Draco: Phoenix Rising

Chapter Seven - Draco's Dilemma

Draco was in the library perusing one of his father's particularly nasty books of dark magic. Some of the spells he had mastered, but there were a couple that were intensely difficult. He had the feeling he would need every bit of magic at his disposal before it was done.

"Looking for something specific?" Snape asked from the doorway. Draco sighed in annoyance. His other watchdog--Nott today--was already in attendance; he sat at one of the writing desks with a deck of cards, uninterested in the hundreds of books and scrolls that surrounded him. Nott nodded to Snape, who ignored him.

"Now that you mention it, I've never seen the spell Potter used on me. The one that nearly cut me in two." His jaw tightened at the memory. Far worse than the pain had been the horror of Potter seeing him in a moment of weakness. He had been angry enough to kill--had cast the Cruciatus Curse only because he wanted Potter to writhe before he killed him... If not for the slashing spell, it might have been the end of Potter and Draco would be a Death Eater hero.

Snape interrupted his vengeful musing. "You won't find that spell anywhere, since I invented it. It's called Sectumsempra."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Then how did Potter learn it?"

"He found an old book of mine. Did you not wonder how he became such a Potions expert last year?"

"Of course. Especially since he had Remedial Potions the year before!"

Unaccountably, Snape flushed. At the memory of having to give Potter private lessons?

"Indeed. Regrettably, there are quite a few spells in that book, along with my old Potions notes. Luckily, Potter is too stupid to realize what he has and since he nearly killed you, he will be scared to try many others. Who would he practice on? Weasley?"

"Can you teach me?" Draco asked, suddenly realizing he had his very own Dark Arts teacher. Not Defense Against the Dark Arts, either, but the real thing.

Snape shrugged. "Certainly. As time permits."

Wormtail appeared in the doorway.

"The Dark Lord wants to see you," he said to Snape. His ratlike eyes shifted to Draco and he grinned. "And you."

Draco shoved down a feeling of dread at that happy news and set the book aside.

"Good," he said for Wormtail's sake. "I was getting bored."

The library was right next to the parlour, so the walk of doom was a short one. Draco entered the room with Snape and was surprised to find it pleasantly warm. The fire crackled cheerfully, providing the only light. Heavy black drapes had been drawn over the huge window that looked out over the manicured grounds. Apparently, beautiful views were wasted on the Dark Lord.

Voldemort sat in his usual red velvet chair--the one that had once been Draco's father's favorite. The snake was curled before the fire as if asleep, but its tongue flicked out now and again. Snape stepped forward and nodded deferentially.

"It is time," Voldemort said flatly. "Greyback is waiting."

Snape nodded and turned to depart.

"Take the boy with you. I'm sure Fenrir will be glad to see him."

Snape gestured and Draco gladly fell into step behind him. Anything to escape the Dark Lord's sepulcher presence.

"Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen," Snape ordered.

"Where are we going?"

The black eyes shifted to him with something akin to amusement.

"You'll see. You have five minutes."

Draco sighed and went upstairs to take off his pale blue shirt and replace it with black silk. He shrugged on his black Death Eaters robes and started out the door, but he paused at the threshold.

"Accio coin," he said brusquely. The Galleon flew out from under the bed and into his outstretched palm. He pocketed it and went out.

It was still overcast, but not raining, as it had been the previous day. Snape had Disapparated Draco blind--he had no idea where they were. He wondered if they had located Granger's parents, but doubted it. Much as he despised Granger, he knew she was sharper than the average Death Eater. Even Snape.

They arrived next to a dirt road that was barely more than a track, lined on both sides with stone walls that were falling into disrepair.

Snape stepped onto the road and followed it over a small rise. Draco trailed after him. The road descended and he caught a glimpse of a house nestled among the trees below. As they approached the house, Draco saw a group of people milling before the front gate. There were at least ten of them and he recognized the one that stepped forward to meet Snape--Fenrir Greyback.

The werewolf's cold eyes flicked to Draco and his lips opened to reveal his horrible wolflike smile.

"Hello, Severus. I see you brought my lunch."

"Just get on with it," Snape growled impatiently.

Fenrir tsked. "No need to rush." He shrugged. "There's no one here. I sent Eastwyck through the house to trip any alarms. Nothing."

Snape nodded. "Come, Draco." They moved through the ragged group and Draco tried not to touch any of them without looking like he was avoiding contact. They were foul smelling and filthy, the lot of them. They watched Draco intently and several licked their lips or grinned ferociously. Draco suppressed a shudder. The only thing worse than a disgusting, dirty, hairy werewolf was a pack of disgusting, dirty, hairy werewolves. Thank God the full moon was days away, or the feral excitement emanating from the pack would have been nearly overpowering. He doubted they would have stopped themselves from rending him and Snape to pieces.

They entered the front gate and Draco noticed the front garden, once obviously well tended, was beginning to show signs of neglect. Many of the flowering bushes held bunches of dead petals and weeds poked their heads through the stalks of limp, dying bluebells.

As they entered the kitchen of the strange, ramshackle house, Draco suddenly realized where they were. The huge table inside the kitchen was his first clue. Draco had not eaten in the kitchen at Malfoy Manor since he was a small child and had parked himself there for a midday snack. It was obvious the residents of this house took all their meals in the kitchen, most likely in the absence of a dining room.

The place would have been spotless but for a layer of dust upon everything.

The werewolf pack crowded into the kitchen behind Draco.

"Search for anything relating to the Order of the Phoenix," Snape said. "We're unlikely to find anything, but with so many Weasleys, it's possible one of them slipped up. Make it quick."

The motley crew scattered and Draco followed a number of them up the stairs. They entered rooms at random, so Draco continued on up several flights to the last door. He wondered how it would have felt to live crowded into this small house with so many siblings. No doubt it was loud and frantic. The stairs were worn and creaked loudly when Draco stepped upon them. Several newel posts and stair rails were missing.

The room Draco entered had to belong to Ron Weasley. Several orange Chudley Cannons posters adorned the walls. One spot was bare--the poster must have been prized by Weasley when so many had been left. On a high shelf were dozens of Quidditch action figures floating on their brooms and catching tiny Snitches. Draco recognized many of them, as he had a huge collection of his own. Two beds had been jammed into the tiny room, which was barely a quarter the size of Draco's own room. The beds had been stripped of bedding, but a threadbare rug still lay on the floor. Draco kicked it aside halfheartedly and stomped about, looking for loose floorboards. The desk drawers were filled with odds and ends--quills, ink, piles of wrappers from Drooble's Best Blowing Gum and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, buttons and balls of string... The small wardrobe was completely empty. Weasley must have taken every set of clothing he owned. All four of them, Draco sneered to himself.

He left Ron's room and went back downstairs to find the werewolves had been far more thorough--and rather more energetic--in their search. Broken items were strewn through the halls and the smell of dust hung thick in the air. Draco sidestepped over a broken pot and found himself in a demolished room. The frequency of the color pink identified it as a girl's room, but that was the only remaining factor to distinguish it. The bed was overturned and the mattress was torn to shreds. The desk was smashed to kindling and holes had been torn in both walls and floor. The slashed posters were empty of occupants; no doubt they cowered upon intact posters elsewhere in the house.

Small bottles and jars lay on the floor in colorful shards and their contents darkened ruined scrolls and torn books. The total destruction of Ginny Weasley's room was complete. Strangely, Draco felt no satisfaction at the sight. Wanton, excessive violence was not the Malfoy way. A tiny glass flower caught his eye. It glittered on the ruined carpet, intact but for a shattered stem. Draco's mother had something similar on her dressing table, larger and made of finest crystal. Draco's lips twisted, but he could not define his feelings.

"Let's go, there's nothing here," someone grunted from the door. Draco turned and went out. They all regrouped near the Weasleys' front gate with wands drawn.

"Incendio!" cried several voices at once. A number of werewolves cavorted merrily and began tearing slats from the fence and ripping bushes from the ground to add to the growing conflagration.

Draco watched impassively as The Burrow, former home to unknown generations of Weasleys, became a huge column of flame. Beside him, Snape's features twisted into a rare smile and his black eyes glowed red in the flicker of firelight.

"Does it feel good to know the blood-traitors will weep long and hard over this?"

Draco forced his lips into a cheerful smile, though he thought his jaw would crack from the strain of it. If he could have put a name to his feelings at that moment, he was certain the word "good" would not have been anywhere in the running. All he could think of was Ron Weasley's Quidditch toys turning into so much ash, and a tiny glass rose becoming a shapeless dollop of red liquid.

Draco, Draco, you are not a killer. Apparently, he was not an arsonist, either.

They watched the fire until the black column of smoke billowed high into the air and it was obvious the house could not be saved.

Snape nudged Draco.

"Let's go. The smoke might draw Muggle attention and we really don't want to be here if that happens."

Draco made a face. Greyback and his band would happily rip inquisitive Muggles to pieces. They returned to the Malfoy kitchen and Draco let Snape report to You-Know-Who alone. He went straight to his room and stripped off his clothing. It only vaguely smelled of smoke, but it was enough to sicken Draco. He pulled on his velvet dressing gown.

"Cully!" he called. When the house-elf appeared and groveled before him, Draco kicked the pile of clothing. It was on the tip of his tongue to say, "Burn them," but he knew he'd be taken to task for disposing of his new "uniform."

"My clothes need cleaning. And draw my bath." It was early for his routine bath, but he felt unclean. Cully disappeared with his clothes. No Malfoy was afraid to give a house-elf clothing as long as they were in Malfoy Manor. It had been carefully explained to them that nothing in the house belonged to the elves, ever.

The door flew open and Theodore Nott, Sr. appeared, panting from his dash up the stairs.

"Damn it!" Draco yelled. "Do you imbeciles honestly think I'm going to Apparate out of here and leave my parents to be tortured and killed by that freak in the parlour?"

Nott's face went as pale as a hen's egg and his jaw worked soundlessly. Cully reappeared with a soft pop.

"Here, Master," he whined, holding out a hand. Draco took the coin he had inadvertently left in a pocket. Cully conjured jugs of hot water and began to fill Draco's tub. Nott seemed at a loss.

"Why don't you send my father up here to be my guard dog? It's highly unlikely we will both jaunt off and leave Mother to the Dark Lord's less than tender mercies, don't you think? I'd like to speak with him. Feel free to eavesdrop."

Nott flushed, finally.

"I don't like this any better than you, Draco! If I had my druthers, I'd be at the nearest pub drowning myself in firewhiskey!"

Draco glared at him and walked the coin across the backs of his fingers in agitation. He did not have any sympathy to spare at the moment. He raised a brow at Nott expectantly.

Nott sagged a bit and sighed. "I'll get Lucius."

Draco set his dressing gown aside and stepped into the scalding tub while Cully waited anxiously nearby. Draco expelled a long breath as the hot water soaked into his skin. The bubbles rose to his chin. He held his breath and went under for a long moment.

"Shall Cully wash Master Draco's hair?" Cully asked when he emerged. Draco nodded and Cully soaped his hair with imported shampoo. Draco loved having his hair washed. It was hard to find moments of pure pleasure at Malfoy Manor, which was one reason Draco treasured his baths. Solitude, hot water, and a much-needed head-massage. It nearly succeeded in relieving his headache.

Draco submerged to rinse and when he came up, the house-elf was gone and his father was present. Draco dragged a wet hand through his hair to pull it out of his eyes. He blinked for a moment to clear his vision.

"You wanted to see me?" Lucius asked. Draco noticed he'd left the door open. His father looked as cool and unruffled as ever. His robes were solid black. He always seemed to wear black these days, as if he were in mourning. It hadn't always been so. Draco remembered a time they had gone on holiday to the Continent. Draco was six. They had traveled to France, Spain, and Italy. He remembered his father, dressed in robes of silver-blue, dancing with his mother on an ancient stone balcony overlooking the ocean, both of them slightly drunk and laughing as they stared into each other's eyes... Draco's heart nearly cracked at the memory. He wondered if they would ever look at each other that way again.

Draco spoke to his father in flawless French.

"Do you think the snake can understand French?"

"I doubt it," Lucius replied in the same language. His silver eyes, so like Draco's, flicked about the room. Although quite large, Nagini was still a snake and could slither into very small spaces and hide beneath nearly any piece of furniture. They had found the creature, most unexpectedly, all over the house. The Dark Lord's little venomous spy, as if he needed another.

Draco picked up his wand from the tub side tray and cast Muffliato for the benefit of any eavesdroppers. For certain, Bellatrix and the other Lestranges spoke French.

"What does he want?" Draco asked. "I mean, at the end of it all. What does he want?"

Lucius Accioed the desk chair and sat down. He rested one black boot casually upon his other knee.

"He wants to destroy everything. I think, at one time, he just wanted power and control. Last time, he spoke of taking over the Ministry of Magic and of ousting all Muggle-borns and blood-traitors. He wanted to create laws to return the wizarding world to a state of purity it hasn't known since the days of Salazar Slytherin."

For the first time in his life, Draco pondered the validity of the pureblood rhetoric he'd grown up with. There had never been a "state of purity" in Slytherin's time. Wasn't that why Salazar had rebelled against the other Houses? Slytherin, Grindelwald, Voldemort, and now Draco himself had been fighting the Mudblood "scourge" for over a thousand years. And Muggle-borns outnumbered the purebloods at least three to one. What if it were a losing battle? He yanked his attention back to his father.

"...it seems he's gone mad. He no longer speaks of taking over the Ministry--he talks of destroying it. He's still obsessed with Hogwarts, but no longer does he see himself as the Headmaster. He sees himself as its conqueror. He wants to open the school, with himself as its Head--not to teach students how to turn teacups into butterflies, but to teach them to kill. He plans to train an army and crush everyone in the wizarding world that stands in his way. When that is done, when he is strong enough, he will take the war out there, to the Muggles. That is what he wants."

Draco could not disguise his horror. He had never taken a Muggle Studies class, nor had he spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about the Muggle world, but he had been raised on stories about them. The whole reason one had to be careful at all times, never to be spotted by a Muggle, never to let them know magic existed... because there were billions of them. How could Voldemort possibly dream of taking on the Muggle world? He could kill hundreds a day and still there would be more and more and more... and who knew what weapons they had at their disposal? Draco had once overheard a Mudblood telling a friend that a group of Muggles had once blown up an entire Muggle city. A city.

"He's insane," Draco whispered.

Lucius nodded and smiled that ice-cold smile that never touched his eyes--the one Draco had spent hours before the mirror trying to emulate.

"Now you know."

"He'll kill us all," Draco said numbly. Lucius stood abruptly.

"No, he will not. The Malfoys will survive. We will bow and scrape and grovel and kill and torture, if we must, but we will survive. Do you understand, Draco?" His eyes burned into Draco's like silver fire. "Do not let a foolish attack of morality blind you into doing something stupid. We will survive." Lucius move as if to leave, but paused. "Guard your thoughts well and do not fall too deeply into the trap of the Dark Lord's words. The pendulum may yet swing."

With a wand flick, he cancelled the spell and went out. Draco thought about his words. His father had always been good at landing on his feet. He had avoided Azkaban after the first war, and yet had been accepted back into Voldemort's circle at his return. He had been respected highly among the Ministry officials and the Hogwart's governors until Voldemort had abandoned him at the battle over the stupid prophecy. That whole fiasco had been a huge blunder on old Snake Face's part. Not only had he lost the prophecy, but he had lost most of his followers, too. It had been temporary, yes, but Lucius had been far more useful as a Ministry liaison than a Death Eater lapdog, in Draco's opinion.

Voldemort may once have been a genius, but it looked as if thirteen years as a vaporous ghost had resulted in madness and a loss of intelligence. Draco leaned his head against the tub in despair. The Malfoys will survive. To what end? To see the wizarding world overrun and destroyed by Muggles?

The hot water did not dispel the sudden finger of icy fear that traced its way down Draco's spine and settled into his belly in a cold lump.

He's got to be stopped. He swallowed hard. That mere thought would be a death sentence should Voldemort pluck it from his mind. As if on cue, Nott appeared in the open doorway.

"The Dark Lord wants to see you."

Draco tried on his father's cold smile and squelched an instinctive flutter of panic.

"Yes, I rather thought he would."