breathing became impossible.


He had felt worse.


The Dark King must be getting rusty, or this ring actually does work. It’s a miracle, really.


Draco screamed his heart out as if he were dying.


you useless THING let me in you fucking garbage


Draco’s mental wall wavered for a moment as Voldemort attacked his mind. He quickly sent feelings of incredible pain and suffering, hoping that Voldemort could not sense his true condition.


Then, suddenly, the pain stopped and Draco could breathe again.


Curly, wild hair and a haughty voice, clear and strong…


Draco grasped the memory fiercely, tucking it close, protecting it. Voldemort will not steal my memories away. I will not be broken!


“My boy, I know you are hurting,” Voldemort purred. Rising slowly from the throne, he glided down to where Draco was panting on the granite floor. “You really must trust me. You trust your King, don’t you? Tell me what the Rebels are planning.”


Draco’s raised himself until he could look Voldemort in the face. Breathing heavily, he smiled through clenched teeth. “My Lord, I have no idea what you are on about.”


“Wrong answer!” Voldemort hissed, “Diffindo!”


It felt like hundreds of knives had simultaneously slashed him, ripping his flesh, spilling his blood onto the floor of the Great Hall. Draco screamed in pain- half felt, half feigned.


Draco had still felt worse.


Voldemort, as if sensing his disdain, lashed out with his foot, catching Draco in the ribs. With a sickening crunch, Voldemort smiled as he viciously kicked Draco over and over and over…


let me in boy you know you want to just give in and it can all STOP


This attack was more insidious. Instead of overt violence, Voldemort was subtlety cajoling him to give up, to slip into unconsciousness, to slowly float away…


No!


Draco looked at Voldemort with molten silver eyes, and with all the strength he could muster, Draco spat on Voldemort’s feet.


As the vile mix of phlegm and blood slowly dribbled down one pristine boot, Draco held Voldemort’s crimson gaze. His reptilian face, so alien, so expressionless wormed its way into Draco’s soul. This is what I was serving all of these years? This is the epitome of pureblood breeding? This creature?


“Again, Draco, before I lose my patience. Where are the Rebels hiding it? Where is the orb?” Voldemort seemed to grow more and more agitated, and he viciously kicked Draco to punctuate his last question.


Lost in a sea of hurt, Draco somehow gathered enough strength to bolster his failing mental reserves.


let me in let me in let me in let me IN


Choking down his vomit, Draco gathered enough will to carefully slip into Voldemort’s mind. Again, Draco was assaulted with mad visions of torture and pillage, but he wanted more. So he carefully, subtlety dove deeper to the thoughts beneath.


To the heart of the matter.


To the orb.


And felt… fear.


Voldemort was afraid of the orb! And angry… Angry at what? Draco thought, How can it hurt him? How can it destroy him?


Slowly sinking deeper, Draco floated in Voldemort’s memory…


…Antonin Dolohov knelt and kissed his robes, and spoke quietly, “Your Eminence, I have found some information that I believe to be pertinent to your cause.”


“Rise and sit next to me.”


Doholov rose gracefully and seated himself. “My Lord, you have had me search the vaults for that… object… of unspeakable power, correct?” He seemed to note Voldemort’s impatience, for he hurried on, “I believe I have found it.”


“Indeed?”


“Yes. It is in a Gringott’s vault of all places. And with it came a book.”


“An instruction manual? How quaint.”


“Sort of. More like a memoir, really, of some One-Eyed freak. But it says that it was used in some ritual. In that ritual, you could make a wish… Any wish you want!”…


Draco was stunned. A wish? Any wish? Unfortunately, in his distraction, Draco lost his iron control over his Legilimency and wavered slightly.


That was all it took for the Dark Lord to notice him.


Shit, Draco struggled to breathe, struggled to keep his mental defenses intact against the tide of rage emanating from the King. I have what I want. I need to leave. Now.


He mentally commanded his hand to reach for the portkey in his pocket, but it wouldn’t move. Nothing would move.


Oh God. I really am going to die! Draco closed his eyes slowly. I’m sorry mum…so sorry.


Voldemort was not called the Dark King for nothing. He knew the secrets of Dark Magic, how to bend to one’s will, how to be powerful. The unforgivable curses were powered by dark emotions, Avada Kedavra- hatred. Imperio- the desire for control.


Crucio- Sadism.


And no one was more sadistic than Voldemort. No one.


“Crucio!”


He shrieked now, with real agony, with real feeling. No more pretending. He felt like his bowels were ripped out, being chewed by wild dogs. His eyes were burning, melting, dribbling down the sockets. His bones were pulverized, one by one, as he shouted his voice hoarse. He screamed until the one thought he had was to keep the barrier. He will not rape my brain. Will not. Will not. Willnotwillnotwillnot will… not… will…


Draco felt Voldemort rip into his mind, felt as he tore into his memories, into his soul. His oily fingers were peeling back the layers of his awareness like an onion- deeper and deeper. Brutally examining each recollection and tossing it away, viciously raping his consciousness.


You bought me a broom Daddy? Oh, thank you!


Ew, Greg! Girls are icky. How can you like Millie like that?


Stupid fucking Potter, always getting my glory. I’ll show him.


Oh, Mummy…I miss him so much.


Draco lost ground, bit by bit, his soul slowly stripped naked before the vile creature assaulting his brain.


And Voldemort was laughing. Sharp, white, teeth gleaming- predator’s teeth, teeth that rip throats, tear flesh…


The pain stopped, but Draco did not notice. His mental wall still intact- barely.


Vaguely, he heard screaming, heard loud noises, but he did not care.


Drifting in and out of pain, Draco desperately tried to hold his mental wall with what little strength he had left. Body aching, tensed to anticipate the next assault, the gentle brush of kind fingers through his tangled hair nearly sent him into unconsciousness.


The scent of Jasmine floated into his nostrils, and he thought he might be dying.


“Oh gods, we didn’t get here in time. What have they done?”


Draco knew that voice, and knew he was hallucinating. Strong and horrified, it had been etched on his soul for a long time. He tried to open his eyes and failed, but managed to wheeze. “You… you came.”


“Yes. Yes I did. Now hush, you’re safe.”


With those words, Hermione grabbed his hand tightly, and triggered her portkey. Voldemort was later furious to find Draco had seemingly disappeared- there was no evidence of Draco’s presence in the Great Hall of Hogwarts except for the crimson pool of blood congealing on the floor.


000


A/N: Well, here is the slightly late chapter nine! Don’t kill me for doing this o poor Draco, I love him. Really. (pets Draco’s pretty hair) But I am sick of the ‘dancing arc’ as I like to call it, and am moving to a new phase of this story- one in which Draco and Hermione can actually spend time together! Shocking! Thanks so much to my lovely beta Emily, she is the Grammar Witch! My very own Hermione to fix my horrid errors. Also, thanks to the lovely Lorett for reading for OOCness- she really gave me the confidence to post.