Chapter Text
Hiding in his designated room felt like the most natural step after what was close to one of the top five worst nights of his life. Despite being wandless he felt safer here than at the manor and yet, vegging out, roots burrowing into a Weasleys floorboards, was a little too much for him. He would not be left behind, not here.
He crept out of his room, toward the foyer. Empty. He could smell the remnants of some sort of breakfast and a faint lingering of Potter’s heady scent. Glancing to the kitchen, he was shocked to see that someone was still here. He took a large breath, reminding himself not to turn tail and made his way into the room. He spared the plate of meat with a look of longing but turned toward the sink to grab a cup instead.
“Morning.” He opted in greeting, voice rough and so unlike his usual tone. A reminder that last night had not been an ill dream. The older man only acknowledged him politely, keeping to his breakfast.
Draco lifted the glass of water to his lips, letting it soothe his aching throat. He wished for something stronger. Instead he turned to the man eating at the table behind him, resting back against the counter.
“You were there that night.”
Man Weasley looks up at him, stopping the fork from entering his mouth. “I was.” He supplies, moving to complete his halted bite, not needing an explanation.
“I stepped over you, I couldn’t remember but- but I had the weirdest dream last night.” Draco set the glass on the counter, allowing his sweaty hands to grip the edge.
“A dream was it?”
“More of a nightmare really.” Draco let his eyes trace the jagged claw marks, uncaring about being respectful, “I can smell him on you too.” He made sure not to add, ‘now that Potter had stepped out’.
He sat back with a sigh, letting his silverware settle against the ceramic, “That’s what happens when you're scratched,” he gestured to his face, then to Draco, “or bitten by an untransformed werewolf. Not a full werewolf but not a full wizard either. Quite the conundrum, aren’t we?”
Draco hummed, no point in denying it after all that had happened. Rather, he moved his eyes toward the window, watching the three biggest royal pains in his arse discuss something out on the beach. He was running out of time. Why was this so hard?
“Is this you trying to apologize?” The man at least didn’t sound angry when he spoke.
Draco rubbed his hands together, pulling on the unless digits, “I knew what I was doing, the harm it would cause, and I did it anyway. Why would one apology to you repair what I’ve done? Assuage the pain of my professors, my classmates–their families?”
Weasley nodded with a deep sigh, “I suppose that’s just something you’ll have to learn to live with.” He gave Draco a pointed look, “I can’t fix that feeling for you by accepting a shite apology, Harry can’t, no one can. Only you can decide, sink or swim. Change or succumb.” He crossed his arms, looking all the more like the older brother that he was, “What’s it going to be?”
Draco looked away quickly, he knew he couldn’t keep running forever but Merlin, it felt like a damn good plan. It was what had kept him alive thus far. But–he had to admit that it hadn’t quite felt like living.
He had to ignore the habitual queasy feeling that he was considering advice from a Weasley of all people but he knew the man was right. Sink or swim, change or succumb. Runaway and let it eat him alive or change the course while he still had time. Giving Bill Weasley a jerky nod, words feeling thick in his throat, he pushed away from the counter and moved to exit the kitchen.
“Oh and Draco,” he paused, glancing back over his shoulder, Bill’s eyes were furrowed, the real first anger he’d seen in him, even after all Draco had done to alter his life, “Harry’s family.”
Draco held back from rolling his eyes at the evident threat, now this was a response he could handle, “You have nothing to worry about, fairy tales are meant for books, not war.” He continued forward, out the front door.
The sun beat out the clouds, glaring down on him as he approached the three, clearly heated themselves. Granger was raking desperately through her bag. Despite the unusual bright sun, she looked pale. Deep bags under her eyes, looking uncertain and somehow still determined for the road ahead. He wasn’t sure he was ready to speak with her again. He wasn’t even sure she wanted to speak with him. He cleared his throat. Time to sink or swim.
“Yes, good morning to you too, Malfoy.” She didn’t bother looking up. Weasley looked out toward the sea, dropping his arm mid discussion. Potter stared him down–nothing new. He had to keep himself from looking long. Potter was wearing that same drab jacket. A light breeze carried its scent–faintly tart. It smelt like Draco. He suppressed a shiver, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the girl.
“I won’t be calling you mudblo-” Potter’s eyes narrowed and Weasley looked close to breaking his neck as he twisted to look at him, “That word, anymore.”
Granger sighed, “It’s the closest apology I’ll be getting, I’m sure.”
“I’m serious.” He wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue, “I was angry, and I wanted to hurt you.” She finally met his silver gaze.
“I suppose I was equally immature, and doing the same. What we’ve learned,” Her face grew serious with a dark look, pausing at her movements in her bag, “won’t be leaving the confines of this cottage. Not from any of us.”
Draco nodded, the tightness in his chest had yet to recede. If anything, it grew stronger. “Grand.”
The others shuffled awkwardly, as if waiting for him to leave. He huffed, no way in Salazar's knickers would they be leaving him here of all places. “One more thing.” Bill Weasley of all people echoed in his head. Change or succumb. “You can’t pull this off.”
The group turned back to him, and he ignored the urge to preen welling within him, enjoying their equally shocked face. How could they have forgotten who they were dealing with?
“Pull what off?” Potter questions offhandedly. The tit.
“Your goblin likes to talk to himself, understandably, being around you deplorable lot is enough to drive anyone mad.”
Weasley throws his hands up but Draco ignores him, staring down Granger, “Despite your sudden brazen streak, you can’t pull off playing Bellatrix.”
“And you think you can do better?”
“I know I can.” Reaching into his pocket to grip the cool glass, pulling it out to flash it to the others, “Especially when I have this.”
“Where did you get that?!” Granger cried, finally pulling her arm out of her bag.
“Better question.” Weasley scowled, “What do you want for it?”
“I drink it, helping get you through the bank.”
Potter turned to him fully, emerald eyes watching him challengingly, “You’re joining us from the sudden kindness of your heart?”
“No, don’t be daft.” Draco snickered, giving Potter a toothy grin, “I expect you to hand over my wands.”
“We are not just going to give you three wands-”
“I don’t want that crazy bint’s wand–just my own and my mothers.” Then as an afterthought, “And the family blade, it goes with the scar.”
Weasley moved to rub a finger on his temples, “We just trust you? Like you’ve never tried to screw us over before?”
Draco crossed his arms, remaining determined, “I wouldn’t expect any of you to understand, I’m definitely not loyal to your cause, but I’m not loyal to theirs either–I’m over with this sodding war. I’m done.”
The silence lingered before Potter and Granger nodded at one another, Granger stepping forward to hand over the single black hair. Weasely groaned, clutching his head, “Why me?” he muttered but the group ignored him, they had a mission to prepare for.
𓇢𓆸
He stumbled against the cobblestoned street, not used to the incline the heels supplied.
“Don’t bugger this up, Malfoy, or we’re all dead.” Weasley, also polyjuiced, supplied helpfully, before throwing a cloak over Potter and that goblin he couldn’t believe they were trusting, vanishing them from sight.
Draco thought of when he’d thrown it over Potter’s stunned body back at the start of sixth year. It felt like a lifetime ago from this moment and yet it didn’t stop the guilt welling within him. He was good at being down right rotten when he wanted to be. Especially towards Potter. Granger, disguised as his mother, pulled him forward. He grit his teeth, resisting the urge to ask if she knew what father had done. How he’d hurt him, how he’d ruined their family forever. Yet, this wasn’t his mother. This wasn’t his mother. Just- just her bloody face, pinched together like when he was a boy and he’d been caught naughty, was all. She pulled him again.
Right. Time sensitive mission.
He shook off the upsetting thoughts, channeling the inner Black blood his mother claimed was in him as he walked through the bank. It was familiar, he was used to coming here for the Malfoy vaults with his father– No. Best to stop those thoughts now.
The damned goblin before him had yet to look up as they stood in front of him, “I’m here to access my vault.” He snapped, voice high and nothing like his own.
“Identification.” The goblin sighed, still not bothering with them.
He gritted his teeth, eyes narrowed, “How dare you ignore a witch!”
Granger and Weasley jumped slightly, but he ignored them, pointing a gleaming blade, still covered with his dried blood, in the face of the goblin before him.
The goblins eyes widened, face twisting uncomfortably, “Madame Lestrange, I- I meant no harm.”
Another ancient goblin approached from behind the other, “Just a matter of policy–we must see your wand–”
Draco felt a brush of hand, not looking down but reaching out to hold the wood held out to him. “You wish to see my wand?” He sneered, whipping the black ugly bent thing forward, “I should curse you right where you stand with it!”
“No need, Madame! We offer apologies, please right this way-”
The group followed after, clambering into the cart, Granger still wearing mothers delicate features slowed, allowing Potter allotted time to sneak through. It began its descent, winding through the cave below at its usual break neck speed.
Griphook yanked at the cloak, scaring the goblin riding alongside them. He cried loudly, “They know! We’re passing the vault!”
Weasley jumped for the break and Draco was unsure who cast the Unforgivable that finally stopped the goblin from screaming, “Thieves! Thieves!”
“We have to jump off!”
He didn’t have a second to think as Potter gripped his arm, pulling him out of the cart along with all the others. Falling on to the rocky terrain, softer than they would have if Granger wasn’t as fast with her spell work as she was. The dress tightened against his shoulders, hearing threads pop against the strain, while his chest grew rather loose. He could handle that but the laced boots at his feet pulled a groan from his lips, his feet crying for release. It was drowned out by a loud roar echoing throughout the chamber, as they slowly stood, glancing at one another.
“Great.” Potter drawled, “The potions have worn off.”
Draco rolled his shoulder, attempting to stave off a building ache in his shoulder from taking the brunt of the jagged rock. Granger did alright with closing the wound but he’d need Severus to give it a look over–if they made it out alive that is.
“Shoulder still bothering you?” Potter, closer than he’d been before, questioned.
He ceased his movements, “I’ve had worse.”
It was dark but he could still see Potter’s face fall from the faint glow of a far off flame. It was the truth, he’d almost died in that bathroom and though Severus was fast and efficient, the dark magic had still left a nasty set of scars, and yet he regretted saying it. Seeing Potter that hurt felt as if he’d taken a bludger to the gut. He had to bite his tongue to keep from apologizing. Remaining silent, they both opted for looking away instead.
However they had no choice but to continue moving forward, through the darkened area.
It wasn’t long before they reached the dragon, looking worse for wear and sickly. Draco gave his throbbing shoulder a deep rub as he took up the back of the group, the last to lay eyes on the chained creature. He watched it with wide eyed fascination, the last dragons he’d seen had been at the triwizarding tournament and he hadn’t been allowed closer than his seats permitted. He jolted at the sudden racket, turning to the goblins rattling a metal container in their hands. “It’s been trained to associate the sound with punishment.” Griphook explained as they made their way toward the stairs.
“It's barbaric.” Granger snapped and Draco couldn’t help but agree, giving the beast one last long look, white scales, scarred and bleeding. He could see himself in its withered eyes.
“Come on!” Potter barked harshly and Draco picked up his feet to catch up with the others at the already open vault door.
As they filtered inside he glanced around the room cautiously, “Don’t touch anything.”
“What, you think it’s cursed?” Ron questioned as they spelled their wands to light. Bellatrix's wand refused to light for him.
He sighed, “She’s a Black, of course it’s cursed-”
Something clattered to his left, “Blimey-”
“Damn it Weasley! You useless sod!” Oh great- the wand finally lit for him.
Griphook reached out toward the others, hands waving, “It’s the Gemino Curse!”
It was like they suddenly had no control of their limbs as panic set in, tripping all over different items, multiplying one after another. His newfound lumos helping him none whatsoever.
“Stop moving!” Granger shouted to his left but he could only watch as Potter continued climbing up and up the ever mounding items, toward a dinky cup high up top. It buried him effortlessly. Swallowing him up until he was nowhere to be seen.
He shifted forward, as if he could still reach him, items clanking as they began multiplying from his jerking, “Harry!”
“Don’t move, Malfoy!” Granger demanded.
He halted, watching the pile with distress.
Harry bloody Potter, known as the Boy Who Lived for a reason, burst out of the pile, cup and sword in hand with a killer smile on his lips, and Draco took a breath of relief at the sight of him.
Yet in a matter of seconds, the slimy goblin that Draco knew couldn’t be trusted, sounded the alarm toward the other goblins, like the dirty traitor he was, clutching the sword in hand. This was something Draco would remember if he ever got his hands on the little bastard again.
They managed to race out of the suffocating vault, onto the platform. A swarm of goblins were waiting at their exit, yelling and and the dragon raised tall, unhinging his jaw wide, leaving them the only option to dodge to the sides, avoiding a close call against a billowing fireball.
Draco should have known to expect nothing but life threatening danger when he decided to follow after these three danger prone fools. Except when Granger raced forward to jump on top of the firebreathing dragon, he didn’t give it a second thought. Winding back, he sprinted after, not likely to pass up a life long dream of his when death was obvious near. Potter gave chase and Weasley jumped after him.
Granger blasted the chain, allowing the dragon to begin scaling the side of the rock, wings fluttering but clearly strained from disuse. He gripped the protruding spike for dear life, as it crashed through the spell blasted stone, giving a few pumps of its wings, ignoring the screaming workers below. Then with one swift kick, it burst forward, right through the glass ceiling. He was grateful for whoever casted a quick Protego.
Harsh wind swiped at his face yet he couldn’t help but smile. Damn it all to Salazar, he was flying on a bloody dragon. Though that was hard in itself to focus on as Potter’s large hand wrapped tightly around his own, the other gripping the back of that horrid dress he was still ripping through. A thrill zapped inside of him, a tinge of lightning raced through him, up and down and back up, just from the simple contact. Until Potter pulled his grip off the dragon, shoving him off and following after his falling body, down into the murky water below.
He didn’t have a second to think, gasping hard, swallowing a lung full of water. It burned and he struggled to get his limbs to push up before hands gripped him tightly, ripping him to the surface. Sputtering and choking, he coughed out a lung as a large palm smacked onto his back painfully.
He would kill Potter when he was good and well again to keep him from continuing to throw him from great heights. That was a promise.
It was rough, swimming through the freezing waters but they managed somehow, stumbling upon the rocky shore. The torn sea drenched dress weighing him down.
“You-Know-Who. He knows.” Potter snapped as he trudged up the grassy hill, clutching at his head, “He knows we broke into Gringotts. He knows we took the horcrux. He knows about Draco.”
Granger stuck an arm deep into her bag in a panic, “How is it you know?”
“I saw him.”
“What do you mean you saw him?!” Draco pressed before tripping as a heel snapped in between a rock, falling to his hands and knees. The dress gave an audible rip at his back.
They ignored him, and his hapless struggling behind them, “Harry, you can’t let him in!”
Harry growled, “Hermione, I can’t always help it. “
“Nevermind that! What happened?” Weasley cried as they stopped at the top. Draco limped up the hill in a huff, falling next to Granger on the floor, accepting the drops of dittany she offered, first rubbing it on his fresh scar at his shoulder, taming the painful throbbing. Then he ripped off the constricting shoes. Throwing them far away.
“Well, he’s angry. Scared too. He knows if we find and destroy all the horcruxes we’ll be able to kill him–”
“Horcruxes?! That’s what we just collected?!” Draco squawked, waving his arms, “Destroy it now!”
They looked down at his flailing form but he didn’t care, standing to back away at a safe distance, “If you have the means, go ahead, destroy it for us, if not shut it!” Weasley barked, “Go on, what else Harry?”
Potter gave him a queasy look, shifting forward toward him and then back again, looking at Weasley instead, “At Hogwarts, I saw the castle and Rowena Ravenclaw. It must have something to do with her. We have to go there, now.”
“What? We can’t do that. We’ve got to plan first!”
“Hermione, when have any of our plans ever actually worked?” Potter paused, eyes moving back to Draco, piercing him down, “We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose.”
Remembering the way Potter had collected him back at the manor, he supposed that had never been a part of the golden boy’s plan. An uncontrollable reaction to the rut overtaking his mind.
“One problem: Snape’s headmaster now. We can’t just walk through the front door.”
Draco wanted to jump to his godfather's defense, curse Weaslebee a thousand times over but whatever thought crossed his mind died at the first sight of tan skin. Potter ripped the wet shirt off his back, taut muscles, built most likely from months on the run, flexing. He swallowed dry, watching water droplets race down a dark haired chest. Knees weak, he sunk back down to the floor, pulling at the tight dress he was still stuck in.
Maybe Potter really was meant to be an alpha.
Potter carried on, authoritative, driven and completely unaware of Draco’s current struggle, “We’ll go to Hogsmeade, to Honeydukes. Take the secret passage in the cellar.”
Draco jolted as a wad of clothes smacked his face. He met Granger's knowing eyes, turning away with a huff to change himself. He re-secured the dagger as he pulled the pants up from under the dress, unable to take his clothes off in front of another audience despite spending most of his adolescence in quidditch locker rooms. He supposed it only took one wretched night to change the way he went about doing things. Potter, forever the saint, moved to lift that damned jacket of his, blocking as much of Draco as he could. Draco said nothing, ripping off what was left of the dress and slipping on the shirt, then some socks and his shoes, now a comfortable size.
When he lifted, brushing a hand through his slightly overgrown hair, Potter approached even closer. His hand was gripped tightly, twisted so his palm was up, “Potter what-”
Two wands were pushed into his hand, Potter's hand holding the top of his for longer than was natural, “Go, you held up your end, you’re done here.”
“Now wait a minute-”
Potter growled, not yet pulling back, hand hot despite the ice cold water they’d just been in, “I’m serious, go.”
“Severus is at Hogwarts, therefore, so. Am. I.” Despite the anger, Draco didn’t pull away either, “I’m getting there, whether I go with or without you.”
“Brat.” Potter muttered, “We’re leaving then. Now.”
They all gripped each other, apparating just outside Honeydukes. Taking not more than one step before a shrill cat cry sounded out. Potter gripped him, pulling him after Granger and Weasley who had taken off behind some storage boxes.
Death eaters were hot on their heels, missing them only by seconds.
“I can redirect them, they won’t kill me,” Draco whispered quickly, “They may take me to Severus.”
Potter only tightened his grip, yanking him down to the floor, “Shut up.” He snarled, grip turning iron tight.
Draco bit his tongue, hearing the death eaters a few boxes back, ripping at sheets. The alarm sounded once more further away and they took off, Potter's name and a curse spewed out into the wind. He was painfully yanked in the opposite direction yet he knew better than to yell out, legs shaking as he struggled to follow along down the cobbled steps.
He skidded to a stop with the others, Dumbledore's ghost stared them down. The whipping wind of the Astronomy tower, a guaranteed offer of safety, a crack of green lightening not unlike Potter's eyes, a body crumpled, dead, and falling back, and down, down, down to the hard earth with a sickening crunch. Draco lurched back but Potter kept his grip, his other hand moving to rub at his back as he guided him toward the door, making their way inside and down the stairs.
Trying to take a couple quiet deep breaths, he eyed the den before them. Potter finally let go, allowing him to rub his now pained wrist. He was sure it would bruise. Yet when Dumbledore–not the dead one back for revenge–offered the small amount of food resting on the table he jumped along with Granger and Weasley, shoving a wad of bread into his mouth, not realizing his gnawing hunger till the food was directly in front of him. He can hear Potter and Aberforth arguing and yet he only has enough energy to reach for the last roll, chewing it animalistically, knowing if his mother could have seen him he’d be scolded.
It isn’t until the old man calls Potter’s quest a suicide mission that he turns his attention back to them.
Potter standing tall, unwavering, always the gallant and gleaming hero. He speaks with confidence that Draco hasn’t felt in quite sometime, “I trusted the man I knew,” Draco can’t help but think of his father, a bout of nausea swirling, ready to spew the bread he just consumed. No one notices. “We need to get into the castle tonight.”
When Aberforth takes his leave along with the girl in the portrait, Draco meets Potter's eyes, “That trust will poison you.”
No one says anything until the girl returns. Company following behind her.
“Neville!” Granger cries, and Draco has to do a double take of the bloke, face battered and bruised.
He looks happy to see them, giving them large hugs. Then he notices Draco, and it seems to stump the git.
“Er, you guys alright then?”
Weasley is the one to move, clutching Longbottom on the shoulder, “Better now. Trust me.” That seems to push Longbottom into action, guiding them through the passage.
“What’s happened to you?” Granger questioned.
Longbottom continues guiding them, “The Carrows, brother-sister death eaters, I’m sure Malfoy’s familiar."
Draco stumbles, after everything that’s happened he’d put that guilt about them on the back cauldron, unable to worry about the way he’d left Hogwarts when his life was in throes of danger. He grits his teeth, continuing to take up the back without comment. Sink or swim.
Longbottom continued, “They’ve been teaching Unforgivables, their favorite being the Cruciatus curse. I refused.”
That stopped Draco. He’d only refused once and all it took was Crucio casted on him before he was raising his wand to someone else. He’d never refused again. Longbottom, stronger than him, hadn't been what he expected to bring him down to rock bottom.
He didn’t hurry after the continuing group, taking a moment to gather his racing thoughts and steady his pounding heart. The wave of applause and cheers didn’t move him any faster. When he reaches the exit, the lot were out hugging and laughing and he ascertained he should’ve taken his chance with the death eaters back in Hogsmeade.
As he steps out, it quiets down instantly, everyone clearly not expecting him as they watched with wide, stunned eyes. He clenches, moving and pushing through the crowd, ignoring Potter’s call. He takes a spot in the back, glowering at some brown haired hufflepuff, Finch something. Not that he really cared what his name was. The boy turned away quickly at his hateful expression.
He can hear Potter ask about the Horcrux in his secret and confusing way, and the only one able to interpret it would of course be Looney Lovegood. He watches the girl discuss the Ravenclaw diadem, yet all he can hear is high pitched screams, as if he’s back at the manor, as if she’s back in the dungeons.
He decides she gets a pass, either Luna or Lovegood, nothing more, nothing less.
Potters focused when he looked back at him. His brow furrowed, trusting every word she says without doubt. He looks strong. Solid. Like a man about to win a war. Draco can’t look away, he finds that he really doesn’t want to. Even when the door to his right rumbles.
The parting crowd obscures his view and he’d never admit to shifting over just to capture one final glimpse of the wizarding world's hero in his element. An action he regrets almost instantaneously. Red hair, almost shimmering under the warmth of the candles, bouncing as the girl rushes forward. He can’t see her face but he knows that she must be smiling a broom length wide. Reflecting the beam on Potter's own face.
He hates himself for the way he can’t stop the hurt when she pulls him down, a chaste kiss.
How could he have forgotten about the littlest Weasel? A misplaced rush of hormones, nature's design and nothing more lost to the cottage they left behind. Nothing happened between Potter and himself, nothing was going to happen and still he can feel the nails digging into his palms, unable to swallow a low growl that only the irrelevant hufflepuff hears, if whatever-his-name’s quick glance is anything to go by.
Potter pulls back, those damned green eyes darting to him for only a second before they move back to the girl before him as she tugs on his raggedy jacket. The jacket that Draco– That must still smell like–
“Harry,” She calls, voice concerned, loving, “you smell like a– You’re a-?” The beta girl pulls back to take in Potter’s new rise to superiority. A pedestal Draco’s punishment gave him. A shiny new title, he did not deserve.
Something rotten takes place in Draco’s chest, watching as the Weaselette rights his wrongs, pulls Potter back into orbit, to where he truly belongs. Just because it has to happen, was always going to happen, ink only needing to dry upon the history book, does not mean that he has to watch like some scorned lover. He will not let himself fall victim to emotions that are not his own. A love that isn’t his, that isn’t real.
Even if he can’t stop wondering if Potter’s lips are as soft as they look. If he’d taste as good as he smelled.
He strides quickly out the door the slag, (or was that technically his title?), had come in, deciding it was time he found Severus and be done with this pathetic lot.
His godfather has always been good at righting his wrongs.
That’s where he belongs–not here and certainly not with Potter.