Chapter Text
A younger version of Draco would, perhaps, have been proud to be chosen for this. It showed that others saw him as mature and clever enough to be the most important cog in the plan, the chess piece everything hinges on. Like being the star pupil in a class, or responsible enough to sort Potions ingredients. Validation that adults saw him as an equal. He was relied upon, he was important.
But Draco was sixteen now, and he was able to recognize his ‘mission’ as what it so clearly was— an unbelievably cruel punishment. He was expected to fail. The entire thing was an exercise in misery. If Draco failed, he and his parents would be tortured and killed, and if he somehow succeeded, he would forever be a murderer. He would be marked, in more ways than one.
Would the Dark Lord kill him first, he wondered. Make a spectacle of him, make his mother watch? Or would Draco be forced to see his parents die before him, and then have his own life taken away?
He gripped the edges of the sink, willing the tears to stop pooling in his eyes. He needed to control himself. He’d finally found a way to infiltrate the castle— the broken vanishing cabinet in the Room of Lost Things. The only problem was fixing it, which was proving to be the second most difficult thing about this mission. The first being the fact that Dumbledore was an elusive git of a man that just would. Not. Die.
Draco stared into the mirror in front of him, taking in his reflection. He looked… Well, he looked dreadful. Crying made his face red and puffy. There was snot running down his nose, which he continually wiped away on his sleeves. His mother, if she were here, would remind him that it wasn’t good manners, and then offer him tea and chocolate. But she was not here.
The worst part of his appearance was the thinness. He looked gaunt. More like a corpse than a person. He hadn’t been eating well, spending the majority of his time either researching things like the mending of magical objects and the most efficient deadly poisons available for a sixteen-year old’s budget. When he wasn’t haunting the library’s restricted section, he was in the Room of Lost Things slowly chipping away at the cabinet’s years of disrepair. When he was present for a meal, he couldn’t bring himself to actually eat anything. He was too nauseous.
He had lost such a significant amount of weight that his clothes no longer fit him the same way. He had actually had to punch a new hole in his belt so that it would hold his school trousers up.
Pansy had noticed. She was the first to notice, back at the beginning of the year when Draco was still trying to pretend that everything was normal and fine. As she had gotten more insistent and he had gotten more desperate, he’d pushed her as far away as possible. He knew she could see through his bullshit. She still eyed him from time to time, still brought him tea and insisted he ate. But she no longer asked where he went at night and no longer asked if he was alright.
Theo hadn't spoken to him since fifth year— he was dealing with his own familial issues. Blaise hadn't spoken to him since the end of fourth. Greg and Vince... well. They wouldn't understand what he was going through. They wouldn't be able to help. None of them would. It was better for them to believe he hated them, that he was the one pulling away. It was better for everyone, this way. He wasn't even sure his friends knew what their parents were up to nowadays, better to let them live in ignorace while they could.
Draco laughed grimly. He was well and truly alone, now. The only thing that could free him now was—
“Draco dear,” an airy voice drifted out from the pipes, “Back again? And crying, too. Are you trying to take my place as the crying ghost in the bathroom?”
Draco turned from his place at the sink, washing his face of tears to be a bit more presentable. Myrtle floated around above him, filling the air with a cold, wet aura. She stared at him with pity. She'd been the only company he'd had for months now, the only person who spoke to him with more than passing small talk. Even if she died years before Draco was born, she still acted like an immature fourteen-year-old. All the better, since it meant she would have a harder time figuring out what he was up to.
“H-hello, Myrtle,” he said, sniffling.
“Draco,” She crooned, mournfully, “Surely you have somewhere better to be than here. Are you alright?”
Draco tried to smile at her, but his face twisted itself into more of a grimace. Alright? Was he alright? He couldn’t even begin to answer her question, how was he to tell her what was really going on? That he was the thing attacking people. It was his fault that Katie Bell was in the hospital wing. That he had been researching poisons to find the most undetectable and quickest method of killing a beloved Professor.
“Fine.” he managed to choke out, finally.
This didn’t seem to comfort her, in fact, she appeared to become more distressed, floating around him and toying with the hem of her school sweater, anxiously.
“There are people… who care, Draco,” She said, crying now, “You- you don’t have to do this, it isn’t worth it. I’ve seen this before, with other students. Their parents- your parents, they’ll miss you,”
Ah, he realized suddenly. She thought he was going to off himself. He smiled manically, his grip on the sink tightening. She had no idea, everything he was doing, everything he had done, was to stay alive. He began laughing softly, tears spilling down his face again.
“Don’t… don’t… tell me what’s wrong… I can help you,”
“No one can help me,” he shook now, holding the sink more to support himself, stop himself from collapsing, “I can’t do it- I can’t… nothing’s working, unless I do it soon…”
He stared up at her, crying so much now that he could no longer make out her form for the tears blinding his eyes.
“Unless I do it soon… he says he’ll kill me,”
Myrtle’s eyes widened horribly, and he thought for a moment he had blown the whole thing. No one was meant to know- no one could know.
His eyes snapped back to his reflection. How could he fix this, what was she thinking? How much had she figured out? He cried horribly, choking on his tears as he shuddered.
He saw movement in the doorway just behind his head. He whipped around, throwing a hex at the bathroom door. He missed whoever it was, shattering a lamp on the wall. He finally got a good look at the figure, who had jumped to the right, away from Draco’s line of fire. He glared.
Potter .
Of course, as if his life couldn’t get any worse.
Potter flicked his wand quickly, sending a wordless spell his way. Draco stood tall and blocked it, raising his wand to send a curse back.
“No, no, stop it!” Myrtle screeched, “Stop! Stop!”
Draco spared a glance her way. He wished she had just stayed out of it. This was between him and Potter, who had been stalking him all year. It was infuriating, truly, the way Potter insisted on being the hero in everyone’s eyes.
While Draco was focused on shutting up Myrtle, Potter had hidden himself behind a trash bin. Draco sent a swift Bombarda his way, marching across the bathroom. He sent three more explosions around Potter, forcing him from out behind his hiding place. Myrtle left, crying down the pipes.
Potter flicked a jinx past Draco’s ear, missing him and hitting a pipe on the far wall. Water sprayed out behind him and covered the floor rapidly, and in his speed to escape Draco’s curses, Potter slipped on the tiles and fell hard on the ground.
Potter- he truly had no idea what he was playing with, what Draco was up against. His constant hovering had made Draco’s mission ten times more impossible. Draco was dying . He was going to die, and it was Potter’s fault . It was all Potter’s fault. Draco was going to make him pay, he was going to make him hurt .
“ Cruci -”
“ Sectumsempra! ” Potter cried, waving his wand manically. Draco had only a moment to wonder what in Merlin’s name that spell was before he was thrown back, tripping over his feet. He gurgled, spitting out red onto the ground. Blood, he realized, as it swirled into the water that spread out on the tile. He fell onto his back, wand dropped from his hand.
His vision swam with black dots, and he fought to keep his eyes open. Maybe he would die here, he thought airily. It would be over; he would be free. The Dark Lord couldn’t kill him if he was dead in the bathroom. Maybe he could keep Myrtle company.
“No!” Potter sputtered, inexplicably.
Splashes rang out from his side of the bathroom, and suddenly Potter was by his side, leaning over him and overtaking his view of the ceiling.
“No- I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…” Potter cried above him, and- wow he was really crying. Potter, sobbing over Draco. Maybe Draco was dead already, or delirious from blood loss.
Draco closed his eyes again, unable to hold them open any longer. Potter was still crying, and the sound was getting rather annoying. Draco was tired.
“How do I- God, how can I fix this?” Potter gulped.
How indeed, Draco thought. The situation, of course, was beyond fixing. The cabinet, too. Draco’s life was practically over already, it ended the second the Dark Lord set his sights on him. It ended when his father rejoined the Death Eaters, when they formed to begin with. Draco was dead before he was born.
The door of the bathroom banged open with a great crash, jolting Draco enough that his eyes snapped open. He was met with Potter’s green gaze, staring so deeply and desperately back at Draco that he almost winced- or maybe that was from the pain in his gut. Draco blinked.
Severus was above him now, muttering healing spells in a lullaby-like tone. Comforting as it was humiliating. The pain in his stomach dulled, and Draco’s shallow breaths began to deepen. Severus lifted him gently- as gentle as his Godfather could be- and Draco stood on shaky legs.
“You need the Hospital wing,” he said, matter-of-factly, “There’ll be scarring, of course, but with a dose of dittany we may be able to avoid even that,”
Severus spoke mostly to himself, and as Draco’s mind came back to him, he realized the extent of his failure. His Godfather was, if Draco was right, the only person inside Hogwarts who knew what Draco was up to. Whether he was on Draco’s side or not… it was impossible to know. He had not so subtly been allowing Draco to study illegal poisons, curses, magical objects. It infuriated Draco, the idea he could not do this alone, the implication he was failing. Fear shot through him at the thought of what would happen after this, would Severus tell the Dark Lord? His parents? What would a failure of this magnitude mean? Torture? Death?
Severus spat something at Potter- Draco didn’t catch it, spiraling in his own thoughts. He limped weakly out of the bathroom, his Godfather supporting him with a firm hand on his arm.
Blood soaked Draco’s dress shirt, which was transparent with water, now. It betrayed his thinness even more, and the lacerations ripped across his form deeply. Severus kept muttering to him, admonishing him for his stupidity, telling him how close he was to death, saying that if Madame Pomfrey had the right Potions in stock, he may be able to get by with minimal scarring.
Joy. At least when the Dark Lord killed him, his funeral could have an open casket.
“You think this is funny?” His Godfather said, a thunderous expression on his face, “You should be dead, you know. That spell…”
Draco glared up at him, trying desperately to muster the anger to spit back an insult. Something, anything to make Severus leave him alone. This was Draco’s punishment, Draco didn’t need to be reminded that the task was impossible, that he wasn’t up to it.
Instead of speaking, Draco was only able to whimper in response. Severus looked down at him with pity, and as they approached the hospital wing, his grip on Draco’s arm loosened. Wonderful, now he thought Draco was weak. This was humiliating.
Severus threw the door to the hospital wing open with a wandless spell, and the speed at which they marched to a bed made Draco’s vision swim in front of him.
“Severus, I hope you have a good reason for- Oh, Merlin!” Madame Pomfrey said, as Draco threw up on the floor. There was a concerning amount of red in the slurry that came out of him, and Draco practically fell into one of the open beds. Pomfrey flitted around him, muttering diagnostic spells and scourgifying most of the blood away. Draco closed his eyes, letting the magic wash over him.
“Dittany,” Severus said tightly, “For the scarring,”
“We have none,” Madame Pomfrey said. She finished her spells and began mixing some fluids, likely some Potions for infection, Draco thought. No dittany, though? What could she have used it all-?
“We used the last on the Bell girl,” she finished, meeting Severus’ eyes. “What could be doing all this?”
Severus grunted out loosely, “This was… unrelated to the other attacks. Schoolyard fight, I believe,”
Pomfrey clucked her tongue as she set her wand on Draco’s forehead, “Sleep, dear,”
And he did.