A/N: Okay so this took a freakishly long time so all I can say is; sorry?
Draco wouldn't have ever thought that he would dislike being sent home early for the Easter holidays. But as he watched Pansy's father stare stonily into his daughter's grave he realised he was wrong. He would have given anything to be back at Hogwarts, playing cards in the common room, imagining that Voldermort was the best thing since sliced bread.
Instead he was stood in a misty cemetery, surrounded by tombstones of people that Draco had never heard of and who Pansy had no right joining. The sky was overcast and Draco fervently wished that it was sunnier and that birds were singing and that bunnies were hopping over the newly turned soil. Pansy hated rainy weather. She always said it made her hair frizz.
The droning words of the eulogy made Draco's skin itch as they washed over him and he caught Blaise's eye. The two stared at each other, the space across the open grave a fraction of what was really between them. The staring contest was broken as Lucius' hand fell heavily on Draco's shoulder, his son forcing himself not to flinch as fingers dug into skin. The perfect image of the father consoling his grieving son was projected. All those present who noticed the action knew the truth though. Lucius was making sure his son knew what was coming.
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The tension at the dinner table back at the manor was stifling, worse than any of the stifling tensions that Draco had seen around in the table in years. The ticking of the ancient Grandfather clock was the only noise in the room, the silence so complete that Draco began to believe he was already dead and this was his own personal hell. He watched his father's hands carefully, not daring to look him in the eyes. He kept taking mouthfuls of the food, not registering what it was that he was eating, the food falling in ashes in his mouth.
Draco's hand went for another forkful when there was a crash and his father's wine goblet spilt onto the pristine white tablecloth. Draco watched in morbid fascination as the red wine spread, the sight pulling forth the image of blood running through flagstones from a perfect, ivory wrist.
He forced the macabre memory away as his father's voice floated across to him.
"Well, Draco, I thought you weren't worthy to be my son when you failed to become a Death Eater."
Draco decided that it was a really bad time to point out that he had, in fact, become a Death Eater. He had merely rejected the offer.
"The Dark Lord sees no other use for you now," his father began and Draco felt his heart lurch in his chest, still watching Lucius' hands he waited for them to move towards his wand. "But I see no point in killing you."
Draco felt his heart start working again and was fervently glad that he hadn't gone towards the white light like he'd been so tempted to do.
"For one thing, your Mother has some strange fondness for you," Draco dared a glance towards the silent figure at the other end of the table. Narcissa was gazing at her husband with an odd expression on her face, her finger circling the rim of her wine glass. "And I don't really see why I should take the time." Lucius leaned forward and grabbed his son's face, tilting it towards him. "We keep our first borns alive until they become useful. Malfoy tradition. Believe me, Draco, otherwise you would be dead." Lucius rose from the table then, folding his napkin perfectly and placing it on the tablecloth, watching as it soaked up some of the spilt wine, slowly becoming redder and redder. "I do wonder how Dumbledore felt about seeing one of his students butcher themselves."
No-one answered him, the ticking his only reply. "Voldermort has decided that you will re-indoctrinated when you finish Hogwarts. He has high hopes for you still, Draco. And for that you are exceedingly lucky." Lucius smiled then. "Apparently you far exceeded any others in your endurance of your training. I imagine that was my influence. Your reaction to your belief that I was to kill you showed that well enough." Draco tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, trying to work out how he got saddled with a father willing to imply his son was going to die just to see his reaction. "Oh, and apparently you have some skill too." Lucius added, flippantly, and then strode from the room.
Draco watched his retreating back, aware of his mother's presence and so holding back a sigh of relief. He turned towards her when he heard a swish of skirts. His mother was stood, her perfect features schooled into an expression of total complacency.
Narcissa followed her husband from the room, saying; "Finish your dinner, Draco." She paused in the doorway, one elegant hand leaning on the doorframe. "Oh, and try and make yourself useful sooner rather than later.
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Once again Draco was lying on his bed, staring at his ceiling. Least it was vaguely more interesting than his Hogwarts ceiling, if only for the change of pace. He was tired, ridiculously so. His sleep was interrupted by dreams where he saw Pansy's dead body lying on the flagstones, the blood running faster and faster from her body.
Though sometimes he got to her before she found the knife and talked her into going into hiding and he was visiting her in the South of France. And he'd convinced Blaise that he should go with her and he was holding perfect, little children with bright blue eyes.
And then sometimes in his dreams he'd got to her a bit sooner and he was frantically trying to save her and that wasn't working either. And she said words of goodbye or she said she hated him and Draco always sobbed over her body.
Or sometimes he found her quickly again. But he didn't help he just stood over her body and watched her die and those blue eyes pleaded with him to help her. Just like they had done in life. And Draco ignored them. Just like he had done when she was alive.
The dreams that made Draco wake up screaming, his t-shirt clinging to his body, her name on the edge of his lips were the ones where it wasn't even Pansy anymore, it was Ginny. And she always turned to look at him and whispered; 'this is your fault'.
Those were the dreams that made Draco refuse to go back to sleep and start his perusal of the bedroom ceiling.
A knock at the door snapped Draco out of mentally cataloguing his collection of silk shirts. He raised himself idly up on one arm and waited to see who would appear through the door when he yelled, politely, of course, "Come in!"
Fighting to get rid of the shock on his face Draco was barely prepared when Professor Snape smiled slightly and said; "Come, Draco, your father and myself believe that you need to catch up on your schoolwork. A walk in the gardens would be the ideal place, don't you think?"
Draco just nodded dumbly, aware that he was looking like a fish and just hoping that it wasn't something Snape would use against him in future blackmailing situations.
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Snape held the door open as they wandered into the manor grounds, Draco murmuring the spell that would allow them to wander as far as they wanted without Professor Snape exploding or being eaten or something of the sort.
They walked in silence for a while, Draco trying to work out whether he was going to burn in what was an unusually sunny day. He held his hand out experimentally and decided that the sun didn't feel that hot.
He was on the verge of asking if they could go back for some sun cream when Snape began to speak.
"So, how are you, Draco?" He asked, pausing to look across the river that bisected the Malfoy property.
Draco shrugged. "My hair's looking rather good this month and I'm not having much trouble with my skin
so that's all great. Though, I'm not too sure that those flat caps that are back in style will suit my face
shape. I'm getting over that issue though."
"Draco," Snape said warningly.
"One of my best friends are dead because I was ordered to kill them. What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know," Snape admitted, he suddenly looked far older than he should have, "but I hear that talking about these things helps."
Draco snorted. "You've been hanging around emotionally loose Gryfinndors for too long. I'm a Malfoy. We bottle our emotions up until they explode in some sort of tremendously violent way. Or we just simmer in a low rage for years. Why do you think my Father's always so angry? Lost a pet rabbit when he was young and never got over it."
Snape appeared to ignore most of what Draco had said, which Draco had been expecting anyway. "Talking about those Gryfinndors, Dumbledore wanted me to talk to you."
Draco tensed. "About what?"
"Your use," Snape said, carefully, seeming to weigh every word.
"Why is everyone so concerned with my 'use' all of a sudden?"
"Dumbledore wishes you to find out certain things about your father's activities." Snape's voice had gone cold.
"I imagine that you weren't too thrilled with that plan," Draco said, a hint of laughter in his voice, "You've been trying to keep us all out of this from the very beginning. And now you're the one who's recruiting me."
"You recruited yourself, Draco," Snape said, his voice just as cold, "in two instants. One, when you chose to learn the ways of being a Death Eater. And two, when you chose to abandon them completely."
A flash of Pansy leapt into Draco's head. "I want to do something."
"Revenge is not always the best motivator."
"I thought you were recruiting me?" Draco said, slightly surprised at the turn in conversation.
"I wish to ensure that you are doing this for the right reasons," Snape stared off into the distance, his eyes a thousand miles away, or maybe a few decades back.
"I am," Draco replied, confidently, an image of Ginny replacing the one of Pansy. He sighed suddenly, bringing Snape back to the present. "I just don't know how much help I'm going to be. Father barely trusted me when I was the perfect son, now I'm just the disappointment that eats his food."
"His disregard for you may be your greatest asset, Draco," he glanced at the house. "Now, here," he handed Draco a sheet of parchment."
Draco raised an eyebrow at it. "Surely, instructions on my spy activities should be given in a less obvious way. How do you people survive?"
Snape actually smiled, then. "No, Draco. It's your homework."
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His father's office had returned to it's usual state after Voldermort's visit and so Draco had no difficulty in finding what he was looking for. The old, leather bound diary lay on the centre of the desk, it's edges frayed and ink-stained from where so many Malfoys had held it.
Draco sucked in a deep breath as his fingers caressed the cover. Talking to Dumbledore had seemed like the easiest betrayal compared to this. This was his father's diary. The one thing that his father had always expressly forbid him from looking at. The restriction had never bothered Draco before. He'd rebelled against all the other rules his parents imposed when he was young; he'd eaten sugar after dinner, gone exploring in the dungeons and once had even leapt off the highest turret just because his father had told him without looking at him that he couldn't fly.
But Draco had never touched the diary. He'd never needed to, really. He had always known that he would be allowed it the day he became the head of Malfoy Manor. And then everything his father and grandfather and great-grandfather and so on had ever thought would be open to him.
But times were different. It was likely now that he would never become the head of this house, the thought twisting Draco's stomach as though he had been stabbed. And he needed to know what was inside that diary. And only a Malfoy could find out. He reached for the letter opener that lay beside the book and pricked his finger, his face not changing at all with the pain.
Opening the book carefully the drop of blood and the words Malforium Manifesto, sent words darting across the page, Draco's eyes scanning them all hurriedly, terrified of hearing his father's footsteps approaching the room.
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Unlike his father's, Dumbledore's office hadn't changed at all since his last visit, the odd contraptions still whirring and hissing and completely unnerving Draco. He was instantly happier when he saw Snape wander in followed by Dumbledore.
"Hello, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore started, taking his seat across the desk. Draco imagined that the hint of cold that the doddery old professor couldn't quite keep from his voice was entirely absent when dealing with Potter. "Professor Snape tells me you have some information for us."
Draco nodded, too tired from sneaking around his own home to be too bothered that being silent might be slightly impolite. He stretched as he stood, the movement oddly feline, and handed the headmaster a blank roll of parchment.
Snape raised an eyebrow and Dumbledore cleared his throat to make a comment when Draco tiredly withdrew a dagger from his robes. "Mr. Malfoy!" was the headmaster's expected shocked expression.
Draco just smiled slightly and cut his finger, letting his blood run onto the page. Noticing how the area was beginning to scar, Snape raised another eyebrow. Draco shrugged, least you couldn't say he hadn't bled for the cause.
Dumbledore didn't notice Draco's hands, his eyes hungrily scanning the roll of parchment. "This is wonderful work, Draco."
"My handwriting is perfect, yes, sir," Draco said, deliberately misunderstanding him as he flopped back into his chair.
"The things your father has done and thought…" Dumbledore trailed off and looked up, as though realising that Lucius Malfoy's son was still in the room. "Thank you, Draco. I understand it has cost you a lot to gather this information." Draco looked away, the sympathy in the old man's eyes not welcome. " Get some sleep," he practically ordered. "You look tired."
Draco smiled a crooked grin at Snape, who had stood silently by the entire time. "Sorry, sir, I have homework."
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The fire in the common room didn't seem to give the room any heat, the silence of the people within it making the area seem oppressive. Teddy turned away from Draco the instant he walked in the door, Millicent casting a fearful look between the pair.
Draco ignored them all, striding straight past them and into his room. His trunk still lay at the end of his bed and he set to unpacking it, ignoring the figure laying on the next bed.
It wasn't up to Draco to make amends with Blaise, indeed he wasn't entirely sure amends could be made. He'd drawn his line in the metaphorical sand and now he needed to see where Blaise was willing to stand.
He rhythmically unpacked, beginning to think that Blaise was never going to say anything ever again. The thought hurt, he and Blaise had been brothers for as long as Draco could remember and the idea of not talking to him again was a loss that hurt more than Draco would have expected.
He was about to leave the room when Blaise finally spoke.
"I'm surprised you haven't asked why I haven't told anyone your little defection."
Draco turned to look at him. Blaise was lying on his back on the bed, his eyes outlined by shadows. "I assumed
you had your reasons. Saved me from being killed and so I wasn't really going to argue."
"Not like you not to argue," Blaise said, his voice dull.
"I might be narcissistic and stubborn and spend too much time trying to make my eyelashes look longer, but being argumentative is not one of my faults, luckily."
"I didn't tell them because I don't want you to die," Blaise's voice was that same dull monotone broken only now by a harsh and brittle laugh, "childish, I know."
Draco suddenly realised that it wouldn't have mattered if Blaise had never spoke to him again; his friend was gone. The Death Eaters had killed everything that made him Blaise. He might as well have been laying there with the mask on, for all that he was an actual individual.
Swallowing, Draco tried; "Blaise…"
"Just go away, Draco," he still wouldn't look at Draco.
Draco stared at him for another minute and then he turned and walked from the room.
The common room was still silent as he strode back in and he barely glanced at them as he left the dungeons, his step catching only once as he walked past Pansy's customary chair.
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Draco had never disliked his lessons more. He had no-one he particularly wanted to sit with and all he could do for most of his lessons was notice how more and more listless Blaise became, even when Draco knew that he hadn't left the castle for any more missions.
Snape's concerned eyes darted between them every Potions lesson and Draco was growing tired of it.
He walked furiously away from the potions classroom, pausing only to avoid slamming into large groups of students. The small groups he just ploughed through. He was so irked by his lesson that he didn't even notice Ginny until she moved past him and slipped something into his hand.
Draco was so shocked that he froze in the middle of the corridor, though everyone had the good sense to swerve around him. He unfolded the paper cautiously, entirely unsure as to how Ginny felt about him at the present moment.
Her distinctively curly handwriting leapt off the page at him; Meet me on the tower. Now.
Draco glanced around him, making sure no-one had noticed him, and then he strode away from all the students, leaving their noise behind him as he climbed higher and higher into the castle.
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She was already waiting for him when he got there, her bright red hair tossed behind her like a banner in the wind.
"So, you're on our side, now?" Ginny asked, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her robes until they began to stay the way they twisted, little stars dotting the red material.
Draco sighed, looking over the turrets, watching Hogwarts fall away into the real world. He saw Hagrid ambling around and shivered as he watched him go into the Forbidden Forest.
"What do you want from me, Ginny?" Draco asked, tiredly, tracing the gaps in the tower stones with his fingertips.
She grabbed his shoulder and swung him around so he was facing her. Her nervousness had vanished leaving the fiercely assertive girl that Draco had missed so much.
"I want to know the truth," she fixed him with a steely gaze, "are you really on our side?"
"Don't you know me at all?" Draco asked, his anger rising at her disbelief of him.
"I know you'd follow your father anywhere," her hands didn't move from his shoulders as she shrugged, "and I'm fairly certain he hasn't turned into one of the good guys."
"Pansy died," Draco said, he'd wanted to sound harsh to make her realise how that changed everything, how that made everything so, so real but his voice broke as he said it, the pain of her death still a sharp sting. A confused expression crossed Ginny's face and it struck Draco with a shock of horror that Dumbledore hadn't told them everything.
"I know," Ginny said, sympathetically, rubbing his shoulder in a consoling gesture, "But what does that have to do…" her eyes grew wide as implications hit her. "My God," she breathed, "they killed her. Oh, Draco, I'm so…"
Draco barked a sharp, harsh laugh that shocked Ginny into taking a step back. "They didn't kill her, Ginny. She killed herself. Or rather, I killed her." Draco said, the last part the first time he had ever admitted the crushing guilt he'd been feeling out loud.
Ginny's mouth fell open. "What? I don't…I don't understand?"
"She overheard my father telling me to kill her," Draco admitted, his voice quiet as the memory of the night flashed before him. "So, yes, Ginny," he turned to stare at her, his eyes dark and dangerous, "I'm on your side."
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They sat, side by side, their backs to the tower wall, for what seemed like hours, watching the sky change from clear blue to a mixed palette of reds and purples as the sun vanished behind the horizon.
"Why won't you kiss me?" Ginny finally asked, her voice even as her eyes stayed fixed on the sunset.
Draco grinned properly, for what felt like the first time in years. "I seem to recall you being able to kiss me first just fine." She smiled back and moved forward. Draco placed a hand out, stilling her. She fell back on her heels, an annoyed expression on her face.
"Why?"
Letting his head flop back, Draco sighed. "Because it would be even worse if my Father found out about us, now."
"That was always a problem!" Ginny protested.
"Well, maybe we should have paid attention before."
She sighed in annoyance and moved forward so their faces were inches from one another. "Draco, you're being ridiculous. Your life is full of risks. And I want to be one more."
"When will you realise that it's too dangerous to be around me?"
"When will you realise that I don't care?"
And then she kissed him, hard, the rough stones behind him digging into his back.