McGonagall led Draco to the stone gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore’s office. After she barked the password, causing the gargoyle to leap aside, and stepped onto the ascending spiral steps, it sank into him that they were going to her new office; she had been deputy headmistress.
As they entered the office that he had rarely visited before, his eyes shot to the floor as soon as he noticed a twinkling blue behind half-moon spectacles. Dumbledore’s portrait had already taken its place among the deceased headmasters from years past. Draco couldn’t look him in the eye, even if it wasn’t really him. He was ashamed that the man had been able to see right through him, maybe ever since Draco’s first attempt to kill him.
“Take a seat.” McGonagall wasted no time getting down to business. Draco had barely touched the chair before she started in on him, unleashing her aggravation from across the desk with a hand bracing either side. “Because of you, Bill Weasley lies in the hospital wing scarred horribly for life. The castle is in ruins from the battle. Death Eaters were allowed into the school. Students were forced to defend themselves against Unforgivable curses in a place they should be safest. And worst of all–” She lowered her voice menacingly, “our best defence against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead. And now, you are back. Convince me why I should believe you are not a spy and that you should not be thrown into Azkaban with your father.” Her nostrils flared and her voice cracked with the effort of keeping it steady.
Draco’s temper began to simmer. She didn’t have a damn clue. He gripped the arms of the chair in an effort not to grab his wand, locked his steely grey eyes onto her stern ones, and replied in an even, calculated tone, “My father died in Azkaban. My mother was murdered upon my return to the Dark Lord with Snape . He tried to kill me, but she threw herself in front of me so that I could live. You can do what you like with me; there isn’t a person in the world that will care. For my mother, I would prefer that you hear me out, and I will tell you nothing but the truth; dose me with Veritaserum if you must. I wish to help you, join your side in exchange for protection here.”
McGonagall’s expression softened for a fraction of a moment. She took a different look at him. He was just a boy, barely seventeen, who had just lost both of his parents and had gone against everything he had been taught to bring down his mother’s killer. Tom Riddle had been just a boy once. She decided to hear what he had to say before she decided whether or not she would accept any such help.
As she sat down, the portraits surrounding her seemed to move to the edge of their seats, ready to hear the tale. Draco still didn’t look at Dumbledore’s; instead he resigned himself from the stare-off with the headmistress to look intently at the grains of the wooden floor.
For a few moments, there was awkward silence. Where could he even begin to explain how every footstep he took was taken as if on eggshells, that he was constantly rethinking and checking his every action to be sure that it would please his father, that it was worthy of his heritage? How could she understand that he had never been given a choice in his life, that there were things expected of him, demanded of him, and who was he to refuse just because he was scared?
He sighed reluctantly. “I guess... I can only start with my father. I mean, when are you old enough and experienced enough to be able to know that the ones that protected you and taught you, may have been wrong?” He ploughed ahead at her puzzled expression, beginning a brief recount of his childhood as the son of Lucius Malfoy. He tried to describe what it was like to grow up in a loveless upbringing doused in Pureblood mania, ruled by the laws set forth by the wizard that promised power over Muggles, Muggle-borns, and blood traitors alike. He had been taught that their leader would return to them one day, and that Draco should consider it the highest honour if he were asked to join the ranks.
He tried to keep his pride in his Pureblood status out of the story; he was, after all, trying to get McGonagall to accept him back. She needn’t know that though he was questioning the methods of the Dark Lord, he believed that he had a good point.
He recounted the day he met Lord Voldemort during the summer before he started his sixth year. Surrounded by a circle of Death Eaters, Draco didn’t have much choice as to whether or not he wanted to accept the task. His mother had stood by his side, urging him on. Draco chanced glances into the red eyes, but mostly looked at his feet.
“Draco Malfoy, I appoint to you the honour of killing Albus Dumbledore. If you succeed, you will be accepted graciously into my most loyal circle of followers. If you are to fail…” The white hand waved its wand and ropes snaked their way around his mother’s body from head to foot. Unable to keep her balance, she fell on her side with a thump and a muffled cry. Draco opened his mouth in protest, but shut it just as quickly. He instead submitted to staring again at his feet. “Your mother will pay the consequences alongside you. You have not gained my trust yet, but you will, and you will be rewarded beyond your wildest imagination.”
Draco admitted that though he worried about his mother, once he left the menacing aura of the Dark Lord, he began to feel remarkably superior about being handpicked for such a task. Remembering when Montague got stuck in that Vanishing Cabinet, he had had a revelation one day in Borgin and Burkes when he saw a similar cabinet, thus providing a passage into Hogwarts as an added bonus.
As a reminder of his goal, Draco had been branded not with the Dark Mark, but a red hot iron in the same shape. Screaming in agony as the red-hot metal seared his flesh, he had been promised a real mark, once he had proven himself. He recalled being so angry when Madam Malkin had poked the sensitive skin with her pins when he was being fitted for new school robes; it didn’t help that Potter and his stupid cronies were getting into his business as usual.
Recounting the chain of events throughout the year, and ending with Snape shoving Draco out of the way and murdering Dumbledore, he became further bitter at his foolishness with each passing minute.
The longer he spoke, the more he realised how ridiculous it was to believe himself to be more than any other pawn, set up to die as punishment for his father’s failure. It should have been obvious that Voldemort didn’t intend to recruit a sixteen-year-old, given that the “trust” placed in him was enough to kill one of his greatest enemies, but not enough to officially accept him as a Death Eater. Draco hated the snake-faced fiend more than ever, and wanted nothing more than the red gleam in his eye to be extinguished. As if sensing his rising passion, McGonagall interrupted him as his intensifying voice became an all out shout.
“Mr. Malfoy,” she cut in, her voice less stern, “I’m sure this has all been very trying on you, but I must impress upon you the seriousness of what you have done. You may feel you were not given a choice in the matter, but you must still be held accountable. We appreciate your tip on the whereabouts of the Death Eater’s headquarters. All but a few had Disapparated before the Order had arrived. It won’t be long before they have set up camp elsewhere, but we can attempt to extract some information from those we apprehended in the meantime. It took a great deal of courage to turn your back on them after all you’ve been through and risk returning to us. Bearing that in mind, as long as you can truly admit that you regret everything, we may be able to work out an arrangement.”
Draco looked up at once and stared her dead in the eye. “If I could take it all back, from the start of the year, I would. All of my actions amounted to nothing but to show me what Voldemort really is. If I can take anything from this experience, it’s that the way he gets things done isn’t right. Tyranny and murder can’t produce true respect or power, only fear.”
She pursed her lips as she evaluated his declaration. “Though I don’t think your heart is in the right place, I do believe that you are sorry. Hopefully in time you will be sorry for the right reasons. You may stay as long as you keep your attitude in check, stay out of trouble, complete every task I assign you, and give us your full cooperation, do I make myself clear?”
If only my father could see me now. “Yes ma’am,” Draco responded, trying his absolute best to suppress the sarcasm and the smirk that came naturally.
She seemed satisfied with the answer. “You will stay here over the summer and help Hagrid tend to the castle and the grounds. You may keep your wand, but you will not be allowed to use magic during your labours. You are by no means a prisoner and may leave whenever you like, but you will be under very heavy supervision, given your circumstances. What are your intentions after the summer is over; would you like to continue with schooling?”
“Uh–” He hadn’t really thought about it. “I suppose I might as well finish my last year while I’m here, but I doubt being in class with Slytherins would go over very well.”
“We can arrange for an independent study and private lessons with the professors to prepare you for your N.E.W.T. exams, but we can discuss your subjects later. In the mean time, I would advise you to give some serious thought as to what you would like to do after Hogwarts. You need to think about a future without Death Eaters and You-Know-Who.” McGonagall stood to leave, indicating that their chat was over.
He followed her through the familiar passageways of a school he had grown fond of, solely because it kept him away from home, away from his father. It was the only place left for him, his new home. How ironic, he thought to himself cynically.
She led him up the stairs of a tower he had never been in. The room he walked into was cosy enough, cosier than the Slytherin dungeons at least, complete with fireplace, overstuffed chair, dresser, desk, and four-poster bed. Amazingly, his trunk with all of his belongings awaited him at the foot of the bed. Those house elves never miss a trick, he thought with a hint of appreciation.
“Everything you need is here. One of the elves from the kitchens will be in every now and then to check on you. I suggest you keep to yourself for the time being. Hagrid will send for you when you are to begin work.” McGonagall already had one foot out the door as she finished her last sentence. She paused, halfway through the doorway and turned, her eyes hinting at a parental concern that Draco had associated with parents boarding their kids on the Hogwarts Express for the first time. He took a step back, not used to being looked at in that way.
“I am... glad you have returned. I’m sorry that it took a tragedy for you to realise where you belong, and I hope that others don’t cause you to regret your decision, even for a second.” She looked as though she were trying to emphasise every word she said, to make sure he understood her. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he merely gave her a curt nod. She nodded back, and shut the door on her way out, leaving him completely alone.
As he later attempted to salvage what was left of the night in his strange, new bed, a fierce pair of brown eyes haunted his dreams as he tossed and turned.
Author notes:
Thank you for all the reads! Please review!
Next chapter: Fire Meets Ice (we all know what that means!).
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