Chapter Text
Draco gripped his mother’s wand tightly as he slipped into the room of hidden things behind the golden trio. Crabbe and Goyle, never far behind, fell into step with him as they traversed the towering piles of unwanted nicknacks that littered the room. The bulky boys shared matching smirks. For them, Draco supposed, this was the opportunity of a lifetime. Capture Potter and his sycophants, take them to the Dark Lord and frolic in the spoils of the noseless wonder’s eternal favor. After more than two years under the monster’s thumb, Malfoy was less naive.
Desperation coiled in his gut, tightening with every creek and groan of the ancient room. This was his final chance, his family’s final chance. If he failed, well, he had seen what happened to Death Eaters that failed in this particular task. A prolonged and painful death was all that awaited Draco Malfoy should he leave this room Potter-less. The fragile blonde took in a deep breath and pushed it out again. It wouldn’t do to lose control of his temperament, not now.
Slowly they crept on, stopping every few meters to listen keenly for the echo of footsteps or muffled voices in the distance. The faint light from their wands cast shadows across the room’s vast piles of junk, which jutted out at odd angles and proved hazardous to maneuver in the dark. After some time narrowly avoiding the edges of dusty furniture and towers of overdue library books, Malfoy found that he began to recognize more and more of his surroundings. A misshapen clock sitting beside a shaggy blue rug caught his eye, and he braced himself for what he would find around the next corner. There, sitting innocently between a tarnished brass hat stand and a pile of transfiguration books, was the biggest mistake of Draco’s life.
The vanishing cabinet he had worked so hard to restore loomed over him; a monument to his failures as a man and a Malfoy. The tragic events of that night flashed through his mind as they often did. His terror the moment he realised that the cabinet was finished; that in mere minutes he would be responsible for the downfall of Hogwarts as Death Eaters breached its sacred walls. Aunt Bella’s cruel laugh and Greyback’s menacing snarl as they stepped into this very room. Draco glared at the ground as if the floorboards themselves had offended him for allowing the gang of criminals to walk across the room without incident. His mind drifted to the Astronomy tower, Dumbledore’s knobbly wand at his feet. It had taken all his willpower to prevent his trembling hands from dropping the Hawthorn wand that was pointed at the ill-fated headmaster. He had closed his eyes briefly, attempting to summon the strength to cast the killing curse on the world’s most powerful wizard. When he reopened them, he was met with the kind, sad gaze that would haunt his dreams for the foreseeable future. Albus Dumbledore knew what kind of failure Draco was; he could never cast that curse.
The pitying look that the ancient fool had given him when Draco finally surrendered to his cowardice was etched into his brain. He could see it so clearly even now, as if he was viewing it in father’s pensive. His headmaster’s face was kind and knowing, even as it drained of life and colour. Draco was sure he would never forget that face, just as he would never forget the sound of Albus Dumbledore hitting the ground with a deafening thud.
The irony was, that despite directly causing the death of Hogwarts headmaster, betraying his school and certainly damning his soul, Draco was still a failure in the eyes of the Dark Lord. He was punished severely for not finishing the job himself, and his family remained decidedly far from Lord Voldemort's good graces.
Glaring up at the vanishing cabinet a year later, a wave of indignant anger rushed through his body. It was all he could do to restrain himself from casting fiendfyre on the damn thing. He likely would have followed through if not for the fact that the cursed flame would have burnt the room to the ground, taking him along with it. Rage and shame mixed in his stomach, threatening to erupt, when the sound of voices in the distance awoke him from his stupor.
It seemed that Crabbe and Goyle had continued on ahead of him; likely completely unaware that Draco had even stopped to lament his many mistakes in the shadow of the cabinet. Such a thing was no real shock given the darkness of the room and the two Slytherin’s general lack of spatial awareness. Still, it sounded as if they had managed to find Potter in his absence, though whether they could take him on without assistance remained to be seen. He ran as quickly as possible in the direction of the disturbance, and the sounds of shouting grew louder as he weaved his way through the maze. After only a few minutes of pursuit, he came upon the most surprising thing he had ever witnessed.
In a small clearing stood the boy who lived; hands raised above his head, disarmed and hopeless. He was backed against a marble bust, Goyle's wand poking firmly into his neck. The scene was quite spectacular in its absurdity. Harry Potter, the chosen one, saviour of the light, brought to surrender by Gergory fucking Goyle. Draco would have laughed if the thought wasn’t so immensely despairing.
For a moment, Potter’s focus left his captor and found Draco, apparently just now noticing his rival’s presence in the room. Malfoy took in those wary green eyes as if for the first time. It was a disturbing sight. Not a flicker of fear or panic crossed the dark haired boy’s bespeckled gaze. Instead, a sort of determined calm came over Potter’s face. It was knowing… tired. Staring into those bright green irises, Draco’s whole being seized. His breath quickened as his usual nightmares began to flash before his eyes; The Astronomy tower, Dumbledore’s wand, Dumbledore dead in front of him. Only, it wasn’t the headmaster this time. This time Potter was the one falling from the castle spire, and he was just standing there, watching the lifeless body plummet. Draco felt his stomach drop with it.
It's all my fault. MY fault, My FAILURE! His thoughts spiralled further into panic. How many more people will die because of my cowardice? How many, How many, How many…
Draco’s hand moved of its own accord, and before he could stop himself he was flourishing his wand in the direction of his best friend, ‘Stupify!’. Goyles’ body was sent flying from the overpowered spell, just as Crabbe turned to see where the shout had come from. His shocked expression when he saw what his fellow Slytherin had done would be another memory that Draco would surely recall for the rest of his days. He had Vincent Crabbe stunned on the ground, before the large boy could even draw his wand.
Malfoy stood still for a long moment, shell shocked. He had only begun to process what he’d just done when his thoughts were interrupted by the raucous sound of Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger approaching them.
“Bloody hell, Harry!” shouted Potter's favourite pet ginger from a short distance. The two Gryffindors paused and took in the scene in its entirety, eyes landing on the shock of blonde hair standing in defence of their friend. Granger's face made a most amusing expression, contorting into panic and confusion before crying out as if Merlin himself had risen in front of her and done a handstand…
“Malfoy!?”
----
Harry had seen a lot of shit go down recently. He had infiltrated the Ministry, spoken with a dead woman/massive murder snake and survived more near death encounters than he’d like to recall. Hell, he’d escaped Gringotts on the back of a bloody dragon for Merlin’s sake! And yet, the sight of Draco Malfoy, all pristine black robes and perfect hair, raising a wand in his defence… It was hands-down the weirdest thing that Harry had witnessed since he had left Hogwarts nearly a year ago (and he was including the freaky horcrux mirage of him and Hermione making out).
His first instinct had been suspicion. It was not entirely out of character for Malfoy to act against the interests of his ‘friends’ in the service of his own goals. So it wasn’t unreasonable to assume that the Slytherin had only saved him from Goyle so that he could capture undesirable No. 1 and take all the glory for himself. But Malfoy had lowered his wand as soon as the two thugs were incapacitated. It seemed he hadn’t even noticed that Harry’s guard was still raised, too absorbed by the shock of his own actions. And when he looked closely, Harry could see a visible tremor in the boy’s wand hand, punctuated by the obvious terror that marred Malfoy’s pale face. Harry had seen him make that face exactly once before, on top of the astronomy tower. Whatever Malfoy’s motivations were for intervening to save him, the teenaged Death Eater was certain that he would pay for this little act of heroism with his life. Despite himself, Harry silently swore that he would not let that happen.
Draco seemed to come back to himself when Ron and Hermione arrived, and it immediately looked as if a fight would break out between them. Malfoy raised his wand to greet the pair who repaid him in kind; covering each other protectively, instinctively braced for a duel. Tension rippled through the air as all three waited for someone to make the first move. Harry realised suddenly that he should probably step in and provide his friends with some context. He was hopeful that an explanation of events would at least save Malfoy from the two Gryffindor’s nastier curses. Though he couldn’t guarantee that Ron wouldn’t throw in a stinging hex just for the sake of it; his friend’s hatred for their stuck-up classmate was truly unmatched. But just as he moved to speak, Malfoy beat him to it. Although, if Draco’s goal was to save himself from being hexed into next Tuesday, he had a pretty appalling strategy for doing so in Harry’s opinion.
“Put your stupid wands down, you idiots!” hissed the surly Slytherin, who could not have made it sound more like a threat if he tried. Predictably, Hermione and Ron did not oblige, choosing instead to fire a few disarming and stunning spells at Malfoy who shielded himself against both. There were then several minutes of traded spellfire between the group, in which Harry found himself unceremoniously glued to the ground by a rouge sticking charm that had repelled off of Hermione’s shield. Unable to move to free himself, Harry could only yell for help, which was slightly ineffective against the booming sound of the fight and more than slightly embarrassing. Books and furniture clattered to the floor around him, kicking up centuries old dust that had him coughing and spluttering like mad. When an ancient mahogany chest of drawers crashed to the floor mere centimeters from his face, Harry put his pride aside and began yelling for Hermione in earnest. It only took a few dramatic hollers to finally catch the eye of the witch across the clearing. She instantly moved to rescue him, maneuvering urgently through the debris, only to be hit with a body binding spell that had her joining him on the floor with a thud.
“You’ll pay for that Malfoy!” it was Ron’s voice. There was a real edge to it, and though he could barely see the two boys, Harry knew that the duel was about to get ugly. Malfoy could clearly sense it too, he stepped hesitantly closer to Ron, and Harry could hear a wand clatter to the ground. It was Malfoy’s wand, or, well… it was the wand he was using, at least
“I’m not here to hurt you, Weasley.” the blonde spared a glance over at Harry and Hermionie lying helplessly on the floor. “Nor am I here for Granger or Potter.” As he spoke, the bindings that held Hermione eased, and she quickly released Harry from the sticking charm. They both sat up to gather their wands and wits, one eye each glued on the heated exchange.
“Right, you’re just here to take a calm, casual stroll through the Room of Requirement.” Ron’s retort was dripping with sarcasm. He had one eyebrow raised skeptically and his wand was still firmly trained on the Slytherin. “Not that I blame you though. I’ve seen that death eater nest you call a home Malfoy. Compared to that, the atmosphere here is practically relaxing.”
He watched Draco bite back an insult and fight to regain his composure as Ron leared at him, and the brief pause gave Harry a window to interject.
“Ron, wait.” he started, drawing his friend’s attention away from pale Pratt and back to himself and Hermione, who were now standing together beside the collapsed drawers. Harry continued slowly, being sure to make eye contact so that Ron could see he was not being compelled to speak against his will. He took a deep breath.
“Malfoy, didn’t attack me. He… Well, he saved me actually.”
There was a pregnant silence as both of his friends took in those words. To Harry it seemed as though it stretched on forever. But as Ron and Hermione paused a moment to reflect upon the scene they’d walked in on, Harry noticed the tension amongst them ease slightly.
The mixture of anger and determination on Ron’s face had been replaced by a look of pure bewilderment. He goggled at Malfoy, dumbfounded, as though the Slytherin had suddenly spouted horns and a tail. Hermione’s expression was far more calculating. Harry wondered what was going through the mind of the brightest witch of their age. If he had to guess, he’d say she was probably pondering the same question that he was.
Why?
Malfoy, it seemed, did not want to labour on the topic, bringing the trio out of their musing with an abrupt proclamation. “Well, now that’s sorted”, he bent to recollect his wand, brushing himself of dust and debris in the process “it’s time to get the fuck out of here.”
----
The look on Weasley and Granger told Draco that the matter was very much not sorted. However, despite his recent foray into heroism, he’d be damned if he let himself be killed standing around answering the Gryffendor's stupid questions. They had to move. Actually, he had to move. But he’d already stuck his neck out for Potter, so he might as well ensure that the fool lived to see tomorrow. He would be so annoyed if he’d betrayed the Dark Lord to save ‘the boy who lived’, only for the imbecile to walk straight into the war brewing outside.
That was the only reason.
Draco had no doubt that the four of them could handle Crabbe and Goyle should they recover from his stunners prematurely. No, as far as he could ascertain, nothing in this room posed any real threat to their group. The problem was that they couldn’t stay here forever, and the castle that surrounded them was anything but safe.
Luckily, Draco knew of a solution to that problem. Unluckily, it meant facing his least favourite object in the whole world, and doing so in front of his rival. It was going to take everything he had to keep his cool in-front of Potter and his minions, but he was a Malfoy, he would do what he had to do to survive.
Before the Weasel or Granger could throw any more questions or hexes at him, Draco turned sharply and strutted in the direction of the Vanishing Cabinet, doing his very best impression of Severus Snape. He had always aspired to emulate his Godfather’s confident, unyielding presence; and in this moment Draco could really use a little of that fortified attitude that made Snape so beloved by his students. By the tremor in his hands, he gathered that it wasn’t working very well. Still, his dramatic exit had given the Golden trio no choice but to hurry after him, whispering sharply amongst themselves behind his back.
He caught words here and there as they traversed the corridors of forgotten ornaments and off kilter furniture. They were hushed questions, “how can we trust… it’s Malfoy…” and, “Did you find it… need to get rid of it…” Draco did his best to ignore them. He honestly didn’t care about whatever mysterious object they were looking to destroy.
As they approached the cabinet, the voices dropped off, and realisation dawned on the group. Or at least, it dawned on Granger. She took in the carved oak doors before them and then turned to scan Draco’s face, eyes narrowed with suspicion. He supposed that he couldn’t blame her.
The other two were significantly less far along in understanding.
“Why’ve we stopped?” Weasley breathed dumbly; looking around himself at the various oddities with a vague expression that Draco would have loved to mock if he had time. From the look in Potter’s eyes, Harry had at least recognised the cabinet. He watched it with great trepidation, though he did not seem to fully grasp why Draco had brought them to it.
“Malfoy… ” he started, his gaze never leaving the cursed furniture in-front of him, “what are you doing? Isn’t this the thing you used to break Death Eaters into the school last year?” His tone was not accusatory but it was punctuated by obvious nerves. It seemed that Gryffindor’s golden boy couldn’t be brave all the time.
Draco sighed dramatically, incredibly put upon, and pinched the bridge of his nose as he over articulated his explanation. “One assumes,” he drawled, “that the cabinet which can bring people into the castle undetected, can also bring people out…” he looked pointedly at Potter, “undetected.”
“You want us to walk through that thing? And what, reappear straight into whatever Death Eater trap you’ve set for us?? Fat chance Malfoy.” Weasley’s indignant tone set him on edge. As if Draco was not currently risking his own neck to get the three buffoons out of their own mess. They were the ones stupid enough to return to Hogwarts in the first place; it wasn’t Draco’s fault that they’d brought the war with them. He opened his mouth to say just that, when Potter piped up.
“Ron, I don’t think it’s a trap.” Weaselby tried his best to protest but his friend shut him down. “The truth is, if this really was a setup to kidnap me, Draco could have easily stunned me when Goyle had his wand on me earlier. There’s no need for something this elaborate, it just doesn’t make any sense.”
At this, Granger concurred, explaining to her dim witted companions that it would have been quite impossible for Draco to have known they would come to the room of hidden things in the first place. “He’d have to have known that we’d be looking for that,” she gestured towards Harry’s left hand, which Draco noticed for the first time, was holding a bronze and sapphire diadem.
“You-know-who could have told him.” Weasley huffed, “he knows we’re looking for it”.
“You-know-who hid it in here because he thinks he’s the only one who knows about this place. It’s pure arrogance. He’d never suspect that we’d find it, let alone suspect it enough to plan a whole Harry-heist around it.” The witch finished her argument definitively, Draco got the feeling that she was used to having the final word with these two. “What concerns me more.” she continued, turning back to him and his cabinet, “is whether we should be leaving at all.”
“You can stay if you want.” Draco spoke very clearly but wasted no more time on sarcasm or biting remarks; time wasn’t on their side any longer. “Staying here is a death wish, and I signed my own warrant when I saved Potter’s neck. So understand, I’m leaving right now, with or without you. There is no more time to deliberate.” He rang his hands, trying and failing not to let his obvious panic show through his twitching.
Potter and Weasley still looked unconvinced, with the latter glaring so aggrievedly at the vanishing cabinet that Draco worried it might burst into flames. The former wore a conflicted expression, worry lining the creases of his face. It became apparent that if he wanted to get these Gryffindors to save their own hides (and Salazar knows why he was wasting so much time on that foolish endeavor), Draco would need to appeal to something other than self preservation. He inhaled a deep breath and did his best not to show how vastly out of his own depth he was.
“Potter,” he pleaded, “I know what you’re thinking. I know you think that if you left now you’d be abandoning that little resistance downstairs. That you wouldn’t be their saviour if you did the reasonable thing and got the hell out of here-”
“There are hundreds of Death Eaters down there!” Potter interrupted; staring him down. “Voldemort is down there, waiting for his chance to attack! How could I leave everyone at a time like this? Do you honestly expect me to?”
Draco swallowed as he met Harry’s intense stare. Green irises, boring into his very soul. There was no judgement in them, only a deep vulnerability. Harry wanted to run, of course he did. But the hero in him told the ‘boy who lived’ that he had to stay and fight for his friends; just as the coward in Draco had told him to flee for the hills. He continued, hardening his resolve.
“That is all the more reason to leave.” Before Harry could interject again, Draco stalked towards the trio, eyes still locked with the chosen one. “You heard the Dark Lord. The armies of death and destruction aren’t here for your friends or our teachers. They don’t care about taking control of the castle, or even Hogwarts as an institution. They are here for you.” He punctuated his sentence by pressing his pointer finger firmly into Potter’s chest. The dark haired boy didn’t even flinch, his focus firmly on Draco, who backed off slightly and carried on.
“I know that you have people you care about waiting for you down there. But trust me when I say, the best thing you could do for them right now is get as far away as possible.” He swept away from the pensive trio to face the cabinet. “This will take us to Diagon Alley. From there, we can all apparate somewhere safe and you can send a patronus to your allies. Crabbe and Goyle will come-too eventually, and when they do they will immediately report both my betrayal and your disappearance." He paused and cast alohamora on the sturdy wooden doors, grabbing hold of the handle before turning back to face the three fugitives. “The Dark Lord won’t wait around here killing school kids when he thinks he has a viable lead on your whereabouts. We’ll leave a hint for Vince and Greg that points to us using the cabinet; even they know where it leads. By the time the Death Eaters realise that we’ve left Diagon Alley, Hogwarts will be evacuated. No battle, no death.”
It seemed that Draco had hit the right marks with his little speech. The golden trio exchanged furtive looks, before Potter turned to him and gave a quick nod. “Alright Malfoy. The ball’s in your court.” Draco had no idea what that meant, but it sounded like a concession to him, so he nodded in return and turned to face their escape.
A sharp tug at the handle pried the cabinet doors open. But instead of the warped oak and pine box that Draco had spent so long repairing last year, they were greeted by a blinding white light. It flooded from the doors and showered the room with clarity, as if someone had conjured a sun that had then shone down on them all with determined intensity.
The cabinet did not respond to any attempts to reseal it, magical or otherwise. Granger even attempted to cast ‘finite incantatum’, which backfired to disastrous effects. The light became impossibly brighter and returned with a heat so intense that it felt like fiendfyre was eating them alive. Shielding himself as best he could, Draco turned back to face his classmates, who shared a matching look of shock and horror. Potter especially.
The magic before them was overpowering, rendering all of them to their knees, unable to move away from the destructive heat. Draco took in Harry Potter’s terrified expression. In all likelihood, it matched his own. Their eyes met, and Draco found that if this was the last thing he saw, he wouldn’t mind so much. He stared and stared into those green eyes until everything faded to black.
---
November 1978,
Godrics’ Hollow.
The order meeting had gone well, and James Potter ran over the details in his head as he cleared cups of half-drunk tea from his dining table. He had gathered a tidy stack of cups to deliver to the kitchen when an enormous crack sounded throughout the room, as if an entire army had apparated into his house.
Startled, he set down the teacups, and began to urgently move towards the entrance hall, where his wife was seeing off their guests. He had to make sure that Lily was ok, and if Dumbledore or Moody were still hanging around they might be able to offer an explanation for the sound. If it was some kind of mass-apparation, they could very well be under attack.
He had just reached the doorway when a dark shape materialized from above, and then James was on the floor, staring at a familiar looking, dark-haired boy who had fallen squarely on-top of him.