A/N: Update is a bit late. I got sick...What a way to start 2017
Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter! And Happy 2017!
-Laura
Chilled Legacy XI
It was midnight, but he was wide awake. Somehow he never stopped to wonder about why no one had ever said a thing to McGonagall about him not staying in his dormitory at night. Draco guessed the Slytherins viewed it as a bonus anyway. They didn't want him there, and he'd rather sleep with the thundering roar outside than with them anyway.
Slughorn had brought it up in one of their conversations, but after joining the Slug Club the man probably thought it best if his only singer avoided detention.
Regardless, the room of requirements adjusted to being soundproof. Sensing Draco's annoyance, it changed back. The storm grew louder and it became soundproof again.
"Fine. So I didn't outgrow it."
Now all that was missing was it being anxiety-proof.
Draco had run into Blaise on his way here. He'd begun to see that his former friend's fury went much deeper than that simple fight they'd had over the summer.
After he caught Pansy cheating on him with Blaise when he paid her a visit, Draco had laughed in Zabini's face. He told them both they weren't even worth the effort of revenge, hurting him in the best place he could—his pride.
It was evident he had it coming, but there was something more. He could see it behind the twisted smile when he told—ordered—Draco to breakup with Astoria.
That was the last straw for him. The look of triumph Blaise had given him after Draco told him to go to hell had sent his pulse rising to an unhealthy level. In all honesty he wouldn't be surprised if everyone knew his secret tomorrow, but somehow that didn't sound like what Blaise wanted. Not yet.
Draco sat his books down on the reading table. No bed had appeared this time. If he'd thought of one there was no chance he could've resisted crawling in, but he had to stay awake.
The light above the table brightened as he took a deep breath and opened his old family records.
There was nothing. Nothing new, that is.
Same old family tree, all the way down to the to the last traceable arranged marriage.
He thought about packing up and going to Arendelle again, but with the trio and McGonagall watching him like hawks, those chances were long gone. Everyone would notice the snow stopped at his absence.
Hands shaking, he threw the book against the. The pictures inside protested.
"We can't help you if you rip us to shreds!" a voice called from inside.
Draco grabbed the book again, finding the page.
Andromeda Tonks stared back at him. He'd never actually seen a picture of her before. The one back at home was blackened, left with nothing but the name as indication of her existence.
"Help me?"
Andromeda smiled kindly. "Yes, Draco. What is it you seek?"
She looked so much like Bellatrix that it was hard to believe she could offer genuine help. Had it not been for the kindness in her eyes and the sincerity in her voice, Draco would've shut the book again.
"The ruler of Arendelle. Are they in here?"
The hissing murmurs coming from the other pictures became instantly silent. Andromeda's eyes were wide. In a blink of an eye, she was gone. So much for helping.
If anything, this meant he was looking in the right place. Draco almost hit himself. How had he not tried it before?
"Revilio!"
The book twitched, but nothing happened.
"You'll never find it like that," a familiar voice informed.
"Aunt Bella," Draco said. "You care to tell me how?"
"That depends. Have a little secret, do we? Care to show me?"
Draco glared. "No. Do you know anything about the curse or not?"
"I don' blood traitor doesn't either—not the real us anyway. Word gets around in this dear old family book. You learn secrets only old memories would know. Show me the powers, darling. It's the only way to get what you want."
"Don't listen to her, Draco," Andromeda said. "The rulers are vile, cruel individuals. Most all of them have destroyed entire cities."
He never saw her return to the picture, having been too focused on deciphering Bellatrix's code. Was she bribing him for information? There was no thirst behind the order.
"You mean built entire kingdoms," Bellatrix interjected. "Wiping them clean of filthy mudbloods and starting from scratch."
"Most of them?" Draco asked. "What stopped the others?"
"Once someone inherits the powers, the only way to end the winter is to kill them," Andromeda told him. Her eyes were filled with worry. "The only known case of a surviving ruler put a stop to the cursed bloodline. There hasn't been another in centuries."
Bellatrix cackled. "Or so you thought."
Andromeda shook her head. "It can't be true."
"Show her, Draco."
Finally understanding what Bellatrix meant, he removed his glove and placed his hand over cover.
As the frost spread over the pages, the book began to glow and the pictures gave way to writing...
***
"Haven't you ever thought about it before?"
"What?
Hermione had begun compiling her own ideas in the library shortly after Draco left. It was mostly quiet, but then she'd blurt out a random thought and Harry would look up expectantly, only for her to shake her head again and sink back into concentration.
This time, however, she kept going.
"The snow, it's always strongest at night. Maybe the ruler is cultivating their powers then, and hiding them during the day."
"The hiding was obvious enough," Harry added. "But how does this help us?"
"Easy, we use the map to see who's out of bed."
Ron shook his head. "Everybody is out of bed. No one gets any sleep these days. Either they're up in the Astronomy tower, or the run off to the pub."
Harry's hopeful smile faded.
The school was midnight zombie infested nightmare. Everything was okay by day, but at night, those tormented by memories would avoid sleep altogether. The number of those able to see Thestrals along with the dangerous dependency on sleep potions had also gone up. All these thing intertwined into a web of postwar disaster.
It all felt useless anyhow. As smart as Hermione was, all her ideas lead back to square one.
They didn't know the origin of this thing; let alone how to stop it.
Somehow Draco had convinced them that they were getting somewhere, but with him gone, he now came to realize they had always been walking in circles.
In all truth, Draco had been right. Harry couldn't kill another student. Just like Draco back at the Manor, he couldn't hand them over to death. Not in his mind. Maybe when the time came, instincts would prevail.
At least that's what he'd tell himself.
***
He awoke on a bed though he'd fallen asleep on the table. The room of requirements never did cease to impress him. Like every morning, he waited for the room to melt before dressing and mentally preparing himself to face the crowds.
A single sheet of paper sat on the desk next to the family records.
Last night had been a complete disaster. The message inside...Draco wasn't sure was a message at all. It was completely in code, and he'd passed out not long after trying to crack it. He needed a clear mind, and with his drooping head, not much was figured out during his study session.
Though, one thing was for sure—there were two ways to stop the curse. One he knew all too well, the other still remained unclear.
Even if Andromeda hadn't revealed there had been a sole exception, the code gave it away. After reading it a couple dozen times, it had been the only message he'd been sure of.
Draco rubbed his hands together, securing his gloves in place. A mirror appeared in front of him and he winced.
It's not that he hadn't wanted to see his reflection, but rather was slightly startled by his expression. There was something off in his stare. A fear that hadn't been there before.
Slowly, things sunk in.
It was that horrible feeling something—someone, maybe a being of higher intelligence—would send moments before disaster. An inexplicable tension from the atmosphere even though nothing was amiss.
His whole body sent warning signals for him not to step out that door, but Draco was a skeptic.
No. He refused to crawl back in bed.
He shook his head, fearfully amused. I'm not going to stop living because of a hunch.
Mentally going over his schedule, he thought of what he'd tell Potter and the others today. The plan was to come clean.
Harry had passed the test. He'd seen they look in his—the same resignation that reflected back at him in the Malfoy Manor upon looking into Harry's eye.
He wouldn't turn them in.
He couldn't.
From then on, they would help him—maybe find a cure or a way to stop the dreaded future. After all, his enemies had slowly turned into something more. Draco wasn't sure the word was appropriate yet, but it was at least close enough to where they wouldn't execute him on the spot.
Harry would help him. They all would.
Maybe after all this was over, he wouldn't have to hide in the shadows of hatred anymore. If anything, telling the trio would lead them to trust him more, enough for when all this was over to further leave all the loneliness he'd experienced these last few years.
His parents would never approve of the companions. Then again, when they find out Astoria is a muggle lover they'll probably hate her too, but at this point it didn't matter what they thought.
He took a deep breath, his lungs shaking. If he gathered enough courage, maybe he could tell them today.
***
The glares bored into him like flaming needles. He walked closer to the posters, his eyes finally adjusting to the details.
Every inch of his body froze and his stomach dropped to his feet.
"Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!" the array of images chanted in a messy symphony.
It was him. It was his face.
Wanted posters of him—and Draco hadn't the slightest idea how someone captured it—torturing war victims in the manor.
The image was blurred, almost as if covered in fog, but it was still distinguishably him standing next. The prisoners...Draco remembered every last one of them. These were the relatives of a younger Ravenclaw student. Blood traitors.
The crowd grew larger by the second until the entire hall was filled with most of the school. The Draco in the posters kept shouting. Over. And over. And over.
The victims screeched. Over. And over. And Over.
His eyes scanned over the words, not picking up entire sentences. Like the image, he was fogging over.
Draco Malfoy. Dangerous. Death Eater. Murdered and tortured innocent war victims.
They were fake. It was cheap print paper one could buy at Hogsmeade. Somehow that didn't ease any of his growing panic.
His eyes swam over the crowd. Even the teachers were eying him with disgust.
Someone broke the silence. "Inhuman!"
A sea of angry murmurs broke out and a smirking caught his eye. Not far from him was Astoria's horrified face. Her hand was clamped over her mouth, eyes on the verge of tears.
It was all a dream. It had to be. The thudding of his heart in his throat and the draining of blood from his face.
His feet carried him far away from the booing crowd. Turn after turn until he collapsed on the cold stone floor, clutching his knees in a vacant hall.
His breath shook along with his entire body. Draco clawed at his chest, the compression strangling him like an inflating rope, tightening and expanding inside him. Completely stripped of all securities and left bare, with nothing but a primal fear and hopelessness.
Anger at himself for complaining about the previous episodes welled up, leaving his body in the form of muffled screams.
Nothing had and nothing would ever compare to this.
Astoria's face.
He banged his head against his knees but the image wouldn't leave.
Someone sedate me.
Draco wanted to Madam Pomfreys and chug dangerous amounts of dreamless sleep. But he wasn't sure what was worse—living another second of this panic attack, or facing the crowds to end it all.
Even if someone wanted to follow him, they couldn't reach him now. The hall had already into an icy cave with dangling spikes. He didn't mind any of them fell on him, or if everyone had put two and two together and blamed him for the expanding ice.
It was hollow and dark, with just barely enough light for him to see his breath. If the spikes didn't kill him, hypothermia would.
The entrance closed slowly, like a vanishing whirlpool.
Someone burst in.
The sound of feet crunching on fresh snow reached his ears. Draco didn't have to look up to know who it was.
"Like my trick, Draco? It was quite easy to make. I found it in an old charms book. To this day, I had no idea memories could be framed. Remember that day? Maybe I should've used the other memory, you know, your pathetic crying afterword?
"Then again, that might've gotten a different reaction from your adoring fans."
Draco looked up, not caring if Blaise saw the remaining tears slide down his chin.
"You—you weren't even—"
"There? Yes. I know. But your dear old friend Goyle was. He was more than happy to help me out in your demise. He blames you for Crabbe's death, you know."
"Why?"
Blaise's smile disappeared. "You're weak. Pathetic. I should be the heir, not you."
Draco was silent, and he felt Blaise enter his thoughts, too tired to block him out.
"Oh Draco. She isn't afraid of you yet. Can't you see? Your sweet little princess was the only one to run after you, to tear down my work of art—" Blaise paused, taking in his dumbfounded stare—"of course, she was quite mad when I told her you'd been confiding in Myrtle instead of her this whole time."
Draco opened his mouth but no noise came out. Blaise continued.
"I'm sure whatever string is holding your relationship now is bound to break when I tell her about this? Yes?"
Draco didn't respond. Blaise bared his teeth and raised his wand. "Speak up vermin. Yes, your highness."
Draco's hands dug into the snow. His legs wobbled from the ordeal, but he stood up.
"Fuck off, you wannabe prick."
"I bet you always wondered what your prisoners felt. Crucio!"
Draco's bones burst into flames. Countless hot shards of glass growing smaller, the tiniest bits scraping over every area of his muscles and tendons. All his cells screamed in agony.
It didn't spread gradually. The pain just was.
He wanted it to end.
To die.
An inhuman cry left his lips.
But Blaise was mistaken.
He'd felt this pain before. All of Voldemort's followers did at least once. The Dark Lord broke them in. A method of teaching dogs to submit to their master.
The pain left suddenly, and Draco knew what he had to do.
"Yes...your highness."
Too late he realized that it was not the reason Blaise had stopped. His contorting body made the icy spikes wrap around Blaise's body, like coiling roses. Some of the smaller ones had already begun to pierce his skin, one dangerously close to his stomach. Trickles of blood stained the snowy ground.
Draco smiled unknowingly.
"Yes, your highness."
It took him a moment to realize it was he who had spoken. His voice sounded strange, as if he were hearing it from afar.
He ripped off one glove, crushing the spikes deeper into Zabini's skin. For the most part, he wasn't there. It was like watching a movie, and all you could do was press pause. No change of action. Either you did it or you stopped, and sunk further into despair.
Making his fingers curl slowly, he watched as Blaise face morphed from shock, realization, horror, and finally agony.
A gruff cackle—a laugh that sounded like his own, yet a million miles away.
Blaise began to scream and the low laugh grew louder.
He felt more than nothing. So past nothing that the darkness inside had taken the wheel. A growing monster inside human kind—their nature. Every once in a while saw it slip through their poorly concealed cracks. Lies. Selfishness. Lust. Ignorance. Rebellion. Hatred.
A few fought it longer than other, but it was always a losing battle. Maybe it was easier to just be consumed. He'd been fooling himself thinking he could ever win. There was no light in him to drown out the darkness.
It was an icy ruler Blaise had wanted. He got his wish. They all would. Draco held their lives in his hands. Each and every one would freeze.
It was hard to tell who he would have spared. Maybe—if this had continued—no one at all.
But the trance was broke.
Draco caught his own reflection on the nearest icicle to Zabini's face, millimeters away from slashing straight into his throat.
His hand drew back and the spikes retracted. Blaise fell to the ground.
That can't be me.
***
That can't be him.
Not that he could be sure through the three inch thick wall of ice separating him from the ruler. Harry heard the screams—half the school had.
At first everyone had thought it was just another echo of the victims on the poster, but this one had sounded much too real—echoless.
So far this was what he and McGonagall could deduct:
The ruler had trapped Blaise and Malfoy inside the snowy cavern. They had arrived late. Whatever the three had been discussing was impossible to know, but he had heard it clearly—yes, your highness.
Ron had been right. Draco was working against them. His voice—and Blaise's—Harry was able to piece together quickly.
The ruler's voice didn't sound like anything he'd ever heard. For a second his mind slipped into picturing Malfoy, but it didn't fit.
After all, he was being tortured. Not to mention the...the...monster behind it. There were few people who could send chills by speaking, and Draco Malfoy wasn't one of them. The only thing he'd proved to be was a two-faced coward, but monster still didn't quite fit the picture.
It had taken the force of twelve wands to pierce through the barrier.
Harry stepped into the cavern, his quickening breath visible as he held out his wand, ready to attack.
But the ruler was gone. Hermione and Ron followed close behind him, slowly lowering their wands at the sight of the two wizards lying on the floor
The first body they saw was Zabini's. He was sprawled out, face down atop a pile of fallen icy shards. Blood pooled into the nearby snow.
Draco sat on the opposite side. McGonagall rushed to Blaise's side while Harry treaded carefully towards Draco.
Malfoy had warned them about Blaise. All three had known the Slytherin was plotting something against Draco. Him torturing war prisoners shouldn't have come as a surprise. They all knew he'd done it at one time or another, but seeing it resurrected old—and new—feelings for their not-so-former enemy.
It was true he held nothing but the burning sensation of betrayal and hatred for him right now, but with Blaise unconscious, Malfoy was the only one who could give them answers.
Harry knelt down next to him. Malfoy was shivering violently, but somehow he didn't appear cold. His visible knuckles were white from his naked hand squeezing the glove like a life line.
"Malfoy?"
His eyes were mad. Unfocused.
Harry waved a hand in front of his face, "Malfoy?"
"I think he's in shock," Hermione said unsympathetically. Whatever warmth had begun to grow for Draco over the last few days had vanished from her too.
"There's no time for that," Ron spat. "We at least need to know where they went!"
Hermione smacked him across the face.
Draco clasped his hand on his cheek, for a brief moment returning to reality. "The ruler," Harry repeated. "Do you know who he is?"
Draco looked at his hands, then at Blaise's body as they carted it out of the cavern. He slipped the wrinkled glove on. "I've always known."
A/N: Hope you liked this chapter :) I'll try to update again soon.