41Disclaimer: The author of this fan fiction does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the original characters of the Harry Potter series belong to their original creator J.K.R.
Author's Notice: This is me, finally accepting the books five six and seven…. But not the epilogue. Please forget the epilogue. And the movie epilogue. (A balding Draco. Way to destroy a girls' dream. )
First of all, I'd like to thank by Beta, Jedi Tess of Gryffindor, for her help and work. Thank you!
Heartless
By: Dranius
Chapter 1 : Walking with the Dead
"Malfoy, if you set off a trap with all that chewing, I swear I'll kill you," hissed a voice in his ear. Draco kept masticating on the piece of dried meat with gusto, taking a few gulps of water to ease to process of softening the food.
The young man didn't even bother to feign surprise. Instead, he raised a finger, and pointed at Chancey who was busy poking at the security nexus with the tip of his wand. "I beg you, please don't worry about me, he will most likely manage to kill us all before I'm done with my meal…" he drawled.
Their squad leader swore profusely, and proceeded to tackle the trainee, snatching the wand from his fingers and proceeding to swat his nose with it sharply and repeatedly, punctuation each of his words with a tap. "I said, don't touch the goddamn nexus!"
Draco turned his attention away from the squabbling leader and apprentice, allowing his eyes to wander over their makeshift camp. As usual, the ambient grubbiness got to him. He found himself wondering why he put up with it. Malfoys are creatures of silk and three course meals, not of mud and grime. Then, he remembered why he was standing there, fearing both mosquitoes, and an especially nefarious onslaught of homicidal magic. Draco had to hold back a growl.
The handsome blond remembered those events clearly, as if they had happened only the previous day and not a few years ago. Voldemort's last day, his and Potter's showdown and of course, Scarhead's impossible victory. A mad debacle for freedom had ensued on the Death Eaters' side.
Not ones to stick around after their Lord and Master had been utterly defeated by a seventeen year old boy with the stature of a starved twig, they had fled to the safest Death Eater-friendly territory they could think of: Malfoy Manor.
What they had not known at the time was that the Malfoy allegiance had changed in the last half hour. In fact, Draco couldn't help but wince, remembering he had been the cause of his mother's betrayal to their Lord, hiding Potter's death from him in exchange of her familys' safety.
The old magics that tied the Malfoys' lands to their blood instantly registered the change of loyalty. To it, Death Eaters were now enemies. Bloodlore lay strong between Malfoys and their land.
Thus, the Malfoy estate took it upon itself to get rid of what were now considered dangerous and unwanted guests. Upon seeing the drapes and carpets trying to eviscerate their close friends, and already inhabited with a strong sense of paranoia and desperation, the Death Eaters retaliated. Only the dumbest were too slow to realize the Malfoys had turned against them and their Lord. Those were the first to die.
Out of spite and greed, those left decided to rob the Manor. The few who survived that near impossible feat managed to take with them many artifacts, all of them worth a fortune, being most powerful objects of more or less dark nature and thus of great importance to the Malfoy name.
Under those circumstances, Draco had taken it upon himself to track down his stolen belongings. The Ministry was too busy hating the Malfoy name to be of any help. He had gathered a small hit team, hiring people away from Gringotts' curse breaking teams and other reliable sources, and took off on the trail of the remaining Death Eaters along with the Aurors. Needles to say coexistence was not always easy, but it was through mutual hatred that came an understanding: one needed the other to survive better.
Draco's team used to be of five people, but now only counted four.
Sammeth was the self-proclaimed leader of the group: the one with most experience and an accomplished Curse Breaker. He was in his 40s, tall and lanky, and he had graying hair with a constant three day beard. His blue eyes were the sharpest Draco had ever seen; but they were nowhere as sharp or agile as his mind. For some reason, the man insisted in bringing along his Apprentice wherever he went.
Fresh out of Durmstrang, Roy 'Chancey' Frederosky was a meager boy of 18 year of age. Incredibly clumsy and way too curious; his raw talent made up for his lack of prudence. Also, the boy was the luckiest person the youngest Malfoy had ever met. If it was not for his insolent and seemingly never ending strike of luck, he'd have been six feet under long ago.
The third member of their team was most commonly referred to as a Scout in the curse breaker professional jargon. At the age of twenty-nine, the tall woman was their trap specialist. Always harboring her dreadlocked black hair in the most outrageous style, Ashtoreth kept them safe by being three steps ahead of them. She kept their backs, making sure nothing unexpected would ever come snapping at them.
Last came the Malfoy himself. He was their Dark Arts specialist. Some of the magics bound to the artifacts they were hunting were of the most tainted nature, but also, the Death Eaters who'd planted them were not the kind of people to use tickling hexes to guard their valuables.
As well as a Dark Arts know-it-all, he was also their official Blood Mage: a line of work limited to pure-blooded wizards of ancient magical lineage. This trade was often frowned upon as it consisted mainly in manipulating the older magics: those better left dormant. It was dangerous to call unto Bloodlore, but when going against those to whom purity of blood mattered most, a Blood Mage was a vital key to survival. It had been one of the reasons the Weasleys and other members of old families had been so precious to the Order of the Phoenix: only old blood bound to strong magic could break through certain wards.
Draco's eyes lingered for a short moment over the black body bag he knew contained a corpse and chose to interrupt Sammeth's and Chancey's squabbling. "Don't you think we should take her back to her parents, maybe her husband?" he asked.
Ash raised her eyes from her cooking, crouched over by the fire. "Her parents died during the war," she said, tilting her head and flipping a few bejeweled dreadlocks over her shoulder. "No one to send her to. Never got married, not even a boyfriend."
"She never really talked about her personal life. I don't think she had anyone either," said Sammeth, casting the bag a somewhat regretful glance.
Draco pushed away the pity that was making his stomach churn. The pity, and the guilt. "I don't think it would be a wise idea to push any further for now. Without a Hex to protect us, we'd be in deep trouble if an emergency occurred. What do you think?" he asked, mercury eyes locking with the curse breaker's sky blue.
"I believe we all need a few days off. Let's spend tomorrow setting up wards around this place so no one will stumble on something dangerous while we're gone. I'm sure you can arrange a descent funeral for Tammy. One we can all attend to. And while we're back to civilization, we can hire a new Hex."
"I'll write a letter now to set things up." agreed Draco, standing and walking towards his tent. "I'll also make arrangements for a portkey back to London tomorrow evening."
The team settled back down when Draco entered his tent, sharing small smiles before getting back to their business. Even after a war, death still cut pretty deep.
Ash rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "That guy is so old." she complained, handing to Chancey and Sammeth a bowl of what looked suspiciously like rat stew.
"You're one to speak," mocked Chancey, "How old are you, fifty?" He easily avoided a kick the woman aimed at his leg before sitting down around the fire to eat with his friends. The dark woman pouted playfully. "You know what I mean," muttered the American witch, eyeing the tent. "Malfoy is just fuckin' weird, dude."
"Language, you punk," snapped Sammeth. Ash simply rolled her eyes before casting her squad leader a mocking glance. "I'm just a lil' rebellion you can't handle old man," she drawled loudly.
Draco sighed, massaging his temples as he allowed himself to slump in his chair in a very un-Malfoylike manner. His mother would have had a fit if she saw him. Oh well: what she didn't know didn't hurt her.
He glanced at the only photo frame on his desk, eyes lingering thoughtfully on the snapshot that marked the day that had changed his life. One that had been on the front page of the Daily Prophet.
It had been taken the day of Voldemort's downfall: all the survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts stood in a incongruent clump of wounded, crying, smiling, cheering, dancing, mournful people… and on the very left of the photo stood the Malfoys, making it clear to the wizarding community on what side they had fought.
Draco's smirk turned into a tight, half hearted smile. On what side the Malfoys had fought… what a joke. It was only thanks to Potter that they were not all three of them in Azkaban. A pure strike of luck, and a genius move on his mother's part.
Of course they had stood before a court, but their only punishment was a mild fine and constant monitoring of their business affairs for the next 20 years. The Ministry cleanout of their house of all dark art related objects remained an urban myth that neither party made an effort to dissipate.
The young blond himself had been considered innocent of all charges due to his never killing someone, and being an underage wizard at the time of his failed attempts. Draco felt it was ridiculous. Everyone whew who he'd sided with, where his opinions lay! But they still… treated him like one of theirs. All of them pussyfooting around the fact that he was a bloody turncoat.
For the first time in his life, Draco had felt like scum. He had hated them for being so stupid. So accepting…. So forgiving. Of course, he'd expected all the skepticism, all the barely veiled insults thrown in his direction. In fact, he welcomed them. Anything to alleviate the guilt. But there simply were not enough of those negative feelings to allow him to feel better about himself.
He pushed those emotions away, shaking his head a little and reaching into his desk to pull a parchment and self inking quill out. The letter was short and to the point, and was certainly not one of the most pleasant ones he's ever written. Draco despised writing to his family about his failures.
He sealed the letter with a tap of his wand, the Malfoy seal appearing over the velum with a flash. Up in the rafters of his magically enlarged tent, Hades hooted softly and flew down to his master, sensing he was needed. Draco fed it a small snack, skillfully avoiding the sharp beak and attaching the missive to the black owl's leg.
"Hurry up, will you?" he muttered softly, carrying the bird to the flap of his tent and releasing him in the young night. He stared till it vanished in the horizon, then let his eyes drop to the deceptively small cottage nestled in a crater of charred land. It looked decrepit and rather forlorn. They were camping not a hundred feet away from the disaster zone.
Barely visible, the air sizzled around it with high voltage magic, saturated with dark curses and laden with destructive intent. The little crew had been working on the nexus surrounding the house for the past three days: that very morning they had finally blasted it. What they had not expected was the amount of magic trapped within. It had expanded tremendously, destroying all in its wake. Their Hex had been utterly destroyed, fighting the onslaught of savage magic only long enough to allow her team to raise a new barrier to contain it.
At least now Draco knew what was hidden in the house: the Amplificator. Its magical signature was unmistakable. The artifact itself was simply shaped like a hand held mirror, and served as its name described: the momentary enhancement ofone's power …. But for a price Draco didn't feel like dwelling on. Of course, the Amplificator was a dark artifact that Draco would be obliged to destroy as discretely as possible.
The young man shut his eyes and rubbed them tiredly with the heels of his palms, moving his hands over the stubble that covered his cheeks, and stifling a yawn. Bed time. Definitely bed time.
The tall blond made his way back in the tent, wading towards the bathroom. The magically enlarged tent was a true blessing. It was on days like this that Draco thanked the gods for being a Malfoy: rich and magically gifted. If not for magic he'd be pouring buckets of cold water over his head. Shuddering at the thought (what kind of damage would have become of his hair?) , Draco stepped in the shower with a sigh, and let the strong get of hot water bully the knots out of his back with a groan.
The next day was made of business.
"I need you to reinforce that ward of ours Malfoy," growled Sammeth, poking at their nexus with his wand. "The corrupted magic is already corroding it. See the breaches? It'll be down by tonight, and we need it to hold up for at least one more week or two. If it breaks while we're gone…"
"We'll be fu-cking scre-wed!" chimed Ash in a sing song voice from a few meters to their left, where she was busy patching the nexus up as best she could. She was sweating vigorously from the effort, but she still remained ever spastic.
"Shut up and concentrate least you mess up, punk!" growled Sammeth, shaking his fist at her threateningly. Draco's lips curled in a smirk, and Chancey rolled his eyes. For some reason their squad leader would only express affection through threat.
"Fine. Once our Punk Scout is done with her task, I will step in," drawled Draco, casting an obnoxious look at the American before raising his hands and pressing them against the shimmering blue barrier.
It rippled with light as he lightly dug his fingers in it, eyes falling half shut. He reached out with his magic, falling into a well studied breathing pattern, and forcing his energy down his arms and to his fingers.
In the darkness of his mind, he felt out the weave the nexus was made of and it flared to life, igniting the dark with tangled steaks of light. Now, Draco was floating. Around him, magic lapped and twisted light gusts of wind made of different colored lights, mixing and distorting. Aerial blue, violet, lime green… his hands were buried in a tight net of aerial blue, the magic concentrated so tightly in the weave it had turned white. Looking around, Draco reached out with his mind, and plucked magic from the air, forcing it into the weave, helping Ash knit one of the larger holes closed, patching it up securely.
He forced his mind away from the nexus and allowed himself to go with the flow of magic, entering deeper into Limbo. He reached out around him, seeking out a power node that had not been corrupted yet. All around him, supernovas of magical light flared like beacons, but he pushed them aside and went a little deeper, noticing flares of red-hot magic tainting the nodes and reaching out to him: the poisoned Malfoy Magic was responding to his own. A great flaring maelstrom of pure white magic told him he'd found a clean power node at last: he tickled it gently. When he felt it respond he pulled out, taking in a deep breath of air.
"So?" breathed Chancey, tilting his head to the side. Draco glanced at him and arched an eyebrow ignoring the ache that seemed to have settled in all his articulations: one of the minor setbacks of going in Limbo deeper than the surface.
"So what?" he asked with a smirk before walking away with a slight limp in his step. In his wake Sammeth slapped his apprentices back. "He won't teach you boy. Forget it."
"But-"
"Just forget it, squirt," said Ash, glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes. "I'll teach you. Come and help me with this, or we'll still be here tomorrow." Sammeth slapped the young man's back again roughly, and turned to the barrier, raising his wand and setting to work. They had to toil faster than the nexus was deteriorating, or Malfoy wouldn't be able to do his job.
By mid-day, a sharp shout brought Malfoy out of the papers he'd been working on and running out of his tent. One look at his companions was enough to tell him he had a very small time window to work with.
"It's complete, but work fast Dragon Boy, it's eating up our magic at high speed. All that fucking dark magic inside is sentient. I swear it began fighting at soon as it figured out we here trapping it in tighter," growled Sammeth, sweat dripping down his brow at the effort he was making to keep the barrier up and going, feeding it with his own energy to keep it from renewed destruction.
Without missing a beat, the blond thrust his hands into the nexus, eyes shutting as he dove into the magical energies, fighting his way through the tides of hungry, destructive forces. He felt the artifacts' magic contained by the barrier, hungry for him, trying to reach out and swallow him hole: a dark mass of aggressive burgundy magic tearing against the wall of shimmering white his team had created. He forced himself to ignore it and push deeper, looking for a node the Amplificator had not found and corrupted yet, tainting it with Dark Magic.
He went back to the node he'd found that morning, it's warm comforting pulse momentarily soothing his anguished mind. He pressed closer, dragging with him the foundations of the barrier, holding tightly with his mind and magic, onto the threads that held the nexus strong. He felt the magics of his team blending in it, pulsing in tune with his. Chancy, his energy lively and ever curious. Sammeth's strong steady magic, a rock in the tempest surrounding him. Ashtoreth's, wild and driven, pushing him, urging him forwards with all its might .
He reached the node, pulling it to him and weaving the foundations of the barrier to it. He pushed and pressed, feeling the energies shift till they fused. Manipulating the light with his own magic, controlling it's scorching power with skill. He felt the burn of the raw magic burning his soul, but ignored the pain.
Bit by bit, he felt the node's magic flowing to the barrier, feeding it and making it stronger. At last, the fuse was complete and the magical node was steadily feeding the barrier against the onslaught of corrupt magic, keeping it strong.
Gingerly, Draco reached in, testing out the connection's power: it sent him a shock of magic that nearly kicked him out of Limbo. He'd have smirked if he could: the node would be strong enough to last at least ten days. Withdrawing from the ball of throbbing light, he shifted his consciousness to his surrounding, drawing into his own magic to create barriers and wards around the node to stave off anything corrupt from feeding from it.
When he opened his eyes, several hours had passed. He let out a long breath of air, feeling dizzy, and sitting down, feeling himself fall back into the familiar setting of a secured camp . "How long was I under?" he muttered, rubbing his temples and accepting the food that was thrust in his hands. He felt like hell. He could barely move, and shivers were running up and down his spine: static magic that was logging itself in his articulations. He forced deep breaths; wishing they still had their Hex, so she could help him flush the wild magic from his system. "About three hours," said Ash with a grin, pushing the bowl a bit. "Eat up. You look like death warmed over."
Draco forked the spicy chicken and potato mash in his mouth with a hand he willed not to tremble, looking up at Sammeth and Chancey, who were busy checking the strength of the ward. "Good job Malfoy. This doesn't look too shabby for once."
Draco flipped his boss the finger in a rare show of obvious rudenes, feeling all his ancestors roll in their graves as he did so. A part of him wondered how low he'd sunk, living every day of the year with such riff-raff, and how much they'd actually rubbed off on him. The other part just didn't give a damn, and whispered to him that this was what Hogwarts should have felt like. Freedom. Friends. Fun.
"Yo, Draco!" Ash was snapping her fingers in front of his face: obviously, she'd been trying to get his attention for a while. He blinked a couple of times before swatting her hand away, least she decided to pinch his nose. "Ah, so you're not brain dead after all. You got an owl!"
Draco arched an eyebrow and gave a shrill whistle. He still didn't feel quite up to walking yet. And breathing still hurt. Truth be told, Draco felt like his flesh had been savagely ripped from his bones and acid poured over his articulations. An owl swooped out of his tent, and dove towards him, crash-landing in his lap. He avoided the bird's sharp beak with an ease that stemmed from habit, and plucked the rather heavy packaged it was carrying from its talons before shooing it away.
Tearing the packet open he found an old hat and a letter. He read the letter, mouthing the words out to himself, and stopping himself from grimacing at a point or two.
Sammeth crouched next to him, waiting to know what happened next. At last, Draco folded the letter up again. "The portkey leaves at six for the Diagon Alley portkey station. " announced Draco. "Someone will collect the body from us there."
Draco felt his stomach sink a little, mercury eyes demurely glancing as black bag where the dead lay. His throat tightened uncomfortably.
Sammeth clapped his hand twice, standing with a spring to his step, doing his best to keep the mood of his team somewhat up-beat. "Chop-chop everyone! I want everything packed under one hour, you hear me? Get moving!"
After a few seconds, Sammeth realized Draco didn't look like he was about to move, obviously too busy eating with the elegance one would only make use of while attending a tea party. Sammeth rolled his eyes. "Oy. Princess. You quite done?"
Draco looked op slowly at the older man, somehow managing to look down his nose at him, fitting the old fedora over his tousled blond locks. "A Malfoy doesn't swoop down to accomplish such menial tasks… don't I pay you for those?"
Draco still didn't feel quite up to moving, and figured that annoying his team leader would be the best way to buy him some time in the most entertaining of ways. The older man did know how to put up a show of being angry.
Sammeths' lips curled in something between amusement and scorn. "The only thing you pay me for is to put up with the displeasure of your company. Now, the reason you do it, is because I'm the best. That's also why you'll be giving me a raise: because you are as insufferable, as I am brilliant. "
Draco nearly grinned, but managed to smirk instead. It turned into a grimace when he forced himself to stand. The world seemed to shift around him a couple of times before it settled in a just about normal position.
"Ye gods. A raise? Are you daft old man? It'll be a miracle if we're not all stuck chewing dragon jerky for the next month once the funeral blows our budget. That, and hiring a new Hex," complained Draco, making a show of lazily walking towards his tent.
The older man tilted his head, obviously annoyed. "That's rich coming from a Malfoy. I didn't even know 'tight budget' was a part of your vocabulary!"
"Ah…. Sammeth McGee. One thing you commoners will never understand, is that getting rich is easy. It's staying rich and being dashing at all times, that is the real trouble." Draco smirked before winking at his team leader, watching the annoyed twitch at the corner of the mans' left eye with interest. "Merlin only knows how I manage it every day."
Making a show of examining his nails, the blond flicked his wand at his tent, making it collapse and fold upon itself several times, till it turned into a neat pack.
"Thirty minutes, you insufferable ponce," growled the squad leader, snatching the hat from the blonds' head and storming away with it. Draco smirked in satisfaction before sitting down on his pack, and digging a replenishing potion from one of his pockets. He downed it in a gulp and grimaced, before rolling his shoulders.
Draco was not looking forwards to entering society once again. He easily avoided a shoe Ashtoreth felt the need to randomly throw at him. Well, Draco not looking forwards to entering civilized society.
The Portkey Station went through a sudden hush when the team hit ground, rising dust and leaving static magic in their wake. Looks were drawn towards the black body-bag with morbid curiosity, and then got caught by the somewhat roughed up looks that all four of the travelers seemed to carry about themselves. Draco saw several women blush, and felt his lips curl in disgust while he busied himself dusting his black t-shirt and auror release cargo pants.
Let the show begin.
Several men from the ministry first came to dispose of the body, forcing the team through a few questions before having them sign papers. Draco already knew there would be an investigation, but didn't feel worried about it. The downfall of Voldemort hadn't been the downfall of corruption, thank Merlin for that.
The blond watched with slight revulsion, while Sammeth got swept up by his wife and children amidst sickening tears of joy and cries of glee. Next was Ashtoreth with her boy-toy of the moment.
Well he'd been her boy-toy for several years now, but Draco refused to admit someone as wild as the American could have a serious affair with the likes Neville Longbottom. Truth be told, Neville himself liked to imagine the tall blond his girlfriend was working for, was someone else than Draco, hoping his fiction would magically become reality. Thus, both parties didn't acknowledge each other, unless swearing was involved.
Chancey was due on the next Portkey to Bulgaria and had scuttled of after a fast "good bye", leaving Draco standing alone with his pack, and a horrible migraine. His migraine increased when he spotted his mother. Dutifully, he grabbed his belongings and marched towards her, fitting an easy smile on his face.
"Hello mother."
She nearly smiled tilting her head, allowing him to kiss her on the cheek, before he offered his arm to her. They walked. Once out of the station, they turned left on Diagon Alley. Draco let his eyes stray over the shop widows, keeping his eyebrow from raising when they walked past Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He'd never borrow a quill again. After that, he allowed his mind to stray a little longer, before finally breaking the silence.
"Dare I ask where father is?"
His mothers' hand tightened over his arm. "Saint Mungo again… You know how fragile he's become." Only a true Malfoy could have perceived the concern that lingered in her voice. He allowed his gaze to soften when he met hers.
"Don't worry."
"How could I not, with both my men drawing themselves to thin." Narcissa Malfoys' lips thinned dangerously. "Don't." she said sharply before her son could utter a word. "I've already made arrangements for Mr. McGee to help you choose a new Hex for the Team. I know we don't have a choice. People are just waiting for us to fall."
The beautiful blond raised her head a little higher, her shoulders squaring imperceptibly. "After all, I didn't risk all our lives on the Potter boy for old trinkets to ruin our freedom."
This time, Draco allowed himself a true smile, shifting his pack over his back.
Mother and son ambled off on one of the side streets of Diagon Alley, into Salazar Street, one of the high profile residential streets of magical London. It was quite a sight, since as usual, magical architecture seemed to defy all laws of physics. "I still can't believe you'd rather live here than with us at the Manor," muttered Narcissa, eyeing a tree bearing suspicious looking blue plum-like fruit with distaste.
"Let's please not have this talk again," sighed the young man, stopping at the foot of an elegant white building. An asymmetric, lopsided kind of elegance, but elegant nonetheless. "Would you like to come in, have a cup of tea? I'm sure Brandy would be delighted to serve Mistress Malfoy once again. You know how that house-elf adores you."
The older woman's lips twisted in slight distaste. Draco could see her mind trying to work out if her next words could be considered lady-like. "Thank you dear, but I'd rather not violate the privacy of you… bachelor pad." The words were enough to make her shudder. "By the way, you must come and have tea with Miss Parkinson and I. She's lost several pounds in the past year and has become a most pleasing young woman."
Draco cast his mother an alarmed glance. "Mother! She'd been married to Zabini for over a year now! How could you-?"
Narcissa cut off her foolish son with an impatient wave of her hand. "Oh shush." By now, Draco was feeling more than a little distraught, and only longed for two things: a bath and a cup of strong coffee. "I was talking about Petunia, her younger sister of course!"
"She's fourteen years old mother," he sputtered. Loosing composure for a split second before lightly grabbing his mothers shoulders.
"Please…. You know how those things work. Magic attracts magic. You can't force these things!"
"Precisely. You won't know unless you meet her!" The blonds' ruby lips curled in satisfaction, knowing her son couldn't object to that. She sighed shortly, and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "I know you are tired Draco. But please humor your aging mother. And do cut that hair," added Narcissa, lightly pushing the curtain of long silver-blond strands away from her nose to allow the said kiss. " I'll owl you."
Draco smiled thinly at her and nodded , before climbing the stairs to his loft, hearing the telltale snap of his mother disapparating.
Tomorrow would be a new day.
And Draco had no intention of cutting his hair.