► //: event 001: curfew. self para.
Date: February 11th, 1999 Time: 21:49 Location: Kennith Village - Alleyway
Draco had to physically stop himself from pacing. He’d been waiting for almost ten minutes for his contact to arrive. He was meeting some Deatheater Solider under the guise of going to the meeting. He was told that they would be discussing some newly discovered Rebellion plans (the fake ones they had planted, he believed) but had to wait for his contact.
He knew it was right outside a little village called Kennith, but he also knew that with the wards up, he wouldn’t be allowed to just go in. He knew enough to give the Rebellion their intel and create a plan of attack. Once he was inside the wards, he would activate his tracker, where Remus and the rest of the team would be able to hone in on the precise location. That’s where the solider came in. The only way to get inside the wards, was through him, the portkey.
No, not him with the portkey, he was the portkey. It was a twisted sense of security developed by the Deatheaters. It was a onetime use for very high level clearance meetings, and by one time use ... they really mean one time use. After being used, the person involved ultimately dies. Some even volunteer for the chance, but most are brainwashed, or have been Imperiused.
It made Dracos blood crawl, and the fact he’d have to use one tonight ... he didn’t want to think about it. All he wanted was to complete this mission, do his part, and then maybe, maybe attempt at getting some sort of a nights sleep. He’d been up at ungodly hours going over different plans and strategies for this mission not to mention any time he had a chance at sleep he’d been plagued by nightmares of a warm face no longer with him.
He was lost in his thoughts when he heard rather than saw someone come around the dark corner into the alleyway. Wand raised, he saw them come closer, and only then noticed the darkmark on their arm, not even bothering to have it covered. His heart rose to his throat at the site of it, and he felt his own begin to sting.
“Draco Malfoy, I’ve been assigned as your portkey.” His voice was light, young sounding, almost as if it was on the brink of cracking. If it was anyone else, they would have stopped, backed out, known they couldn’t do this, but Draco wasn’t that person. He never would be. He was never brave enough or strong enough to do what was right unless, of course, it was hidden, in the shadows, aiding a cause while everyone saw him as a snake.
Draco simply nodded. The man - boy? - extended his marked arm and smiled, a sickly grin that caused Draco to believe this was a volunteer, and said “They’ll never know what hit them.”
Just as he was reaching out, he stopped, his thin, painfully pale fingers just brushing the mark. His eyes flittered up to meet another pair, darker, almost black. Quick as a whip he replied with a hopefully believable smile “Quite right, but please, remind me what exactly is happening? You know how busy a mans schedule can be, with wrecking havoc and purifying the Wizarding nation and what not.”
The boy nodded eagerly (Draco was now convinced he was a volunteer, there was no glassy look in his empty eyes.) “We have the honor of helping capture some of the Rebellions top agents. The downfall of the Rebellion as we know it. It will be my greatest duty to serve the Dark Lord.”
It felt as if a rock had landed in the pit of Dracos stomach or maybe his heart, if he still had one. He blinked, once, twice, three times, before - “Right, could you give me a moment please?” For just a second, he saw the boys eyebrows furrow in confusion and then - “Petrificus totalus!” He fell right on his back, as stiff as a board.
Draco slicked back his hair in one swoop, taking a short breath. He knew the team would already be on their way, most likely waiting for his tracker to be activated. He sifted through his brain for something, anything, to get them this message, that they were walking into a complete trap. Normally, like any other member, he’d have one of their messaging coins, but they’d all deemed it too dangerous if it was found on his person. They never accounted for something like this to happen. He’d always been playing two sides, and slithering his way back in between, messages and bits of information with him. He never expected that he could have been wrong. And how foolish he was to think so.
And then, he thought of it. It was a desperate kind of thought, but he clung to it, gripping it with his cold hands and heart. He raised his wand, never feeling more empty than in that moment, and said “Expecto Patronum!”
He closed his eyes, sifting through his memories (only of which a handful were happy). Never having to preform a Patronus charm before, he was completely at a loss of what to do. He’d seen it done, of course, in war, and also learned in school, but it was something he felt he never needed (or couldn’t do) until now.
Now, it was a matter of life or death.
So he thought of his mother. He thought of her smiling face, her soft hands, and her constant heartbeat. He remembered her reading to him in the garden, of her singing him to sleep, and her overall goodness. He thought about what she’d say now, how he didn’t know if she’d be proud or not, mostly just worried that her little boy was caught in the middle of it all as if he ever had a choice.
And like that, it appeared. A dull glow in the dark but still visible, was a butterfly. At first, Draco was in awe, while it wasn’t bright, and flickering in and out, it was there. But then he was confused. A butterfly? Of all things... he shook his head, still in shock, but there was no time to lose. He knelt down, at a loss for what next, but simply spoke into the fluttering form. “Retreat. It’s a trap, I repeat: Retreat, do not infiltrate.” He wove his wand once more, unsure of who exactly to send it to, but decided on both Remus and Hermione, just praying (although to who, he wasn’t sure) that it would reach them in time.
With the dimming form flitting away, he stood back up, straightened out his shirt and rose his wand again. He looked at the boy, lying on the ground, eyebrows still furrowed. He took a short breath, and closed his eyes, only for a moment. Then he went over and crouched next to him, the dark mark on his arm still plain as day. The boy still seemed to have a cruel smile on his face, and Draco looked away, hit by memories of his own, younger, lips curled in a similar way. “Obliviate.” He said, watching as the boy sat up, rubbing his head.
“You passed out.” Draco deadpanned.
The boy sprung to attention, blinking quickly, and coming to. He looked around, and then looked back to Draco, coming to understanding, not even questioning it. Dracos grip tightened on his wand.
“I’m ready.” The boy said instead, extending his arm out once more.
Draco gave him once more look, and couldn’t help but feel a pain in his chest of what he didn’t know for a boy, so ready to serve, that didn’t know he had another choice.
Instead, his throat closing, he wrapped his cold hands around the boys dark mark, as well as his heart, and vanished.