New Beginnings

Part 7

"But he's not even burned," Draco mumbled helplessly. He felt utterly numb, staring at his father's corpse. Almost like it couldn't be true. The man who helped give birth to him couldn't be dead.

Narcissa's crying told him it was real.

"Draco," she said through her tears, "remember who Lucius is... was. He got us into this mess, leaving a deadly organization. They obviously killed him before setting the fire. Miracle they didn't kill me, too."

Percy bowed his head. "Truly, I'm sorry. Perhaps I should leave and notify the Minister-"

"Yes," Draco agreed hastily.  "But, first... thanks, Weasley."

Two words he'd never imagined himself saying.
The remaining Malfoys watched Percy leave, composing themselves until they were sure he'd vanished. Narcissa cradled Draco like he was still a baby. Instead of grumbling, he held onto her. She was the only real family he had now.

"We need to bring them down for good," Draco told his mother.

"I couldn't agree more, my boy."

But where to look?

He realized the answer instantly: his family always visited Prague in the summer, and Narcissa would always invite Bellatrix. Of course, that meant Rodolphus tagged along. He knew everywhere they loved to go in Prague, like their favorite hotel, The Catacombs. With any luck, that was where Draco could locate his uncle.

He Apparated outside the doors of The Catacombs. True to its name, it was built underground, carved out from a majestic cave. Only Dark witches and wizards typically knew about it.

In the lobby, he took out a handkerchief that he'd once stolen from Rodolphus, since it was required for a Locating Spell. Draco pressed his wand against the cloth and whispered, "Navigatum Rodolphus." The wand tugged him forwards, eventually starting to vibrate at the door of room 12.

Could this really be so easy? He cast Alohamora to learn the answer.

Click.

Draco slowly let himself inside- and immediately, he knew he'd been right. Rodolphus Lestrange sat in a reclining chair. He wasn't alone. He chatted with the most ruthless werewolf Draco had ever known, Fenrir Greyback. They were flanked by Silas Goyle... and his son, Gregory. Draco's old crony appeared to be less of a dimwitted boy and more of a vengeful, Dark wizard.

"So, you're alive," Rodolphus said. "That's a shame. I was hoping to spare you agony."

Draco laughed. "You? Spare me? Rubbish. You don't spare anyone."

"You're right about that," Fenrir growled, as though he was itching for a full moon.

"Looking rather pale, Malfoy," Goyle teased.

"You don't want to kill me," Draco insisted.

"And why shouldn't we? You never were much of a friend to me or Crabbe. I mean, look where following you got him."

Think fast.

"You shouldn't kill me," Draco said, "because I'm not like my parents! I never really wanted to abandon the Dark Lord. Mum and Dad might have, but they refused to leave me alone."

Goyle's father scoffed. "Words are just words. If you're really one of us, you'll do us a favor."

"Wonderful idea, Silas," Rodolphus agreed. "Here's what I'm thinking, nephew: Your dear friend, the younger Goyle, will decide your task."

That might not be so bad, Draco thought. His uncle would've forced him to kill, no question. But Goyle knew Draco well. He might take it easy on him.

The others huddled around Goyle to deliberate, and he emerged a moment later, clearing his throat.

"Living on the run is exhausting, Malfoy. We're in need of some money. So, you're going to steal five-hundred Galleons from The Catacombs."

Draco wanted to thank him a million times over, and apologize a million times over.

"I'll do it right now," he promised.

In the lobby, a goblin concierge was diligently organizing papers. Draco would've only stunned him, but he didn't know where the money was kept. He'd have to cast an Unforgivable Curse.

He took a deep breath, raised his wand, and muttered, "Imperio."

When he approached the goblin's desk, he was shot a distrustful look. "Can I get you a room?"

"No," Draco replied. "I want five hundred Galleons."

"Boy, that's... not unreasonable. Let me retrieve it for you." The goblin fumbled under his desk, coins jingling as he tossed them into a pouch.

Draco returned to room 12 with the sack of Galleons, and his former allies smiled greedily. Silas Goyle patted him on the back.

"Well done, Malfoy."

"Shall we celebrate, then?" Draco offered. "I brought Firewhisky."

"Ah! Good man!" Rodolphus cheered.

Luckily, he'd also crafted a sleeping draft for just this occasion. One that couldn't be detected when mixed with Firewhisky. He carried another bottle without the draft, so nobody suspected him of treachery. They only drank a few sips before he watched their happy expressions melt, as they slumped into unconsciousness.

He knelt down by the fireplace and began an incantation.  Something he didn't have much experience with.  It took all his concentration, but in the haze, he finally saw the Ministry of Magic's walls.

"Hello? Hello?" he called.

Then came the last man he wanted to see: Arthur Weasley. Maybe Draco liked Percy, but the other Weasleys didn't quite have his trust yet.

"Draco Malfoy?" he called.

"Yes," Draco answered. "Please, send help. I've got a few of the Death Eaters the Ministry is looking for. I gave them sleeping drafts, but they won't be asleep for long."

"Anybody else with them besides you?" Ron's father asked.

"No. Hurry before they wake up."

"I'll contact the Aurors immediately," Arthur promised. "Oh, and Malfoy?"

"What?"

"Good work. Your father would be proud."

"Thank you, sir," Draco replied.

If he kept this up, he'd owe the Weasleys his life.