His Own Path

April 17, 1993, 6:25 PM, ???

Draco Malfoy

He woke to nothingness.

His mind struggled to make sense of the void around him, that peculiar sensation of floating untethered in space. It wasn’t like flying— no wind rushed past his ears, no broomstick steadied his form. Instead, he hung suspended like a puppet cut from its strings, drifting in an endless dark.

The feeling reminded him of earlier that year when he’d dozed off in the Slytherin common room’s window seat, only to startle awake at midnight to find himself face-to-face with the giant squid. He’d watched it glide past, its massive eye reflecting the ethereal green glow of the lake, both of them suspended in that strange underwater twilight.

His eyes snapped open beneath what he quickly realized was a blindfold. The fabric pressed against his face was soft— silk, if he had to guess, and probably conjured by Tonks. The thought of his blood-traitor cousin having him at her mercy sent a fresh surge of panic through his chest.

He tried to move his arms, then his legs, but found himself locked rigid by what could only be a Full Body-Bind Curse. Even his fingers refused to twitch. The only parts of him that could move were his eyes, darting uselessly behind the blindfold, and his chest, rising and falling with increasingly rapid breaths.

His throat worked frantically as he tried to demand answers, to call for help, to bargain— but no sound escaped his lips. The Silencing Charm sealed his voice away as effectively as if she’d stolen his tongue.

Memories of the past hour crashed over him: the horror of what Dobby had revealed to him, the quick and almost sloppy plan to get Tonks’ attention, the calculated insult he’d thrown at that Third-Year Gryffindor— Thompson, was it?— and finally the Stunning Spell that had caught him as he’d turned to face his cousin in that empty classroom.

“Easy there, cousin.” Tonks’ voice came from somewhere ahead of him. Despite the situation, her tone carried an oddly gentle note that reminded him painfully of his mother. “I know this isn’t exactly comfortable, but we can’t risk anyone tracking where we’re going. You’ll be seeing Adam soon enough.”

The journey continued in muffled silence.

Draco could feel subtle shifts in the air around him— moving from the castle’s warm, stone-scented corridors into cooler spaces that he assumed were courtyards or covered bridges.

Finally, the temperature dropped further, and the air took on that distinctive scent of pine, earth, and something else… something older and wilder that he’d always associated with the Forbidden Forest. His father would have an apoplectic fit if he knew his heir was being levitated, blind and bound, into these dangerous woods.

But with all of his recent memories and revelations, Lucius Malfoy’s opinions seemed remarkably insignificant.

Leaves and twigs crunched beneath what he assumed were Tonks’ feet. The sounds of the castle had faded entirely now, replaced by the subtle chorus of the forest— birds calling warnings to each other, branches creaking in the wind, and something else… something that sounded almost like leather wings beating against the evening air.

The temperature dropped further as they moved deeper into the woods, and Draco could feel the last warmth of the setting sun being swallowed by the forest’s canopy.

A soft, otherworldly snort broke through the forest’s ambient noise.

It was followed by a voice Draco recognized immediately, though it had grown harder, more cutting since the tournament’s chaotic end.

“Who’s there? Tonks? Why do you have someone floating like that?”

“You’ll know soon enough.” Tonks replied, her voice carrying a hint of amusement that made Draco want to hex her— if he could only move.

The floating sensation gradually subsided as Draco felt himself being lowered to the forest floor. The moment his back touched the ground, the Body-Bind Curse dissolved, sending pins and needles racing through his limbs.

He immediately tore the blindfold off and scrambled to his feet, his hand instinctively reaching for his wand holster only to grasp at empty air. Anger flared in his chest as he whirled toward Tonks, a cutting remark ready on his newly unsilenced lips— but the words died in his throat.

His cousin stood there, her pink hair gleaming in the dim forest light, holding out his hawthorn wand. Her expression was neither mocking nor hostile, but watchful, calculating. It was a look he’d seen on his mother’s face when dealing with potentially dangerous allies. Draco took a steadying breath and stepped forward, reaching for his wand— only for Tonks to pull it back slightly, her eyes locked on his.

“No trouble, cousin.” She said softly. “We’re all on the same side here, whether you believe it yet or not.”

Draco met her gaze and gave a short, sharp nod. She handed him his wand, and he took it, feeling the familiar warmth spread through his fingers. Only then did he properly take in his surroundings, and his breath caught in his throat.

Thestrals. At least a dozen of them stood in a loose semicircle around their small clearing, their leather wings folded against their skeletal sides, their blank white eyes fixed unnervingly upon him. Draco suppressed a shiver.

He’d been able to see the creatures ever since witnessing a House Elf’s death when he was nine— a kitchen accident his father had dismissed as inconsequential. The beasts had always unnerved him, looking like something that had clawed its way out of Death’s personal stables. 

One of the smaller Thestrals stood out from the rest, pressed close to Adam’s side in a way that seemed almost… affectionate. While the others maintained their eerie stillness, this one kept nudging Adam’s shoulder and tossing its head, acting more like an eager crup than a harbinger of death.

Adam, for his part, seemed perfectly at ease, absently stroking the creature’s leathery neck as if it were a common pet.

Creepy beasts, Draco thought, tightening his grip on his wand. He couldn’t fathom how the boy could be so comfortable among these things, but given what he’d come to report, perhaps their grotesque appearance was fitting.

“What brings you here, Draco?” Adam asked, turning his attention from the Thestral at his side to study Draco. His eyes flicked to Tonks, and understanding crossed his features. “Must be important if she’s the one who brought you.”

Tonks let out a dry chuckle. “Important enough that he insulted sweet little Miss Thompson just to get my attention.”

There was no mirth in her expression, only a sharp watchfulness that made Draco’s skin crawl.

Adam smirked and shook his head, his hand still absently stroking the leather-winged creature beside him. “Always playing our roles, is it?”

“You’re one to talk, looking like a harbinger of death, Clarke.” Tonks said, and Adam scoffed.

“I suppose so.” He said, looking down for a moment as his smirk turned into a smile. He looked at Draco. “Insulting someone to get my attention, though? That one’s new.”

Draco didn’t return it. “Don’t get used to it.”

There had been a time when such acts brought him satisfaction— the careful dance of Pureblood politics, the subtle manipulations his father had taught him since birth. Now, however… now it felt hollow.

Empty like wearing a mask that’s grown too tight.

“I need to speak with you.” He said, his eyes darting meaningfully toward Tonks.

Adam caught the glance and understood immediately. “I gathered that much. Thanks, Tonks. I can handle it from here.”

His cousin bristled at the dismissal. “You can’t be serious. After everything that’s happened—”

“It’s likely about a contract he’s signed.” Adam cut in smoothly, still stroking that Thestral as though he was speaking of the weather. “One that prevents him from speaking to others about certain matters. You understand.”

Draco barely managed to keep his face neutral, but inside, his mind was reeling. How could Adam speak so casually about this— it was the same type of binding magic that should have sealed his own tongue the moment he tried! And yet there he stood, completely unaffected, while dropping hints about their existence as if those weren’t triggers for the pain curse to activate.

“A contract?” Tonks’s hair shifted from pink to a concerned purple.

“But he’s just a child! Who would—” She cut herself off, clearly thinking better of finishing that question.

Draco remained silent, still processing Adam’s display. The younger boy had signed the same type of contract he had— he was certain of it. And yet somehow…

“I’ll be fine.” Adam assured Tonks. “Besides, Absol and the others are with me.”

The Thestral at his side raised its skeletal head at the mention of its name, those blank white eyes fixing on Tonks with unsettling intelligence.

After a moment’s hesitation, Tonks nodded.

“I don’t like this, but I’ll do as you ask… I’ll be within shouting distance, then.” She said, directing the warning more at Draco than Adam before turning and walking away, her footsteps gradually fading into the forest’s ambient sounds.

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but Adam raised his hand in a silencing gesture. With a fluid motion of his ebony wand, the forest sounds around them— the rustling leaves, creaking branches, and distant bird calls— faded into a soft, indistinct hum. A spell for privacy? Draco wondered, recognizing that their conversation had been effectively muffled.

“Can’t be too careful these days, even with allies.” Adam said with a slight smile. He stood up from where he’d been leaning against his Thestral and walked towards Draco, his posture relaxed but purposeful.

“How?” Draco blurted out before he could stop himself. “How are you able to bypass the contract?”

Adam studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“I, erm… killed the binding spell.” He said finally. “Spellbreaking. Not exactly common knowledge these days. Have you heard of it?”

Draco’s eyes widened. He’d obviously known of Curse Breaking, but that term was specific— he’d heard it only once before, whispered in the darkness of the manor’s library as his mother taught him about the deeper aspects of magic. This was the kind of knowledge that wasn’t taught at Hogwarts, that existed only in the oldest Pureblood libraries, and barely even among them.

His mother’s family held the lion’s share of the trove, followed by his father’s own diverse collection.

His surprise must have shown on his face because now it was Adam’s turn to look startled. “You know of it?”

“Mother… she mentioned it once.”

“Ah.” Adam’s face lit with understanding. “That makes sense; you are a descendant of Black, after all. I found the book in the Black family library at Sirius’ home. She probably learned from the same source.”

Draco nodded mechanically, even as his insides churned with the realization. That book— one of the treasures of the Black family library— had given its secrets to a Mudblood?

The thought was galling, almost physically painful even.

As if reading his mind, Adam’s smile took on a knowing edge.

“The book doesn’t screen for blood purity, you know. Only family membership.” He shrugged, looking almost amused. “I don’t think whoever created it ever imagined the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black would adopt someone like me into their line. Their oversight, really.”

He paused, his expression growing more serious. “I’d be happy to teach you what I’ve learned, actually. But we’re getting off track, aren’t we? You had something urgent to discuss?”

Draco began to pace in tight circles, his fingers tugging at his collar as though it were strangling him. The words burned in his throat like acid, each attempt to speak them dying before they could reach his lips.

His father’s voice rang in his ears: A Malfoy’s first loyalty is to family. We do not betray our own.

Dobby’s face haunted him— the House Elf appearing in his private sanctuary. Shaking so violently from breaking his orders to Draco’s father, huge eyes filled with such raw terror that Draco’s blood had turned to ice.

“I can’t—” He started, then stopped, running trembling hands through his hair. “I shouldn’t—”

Another false start. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. The news was too fresh, too overwhelming. He hadn’t even had time to process it himself, and here he was, about to tell someone else.

The young wizard before him remained silent, but Draco could feel Adam’s eyes tracking his every movement. That made it worse somehow. Adam Clarke, who’d proven time and again that blood purity was meaningless, who’d wielded power Draco could only dream of, who’d saved lives while Draco had hidden in the castle like a coward.

What would his father say if he knew Draco was even considering—

A choked sound escaped him, something between a laugh and a sob. Everything he’d been raised to believe in was crumbling around him in the space of a single afternoon, and he was helping to tear it down. His own mind echoed the words on endless repeat.

The Dark Lord has returned! The truth of it sat like lead in his stomach, threatening to drag him under.

“Draco.” Adam’s voice cut through his spiral, gentle but firm. “Is the magical contract affecting you? Are you being hurt?”

Draco shook his head violently, latching onto the question like a lifeline.

“No, no, it’s not— This isn’t about Grindelwald.” The words tumbled out, and he had to force himself to slow down. “It’s about… about one of his enemies.”

He watched Adam’s face and saw the moment understanding began to dawn. Not Dumbledore, obviously; what would be the point of such secrecy over Dumbledore? Which meant—

The young Thestral beside Adam shifted restlessly, picking up on the charged atmosphere. Its wings rustled against its sides, and it pawed at the ground with increasing agitation.

“Voldemort?” Adam breathed the name, and Draco flinched as though struck.

The nod came automatically, and with it, the last of his resistance crumbled. He felt sick, light-headed. In that single gesture, he’d betrayed everything— his family, his upbringing, the Pureblood cause.

But he’d also chosen, finally and irrevocably, where he stood. The choice hurt like physical pain, but at least it was his choice, made in the raw aftermath of news that had shattered his world not even an hour ago.

The Thestral’s agitation had grown to match his own, its hooves striking the earth in an anxious rhythm. Draco found himself grateful for the Privacy Charm now— without it, he was certain his ragged breathing would have attracted every creature in the Forbidden Forest, least of all his estranged cousin.

Draco watched as something dark and cold flickered across Adam’s face. It wasn’t quite fear— he’d felt enough fear today to recognize it in an instant— but something similar, more dangerous. The temperature around them seemed to drop several degrees, and the Thestral’s wings flared out in response to whatever emotion was coursing through its obvious bond with Adam.

For several long moments, Adam stood perfectly still, his eyes distant in a way that made Draco think of a wizard performing complex arithmancy in their head.

There was something else there too— a tightness around his mouth, a slight tremor in his clenched fists that betrayed this wasn’t purely analytical for him.

“Harry.” Adam whispered, so quietly Draco almost missed it. The name carried weight, heavy with implications.

Then, Adam’s eyes snapped back into focus, sharp and calculating. “When exactly did Dobby see him? Were they at the Manor? If so, how many others were there? Was anything mentioned, anything at all?”

The rapid-fire questions came with an intensity that made Draco step back. Adam’s presence, usually so carefully controlled, now almost rippled around him like heat waves off hot stone, such was his intensity.

The Thestral pressed closer to its wizard, its skeletal form almost protective.

“I don’t— Dobby didn’t say much more.” Draco stammered, unnerved by this display. “He was too terrified…”

“Dobby—”

“My House Elf.” Draco said, and Adam closed his mouth. “My family’s House Elf.”

Adam’s jaw worked silently as he processed this. His eyes darted back and forth as though reading invisible text in the air, and Draco could almost see the calculations happening: Grindelwald’s forces scattered but not defeated, the Ministry in chaos, Hogwarts’ defenses strained, and now this. Two Dark Lords, moving pieces on the same board.

“The timing.” Adam muttered, more to himself than to Draco. “It’s not coincidental. He’s using the chaos and everyone’s divided attention…”

His hand drifted to his mouth and he began to bite into his nails, the gesture seemingly unconscious. “If he’s picking this moment to return, he must be at full strength, or close enough to it. And with Grindelwald’s attacks drawing everyone’s focus…”

Adam’s expression hardened further, and for a moment, Draco glimpsed something beneath the calculating exterior. Though it was quickly suppressed, it was unmistakable. Frustration and that quasi-fear again— not directed towards himself, Draco realized, but for others.

That’s the kind of fear that makes people dangerous. His father had once said. Draco agreed.

“The tournament brought international attention, resources pulled from everywhere to deal with Grindelwald.” Adam continued, his voice tight with controlled emotion.

“The Ministry’s stretched thin, with Aurors deployed across multiple locations. It’s the perfect…” He trailed off, his eyes widening slightly. “Perfect opportunity to strike at specific targets without interference. Or to gather strength unnoticed.”

The Thestral nudged Adam’s shoulder, and the contact seemed to ground him. His mood settled, though the air still crackled with tension. When he looked at Draco again, his body was moving with purpose, all traces of fear hidden behind careful calculation.

“What are you going to do?” Draco asked, his voice smaller than he’d intended.

Adam didn’t answer immediately.

His eyes had that distant look again, the one that made Draco think of wizard chess masters planning several moves ahead. Then, abruptly, he called out. “Kreacher!”

A sharp crack split the air, and an ancient House Elf appeared, his bat-like ears twitching as he took in their surroundings.

“Young Master called for Kreacher in the Forbidden Forest? Kreacher hopes Young Master has not forgotten the last time he ventured too deep into—” The Elf’s gravelly voice cut off mid-sentence as his eyes landed on Draco. His whole body went rigid, huge eyes growing even wider.

“Kreacher, this is Draco Malfoy.” Adam said quickly, but there was something odd in his tone, as if he’d noticed something that made him curious. “He’s—”

“Other Young Master has Master Regulus’s cheekbones.” Kreacher breathed, taking a halting step forward. His gnarled hands trembled slightly as he gestured at Draco’s face. “Yes, yes, Kreacher sees it clear as day. The same noble Black features. Master Regulus had those same proud cheekbones, he did.”

Draco straightened instinctively at the comparison, feeling a rush of pride course through him. He knew of Regulus Black, of course— his mother’s cousin, a name spoken with respect in Pureblood circles. The comparison sent a warm current through his cold limbs, energizing him after the draining ordeal of his confession.

Adam, who had been about to interrupt the elf’s examination, blinked in surprise.

His calculating gaze shifted between Draco and Kreacher before settling on Draco’s face with new interest. His head tilted slightly as he studied Draco’s features, and something in his expression shifted.

“Yes.” Adam said slowly, thoughtfully. “I can see it now.”

There was a weight to those words that Draco couldn’t quite decipher, as if Adam was seeing not just his face, but something deeper, something significant in the parallel Kreacher had drawn.

“I don’t know how to hide this.” Draco burst out, his earlier composure cracking. His hands were shaking again. “From my housemates, from Snape, from—”

He cut himself off, but Adam could hear the unspoken ‘from my father‘ hanging in the air.

Adam studied him for a long moment, his expression reminiscent of someone examining a complex puzzle. Kreacher still stood nearby, his eyes darting between them with an unsettling intensity.

“It’s understandable to be afraid.” Adam said, his voice clinical but not unkind. “But consider this: what do people already expect from Draco Malfoy?”

He paused, letting the question sink in. “They expect a proud, somewhat vain child, eager to prove himself, don’t they? Use that. Hide in plain sight.”

“What do you mean?”

“Be exactly what they expect— just a privileged Pureblood child, more concerned with Quidditch scores and Dueling than Dark Lords and politics. The more you act like an eager, self-absorbed child, the less likely they are to look deeper.” Adam’s lips quirked slightly. “Sometimes the best mask is the one people already think is your face.”

Kreacher nodded vigorously at this, mumbling something about ‘Master Regulus’ and ‘fooled them all, he did’ before falling silent at a quick glance from Adam.

“Though, I’m going to need to inform Dumbledore about this.” Adam continued, watching Draco carefully.

The reaction was immediate and violent.

“No!” Draco’s face had gone even paler, if possible. His whole body seemed to recoil at the suggestion. “You can’t tell him, you can’t—”

Adam frowned but shrugged, the gesture almost casual despite the tension in his shoulders.

“It’s likely he already knows. Something of this significance…” He trailed off, his eyes distant again. “The Death Eaters will be moving, preparing. Dumbledore has too many sources to miss it for long. If he doesn’t know now, he will soon enough, but sure, I’ll respect your wishes and keep silent.”

Draco’s shoulders remained tense, but some of the panic left his face at this reasoning. Adam continued to watch him, and there was something calculating in his gaze now, as if he was measuring Draco against some internal standard; the same way, perhaps, that Regulus Black had once been measured?

He didn’t know. All of these comparisons to a dead man were starting to get eerie; Draco didn’t know how to feel about a first-cousin-once-removed that he’d never met.

“Listen carefully.” Adam said, his voice dropping lower. “What you’ve done today— coming to me with this information— it’s not just smart, it’s brave. But bravery without strategy is just another word for suicide.”

His eyes flickered to Kreacher again, who had gone very still. “You’re not the first person from a Noble House to walk this particular path. And while I won’t tell you Regulus’ full story— that’s not mine to tell— I will say this: he succeeded in opposing the Dark Lord precisely because he understood how to play his role perfectly until the moment came to make his strike.”

“So, you’re saying I need to be careful.”

“I’m saying that you need to stay alive and under their notice.”

“But, how am I supposed to do that?” Draco said, shaking his head. “They can look into my mind…”

“Like I said.” Adam replied, letting out a breath through his nose. “Lay low. Play the role society has thrust upon you. You are Draco Malfoy, Pureblood scion of the Malfoy family. Inheritor of riches others can dream of and with a bright future ahead of you. Beyond a few close friends and family members suspecting, the others won’t really know a thing, so long as you play that role.”

“True…” Draco said slowly, calming down again. “Still… If they do catch me, what am I supposed to do?”

Adam didn’t answer, and Draco felt a bitter resentment build up in him. Clarke could talk the talk, but when it came to actual, real help, it seemed that he would not be at all useful. Maybe he’d wasted his time coming here—

“Kreacher.” Adam said, his tone shifting to something more formal as he caught Draco’s attention. “Would you be willing to come if Draco calls for you?”

Draco’s mouth opened of its own accord. Similarly, the ancient House Elf’s eyes widened, but before he could respond, Adam added firmly. “With one condition.”

He turned to Draco, his expression hardening slightly. “You can’t use him to endanger anyone on my side. Not Harry, not Sirius, not anyone I protect. Is that clear?”

Draco’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“I don’t understand. Why would you—” He paused, realization dawning. “My Elf. I can’t truly rely on him, can I? Even if he wants to help me, he has to follow Father’s orders first.”

“Precisely.” Adam’s eyes glinted with approval at Draco’s quick understanding. “Kreacher, on the other hand…”

“Kreacher has no such problems.” Kreacher finished, drawing himself up with dignity. “Kreacher serves the House of Black, and the Other Young Master has Black blood, yes he does. Like Master Regulus…”

“This isn’t a small thing I’m offering.” Adam said quietly, watching Draco with that calculating gaze again. “But you should know— you don’t have to go through with any of this.”

His voice took on an oddly gentle tone. “I could wipe your memory right now. You could go back to being exactly who you were an hour ago. Return to your life, unchanged. Unburdened.”

The offer hung in the air between them, heavy with possibility. Draco felt the weight of it, the temptation of simplicity, of safety. He could forget everything— Dobby’s terror, this conversation, the choice he’d made. He could return to his comfortable certainties, to a world where everything made sense.

For a long moment, he seriously considered it. His father’s voice echoed in his mind, speaking of family loyalty and tradition. The easy path beckoned, promising security and familiarity.

Then he thought of Dobby’s trembling form in that abandoned classroom, of his mother’s safety, of everything he’d seen and learned that had already changed him.

Slowly, deliberately, Draco shook his head.

“No.” He said, his voice stronger than it had been all evening. “I’ve changed too much. I can’t go back to being that person. I don’t want to.”

Something that might have been respect flickered in Adam’s eyes. A small, knowing smile curved his lips as he extended his hand toward Draco.

“Well then, cousin.” He said, emphasizing the word with new meaning. “Welcome to the family.”

Draco took the offered hand, feeling the weight of tradition and expectation fall away, replaced by something newer and truer.

“You don’t know how to erase memories, do you?” Draco said, and Adam smirked.

“No, but I do know a guy who can.”