Chapter Text
Draco Malfoy was doomed.
He slumped, exhausted and defeated, against the splintery wood of the broken Vanishing Cabinet. He slid down until he was sitting, the rough surface of the cabinet rucking up his perfect robes, but Draco couldn’t find it in himself to care. He fought back the urge to give into weakness and cry.
Draco had tried every repair spell he could think of, or had read about, and even a few he’d invented on the spot in desperation, each one less effective than the last. A new copy of “1001 Household Spells and Charms” was currently a smoking lump of charcoal near his feet. Only the knowledge that he’d have to come up with a completely different plan kept him from destroying the cabinet itself with a curse out of frustration.
Draco was acutely aware of how quickly time was slipping away. It was already June, and yet he had no progress to report to the Dark Lord. And his already tenuous patience was wearing thin.
At the thought of him, a phantom pain lanced through Draco’s left arm. He rolled up his sleeve to examine the Mark that he had been so proud to bear only a few short months ago. Back in September, when he still had hope. When he had still entertained grand ideas of pleasing the Dark Lord by flawlessly executing his plan. Hope that he could, by presenting Dumbledore’s head on a platter, single-handedly restore honor to his father and family.
Draco Malfoy was an idiot.
A doomed idiot.
But he also had too much stubborn pride to go crawling to Severus for help. This was his task, and he would do it, or die trying.
And it was very likely he would die trying. The thought turned the blood to ice in his veins.
He let his head fall back against the rough grain of the cabinet with a thunk and took a deep breath. He was not going to panic yet. There was still a month left before the term ended. A lot could happen in a month.
He allowed his gaze to wander over the piles of junk; his eye was caught by a gleam from the top of the pile directly in front of him. There sat a dusty, cracked hourglass filled with strange, glittering black sand. It looked a bit like the ones in the Great Hall that were used to keep track of house points, only on a much smaller scale, and covered all over with odd runes. The sand in it had run out long ago, a bitter reminder of his own time, now almost run out.
Even the Room of Hidden Things seemed to be mocking him.
Happy fucking birthday Draco, your present is failure, disgrace, and probably a Crucio or two, followed by certain death.
He was just about to pull himself up and get back to his task when, across the room, he heard the unmistakable sound of the door opening and voices carrying. Draco scrambled to his feet and pulled out his wand. Where was Crabbe? He was supposed to be on guard duty, but Draco was sure he hadn’t heard the signal. Silently he crept along, keeping low, counting on the mountains of rubbish to hide him from whoever it was that found this room.
He cursed himself for not buying that Peruvian Instant Darkness powder at the older Weasleys’ stupid shop, and vowed that would be the first stop he made, next time.
Provided there was a next time.
He drew closer to the intruders, their voices growing more distinct as he neared. It was times like this Draco wished he’d practiced Disillusionment Charms more, or had an invisibility cloak like Potter did.
Speaking of Potter…
Luck truly wasn’t on Draco’s side today, because one of the intruders was none other than Dumbledore’s golden boy himself. He’d recognize that obnoxious, nasally voice anywhere. Draco swore under his breath, vividly remembering the last time he had a run-in with the so-called “Boy-Who-Lived”. He still had the scars. Of course it had to be Potter. And he wasn’t alone. Draco chanced a quick peek between two towering piles of broken things.
Long red hair. Girl-Weasley.
Draco rolled his eyes and felt his mouth curl into a sneer. If they had come in here for a snogging session he swore to Merlin he would curse the both of them into oblivion.
But no, they seemed to be…arguing? Intrigued despite himself, Draco edged closer.
He inched as near as he dared until he was able to see both Potter and She-Weasley from behind the bars of a cage containing some strange, unfortunate animal skeleton.
“Dean was only offering to help me with the Dreamless Draught because it comes up in O.W.L.s,” Weasley was saying.
“But why Dean? I could help you with it! Dean isn’t even taking Potions this year,” Potter whined.
“I think he only offered to do it to make up for all the arguments we had,” Weasley said. Then she came to a halt. “Why isn’t this the D.A. headquarters?” she asked, looking around, wide-eyed, at the towering piles of junk.
Draco ducked his head a bit, making sure he couldn’t be spotted.
“There’s something in here that can help you with potions better than Dean can. I just need to remember where I stashed it—” Potter was saying.
“Harry, you do know that Dean and I are very much over, right? Permanently over. You have nothing to worry about,” Weasley said.
“I know, I know, I was just—” Potter began.
“—Jealous?” Weasley cut in. From Draco’s vantage point he could see she looked somewhat pleased at the idea. Draco, however, had to suppress a gag.
“Didn’t realize you were the jealous type,” she continued, with a truly nauseating smirk.
“I’m not!” Potter protested, clearly lying.
“Well, you have nothing to worry about,” Weasley said again, draping her arms around Potter’s neck —and now Draco was genuinely afraid he’d be sick all over himself— “Because apparently I was Dean’s ‘last stab at heterosexuality.’ And if you think you were jealous, you should’ve seen how Seamus was glaring daggers at me when Dean offered to help me.”
Potter grinned and leaned into Weasley’s embrace, “That’s good to kn—wait, what?” He suddenly pulled out of Weasley’s arms, shocked. “ Dean and Seamus ? Are…are a. Thing? For how long?” Potter looked flabbergasted.
Draco rolled his eyes and wondered if he could risk sneaking to the door without the disgusting Gryffindor lovebirds noticing.
“About two weeks.”
“Two weeks? I had no idea!”
“Honestly Harry, you share a dormitory with them,” Weasley said, both delicate eyebrows raised in disbelief. “How could you not know?”
Potter didn’t seem to have an answer to that.
But then he grinned down at her. “I’ve been a bit distracted lately,” he said, tracing a hand along Weasley’s jaw, and moving in for a kiss. Draco decided he needed to leave right now, immediately. Stealth be damned.
Fortune was most definitely not with Draco Malfoy today, because in the process of shifting to escape from his hiding place, he accidentally knocked into the cage, causing it to tumble from its precarious position and land with a clang of metal and dry rattle of brittle bones.
Potter and Weasley whipped towards the sound, and, faster than Draco could blink, had their wands out. Draco had to move quick to dodge a nasty-looking hex flung from Weasley.
He hit the ground, rolling behind another pile of refuse as a jet of red light missed his head by inches.
“Malfoy!” Potter shouted.
“Potter!” Draco shouted back, dodging behind a large, broken statue and firing off a curse of his own at Potter, who blocked it easily.
“Why were you spying on us!?” Weasley raged, flinging another hex at him.
“Like I’d bother spying on you, ” Draco yelled back, fully aware that he’d been doing just that. He needed to get out of here.
Unfortunately, an entire labyrinth of rubbish and two irate Gryffindors were between him and the only exit.
Draco sent a jinx careening into one of the piles, causing it to topple over, forcing Potter and Weasley to shield themselves from the rain of debris.
Truthfully, he’d been itching for a chance to get Potter back for what had happened in the bathroom, but not like this. Two against one were not odds he liked when they weren’t in his favor, and Weasley had a reputation for being vicious in a duel.
He’d absolutely take Potter on if it were one-on-one. Or would take both of them if he had Crabbe and Goyle to back him up. A vague plan started forming in his mind, if he could just get to the exit, he could find his friends and the three of them would be more than a match for Potter and Weasley.
He doubled back the way he came, heading towards the Vanishing Cabinet. With any luck he’d lose Potter and Weasley in the maze, and could make his escape. Several months spent in this room had left him well-acquainted with the layout of the place.
He heard pounding footsteps not far from him, and he ducked into another aisle. A curse narrowly missed him, singeing the hem of his robes as he rounded the corner.
“What have you been doing in here all year!?” Potter yelled, his voice was somewhat muffled from behind the wall of detritus.
“None of your business, Potter!” Draco yelled over his shoulder, not even slowing down.
He turned a corner and the hot sizzle of a spell smashed into a pile right in front of him, shattering several bottles of what smelled like cooking sherry. Draco stopped short, swearing under his breath. Weasley and Potter had apparently split up, and were closing in on him from both sides.
“Malfoy!”
Draco spun around, and Potter appeared, wand leveled at him, stalking towards Draco like a lion towards prey. Draco chanced a glance over his shoulder. Weasley was closing in on him too, eyes hard and red hair crackling with ambient magic. He wasn’t about to fight both of them at once, but Draco had no intention of being prey, either.
In one last, desperate move, he cast a wordless repulsion charm against the floor, and used that as leverage to catapult himself over the wall of junk. He landed hard and gracelessly on the other side, his legs crumpling beneath him as his shoulder impacted against the floor.
He clearly hadn’t thought this through.
Dimly, he heard Potter and Weasley’s muffled shouts of surprise from the other side of the wall.
He wrenched himself to his feet, wincing as a sharp spike of pain shot through his right ankle, but he managed a limping run anyway. He cursed his own stupidity. There was no way he could outrun them now. He needed somewhere to hide, see if he could cast a healing charm on his ankle. Draco looked wildly around, searching for a hiding place.
His eyes alighted on the Vanishing Cabinet.
There was a possibility he’d get stuck between this one and the one in Borgin and Burkes.
Well, he was desperate, wasn’t he?
His shoulder ached, and his right ankle was not stable enough to support his weight for long.
Draco made a mad, unsteady dash towards the cabinet.
But then Potter was there (how did he get there so fast?) between him and the cabinet. Potter flashed him a grin, and had the sheer audacity to wink at him, of all things. Before Draco could even try to figure out what that meant, Potter flicked his wand in the air. A shimmering golden fog issued from the tip, billowing out around them, and enveloping Draco in a disorienting mist. Suddenly up was down, and down was up. Draco had the unsettling sensation of gravity reversing itself. He froze in place, absolutely sure he’d fall into the ceiling if he moved.
Draco squeezed his eyes shut and summoned a wind to blow away the golden fog.
There was a loud crash from behind him. Weasley must have used a Reducto Curse to topple one of the piles.
He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. In the confusion, he must have got turned around, because Potter was no longer in front of him.
“What have you been doing in here all year, Malfoy?” came Potter’s voice from behind him.
Draco spun on his heel and flung a curse at the same time. The curse never reached its target, however. Potter stood, resolute, his wand once more leveled at Draco’s chest, a Protego Charm shimmering between them.
Draco felt his lips curl into a sneer. “Like I’d tell you.”
Draco had his own wand trained on Potter, for all the good it would do against a shield charm that strong.
Potter walked forward, his shield charm advancing with him. Draco was grudgingly impressed with Potter’s control over it.
“Did Voldemort give you some kind of special mission?” Potter prompted, and Draco’s blood ran cold at the mention of the Dark Lord.
“Don’t say his name!” Draco hissed; his voice cracked embarrassingly, unable to keep the panic from edging into it.
“Voldemort,” Potter repeated, because he’s an idiot.
Another deafening crash sounded behind Draco, and he risked a quick glance over his shoulder. There was Weasley, she’d toppled a whole section of wall, cutting off the path from that direction. She, too, had a strong shield up, and was closing in on him from behind.
They had him cornered.
Potter’s shield was strong, but Draco could see the shimmering edge of it where it ended just above Potter’s feet. Draco saw the opening and took it.
Quick as lightning, he shot a curse at Potter’s unprotected feet. Potter was knocked backwards; his shield dissipated. Draco ducked low at the same moment, throwing himself to the side to avoid the inevitable curse from Weasley, which crashed harmlessly into the floor. He darted towards the Vanishing Cabinet, at the same time sending a bright flash of a blinding hex at Weasley. He swore under his breath as every step sent a spike of pain shooting through his ankle.
He slid to a stop in front of the cabinet, fingers scrabbling at the door when a stream of blue light hit the side of it. Draco was sent flying backwards as the cabinet exploded in a shower of splinters.
Draco landed hard on his backside, and watched in horror as several months of careful planning—and the last hope he had to save his family—were ruined by a single curse.
Draco had never really understood the phrase ‘to see red’ before, but he understood it now.
He turned his head to Potter, who still had his wand up.
Draco hauled himself to his feet. He didn’t know what expression he was making, but if the look on Potter’s face was any indication it must be something fearsome. Potter seemed to realize his mistake in destroying the Vanishing Cabinet, but Draco was beyond caring.
The ‘Crucio ’ was hovering on his lips, but just before he could cast, he was hit with a jet of red light.
Draco watched, numb, as his wand soared in a graceful arc directly to Weasley’s outstretched hand.
“What have you been—” but Potter’s question was cut short by Draco’s wordless scream of rage. All rational thought fled, and before he even knew what he was doing, Draco had bodily tackled Potter into a pile of junk.
He straddled Potter’s hips, his left knee pinning Potter’s wand hand down. His fingers closed around Potter’s throat, tight and unyielding, all the pent-up terror and frustration of the last few months boiling to the surface and fueling his rage.
This is what Potter did to him, making him resort to brawling in the rubbish with his hands like a filthy muggle.
Draco’s hair fell into his eyes, his robes were singed, and he hurt all over. And the only coherent thought he had was to do the same to Potter. If he couldn’t present the Dark Lord with Dumbledore’s corpse, maybe Potter’s would do instead.
Dimly, he was aware of Weasley’s ineffectual attempts at prying Draco’s hands off Potter’s throat. The idiot girl had two wands and she wasn’t even using one.
Potter’s face had gone from red to purple when Draco felt a surprisingly strong arm snake around his own neck. Weasley had gotten behind him, and was using one arm as leverage against the other to cut off his air supply.
He could see out of the corner of his eye that she still had both wands in her grasp; they were shooting off sparks. Weasley seemed to be shouting, or maybe swearing, but Draco couldn’t hear it over the roaring in his ears.
Weasley was flush against his back now, and shifted her weight backwards. Draco’s vision started going dark, shot through with sparks of rogue magic from the wands.
One of those jets of wild magic hit the hourglass Draco had noticed earlier, which happened to be on the pile right above their heads.
The Malfoy line had never produced a Seer before, but in that moment, Draco, with absolute perfect clarity, knew down to the marrow in his very bones that something catastrophic was about to occur. Dread quite unlike anything he had ever experienced before slithered into his belly at the sight of a stray spell hitting that hourglass.
The hourglass toppled, almost in slow motion, the black sand within glittered and shifted as it fell end over end.
Potter and Weasley must have had the same sense of foreboding as he did, because they too had stopped moving and were looking up. The three of them watched, frozen, as the hourglass descended upon them. The glass had cracked even more, shining with a silvery light like spider webs across the surface. Beams of light speared out from each crack. It was as if time itself had slowed down, every motion they made sluggish and heavy, like being underwater. Draco could only close his eyes and brace for impact.
There was a sound, like the chiming of a great bell, and a light so bright Draco could see it through his squeezed-shut eyelids.
He never felt it hit, but there was the most curious sensation of something hook-like tugging at his soul.
Like a portkey was Draco’s last thought, before darkness closed in around him.
And then he knew no more.