The Enduring Stain

Reading Time: 6 Minutes

Title: The Enduring Stain
Series: The Master of Death
Series Order: 2
Author: Keira Marcos
Fandom: Harry Potter
Relationship: Pre-Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Genre: Fantasy, Alternate Universe
Warnings: Discussion-Suicide, Discussion-Murder, Character Death
Word Count: 1,562
Author’s Note: I’m meandering through my zero draft and keep throwing little parts and ideas.
Summary: The dark mark drove all of Voldemort’s followers literally insane on November 3, 1981. It’s an enduring stain on Great Britain.

* * * *

Draco Malfoy shed his overcoat, hung it with care in the small closet just left of the door, and went to his desk. His office, buried deeply in the Ministry of Magic, was a sanctuary of sorts, as no one enjoyed meandering around the Department of Mysteries. The identity-protecting magic on his uniform made it easier to move in and around the ministry with no fear of conversations he’d rather not ever have again.

He’d grown up in the long shadows of the blood war and his father’s unspeakable crimes. Though his mother had shielded him as much as she could, his father was internationally known to be two things: a Death Eater and a prolific serial killer. It had taken the ministry three years to catch Lucius Malfoy, after the dark mark had driven him insane, and his victims had numbered in the hundreds. There was no atonement to be had, and while his father was so insane he couldn’t stand trial for his crimes—it stood that he’d taken the dark mark willing and was therefore to blame for his own circumstances.

It had taken Draco a decade to convince his mother to divorce Lucius, and another year for the court process to complete, but they’d both been free of responsibility for him by the time he’d graduated from Hogwarts.

Still.

The shame of it lingered on his family line, and there was nothing he could do about it. Unfortunate or not, he wasn’t alone in his circumstances, as the children of Death Eaters all over the world have been made to face the crimes of their parents repeatedly. Mostly, their fathers, as there were precious few marked female Death Eaters.

“He’s agreed to come back.”

Draco looked up and found Pansy Parkinson standing in the doorway of his office. “What?”

“Potter,” she said quietly. “We’ve received word through the Protectorate that Harry Potter is coming to Britain.”

Draco considered that. He’d not seen or spoken to Harry Potter since Hogwarts. They’d never been friends or even enemies, as the boy had literally no time for anyone at the school. Harry had been sorted into Slytherin, much to the horror of some and to the amusement of others. He’d taken the sorting in stride, tucked himself into the house of snakes with no fanfare, then he’d ignored absolutely everyone but the professors and he’d only talked to them in class.

Moreover, it was allowed. People had just seemed to move around Potter, content to make way for him in a way that was confounding and enviable.

Draco had the dubious honor of being the singular witness to Harry Potter telling Albus Dumbledore that he had no time for liars or fools. Draco still didn’t know which Dumbledore was in Potter’s mind, and he had tried to ask. Potter had just looked at him with mild curiosity, then walked away shaking his head as if he were disappointed that Draco hadn’t already known the answer.

Even at eleven, Potter had been appallingly intimidating, and the only thing at Hogwarts he’d truly tolerated was a silly snowy owl who treated him like her child. The creature had been the most warded and protected post owl Draco had ever seen. Even ones from the bank weren’t so heavily protected.

“You’re thinking about Hedwig.”

Draco huffed. “So were you. We all do. That bloody owl has a war ward, Pansy, and it was like she knew it from the start. She feared nothing and no one.”

She laughed. “She was always nice to me.”

Draco had to bribe that pampered creature with mice to even get the smallest bit of attention, and then only when Potter wasn’t available. He rubbed his face with both hands. “Why is he coming back?”

“Dumbledore convinced the World Court of Magic that Potter is needed here to resolve the whole Voldemort mystery.”

It wasn’t a mystery. Voldemort was a wraith, driven from his body by a badly cast Killing Curse when he’d tried to kill an infant. Some believed that fact alone was the reason all of the marked Death Eaters went around twist, but Draco knew better.

Sirius Black had sacrificed himself in a magical ritual in a temporary holding cell in Azkaban, and the results had been astounding, revealing his genuine relationship with Harry Potter—a godfather in blood and magic. Whoever or whatever the man had petitioned during that ritual had used that sacrifice to drive the Death Eaters insane. He was sure other things had happened, but that was the meat of it as far as anyone really knew.

He had, with his life and magic, protected the child of his heart by destroying Voldemort’s forces.

That had revealed an immense amount of corruption in the ministry that was still resonating in the building nearly twenty-five years after the fact. Peter Pettigrew, the person who’d actually committed the crimes that Sirius Black had been arrested for, had been killed by Arthur Weasley when the arsehole had attacked his family. Unfortunately, he’d arrived home too late to save his wife and two youngest children.

Barty Crouch, Sr hadn’t survived long enough to be punished for putting an innocent man in Azkaban, as his own son had murdered him. Which was for the best, as the public had also blamed him for what Pettigrew had done to the Weasley family.

“I don’t know what Dumbledore expects to accomplish. He’s never had a successful conversation with Potter.”

“True,” she agreed and leaned on his doorframe. “He’s trying to be mysterious, of course, but he got pissed off when Croaker refused him access to the Halls of Prophecy.”

“There is a prophecy in the hall with Potter’s name on it,” Draco said reluctantly. “And Voldemort. But he’s never bothered to come see it despite being notified twice. The last time, he apparently sent a very pithy response that essentially meant fuck off. He included translations in French and Italian just to make sure there was no confusion.”

She grinned. “Merlin, he couldn’t get any hotter if he tried.”

Draco huffed because Potter’s looks were a problem and had been a problem since sometime around their sixth year when he’d gone from a broody boy to broody arsehole with a face he barely bothered to shave. There had been outright seduction campaigns that had stretched straight into their seventh year, which Potter had tolerated not at all. Most had come to assume he was asexual, but as it turned out, he just hated everyone in the UK, because he’d been known to date casually and often after he’d left the country.

“I wonder how much you have to hate someone that even grudge fucking them is off the table?” Pansy questioned, pondering aloud what he’d been thinking.

Draco sort of figured that Pansy would be his soulmate if such things still existed. It was too bad they were both utterly gay. He slouched down in his chair and sighed.

She laughed, took a sip of her tea, and shook her head at him. “Michael Corner is still dragging his arse around upstairs like his life is over.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“I told you that pity fucking him was a bad idea,” she said wryly and left as he groaned.

It had been a really bad idea, but Draco had been bored enough to do something stupid, and that had apparently included Michael Corner. He’d never had a one-hour stand backfire so badly in his life. If the arsehole wasn’t an auror, he’d be tempted to memory charm the whole night from the git’s mind.

“You should read this.”

Draco stood up at the sound of Croaker’s voice, and his boss dropped a thin bound report on his desk. It had the Magical Protectorate seal on the cover. He put one hand on the report and raised an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

“It’s Potter’s opinion regarding the corruption of the very fabric of magic on Earth,” Croaker said roughly. “Twenty-five pages of condemnation and weaponized spite that explains explicitly why a half-blood named Tom Marvolo Riddle became Voldemort and basically ruined our whole fucking country because he could. Worse? The magical rot Riddle created is spreading, and the Protectorate has actively considered wiping out the entire adult magical population in Britain to stop it more than once. I’ve heard, but can’t confirm, that they’re going to propose a blockade on the country to contain the taint.”

Draco picked up the report as his boss left and opened it.

The Enduring Stain by Hadrian Potter, Master of Ritual and Runic Magic

He took a deep breath, not particularly surprised by the dual masteries, as everyone knew that Potter was intelligent. Interesting choices, surely, but not specifically obscure for a wizard who worked for the Magical Protectorate.

“Okay, Potter,” Draco murmured and sat down. “This won’t be the first time you’ve taught me something I’d rather not know.”

The End