Chapter 25: The Prophecy
"Did you get it?"
Draco felt a rush of affection at the sound of her voice and smiled as Granger shoved her book aside to run to him, excitedly clutching his hands. "Do you have the locket?"
"Yes," Draco replied, smirking at her enthusiasm. "Harry's got it."
"Let me see!" She reached out for it, her fingers animatedly grasping at the air. "Is it - does it seem much like the diadem?"
"It's quieter," Harry said, offering the locket to her from where it sat in his palm. "It doesn't have that weird chatter of voices."
"Only dark forces in there, I'm guessing," Weasley commented, looking discomforted at the thought. "Easier to get along when they're all on the same team."
Granger held it to her ear. The locket was large and ornate and seemed larger still in her small hand, the many tiny green stones glinting dully in the dim light that glowed from their tent.
"Hoping to hear the ocean, Hermione?" Harry asked, grinning.
"It's just so fascinating," she said, her voice hushed. "These horcruxes, I mean - they're awful, of course, but - "
"'Fascinating' isn't exactly the word I would use, Mione," Weasley said, nose wrinkled. "I mean, there's a piece of him in there - "
"A piece that will try to kill us, probably, if the diadem was any indication of habit," Draco said, pursing his lips with displeasure.
"The diary was that way, too," Harry agreed. "These are not exactly safe items."
Granger inspected the locket closely.
"We have to open it," she murmured, looking up at Harry. "How?"
He grimaced. "Not sure," he admitted. "I thought you might know."
Draco shook his head. "Are you serious?" he asked, giving Harry a look of wary disappointment. "This is Slytherin's locket. I imagine you would open it the same way you opened his chamber, right?"
Harry cocked his head, considering. "Parseltongue, you think?"
Draco shrugged. "Are you surprised?"
"I shouldn't be," Harry admitted. "You're right, I should have thought of that sooner. But then what? I guess if we use the sword - "
"Which we should," Granger interrupted, addressing Harry with the exceedingly swotty air that Draco had once found unbearable and now considered among her most charming features. "I've been doing some reading, Harry, and it seems to indicate that the basilisk venom is now impregnated in the metal." At Harry and Weasley's blank stare, she huffed impatiently. "The blade is goblin-made, which means the basilisk venom actually made it stronger," she explained. "It should be even more effective than the fang you used to destroy the diary and the diadem."
"Right," Harry agreed, nodding vacantly. "Well - since Draco was the one who made the sword appear - "
"Oh fuck no," Draco interjected, vehemently shaking his head. "Don't put this one on me. We don't know that for sure, anyway, and I hardly think you need to play so close to the rules - "
"Scared, Malfoy?" Harry asked, using Draco's signature smirk against him.
"Fucking yes, Potter, sure, if that's what you want me to say," Draco snapped. "I'm not in the business of volunteering to die today, and I'm pretty sure Granger likes my pretty face the way it is, honestly - "
"I do," Granger said, nodding soberly as a pert smile flitted across her lips. "That's true."
"This is your horcrux hunt, isn't it?" Draco asked, giving Harry a look. "I mean, you are the leader here, are you not?"
"Git's got a point," Weasley said, nodding smugly as he flashed Harry a knowing smile.
Harry managed a short, barking laugh. "Fine," he conceded. "You're probably right, anyway. I suppose the sword could really belong to either of us."
"Yes, I know I'm fucking right," Draco told him, raising his chin. "Now get it over with, Potter." He shuddered at the sight of the locket. "If that thing's going to try to kill us, I'd like to have it over with sooner rather than later."
"What exactly happened last time?" Granger asked, wringing her hands fretfully. "Did You-Know-Who actually come out of the diadem?"
"As far as I could tell, yes," Draco told her. "He seemed pretty solid to me."
"He was definitely solid after the diary," Harry said, cringing. "But that's also because he'd basically used up all of Ginny at that point, so - "
"Don't remind me," Weasley said grimly, a shadow passing briefly over his face. "I keep trying to forget."
"Should we all be out here?" Granger asked. "Is that wise? Maybe a couple of us should watch from afar, just in case - "
"Not a terrible idea," Draco mused, tilting his head to consider it. "Having a distraction worked well for us last time."
"Best not to show all our cards," Harry agreed, nodding. "Okay." He sighed heavily. "So I'll just - open it, then. And stab it."
"It sounds so easy," Weasley said, and then frowned. "Too easy?"
"It's not as easy as it sounds," Draco told him, shuddering at the memory. "The horcrux, it can - " He sighed. "It sounds so fucking stupid, I know, but the horcrux can see into you, somehow."
"It?" Granger echoed, giving him a startled look.
"Well, he, I suppose," Draco corrected himself, shrugging. "Even a small piece of the Dark Lord's soul is still something to be reckoned with, magically."
"You'll stay here with me," Harry stated flatly, looking at Draco. "Right? Since you know what he might do."
Draco nodded, though he was queasy at the thought. "Yes."
"And you'll have my back?" Harry asked, pivoting to face Weasley. "You and Hermione will stay in the tent, and come out if we need you?"
"Which, chances are, we will," Draco grumbled, and Granger reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly.
"Of course," she said, and Weasley nodded. "We'll be right here."
Harry looked at Draco. "Should we do this, then?"
"The sooner we get it over with, the better," Draco said hurriedly, trying again to quell the rising anxiety in his chest.
Granger kissed his cheek. "You've got this," she told him, giving him a brief smile. "And you," she said, reaching out to put her hand on Harry's shoulder. "You did say you wanted to accomplish something."
"I know, I know," Harry said, clearly fidgeting with nerves. "Okay."
He looked up at Weasley and Draco could see from the brief, shared glance that the foundation of their friendship - the loyalty that ran unfathomably deep - had not faded, despite their weeks of tension.
"You're good, mate," Weasley assured him quietly, and a momentary flicker of relief glimmered for a moment in Harry's eyes. "Easy. Just open the locket and stab it. We'll be right here."
Harry nodded firmly. "Easy," he repeated, flashing Draco a small, hesitant smile.
This was only making it worse.
"Open the fucking locket, Potter," Draco growled, raising his wand combatively in preparation for the horrors that lay within it. Granger pulled Weasley along behind her, backing into the tent as Harry set the locket on the ground.
"Ready?" Harry called, taking a step back.
"Ready," Weasley returned, concealed behind the tent flap, and Draco nodded.
Harry took a deep breath. "Okay."
Draco watched Harry focus on the locket, giving himself a quick shake for nerves as the item started to rattle from where he'd set it on the ground. "Okay," he said again, and then a foreign sound escaped him. A hiss, followed by a snarl, and the golden doors of the locket swung open, emitting a tiny click.
Behind the doors was a set of eyes; the distinctly dark and handsome eyes of the once charming and alluring Tom Riddle.
Harry didn't move, and Draco looked questioningly at him.
"Stab it," he instructed, furrowing his brow. "Harry - "
But Harry was pale, his eyes unfocused. "Malfoy," he said, panting. The locket continued to rattle on the ground and Tom Riddle's cold, unfeeling eyes watched them through a glacial, relentless stare. "Malfoy - "
"Harry." Draco stepped towards him. Harry no longer commonly used his surname; something was wrong. "Harry - what - "
This wasn't the horcrux's doing; Harry was shaking, convulsing wildly, before he suddenly doubled over, collapsing on the ground.
"Harry!" Draco yelled, falling to his knees beside him and shaking the other wizard. "Harry, what's going on?"
"Malfoy - " The sword had fallen out of Harry's hand, landing on the ground with a thud. The bespectacled wizard kept clutching his forehead, his body sprawled awkwardly on the ground as he reached out to take hold of Draco's collar. "Malfoy - you need - to see - "
"Granger!" Draco roared, and she immediately ran out of the tent. "Get the sword! Stab the locket, now!"
He saw her running to his side, heard a hissing sound coming out of the locket. "Stab it," he repeated to her, trying to hold Harry's head still. "You have to do it, Granger - "
"Hermione Granger - I have seen your heart - "
"Draco," she cried, her voice panicked. "I - I can't - "
"You have to!" he shouted, picking up his wand as Harry yanked him closer, grabbing Draco's wand and dragging it to his forehead. "I have to - I don't know, I don't know what this is - legilimens!"
He felt himself hurtled into Harry's mind, falling and falling until he felt himself suddenly landing within a thought - a vision - that was neither his nor Harry's. A voice in Harry's head - and Draco's now, too - was high, clear, and cold, mixing with a loud, harsh cry, a sound he did not recognize, though it came from a familiar face.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"BEWARE. THE ONE YOU NEED IS NOT THE ONE YOU PRESENTLY SEEK."
. . . . . . . .
"Hermione Granger - I have seen your heart - "
"What do I do?" she asked, wringing her hands as she glanced at Harry, who was convulsing wildly on the ground, and Malfoy, who was now suffering beside him. "Ron, what do I - "
"Take this," Ron said instantly, picking up the hilt of the sword and shoving it in her palm, covering her hand with his as he forced her fingers around it. "Take this, and stab the bloody thing!"
She looked helplessly at him. "But - "
"Do it," Ron said, his blue eyes wild. "Do it, Hermione - you can do this, I promise you - "
"Hermione Granger, I have seen your heart, and it is mine."
The beautiful eyes from inside the locket were swiveling around to face her, the voice hissing from behind the golden doors.
"I can see your dreams, Hermione Granger, and I can see your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible - "
"Hermione!" Ron shouted, torn between running to Harry and keeping his hand firmly on her shoulder. "Stab it! Don't listen to it!"
She raised the sword shakily, its heavy weight poised above the locket. It's so easy, she thought. Just stab . . .
But the voice - Tom Riddle's voice - was relentless.
"An outcast, always, rejected by your peers . . . an outcast as a muggle, an outcast as a witch . . . not enough for your friends, who would choose each other over you . . . not enough for the one you love, who will always see through you to your dirty blood . . . an outsider, always, never to belong . . . "
"That's not true, Mione!" Ron yelled. "Don't - don't listen - "
" . . . there is darkness in your heart, Hermione Granger . . . there is darkness you do not understand, that you will never understand, and that you will always fight . . . you do not belong, and despite how hard you struggle . . . despite what you tell yourself, you know . . . you know in your heart that you never will . . . "
"STAB IT!" Ron shouted hoarsely. "Mione, PLEASE!"
She was paralyzed. How did it know? How could it know?
Out of the locket's two windows bloomed two grotesque bubbles, the heads of Malfoy and Dumbledore, strangely distorted and sinister. She yelped and stumbled backwards, panicking as the figures blossomed out of the locket.
"HERMIONE!"
She could vaguely hear Ron bellowing her name, but she was entranced. She couldn't look away.
"What do you fear more?" the Riddle-Malfoy asked her, his face somehow eerily beautiful in this ghostly, haunting form. "My rejection? You should, you know . . . you should fear my loss, because someday, when I'm done with you, I will remember my place . . . I will realize that you were beneath me . . . that you are less than I, and you will never be enough . . . never enough . . . "
"Or is it me you fear?" the Riddle-Dumbledore posed darkly, his normally smiling blue eyes strikingly cold and distant. "The memory of me, and the emptiness you felt at my death? The ease at which you could strip me of my last, shallow breath . . . your enjoyment at finally possessing power . . . you, always the powerless . . . the faceless brains behind the Chosen One . . . finally pulling the strings . . . finally setting your terms . . . "
Finally setting your terms . . .
She heard her own voice in her head, echoing through her conscience as she recalled with a pang the words she had spoken to the fragile headmaster.
"Your death will be the one to launch a war," she'd said to him, standing over him with her wand aimed at his chest. "I intend for it to be on my terms."
"No," she whispered, her fingers loosening on the hilt of the sword.
"HERMIONE! STAB IT!"
She looked at Ron, trying to force herself to focus. "It's not true, Ron . . . it's not true . . . "
"I know that, Mione - STAB THE FUCKING LOCKET!"
Riddle-Malfoy was sneering at her, and his expression was cruel. He was arrogant and cold; Riddle-Dumbledore, though, was smiling - smiling triumphantly, condescendingly, like he had seen into the depths of her heart and knew that he was victorious. That he was right about her.
"You fear yourself, Hermione Granger," Riddle-Dumbledore said mockingly, and Riddle-Malfoy tipped his head back, laughing mechanically at her expense. "You fear your own soul, and well you should . . . well you should . . . "
Ron's voice near her ear was desperate. "MIONE!"
"IT'S NOT TRUE!" she yelled, raising the sword above her head and crashing it down on the locket, feeling a fire burning in her lungs as she heard a loud clang of metal and a long, drawn out scream, the dying sound of the Dark Lord's corrupted soul.
"It's not true," she choked out, falling to her knees and retching, suffering the toxicity of the locket's glimpse into her soul. "It's not true."
Ron's arms were around her, covering her like a shield, leaving the vacant horcrux to lay broken and abandoned on the ground. "I know, Mione - "
"It's not true . . . my heart, Ron, my heart - "
She fell forward onto her hands, raking her fingers through the dirt and bringing her arms around to clutch herself tightly, shaking, as a loud yell ripped itself from Harry's throat. It was the only sound to tear through the desolate stillness of the night. It was the only sound other than the echo of her broken sobs.
. . . . . . . .
Draco looked around, recognizing the familiar stone walls, the comforting feel of the castle even as it was warped and distorted from inside Harry's mind.
Hogwarts.
He looked down; Harry wasn't there. Unless . . .
Draco looked sharply to his left and saw his reflection, recognizing himself as the source of the high, cold voice, belonging to the heavily robed and guarded form of the man who was once Tom Riddle.
The Dark Lord. Draco, by virtue of Harry, was inside the Dark Lord.
"What is this?" Voldemort asked, sneering at the witch, the foolish Professor Trelawney who cowered fearfully before him. "I hardly think it's necessary to force a contemptible farce like divination down the throats of these students." He turned to swoop darkly out of the room, stepping close to the cloaked form that Draco realized was Professor Snape.
"Really, Severus," the Dark Lord hissed, his tone slippery with restrained displeasure. "I thought you understood that I would be ushering in a new era to Hogwarts, not a continuation of these foolish, archaic imitations of power. I would have thought you, of all people, would be more in tune with Lord Voldemort's wishes - "
"My Lord, I - "
A voice erupted from behind them.
"BEWARE."
Voldemort turned sharply, narrowing his already slitted eyes. "What is the meaning of this?"
Trelawney had gone slack in her chair, slipping down rigidly as her eyes became hazy and unfocused. Her mouth sagged open, and the harsh, grating voice that escaped it could scarcely have been her own.
"BEWARE. THE ONE YOU NEED IS NOT THE ONE YOU PRESENTLY SEEK."
"Silence," the Dark Lord seethed irritably, jabbing his wand in her face. "Stop this at once, I have no patience for - "
"THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD DOES NOT TRAVEL ALONE."
Voldemort moved so quickly to swoop over Trelawney's limp form that Draco was startled by the rush of air. "Harry Potter? Do you speak of Harry Potter?"
"THE EVENTS ONCE PROPHESIED ARE POISED FOR DISRUPTION. THE OUTSIDER BORN OF ANOTHER WORLD IS NOT WHAT SHE SEEMS . . . ETERNALLY UNDERESTIMATED, SHE IS NOT THE IDLE THREAT THAT SHE APPEARS . . . SHOULD THE MALFOY HEIR FALL, A POWER GREATER AND MORE TERRIBLE THAN THIS WORLD HAS EVER BORNE WITNESS WILL BE HERS . . . THE CHOSEN ONE WILL FAIL BUT THE DARK LORD WILL FALL INTO OBSCURITY . . . HIS DESTROYER WILL BECOME HERSELF A CONDUIT OF CHAOS AND SUFFERING . . . BEWARE . . . THE ONE YOU NEED IS NOT THE ONE YOU SEEK . . . THERE WILL BE GREAT SUFFERING FOR ALL, SHOULD THE MALFOY HEIR FALL . . . "
Draco understood now why Harry had been repeating his name. His heart was pounding relentlessly, beating him to death with its merciless hammering.
Should the Malfoy Heir fall, a power greater and more terrible than this world has ever borne witness will be hers . . .
It was Granger. It had to be Granger.
But it couldn't be Granger, he thought, feeling his blood run cold. Chaos and suffering? He pictured the soft glint of her golden brown eyes, the sound of her laugh in his ear. It couldn't be her.
"The Outsider" could be a misnomer, he assured himself. It might not be her. He satisfied himself with the ambiguity of the thought, comforted in the benefit of his doubt.
As for the rest of the prophecy - unfortunately, there was no mistaking the meaning of the Malfoy Heir.
Trelawney's head fell forward onto her chest and she made a deep, grunting noise; remembering her surroundings, she looked up, the dreamy, distracted quality slowly returning to her eyes.
"Crucio," the Dark Lord intoned blankly, aiming his wand at her chest and watching with a senseless pleasure as she writhed in pain, her body nearly rising off the armchair where she sat.
"My Lord," Snape said hesitantly, stepping forward. "Would it not be better to ask her what she has foretold - to speak to her, regarding her Sight?"
"I'm merely loosening her tongue, Severus," Voldemort said smoothly, aiming another curse at the whimpering seer.
"Are you sure you wish to assign credence to such a far-fetched premonition, my Lord?" Snape asked, his tone carefully dispassionate. "Surely my Lord will not be swayed by such baseless nonsense. You did wish to cease the practice of Divination as an area of study, did you not?"
Voldemort lowered his wand from Trelawney's shaking form and pivoted slowly, aiming it at Snape's head.
"Do you wish me to ignore it, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked curiously, his eyes glinting manically in the dim light of the classroom. "Do you, perhaps, wish that I not press the matter of the - " he paused, licking his lips hungrily in a way that turned Draco's stomach. "Malfoy Heir?"
"The boy is dead," Snape said flatly. "You know that as well as I do."
"Do I?" Voldemort asked mockingly. "Interesting, then, that such a statement could arise . . . after all, who could question such an ironclad story, with no body left behind . . . and the item I seek conspicuously missing . . . "
"You think the Malfoy boy might be alive?" Snape posed dubiously, and Draco tried desperately to ease the noisy thudding of his heart in his chest. "You doubt the collective accounts of every Death Eater who witnessed it?"
From the vantage point Draco was given inside the Dark Lord's mind, he could see that Voldemort was using occlumency on Snape; the silence was palpable, with only a tiny whimper from Trelawney, who had collapsed at the foot of her armchair.
There was nothing questionable, Draco gathered, as Snape's limited visions of the night on the tower floated to the forefront of his mind; Snape had been wise to vacate the tower when he did, allowing him the plausible deniability that now likely saved his life.
"Perhaps," the Dark Lord said finally, lowering his wand. Draco exhaled quietly, releasing a strangled sigh of relief knowing that Snape had managed to craft himself some kind of modified alibi.
"It will be easy enough to uncover," Voldemort murmured, a menacing smile spreading across his inhuman face. "And until then - " the smile disappeared, and his expression suddenly filled with rage. "I have more tongues to loosen."
. . . . . . . .
Hermione could see that he was finally starting to stir.
"Draco." She crawled over to him as he moved to sit up.
He held out his arms for her, yanking her into his chest. "Granger," he breathed, kissing the top of her head firmly and burying his face in her hair as she fell into him. "Did you - "
"Yes," she said, adjusting herself into his lap so that she was fully in his arms, shivering again at the memory of Riddle's incarnation of him. He had been beautiful, cruelly beautiful - but this, the real thing, was better. She touched her fingers to the dark circles that had amassed under his eyes, rejoicing in his flaws. "Yes. It's gone. It's destroyed."
"I'm sorry," he told her. He looked shaken. "I'm so sorry - "
Having something to be sorry about was never a good sign, particularly not from Malfoy.
She frowned. "What happened?"
"Him." Harry was sitting up now, looking pale and unsettled. "I - he - " Harry sighed audibly, failing to complete his thought.
"Bad timing," he managed finally, his gaze lingering on Malfoy's pale face.
Hermione looked between them, her intuition roaring with displeasure. Cloaked looks between Harry and Malfoy were another terrible sign. Something was definitely wrong.
"What happened?" Hermione demanded, sitting upright.
Ron's hand was tentatively on Harry's shoulder, holding him steady as he gave Hermione a warning glance. "What did you see?" Ron murmured, attempting a gentler method of procuring information.
Harry's eyes flicked to Malfoy again, who gave a tiny shake of his head.
"What?" Hermione asked, twisting to look at his face. "What is it?"
"I don't know," Malfoy said slowly, though he was clearly reluctant to meet her eye. "It's too early to tell."
"You-Know-Who knows," Harry said pointedly, a correction of sorts, and Malfoy nodded.
"Well, there is that," Malfoy agreed bitterly. "He knows."
"About what?" Hermione clambered out of his hold and turned, holding his face in her palms. "Knows about what?" Her heart was pounding. "About you?"
"Trelawney made some kind of prophecy at Hogwarts," Malfoy said, his voice low. "Some kind of vision, and - something about a power, some 'great and terrible' power, if - " he swallowed painfully. "If," he emphasized, letting his voice linger on the word. "If the Malfoy Heir falls."
No.
She gaped at him.
No.
Voldemort couldn't know. After everything - after narrowly escaping Malfoy Manor with their lives - after all the sacrifices they had all made - after all the people they'd endangered, after the lies they'd told, just trying desperately to protect the truth - how could it come to this? How could their lives be held so perilously in the hands of a half-witted pretender to a scarcely credible offshoot of unreliable magic?
Hermione's heart ached. How could fate be so cruel?
"Could it be anyone else?" she asked, feeling her pulse thud in her veins. "Could there be any other explanation?"
"I am far and away the only heir for generations," Malfoy said quietly. "He would have to assume it means me."
"What about the power, the 'great and terrible power' in the prophecy - could it be You-Know-Who that might possess it?" she asked fearfully. "Was it a warning? Could it - could it be the - "
She looked between Harry and Malfoy, not sure if she wanted to bring up the possibility that one of them might currently hold in his hand the Elder Wand, and in so doing, possess the unbeatable weapon that Voldemort so desperately sought.
No. Now wasn't the time.
"Who was the prophecy about?" she prompted breathlessly, deciding to gloss over the subject of the wand until she'd decided how to address it.
Malfoy and Harry exchanged another furtive glance.
"I don't know," Malfoy said, and she couldn't tell if it was a lie. It didn't feel like a lie, but it seemed, somehow, to be less than the entire truth.
"But - "
"What about the locket?" Harry interrupted, and Ron handed him the broken horcrux.
"Mione stabbed it," Ron said simply.
He looked at her. She nodded.
Good. She found herself relieved that he wasn't going to say anything about what else he'd seen.
Not that any of it was true, she reminded herself. None of it was real. It was dark magic, just a ploy to destroy her defenses, to poison her mind. Nothing more.
"Anything else?" Malfoy prompted, catching the glance.
"Yeah," Ron declared, stiffening. "Horcruxes are fucking awful."
Malfoy nodded, tightening his arms around Hermione where he held her in his lap.
"Did it try to kill you?" Malfoy asked in her ear, the question posed only for her.
Worse.
"No," she replied, sighing. "It was just - unpleasant."
"I'm sorry," he told her again, smoothing a loose curl behind her ear. "I didn't mean to abandon you like that - "
"You did the right thing," she assured him. "And whatever it was that you saw - however bad it was - I'm sure we will get through it." She picked up his hand, threading her fingers between his. "We'll get through it."
He suddenly shifted her around, wrapping his arms around her and crushing her head against his chest. It was a rough but strangely protective gesture that she could see no reason for, but also had no opposition to. She breathed in the smell of him, masculine with the hint of sweetness, burying her face into his neck as he held her.
"I love you," he whispered, his lips next to her ear. "I love you, Hermione, and I will always love you. No matter what. I promise you."
The sentiment, of course, was beautiful. But the timing was poor, and the context was chilling.
"Draco," she whispered back, pulling away to look at him. "Draco. What did you see?"
He glanced up at Harry.
"Nothing," he said, and she barely caught a flicker of understanding in Harry's eye.
. . . . . . . .
Draco was in his father's study. How did he get here? He hadn't been dreaming much recently. Dreams, after all, necessitated sleep, which wasn't a luxury he was permitted anymore.
Well, he was only human, wasn't he? He supposed he could have managed a few minutes of rest out of the long, torturous night. He wandered through the study, running his fingers across the titles of his father's books, wondering why his mind had taken him here. He'd never been allowed here, much to his disappointment. He'd really only been here when he was called.
He paused abruptly, the heavy weight of the sudden realization settling sharply on his shoulders. He had only been here when he was called. Surely that was no coincidence.
There was someone sitting at the desk and Draco stopped, sickened.
"Father," he attempted, cringing first at the startlingly juvenile ring to his voice, and then at the embarrassingly hopeful lilt of word as it emerged from his throat.
The chair at the desk turned to face him.
No such luck.
"Ah, young Draco Malfoy," the Dark Lord uttered coldly, his voice barely audible through the stiffness of his sallow grimace. "Welcome back from the dead."
. . . . . . . .
a/n: for ellaquil. Thank you for reading!
Welcome to the thickening of the plot. I'll meet you back here in 4-5 days.