requiem: rest, repose, relax
———
DRACO felt like the ground had given way underneath his feet for the second time tonight.
Even Narcissa had frozen, her features gaunt and pale as she stared at her husband sauntering out of the shadows.
Lucius Malfoy looked no different than Draco remembered him. Long, pale hair, harsh features—although they'd weathered with time. There were stress lines above his brow, around his eyes and mouth.
He was shorter than Draco, taller than Narcissa—but seeing them seemed to have no effect on the evil grin he had on his face.
He'd been waiting, Draco realised. In the shadows. They hadn't even thought to look. After defeating Dolohov and his horde of prisoners, he hadn't even thought anybody else would be guarding the Horcrux.
But then again, Dolohov had said they knew nothing about what was protecting the Horcrux. He'd obviously been right—because out of everything, Draco hadn't been expecting his father.
Even his mother was shaking now beside him, her eyes wide and unblinking like she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Elara had gone still from where she was watching them outside the cell.
"Cissy." Lucius took a step forward, hands outstretched. "My dear, dear Cissy."
Narcissa retreated one trembling step, swallowing hard and Draco stepped in front of her, protectively.
"Get back," he snarled, his wand coming up to point right at his father's face.
Lucius' hands came up in surrender—but that glint of insanity in his eyes didn't change. "Draco. My son. My precious, perfect—"
"Don't you dare," Draco growled, his chest twisting. "Don't act like you care about me."
"Draco," Narcissa whispered in warning from behind him.
He tamped down his frustration. "What are you doing here."
Lucius cocked his head, hands still up in supplication. "Look at us. All three of us here in the same room. We're a family again."
"What. Are. You. Doing. Here."
Draco's Occlumency had come crashing down the moment he'd seen Elara kill those prisoners and then Dolohov. All he'd been thinking about was her. Getting to her, making sure she was okay.
For one terrifying second, when he'd seen her collapse, all colour drained from her face, he'd thought she was dead. It had ripped a part of him open—but when she'd gasped out a breath and her eyelashes fluttered open, he'd nearly sobbed.
He hadn't rebuilt the walls in his mind since—and he was beginning to regret it. Because looking at Lucius Malfoy was like taking a knife to the gut.
"Where else should I be, Draco?" Lucius chuckled, a high-pitched sound, his eyes still glazed over. Like he wasn't fully present in his own head. "This is Malfoy Manor, is it not?"
"You're not supposed to be here," Narcissa said, steadily, seeming to have recovered. She stepped out from behind Draco, her wand drawn. "You're supposed to be in St. Mungo's."
"St. Mungo's." Lucius smiled. "Am I? Am I really here at all?"
Draco sent a quick Stupefy at him without a word. The spell sent Lucius spiralling backward, colliding with the wall behind him with a loud groan.
"Yes," Draco said even as Narcissa sighed. "You are."
His father struggled to his feet, wheezing for breath, one hand pressed to his sternum. "Not polite. Not polite at all. No, no, no. This will not do. My own son? My own—He's not your son anymore. Yes, he is. Of course, he is. Look at him!"
"Oh." Elara's voice was small.
Lucius' head snapped towards her and instinctively, Draco stepped in front of her, blocking his view. "Is that the girl? Is that the—It is. It is. I recognise her voice—forget her. No! No, she's the reason I'm—"
"You do not know her," Draco said, calmly. "Why are you not in St. Mungo's?"
"I do, I do—Mungo's? Mung—That hateful place. Hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it." Silver eyes gleamed, his hands shaking, violently. "Such a—No, not a good place at all—"
"Lucius, my love." Narcissa stepped forward, her tone soft and almost loving, tucking her wand away. "Why are you here?"
His eyes slid to Narcissa and something in his face softened. "Cissy. Cissy, my jewel. I have missed you. I have missed you very, very much—"
"As have I," she responded with a smile. It seemed to fill Lucius with glee. "But I just visited you last week. Remember? In your room?"
His brow furrowed. "My room? No, my room is in the right wing, Cissy. Here in Malfoy Manor."
"No," she cooed and Draco wanted to reach out and haul her back when she held out a hand for Lucius. "I saw you in St. Mungo's, remember? I brought you flowers. Tulips."
"Flowers," he muttered under his breath and then his eyes lit up. "Flowers? Tulips! I remember. Of course I remember! We had tea!"
Narcissa nodded, a gentle smile on her face as Lucius placed his hand in hers. "Yes, we did. Would you like to have tea now?"
Draco had never visited his father in St. Mungo's. After Elara had practically left him to die, he'd been dug out of the rubble of Hogwarts a different man. A man who barely recognised who he was or who anyone else was. It had taken months for him to even recognise Narcissa.
But at the end of the day, she'd been the only one to visit him. She'd learned how to handle him—so Draco took a step back although he kept his wand firmly in his hand.
"Tea?" Lucius frowned, blinking rapidly. "No, no, that won't do. I'm not supposed to have tea. I'm supposed to—I'm supposed to—"
"What, dear?" coaxed Narcissa, squeezing his hands. "What do you have to do?"
"Supposed to—" Lucius suddenly straightened, realisation dawning on his face. "To stop you. From getting to—" His eyes turned ravenous as he laid them on the box beside Draco. "That."
Narcissa gave a nervous laugh, shuffling sideways to block the view of the box. "Now, Lucius. Don't you want to help me? Help our son?"
His eyes flickered, confusion warring with determination on his face. "Our?"
"Yes," she replied, patiently. "Draco. Our son. He needs to get to the—to whatever is within that box. Can you help us?"
Lucius looked even more puzzled. "Help you? Of course I can help you. You're my family."
"Thank you. Do you know how to break the wards on the box?"
"Wards? On the—Oh. Yes. Yes, I do. Will hardly take a few minutes. He told me the shortcut, you see."
"Well, can you—do it for us?"
"Do what?"
"Break the Wards?"
"Break the—No, no, absolutely not. He'll kill me! No, Cissy, I cannot—"
"I have my favourite piece of jewelry in there." Narcissa smiled, faintly. "It goes with the dress I'm wearing. Do you think you could get it for me?"
Lucius paused, blinking and then nodded, vigorously, looking much like a young child. "Of course. Of course, of course, wife. Of course I—No, you cannot. No! No, I can't! I can't, I'm supposed to—"
"Mother," Draco growled, quickly tiring of this. He hated looking at his father, hated seeing the resemblance—and every moment with him in this cell felt like he was drowning.
She held out a hand to stop him and only smiled at Lucius again. "Come now, Lucius. Don't you want to see me look pretty?"
His father's eyes were dazed. "Always pretty, Cissy. Always. You—You have always been so beautiful." He blabbered on, "Our son, Draco—He inherited your—Oh! Cissy, look! Draco is here!"
He gestured at Draco to approach, looking excited. "Come, my boy, come! Come join me and your mother."
"Absolutely not," Draco muttered under his breath, feeling like he was going to be sick.
Mother, he said into Narcissa's head. We're running out of time.
What do you suggest we do? she responded. Imperius him?
Why not?
You'd break his mind further.
He's already shattered beyond repair.
Narcissa's face hardened. "Lucius, I really do need your help."
"Anything, my jewel." He beamed at her, hands gripping her shoulders. There were teeth marks marring his knuckles like he'd been gnawing on them. "Anything."
Narcissa moved aside and looked over at the box sitting on the dais. "Can you help me get to my necklace in that box? I'm afraid it's a bit too tricky for me to open."
"Yes, of course." Lucius staggered a step forward. "Of course, I just need to—No!" He clutched at his head, eyes panicked, shaking, violently. "No! I can't! He told me not to!"
"Draco," came Elara's pleading voice and he glanced at her to find her pale and weak, her eyelashes fluttering.
She was going to pass out, he realised. She'd already been so exhausted—he couldn't imagine how much energy it had taken out of her to kill two dozen prisoners and then Dolohov. Not to mention how she'd turned herself in, gotten herself captured and fought her way out of that too.
But before Draco could rush to her, Lucius was dashing for her, a loud exclamation escaping his lips. He seized her through the bars of the cell and shook her hard.
"You wretched girl! You stupid imbecile! Look what you did! Look what you—Protect the diadem—Look what you did to me! I will kill—the diadem must be protected at all costs, Lucius. Yes, my Lord, yes. After I kill her. After I torture her until she can't breathe, until she begs for—"
Draco had never been one who suffered from uncontrollable bouts of rage. Sure, he had his moments—usually in private where he took his frustration out in very unhealthy ways—but around others, he'd always been controlled. Cold. Never to show any emotion except for deadly resolve.
He'd killed people before. He usually did it with indifference. Even when he'd killed Rookwood and Mulciber, he had been perfectly calm. Poised. In control.
Even when he did lose his temper, he was usually exceptionally good at hiding it. Or taming it into a cold shoulder instead of doing something drastic.
But now—
Rage flared up in him, hot and potent, tasting bitter on his tongue. It was powerful and raw, chafing against his insides, grating down his spine until it reverberated in his very bones. Until his blood heated and roared in his veins, until all he could hear was his own thundering pulse.
He'd been on edge ever since he'd seen his father again—that was understandable—but it had suddenly become too much. And to see Lucius reach through those bars and grab Elara, to see him spit in her face the way he did as he spewed out threats to kill her, maim her, dislocate her head from her shoulders—
It made him see red.
Draco hauled Lucius back with a snarl and threw him down to the floor, not caring at the pained yelp that escaped his lips. "Lay a hand on her again and I'll rip whatever's left of your brain out of your skull."
Elara sagged against the bars, panting heavily, already looking close to unconsciousness. She whispered his name and Draco's heart broke, something in his soul cracking.
Narcissa started for him, eyes wide, her tone warning. Trying to stop him. "Draco, don't—"
He whirled and in the same motion, aimed his wand at his father who scrambled backward, his eyes filling with fear. "Draco—Draco, my son—"
"Imperius."
Everything happened at once.
The first was that Draco shattered what was left of Lucius Malfoy's mind. It was like cutting through a slab of meat, slicing through layer after layer, exposing muscle and tissue and blood underneath. It was gruesome and horrifying and utterly cruel—but he couldn't take it back now. He was faintly aware of Lucius roaring in agony. Of Narcissa's horrified answering scream, begging him to stop, begging him to have mercy.
Whatever little control Lucius had had over himself after Elara destroyed him five years ago, Draco obliterated by casting the Imperius.
The second thing that happened was Elara collapsed, sinking to the floor outside the cell, her head knocking against the bars as she wrapped her arms around herself, shivering and weak. The power she'd exerted was taking a toll on her—and her eyes shut, her frame shuddering.
The screaming stopped. Narcissa sobbed and dropped to her knees, shaking hands pressed over her mouth as she stared at her husband. Draco's father.
There was nothing left but a shell of a man. It was obvious. Gone were the sudden twitches, the glazed look in his eyes. The child-like emotions that would show up in his face. The adoration he had looked upon Narcissa with just a few moments earlier. And gone was any form of resistance against Draco—or anyone, for that matter.
And Draco knew deep down in his gut that if he removed the Imperius, Lucius would still look the same. Empty. Lifeless. Without even a glimmer in his eyes. He didn't even think Lucius would be able to speak.
Draco had effectively killed his own father.
"No!" Narcissa wailed, her sobs muffled behind her hands. "No, no—What have you done?"
Draco said nothing to her. Only looked down at Lucius who stayed limp on the floor, staring at the ceiling with blank eyes. He looked worse than the prisoners Dolohov had had under his command.
"Break the Wards around the box," Draco said, his voice wavering. "Now."
Lucius was deathly still. There were still tears drying on his cheeks from when he'd clutched Narcissa's hands.
Then he stood. Walked over to the dais, stiffly. Drew his wand from his robes.
Narcissa cried into her palms as she watched the man who used to be her husband break the Wards.
Draco shut his eyes and turned away. Swallowed the bile rising in the back of his throat and forced himself to move out of the cell. To leave his sobbing mother and lifeless father behind.
And instead, sank to his knees beside Elara and gathered her up against his chest, her head resting in the crook of his elbow.
The face that looked up at him was dazed and exhausted. She looked like she hadn't slept in years—and the veins underneath her skin were faintly dark.
But she was his. She was the reason for everything—and he'd abandon his mother and kill his father a thousand times over for her.
"Hey," Draco said, softly. Smoothing her hair back, he tried to fight back the burning in his eyes. "What's—"
"So tired," she mumbled, eyelashes fluttering. Her fingers grasped onto his shirt, twisting into the material. "So, so tired, Draco."
"I know," he whispered, leaning down to kiss her forehead as Lucius murmured in the background, taking down ward after ward.
"Can't we—" Her voice slurred and she gave another shiver. He pulled her tighter into his warmth, adjusting her in his arms. "Can't we go home?"
Home.
"We will," he murmured, brushing a curl out of her face. "You're getting out of here. I promise."
She nodded, turning her face into his palm and kissing it, weakly. "I know. You always take care of me."
"Until the end," he said with a small smile and kissed her, gently, not wanting to hurt her. "Until the very fucking end."
She sighed against his lips and nestled deeper against his chest, murmuring something about being cold. He rested his cheek on top of her head, watching as his father went through spell after spell and as his mother sat in the corner, watching, looking worn out and drained.
An explosion rocked the dungeons a moment later and immediately, Draco curved his body over Elara, protecting her from any stray pebbles that drifted down from the ceiling, along with the dust.
Narcissa locked eyes with Draco, looking older than he'd ever seen her. "They've breached the right wing."
He didn't ask her how she knew. He just hoped she was right—because if Potter had gotten to the right wing, that meant they had approximately ten minutes to destroy the diadem.
Another explosion a couple moments later—and this time, the stone beneath them vibrated with the force. Elara only released a soft whimper, her eyes shut, her head resting against Draco's chest.
He slid a hand down her hair, glancing up as dust rained down from the ceiling.
It was three minutes later that Lucius stepped back. He turned—and his eyes, milky under the Imperius, bore into Draco like knives.
"It's done," he said in a mechanical voice, his tone blank.
"Take it away," Narcissa whispered to Draco, her eyes wet and fixed on her husband. "Take it away!"
Draco did with a flick of his wand. The Imperius faded—but Lucius remained still, not truly there, his jaw loose, eyes unseeing.
And the diadem glimmered in the open box on the dais behind him, small and delicate.
"Lucius?" Narcissa rushed over, gripping his hands, staring into his face with hopeful eyes. "Lucius, can you hear me?"
No answer.
"Lucius?" Her voice broke. "My love?"
Draco gently propped Elara up against the bars and stood. "Father?" he said, cautiously.
Lucius didn't even blink.
Narcissa released a strangled sob, burying her face in her hands and even Draco had to swallow the knot in his throat.
While he'd lost any trace of sentimentality that he felt towards Lucius a long time ago, it was still jarring to see his father like this. An empty vessel. Torn apart and shattered.
Draco made to move towards the cell door, drawing his wand again but Narcissa held up a hand to stop him. When she turned her head to look at her son, her gaze was raw.
"Go," she said, quietly before looking back at Lucius, longingly. He only stared over her head. "Get the girl out of here. I'll destroy it."
Draco hesitated. "Mother—"
"Go," she said again, firmly. Blue eyes met his. "I'll take care of it all."
He knew what that meant. And while he would've preferred to destroy the diadem himself, he could see the determination in his mother's eyes—and frankly, he didn't want to see her kill his father.
Because that was what she would do. She would destroy the diadem—and then put Lucius out of his misery.
Draco bent and made to pick Elara up—but she waved him away, her eyes opening. Still exhausted—but some of the colour was returning back to her face.
"I can walk," she mumbled as he helped her up. She turned to Narcissa immediately and said, her voice quiet, "Thank you."
His mother stiffened as they turned to leave. "It's a pity," she murmured, half-bitterly, half-sadly, "that love wasn't enough for us."
Draco looked over his shoulder. She was gazing at Lucius with such adoration in those blue eyes. Like he was still her first love—even void and broken. Like he was still the young, boisterous Slytherin boy she loved back in Hogwarts. Like she was still the quiet, composed girl who he admired from afar.
Draco blinked back tears and laced his fingers with Elara's. "I'll see you at home, Mother. Be careful."
"Yes," she said, her voice far off as she reached out, brushing her fingers along Lucius' cheekbone. "You too. Be safe."
It was a ridiculous request but he said, "Of course, Mother."
Draco took a deep breath and began to lead Elara back the way they'd come, keeping his grip on her tight and honing in his Occlumency to detect any threats that could jump out at them.
They'd only just turned into the next corridor when a loud boom echoed throughout the dungeons, disbalancing even Draco. He caught Elara as they stumbled, the breath knocking out of him as he hit the door of one of the empty cells.
"What the fuck?" he gritted out, glancing back the way they'd came as a sudden wind pushed through the narrow hallway, hot and almost burning.
"They're really causing havoc up there," Elara said, dazed, looking towards the exit. "Do you think—"
"No." Draco released her as the floor stopped shaking and strode down the way they came, turning into the corridor that Narcissa and Lucius were at the end of. "That wasn't from upstai—"
His eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat.
Far down the corridor, barrelling towards them at full speed, was a huge serpent, made out of fire and flame, its jaws opened wide.
It meant several things.
One: Fiendfyre was particularly deadly to Horcruxes. That meant the diadem had been destroyed.
Two: Fiendfyre was also particularly deadly to witches and wizards. That. meant both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were dead.
Draco stumbled with the force of the grief that overcame him, his breath ripped from his lungs. But the fire was bearing down on them—and he didn't have time to mourn.
"Run," he forced out, locking away his fear and swiveling, snagging Elara's hand and dragging her along. "Run!"
She did and their footsteps pounded against the stone as they sprinted down the hallway, Draco throwing a spell over his shoulder that brought up a wall of concrete between them and the Fiendfyre.
The fire shattered through it a moment later and Draco seized Elara's wrist, yanking her around the corner as they ran. Pure heat sizzled behind them, the air rippling and another explosion rocked through the dungeons, this time emanating from upstairs.
Elara screamed as rubble rained down and Draco's heart jumped into his throat, the realisation dawning on him even as he dragged her away from falling slabs of stone and pushed her in front of him.
The entire manor was coming down around them.
The fire grew louder behind them but Draco didn't even take the time to spare a look over his shoulder. He only threw up another wall and plunged down another corridor, close on Elara's heels. He could hear the fire engulf everything behind them—every cell, every metal bar.
And then a slab of stone came careening down from the ceiling as another explosion boomed through the manor. It caught Draco's shoulder and he went down, his bones flaring up in pain as the stone pinned him down.
It was pure agony and his eyes burned with the force of the impact, a strangled sound escaping through his gritted teeth. For a long moment, his vision swam and then darkened.
And then Elara was there, crouching down in front of him and slipping her hands between the stone and his back, trying to heave it up and off him. He tried to tell her to run, to save herself but blood had gathered in his mouth where his jaw had hit the ground and he couldn't even speak around it.
The look of fierce determination on her face was characteristic to Elara and only Elara. Sweat poured down her temples, flames reflecting in her dark eyes as the Fiendfyre approached, wild and unrestrained, waiting to swallow them whole.
But then the stone gave—and Draco could finally take a breath as it slid off him, crashing to the floor beside them with a sound that resonated in his bones. Elara hauled him up and to his feet and before he could even blink, she was dragging him down the corridor towards the large door she'd opened for him only an hour ago.
He finally got his bearings once more and forced all his remaining energy—which wasn't much—into his legs. Flames licked at their shoes as the fire began to open wide, preparing to engulf them and leave them as nothing but ashes and for a split second, Draco felt Death grip his hand.
And then Elara lunged over the threshold, wrapping tight fingers around Draco's wrist and yanking him clear, her other hand grasping the handle of the door.
It slammed shut behind them just as they hit the floor, rolling with the momentum and suddenly, the world was turned upside down.
The fire strained to get past the metal, flames licking up from under the door—but it held. Draco felt his heart ramming against his ribs and staggered to his feet, spitting blood. His eyes found Elara lying at the foot of the stairs.
She was conscious and breathing hard, staring at him as he approached. "Draco—Your mother—"
"Later," he cut her off, tucking his grief away. He had known she'd planned to kill Lucius—but he hadn't thought she'd been devastated enough to doom herself too. Later, he told himself. You can mourn her later.
Elara gazed up at him. "I'm getting really tired of almost dying."
He smirked despite the ache in his chest and reached down, grabbing the hand she held out to him and pulling her up. "Yeah, I can share the sentiment—"
As soon as she was on her feet, she seized his shirt and yanked him down into a kiss. Surprised and caught off-guard, he blinked and then she drew back, looking up at him with wide eyes.
"Sorry," she breathed before interlocking their fingers and then pulling him up the stairs. "Just don't know when I'll be able to do that again."
Draco followed her up, half-dazed and came to his senses as they alighted into the hallway of the manor above. Two out of four corridors that branched out from the area they were in had collapsed, completely impenetrable with rubble. The manor trembled again.
This time, Draco had to shield Elara from the shards of the chandelier that crashed to the ground about ten feet away.
"We should get out of here," she muttered into his shirt once everything had settled down again. "Here."
She handed him his wand and he took it, surprised. "I thought I lost it when the place started coming down."
"I grabbed it," she answered with a wry smile as he tugged her down one of the empty corridors."Where are we—"
"Draco!"
They whirled to find Pansy sprinting down towards them. She'd lost her cloak somewhere in the fray and there was blood smudged on her cheek and collarbones, her gaze. wild and worried.
"Oh, thank Merlin," she breathed, her eyes fixing on the both of them. "I thought you were dead. What—"
The Fiendfyre roared, caged behind the door and she halted, staring at it before shrugging.
"Not gonna ask," she amended before throwing herself onto the both of them, pulling them both down into a hug that was uncomfortably low for Draco. "There's good news and bad news. Which do you want to hear first?"
"Bad," Draco said, straightening as he disentangled himself from her.
"Every exit to Malfoy Manor is blocked," she told them, bitterly, "except for one. Which also happens to be right where the massacre is currently ongoing."
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, feeling Elara squeeze his hand in comfort. He squeezed back. "And the good?"
Pansy's eyes brightened. "We've got help—lots of it. Looked like we were losing at the beginning—but then McGonagall and the Weasleys showed up and—Well, we managed to fight back enough to let Potter slip away."
"He's with Voldemort?" Elara asked, breathlessly.
She shrugged. "Don't know. He took a couple others with him and breached the right wing. The Horcrux—"
"Destroyed," Draco answered. He didn't say anything about his parents.
"Good." Pansy nodded just as the walls shook again. "This place isn't stable. The entire manor is about to come down. If Potter doesn't end this fast—"
"We need to get out of here," Draco interrupted as Elara leaned heavily on him, the effects of adrenaline wearing off, leaving her drained. "Right now."
Pansy looked grim but nodded, stepping back and turning the way she came. "Stay close. I nearly got crushed by rubble on the way here."
They obeyed. The halls of Malfoy Manor were dilapidated and suffocated with debris. There were times when they had to squeeze through the tiniest of spaces or use magic to carefully move large pieces of stone to get by—and simultaneously try their best not to bring the rest down upon them. It was painstakingly slow progress—and undeniably precarious. Every flick of his wand had Draco on edge, had Pansy sucking in a breath as they maneuvered pieces aside.
By the time they reached the main courtyard, Elara was breathing hard, her face pale and nearly all her weight rested on Draco.
Where the front doors had once stood, there was now only emptiness. The entire front wall had been knocked down, leaving the manor open to the night air, charged with magic and electricity.
The courtyard was a flurry of spells and bodies. Red and green bursts of light lit up the dark sky, followed by screams and cries. Blood coated the flagstone in such quantities that people were slipping in it and there had to be at least a hundred bodies strewn over the rubble, limbs dismembered, glassy eyes, bloody faces.
Draco turned Elara's face into his chest as he took stock of the situation. There seemed to be an equal number of Death Eaters and Order members—and he spotted Stuart and Freya dueling back to back, a surprisingly capable duo. George and Arthur Weasley were on the other side of the courtyard, facing down two Death Eaters that had them cornered against a pile of rubble.
"Your best option is to skirt around the sides," Pansy told Draco, adjusting her grip on her wand, squinting past the dust in the air. "Orion should—"
"Fancy seeing you two here!" It was Orion, showing up behind them, throwing both arms around Draco and Elara's shoulders. "Bit of a pickle we're in, as you can see. But no matter—we'll find a way."
But Draco had been a commander for years now. He'd been in countless battles and duels, had devised hundreds of strategies and plans that had never fallen through unless he'd wanted them to.
Following the edges of the massive courtyard would take too long—and Elara was already blanching further beside him, her eyelashes fluttering. Her skin was freezing cold. She'd pass out before they got to the gates—and with all the chaos going on around them, that would put her in twice as much danger. Even with Draco by her side.
"No," he said, strengthening those walls in his mind. "We have to go straight through."
"What?" Pansy demanded, eyebrows shooting up. "Are you—"
"Trust me." He tightened his grip around his wand. "I'll take care of them. Both you and Orion have to take Elara straight through."
"No..." Elara murmured, her voice weak. Her teeth were chattering, her veins glowing black underneath her pallid skin. "No, I—I won't leave you—"
"You have to." He turned to Orion and found his friend's eyes pained. "Please. Make sure she stays safe."
"You know I will," he whispered back, clasping Draco's arm. "But you shouldn't have to do this."
"Let me," Pansy put in, stepping forward. "I can—"
"Neither of you are half as powerful as me," he reminded them, catching the roll of Orion's eyes. "It's the truth. Go."
They hesitated but he sent them the most menacing glare he could manage right now and said, "Now."
"No—" Elara struggled to stand on her own two feet, fighting against Pansy's grip. "I'm not leaving you. You—You promised—I can't—"
Draco turned and seized her face in his hands, dipping his head to look into her agonised eyes.
Pansy and Orion dutifully took a step back.
"Look at me," he told her, firmly and as soon as her dark eyes found his, he continued, "I'll find you again. I promise."
Her eyebrows pulled together, shivers wracking through her body. "D-Don't make promises you can't keep, Draco Malfoy."
"I'm keeping it," he promised, leaning down to kiss her. "I'll find you—in this life or the next."
Panic took over her features and even in her daze, she fumbled for him, her fingers brushing his. "No, Draco, wait—"
He kissed her again—one last time—and then whirled before he could change his mind. The silver mask formed over his features as he yanked the hood of his cloak over his head. The cold metal always reminded him who he was when he had to kill.
Elara was crying out for him, thrashing in Orion's arms—but for the second time that night, Draco ignored her pleas and strode away.
After that, it was a bloodbath.
As soon as he took the first step onto the flagstone, his presence had been announced. At first, he could tell relief rippled through the Death Eater ranks at the sight of him—but then he cast the first spell and killed four of them with one perfectly aimed arrow.
After that, he was prey—but nevertheless, still the predator.
His muscles ached and his head pounded with the exertion—but he pushed onward. Blocked spells and ducked under Killing Curses. Lifted enormous slabs of concrete with his magic and slammed it down upon a group of Death Eaters dueling with Blaise and Jasper.
He saved Arthur and George Weasley by slitting their opponents' throats with hardly a flick of his wand and suffocated Parvati's enemy with another. Blocking a particularly nasty Curse that came barrelling his way, he sent the exact same one back—and watched as his opponent dissolved into a pile of organs and blood.
Delightful.
His mind shut off, his pulse easing. There was no way he could kill all of them—but he could distract them enough that Orion and Pansy could sneak Elara through and to the gates. He knew the risk was high—especially to himself. Casting spells like these and in this quantity was a tremendous effort—and there was a high chance he would collapse before he reached the gates himself.
So he had to settle on dueling with some. Simple spells that wouldn't kill his opponents outright—but would do enough damage to leave them mostly incapacitated so someone else could finish them off.
Stuart grinned at him from the corner of the courtyard and then went back to dueling with Freya.
And then Draco caught sight of a small figure dueling nearby. She was young with wild dark hair and a furious look in her startling blue eyes—eyes that Elara had not inherited.
He sighed, sending a Killing Curse at a Death Eater struggling to his feet and snagged the collar of the young girl, dragging her along.
"What are you—Hey! I thought you were on our side!" Amelia Jacobs shrieked, thrashing in his grip, trying to twist enough to hex him.
"I am," he replied, bringing up a wall of concrete in front of two Death Eaters who were starting towards him. Their spells rebounded off the wall and collided into them, their screams echoing along the courtyard. "But if you die, Elara will kill me. And believe me, it'd be the worst type of irony if I end up dying at her hand tonight."
"I wasn't—dying!" she yelled through gritted teeth, still struggling. "Let go of me!"
"No," he responded, stubbornly, in a tone Elara would've been proud of. "Now stop being a brat."
"You're a brat—" A spell whizzed by her ear and she shrieked.
Draco's eyes caught sight of Elara and Orion—almost at the gates. Pansy had hung back, fighting off a trio of Death Eaters and Draco narrowed his eyes.
There were more, swarming in towards Orion and Elara—four, five, six. That wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all.
Draco pulled Amelia into his side and said, "Don't move."
With that, he channelled all his power into his wand and dragged it in a wide arc. Immediately, red-hot fire engulfed the both of them, in a hurricane of flame and heat.
Amelia screamed and huddled closer into him as it singed her clothes.
Draco concentrated every ounce of focus and strength he had left and directed the tornado right at the Death Eaters heading for Orion and Elara. The effort made his knees buckle—and he hit the flagstone, his stomach churning as his vision darkened.
Amelia tried to haul him to his feet but it was useless and he groaned, the world swaying. Then she yelled out a warning—and white-hot pain flared over his face, melting through the silver mask, cutting into skin and then bone.
A raw scream ripped from his throat as blood imploded within the mask, blurring his vision. Several blood vessels burst along the wound. It felt like someone had dug a dagger into his skull.
His eyes, his nose, his mouth—There was blood everywhere, sticky and suffocating, making him gasp for breath and choke on it. Amelia was prying at his mask, trying to jerk it off him, screaming at him—but the mask wouldn't come off unless the hood of his cloak did.
He tried to tell her but couldn't move his tongue. Tried to slide into her brain using Legilimency—but found himself too weak to do so.
Blood clogged his throat and Draco's mind fixated on the one thing he cared about.
Elara.
Through the blood in his eyes, he could see Orion dragging her out through the gates. Draco's fire hurricane had left nothing but charred remains of Death Eaters behind—but Elara was screaming and thrashing for him, her eyes wide and panicked, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Draco smiled at her—and then the world turned black. He could finally rest.
———