𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 2008

Prodigal

Title: Prodigal
Team: Fanon
Author: aoifene
Prompt: The Fool
Wordcount: 13,326
Rating: NC-17 for graphic violence and language
Warnings: AU. First Person POV. Draco-centric. Set after HBP. Not DH Compliant.
Summary: One year after Dumbledore's death, the tide turns in Voldemort's favour and with Harry Potter locked in the Malfoy dungeons, the fate of the Wizarding World seems bleak. Who'll save the saviour when he's in need of saving?

The sun is high in the sky on this lazy afternoon. The birds are chirping and the wind is gentle. There is nothing that marks this day as different from the next. 

But I know better. 

I wipe my hands on my robes, uncaring of how uncouth the gesture seems. I am too busy trying to hide the jolt of anxiety threatening to make its way up my chest and I resist the urge to crane my head to see past the muddy window for the twentieth time. It should be happening any minute now. 

Just a couple more seconds. 

I am nothing if not efficiently organized. 

Soon enough explosions are heard overhead and as the cloaked figures around me galvanize into action, I find myself caught in a catalyst moment. 

My eyes close against Providence even as they burn with unshed tears. 

Who would have thought it would come to this? 

o-O-o

Five months ago the tide turned in Voldemort’s favour. With the mental breakdown of Scrimgeour, the forces of light were in shambles. They had no clear direction or leader. Too many middle managers and not enough true leadership, probably. Scrimgeour’s breakdown occurred a year to the very day of Dumbledore’s death. Slightly ironic that I was the cause of both. 

The night before the change I had planned and led an attack on Azkaban to free any remaining Death Eaters and a few known sympathizers. My only goal at the time had been to free Father. But then, it seems that everything I do is for him. Sods law then that I should retrieve him broken beyond all repair. 

With Voldemort’s troops replenished and hell bent on bringing down the ministry that had put them away, the war finally turned in His favour. Little by little, the Dark Lord began to take control of the Wizarding world. Mudbloods and those who supported them were killed, of course. Along with anyone who dared oppose Him, regardless of blood status. 

Diagon Alley is virtually empty. Aurors stationed there are picked off one by one, taken prisoner or killed, depending on the whim of the passing Death Eater. I find it odd that the Dark Lord takes prisoners. Surely it would be so much more efficient to just kill them. Yet at every gathering there seems to be at least one. 

Regardless of status; social, blood, monetary or rank; I've seen officials, Muggles, purebloods, mudbloods, whores, the rich and famous, all killed. It doesn't matter. The Dark Lord takes them all. Join or die. Sometimes he doesn't even offer that. 

Still, it's somewhat a surprise to arrive at the Dark Lord’s current abode—a converted Godric's Hollow, the Dark Lord, it seems, likes irony—and find Potter. 

The sight of my boyhood nemesis, clad only in torn and blood-soaked jeans, slumped on the floor at the Dark Lord’s feet, should, stir some emotion. Anything—hatred, glee, satisfaction. Maybe even pity for the pain that the welts—whip marks, burns and cuts—must be causing.