Fic: Shadowed Lives (29 of 29, HP)

[bookishwench]

A.N.: I started this story over sixteen years ago, and, after countless lapses, pauses, and assorted obstacles, this fic is now complete. If you ever see "Shadowed Lives: Year Two" pop up, it will be because I've finished that one entirely before I even start posting it. Honestly, there's no guarantee of that. That stated, this chapter does conclude the story well enough to stand on its own. Thank you for reading (and waiting) all these years.

The end-of-year feast was, to put it lightly, not Slytherin’s happiest moment. Stuffed with fantastic food, smugly aware of the superiority of the glittering emeralds in their hourglass, Draco and his entire house had been eagerly awaiting the awarding of the house cup.

And then Dumbledore had made his little adjustments.

The upshot of it all was Slytherin was now in second place, barely finishing behind Gryffindor thanks to the weasel, Potter, an overly ambitious Muggle-born, and, unbelievably, Longbottom. It was the last one that really stung. Draco felt like Christmas had been canceled forever. He’d daydreamed about telling his parents how he had done his part to bring Slytherin to victory, and now even that was snatched away. The only thing that went right was Blaise had to pay him a Galleon because Potter had indeed gone into the forbidden corridor exactly as Draco had predicted, but that was cold comfort.

The mood in the Slytherin common room that night was livid. In between packing trunks and trying to find various missing books, shoes, socks, and toothbrushes, the Slytherins were plotting revenge. Some of it was amusing, other suggestions downright violent, but everyone agreed that next year Gryffindor Must Be Stopped At All Costs.

Long after the other first years had gone to sleep, Draco sat on his bed, staring into the darkness outside the false window. He didn’t know how he felt about going home. Time after time in the last year, he had been confronted with information about his parents and other ancestors that ranged from uncomfortable to outright horrifying. As he’d told Dumbledore, he’d been lied to, and he hated that. Part of him wished he could pretend that it was possible the lies were all told by Dumbledore and his ilk. Maybe the books had been tampered with. Maybe the Mudbloods weren’t really so smart and their marks were raised out of misplaced pity. Maybe the Dark Lord was the heroic figure his parents had always told him.

Unfortunately, Draco couldn’t pretend to be that stupid. He also found he hated lying to himself as much as hearing lies from everyone around him.

At the same time, in spite of everything, these were his parents, and he loved them, though obviously he would never say that out loud, but then, neither would they. It just wasn’t done. But he wanted them to be proud of him. Even with what he now knew, he was still an eleven-year-old boy, and at the moment, he felt very small. Christmas had been horrid. Was it realistic to hope things were going to be better for the summer hols?

At that moment, Persephone came through the window and landed on his bed silently.

“’ello,” he said. “I’ve already packed your treats. Sorry.”

She gave him a disapproving look but hooted softly and hopped closer on the quilt until she was just next to him.

“What? You don’t have another letter for me, do you?”

A quick glance showed nothing was tied to her leg, though. Instead, she hunkered down next to his pillow, looking like she was intending to stay there for the night. She’d never done that before, but without wanting to question why, Draco was grateful.

“Thanks, girl,” he said quietly before lying down and finally letting sleep claim him.

The next morning was barely controlled chaos. The trunks had disappeared during the night, swept away by house-elves, he supposed, but he still had to worry about getting dressed and eating breakfast and having last minute meetings with people while promising to write over the summer.

“Hey, Crabbe, Goyle,” Draco said as they checked their dormitory one last time. “I’ll ask my parents if you can come round our place sometime this summer.”

“Cool,” Crabbe said, and Goyle nodded.

“Fine,” Draco said. “Let’s get out of this dump.”

The letters warning about the consequences of underage magic were given to every student, and then they were climbing aboard the Hogwarts Express again. Draco didn’t really feel like sitting in a compartment. He felt he needed to stretch his legs, so he started to walk along the cars, stopping to buy some Ice Mice from the trolley witch.

As he was looking out a window at the countryside, he felt a tap on his shoulder. His immediate thought was it might be Hermione, and he had a nasty comment ready on the tip of his tongue, but he turned to find Pansy standing there. He told himself firmly he was not disappointed.

“Hello,” she said. “I didn’t get a chance to see you this morning.”

“Bit busy, wasn’t it?” Draco said.

“Yes,” she said, and Draco noticed she looked a little pink. “Draco, would you mind if I wrote you once or twice this summer?”

Draco blinked in surprise. Somehow, he had nearly managed to forget he was technically engaged to Pansy. It gave him a rather sick feeling in his stomach, but he remembered the good manners he had been taught since childhood.

“It would be an honor,” Draco said with a bow.

Pansy smiled in relief and, with a quiet giggle, she left him alone in the compartment. As soon as she was gone, Draco told himself not to think about that now. All of that was years and years away. He had more than enough to deal with right now.

The scenery rolled by, and in less time than he would have thought, London appeared on the horizon. He sighed, then wandered through the cars, wondering who would be at the station to bring him home. When the train pulled into King’s Cross, he was one of the first ones off. He had barely set foot on the pavement when Dobby was beside him.

“Hello, Master Draco!” he piped. “Welcome home once again!”

Draco nodded at him, then sighed. He hadn’t really expected his parents to come, and yet he still felt disappointed.

“Is the Phantom parked out front?” Draco asked.

“It is,” Dobby assured him. “And I is to be bringing your trunk. Your owl was arriving before you at the manor. She is eating snacks when I left.”

“Good.”

“Also, your father is waiting for you in the car,” Dobby said.

“He is?” Draco asked, feeling happiness spreading around his chest in spite of himself.

“Indeed,” Dobby said, and while the house-elf smiled, Draco noticed it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’d better not keep him waiting then,” Draco said, and leaving behind all his deep thoughts, he grinned and raced out of Platform Nine and Three Quarters, through King’s Cross, out the main doors and straight towards the car that held his father. As he approached, the door opened.

“Hello, Father,” Draco said, smiling at him as he clambered into the car, but the next moment his face fell.

“Good afternoon, Draco,” he said, but his expression was cold. “We have much to talk about on our return journey to the Manor.”

He nodded, and the door closed behind Draco, the motor started on its own, and they pulled smoothly into the busy London traffic. Draco had been in trouble more than once in his life, even with his parents’ high degree of tolerance for his demanding and headstrong attitude, but he had never felt this worried about what was coming next.

“You did not use the ring I sent,” his father said, pinning him to the seat opposite with his glare.

“No, sir,” Draco said, realizing lying was useless, although if Dumbledore had kept his word, he probably didn’t know about Goyle.

“Why?”

“I wanted to prove I could succeed on my own,” Draco said. “A Malfoy shouldn’t need to cheat to be the best.”

“But,” he said, his eyes growing harder, “you were not the best.”

“I had the highest marks of any Slytherin in my year,” Draco said. “How is that not the best?”

“But you did not have the highest marks out of every first-year student at Hogwarts, did you?” he said. “I asked for the results of all the exams to be sent to me directly, and while that is technically a breach of privacy, as a donor of high standing with the Ministry and the school, Fudge thought I deserved to see the students’ progress.”

He took a roll of parchment from his cloak and handed it to Draco.

“I expect you already know what is written here?” he asked, his tone cold.

“I came in second,” Draco said quietly, but not looking away from his father’s gaze.

“Correct,” he said. “In every single exam, you were bested by the same witch. Who is Hermione Granger?”

“A Gryffindor,” Draco said.

“She is also a Mudblood,” his father added, his lip curling in disgust. “How could you permit that sort of filth to surpass you in literally every subject?”

“She’s . . . very brainy,” Draco said.

“Obviously,” his father said. “That kind of unnatural aberration can occur amongst their kind, and when it does, the freak needs to be shown that it is in its best interests not to attempt climbing heights that are reserved for purebloods alone.”

“Yes, Father,” Draco said, his stomach turning and the word it.

“This Granger will be destroyed,” he said, “for the preservation of our way of life. No other alternative is acceptable.”

Lucius Malfoy’s looked out the window, though Draco doubted he was even aware of the countryside. He just didn’t want to look at his son. That was probably for the best since Draco had become extremely pale.

“I don’t care how or by whom it is done, but you will not allow the Malfoy name to come in second behind someone little better than a beast. No, worse than a beast. At least some animals have a purpose, and Mudbloods have none. Is that understood?”

While his father’s voice was perfectly even, Draco noted that he was gripping his walking stick so tightly that his knuckles were white. The expression on his face chilled him, and in that moment, Draco realized for the first time that the man in front of him was fully capable of murder.

“I understand,” Draco said, trying not to let the tremble in his fingers reach his voice.

His father gave one sharp nod, then said, “This coming year will be the key to making certain every Mudblood and Muggle that draws breath will know their place once more, as they did under the Dark Lord. Beginning with the deaths of Harry Potter and this upstart usurper, Hogwarts will be the first step in that long-desired return to normalcy.”

“How?”

“By awakening a power that will clean the school of all who are unworthy,” he said, “and you are going to help me. Is that understood, Draco? I will not have you disobeying a direct order again.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco said.

“Good,” his father said, then fixed his gaze firmly out the window again. “Crucio.”

Pain ripped through Draco’s body like he had been thrown into a fire. He tried to scream, but no sound came out, and his father continued looking out the window, paying no attention to his son’s agony at his own hands. A few seconds later, the pain stopped, and Draco found himself on the floor of the car, not even remembering having fallen. He was panting, soaked in sweat, and horrified.

“We have nothing further to discuss,” his father said.

The rest of the ride home passed in complete silence. Lucius Malfoy never once glanced at his son, and Draco kept his eyes studiously on the floor of the car, not moving. However, his brain was rushing frantically, trying to decide what to do. Whatever his father was planning, he had to find out how to stop it.

When they reached the manor, his father opened the car door and left immediately, striding through the front door without a word. Draco guessed he was probably going to his study. His heart felt like lead as he got out of the car and looked up at the house’s imposing edifice.

He walked up the stone steps, through the entry hall, up the stairs, and down the corridor to his bedroom, where he collapsed on the bed, not moving. The echoes of pain were still vibrating through his body, and he knew the memory of what had happened would be part of him forever. More than anything, he wanted to sleep, to put everything off for an hour or two or ten, but he knew if he did that he would be haunted with nightmares that could turn into reality if his father had his way.

Yet, somehow, he still didn’t want to betray his family. Who else did he have? All of his friends would probably side with his father’s views. Even if he went to Dumbledore and asked for help, could he do that to his mother, or watch his father being led away to Azkaban? But he also couldn’t stand by and do nothing. His shriveled conscience was screaming at him, and he couldn’t ignore it. That’s when a wild idea came to him.

“Dobby? Are you here?” he asked quietly.

“I is here, sir,” Dobby said, popping into view at the foot of his bed.

“Do you know where my father is?”

“He is walking through the rose garden,” Dobby said.

“And my mother?”

“She is to be having luncheon with Mrs. Yaxley and will not be home for hours.”

Draco nodded, sitting up. His shoulders were squared, and he set his mouth determinedly.

“Close the door,” he ordered.

Dobby obeyed him immediately, but Draco caught a curious look on his face.

“Is something being wrong?” Dobby asked.

“Yes,” Draco said. “Dobby, if I asked you to do something for me, would you have to tell my parents about it?”

“That is depending on what it is,” Dobby said. “Dobby must be keeping his masters’ secrets.”

“But I’m one of your masters too, aren’t I?”

“Yes, sir,” Dobby said.

“Alright, then listen,” Draco said. “I want you to track down Harry Potter.”

“The Boy Who Lived?” Dobby said, his eyes enormous and lit with a starry hopefulness.

“The same,” Draco said with a sigh. “I want you to keep him from coming back to Hogwarts this year.”

“Why, sir?” Dobby asked.

“I’m swearing you to secrecy on this,” Draco said. “Something bad is going to happen at Hogwarts. Even I’m not sure what it is yet, but I know it’s going to put him in danger. I’ll try to find out more, but for now, you are not to admit I have anything at all to do with your mission. As far as anyone else is concerned, you left the manor on your own to tell him what’s happening when the time comes for it.”

“But, sir,” Dobby said, “house-elves is not being allowed to leave their family’s house without permission.”

“You have my permission,” Draco said. “Is that good enough?”

“Yes, sir, but won’t Harry Potter be wondering how I is able to leave the house?”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t know enough about house-elves to question it,” Draco said. “For now, just work on finding him. If you hear anything that my father is up to, are you allowed to tell me?”

“Not really, sir, no,” Dobby said.

“Then don’t,” Draco said. “I don’t want you having to punish yourself. It might arouse suspicion.”

“Indeed, sir,” Dobby said.

“I order you not to tell anyone this conversation happened,” Draco said firmly. “If my father asks, tell him I spoke to you about my trunk.”

“But you didn’t?” Dobby pointed out.

Draco opened his mouth, then realized what he needed to do.

“Dobby, have you seen my trunk?” he asked, ignoring the fact it was sitting three feet away from him.

“Yes, sir, it’s there,” he said, pointing at it.

“Good, now it won’t be a lie if you tell my father I asked you about my trunk, will it?” Draco said.

“No, sir,” Dobby said, grinning.

“Fine,” Draco said. “That will be all.”

“Yes, sir,” Dobby said, backing out of the room and shutting the door once more behind him.

Draco sighed, then began to change out of his school robes and into his regular ones that he wore at home. He wasn’t sure how much his father would be willing to tell him about whatever he was planning, but if he could just keep Potter from going back to Hogwarts, maybe he could stop it from happening. Then Hermione would be safe and he wouldn’t have to betray his mother and father. Everything could go back to the way it was a year ago. Everything would make sense again. Everything would be just fine.

But it wouldn’t, and no matter how much he wanted to believe his own lie, he knew there was no way to return to the life he’d led last summer. Looking at his Hogwarts robes lying in a rumpled mess on his bed, the embroidered school crest glittering faintly in the murky sunlight coming though his window, he wondered what the future really would hold. Taking a deep breath, he turned his back on his old life, squared his shoulders, and opened the door.