Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Season 7—Round 5

Team: Holyhead Harpies

Position: Captain

Task: Write about a secret world or society that exists and operates beneath the surface of the Earth.

Word Count: 1,927

Note: This is a post-war, Voldemort wins!AU

So, he doesn't die.

He falls for what feels like hours—it's long enough for him to make peace with his Maker, at any rate—but then suddenly his descent slows, and he lands shakily on his feet. Everything is dark and silent, save for the sound of his heavy breathing and pounding heart.

It's the heartbeat that lets him know he isn't dead; otherwise, he would have assumed this is the afterlife.

"Hello?" he calls through cupped hands. It echoes back to him. "Is anyone here?"

Nobody answers.

"Anybody!" He's fallen so far beneath the surface of the earth that he can barely see the pinprick of light overhead. No one above ground will be able to hear him—and even if someone does, they'll never be able to pull him out.

"Hello?"

In the distance, a speck of light appears.

"Hey!" He stumbles toward it, arms outstretched, eyes opened as wide as they will go lest he lose sight of it. It's a lumos. He's certain of it. "Who's there?"

The lumos caster ventures closer. "Friend or foe?"

He doesn't know how to answer.

"I said friend or foe?"

His eyes are adjusting to the brightness. He can finally make out the face of the witch who has come for him.

His heart nearly stops.

"You have one last chance," she says. She's holding the illuminated wand in her left hand; in her right is a second wand, aimed directly at his chest. "Are you a friend or a foe?"

He rubs at the back of his neck and scrambles to regain his composure. "Difficult question to answer, nowadays."

Her jaw drops as she recognizes him.

"Malfoy?"

He dips his head in a nod. "Evening, Granger."

She takes him down a narrow passageway—he can see now that he has fallen into a system of tunnels, which wind through the earth and end in various rooms—and sits him down at a small table. Taking the seat opposite him, she taps his hands with one of her wands, tightening the ropes she insisted he must wear around his wrists to prevent any "funny business."

She looks older. He knows he does, too. Their faces are both war-hardened, their eyes guarded and mistrustful, their jaws tight and foreheads lined with worry. The pale skin of her face is stretched taut over high cheekbones, turning her into something skeletal, something haunted, and he wonders if this is not the afterlife after all.

"How did you find this place?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Just stumbled across it."

"Are you a spy?"

He snorts. "Some spy I'd be if I told you."

In a flash, her wand is aimed at his chest again.

"Settle down, Granger. It was a joke. I'm not a spy."

He expects an eye roll, or at worst, a quick comeback from a sharp tongue. Instead, she narrows her eyes and whispers a hex he has never heard of. With a rush of white-hot pain, a gash appears on his cheek.

"Merlin!" He jerks backward and raises his bound hands to his face. "Are you bloody insane?"

"You might be, if you think we're going to let a Death Eater walk out of here alive."

"We?"

"Don't play stupid."

Suddenly, this isn't a game anymore. He can handle Granger giving him a hard time—has even been bracing himself for a few of her punches—but he has never seen her speak with such deadly calmness before. For the first time in his life, he is afraid of her.

"Listen," he says. "I'm not with them anymore. I defected."

Her face betrays nothing.

He flashes back instantly to their days in Potions class, where all he had to do was cough the word Mudblood to get her riled up.

"I left twelve days ago. I swear on my life. I left my wand behind so they can't track me."

She doesn't even blink. There is no emotion for him to read; no skepticism, no fear, no anger.

"I can prove—"

"You really expect me to believe you—Draco Malfoy, the Pureblood supremacist whose hand used to twitch toward his wand every time there was the slightest chance he would have to do something physical—haven't used magic in nearly two weeks?"

He tries his best to look unworried, nonchalant—anything but desperate. "I've been keeping out of sight. Staying in the woods, nicking food from Muggle bins."

"You're going to have to do much, much better than that."

"Granger, I—"

"Accio Malfoy's wand." She says it quickly, suddenly, as if hoping to catch him off guard.

Nothing happens.

"Trust me now?" His heart is pounding.

"Not yet." She lets out a slow breath. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you defect?"

He swallows. "They killed my mother."

There: the faintest whisper of sympathy flickers through her eyes. He seizes it.

"She let some of the Death Eaters borrow our House Elf for my aunt's birthday feast, and they tortured him within an inch of his life. Just for fun. Mother wouldn't stand for it. She told them off, forbade them from using him anymore." He blinks hard. "Well. Aunt Bella doesn't like being told what to do."

He watches the emotions play out on her face as she struggles to remain indifferent.

"It was nine against one. She didn't stand a chance."

He wonders what she sees on his face.

(He wonders if he looks as haunted as she does.)

"So you left," she says.

He nods. "After they went to bed. Slit a few throats, tossed my wand, and just started walking."

Relief swirls in his gut as he watches her lose control of her face again.

Clearing her throat, she stands and braces her hands against the table. "Who did you kill? We haven't received intel on any Death Eater casualties since—"

"Who's we?"

"I'll ask the questions, thank you."

He sighs. "Bellatrix. Dolohov. Both Carrows. Avery. Flint."

"Flint as in the Slytherin Quidditch Captain?"

He quirks his lips into a tired smirk. "Didn't know he was one of us, I take it?"

She purses her lips and resumes her seat. "Is that everyone?"

"Yeah, that's everyone."

"And how do I know you're telling the truth?"

He looks pointedly at his left forearm.

She swears under her breath.

"It changed twelve days ago." He flexes his hand. His Dark Mark has wrapped itself into a wriggling noose—it's a symbol that cannot be mistaken for anything other than a death sentence. "As soon as the Dark Lord found out what I'd done. He does it to all the traitors." He clenches his hand into a fist. "You've seen it happen before, haven't you? On Snape."

She looks away.

"He's dead, in case you didn't know. The Dark Lord caught up with him almost two months ago."

"We knew."

He can tell she has more to say, so he waits.

"Please understand that it's very, very difficult to trust you," she says finally.

He nods. "I know."

"And even if it's true, I can't—we can't—you might be too much of a risk."

"I'm telling you the truth, Hermione."

Her eyes flick back up to hold his. The watch each other in silence for a moment. "I'm sorry about your mother," she says at last.

He clenches his jaw, bites back an avalanche of words and emotions. "Thanks. I'm sorry about Potter."

She closes her eyes. "Thank you."

"So now what?" He raises his bound hands to his cheek again. The gash has stopped bleeding, but it still burns to the touch. "You and what's left of Dumbledore's bloody Army kill me and make sure no one ever finds the body?"

She opens her eyes again and glares at him. "Who said anything about Dumbledore's Army?"

He snorts. "Please. There are rumors about an underground operation, but I never thought you lot were literally under the earth."

She leans back. "We know about the rumors."

"Of course you do." He shrugs. "Still. Given the choice between you and the Dark Lord, I'll take Dumbledore's Army and their bleeding hearts any day."

"Bleeding hearts? Do you really think we would ever show you mercy?"

"Murder doesn't exactly seem your speed, Granger."

Her eyes darken. "Things have changed."

He wonders if she's their leader, now that Potter's dead. Probably. It isn't as if Weasley could lead any kind of army, unless that army consists of his imbecile brothers and their mission is to conquer the dinner table.

"After Harry—well, you know. After the Battle of Hogwarts went south for us, and after our base in the Room of Requirement was raided, we ended up in the Chamber of Secrets. It turned out to be really massive, with tunnels that branched out all over the school, and there was plenty of room for those of us who survived. But You-Know-Who had taken over Hogwarts, and we knew it was only a matter of time before we were discovered. We expanded the tunnels until we were out of range of the anti-Apparation wards, and then we moved on to London and started a new underground base there. There are dozens of them now. If one is discovered, we just abandon it—nobody ever finds us twice."

He nods slowly. "And the only reason you're telling me all of this is that you're planning to abandon this one as soon as you've killed me. Right?"

She doesn't answer. "I didn't realize this tunnel had an exit that led up to the surface. People aren't supposed to be able to just 'drop in.'"

"Well, you're welcome for exposing a flaw in the design, then."

She lets out a breath. "I'm not going to kill you."

"Ah," he says quietly. "So she is a Gryffindor, after all."

She glares at him. "You could be useful, that's all. With a little persuasion, I'm sure you'll be able to tell us all kinds of secrets we can use to our advantage."

"I know a few things."

She stands. "I'll need to discuss it with the others. They won't like it at first."

"Who are the others?"

"Why do you need to know?"

He rolls his eyes. "Granger, you've got me tied up and wandless. I can't do anything. I'm trying to mentally prepare myself, that's all." He holds up his bound wrists for effect. "I bet I can guess a few. You and Weasel are in charge, right? And Potter's girlfriend is involved, I'm sure."

Her face betrays nothing, but it doesn't matter.

"Longbottom's your personal bloody cheerleader, so he's probably lurking around here somewhere."

She stands. "I'll be back once they've all been informed that you've defected." She starts to leave, and then hesitates. "Welcome to Dumbledore's Army."

She disappears down the tunnel.

He waits until the light of her lumos has disappeared completely before he reaches his bound hands into his pocket and retrieves his wand.

It's heavily hidden beneath Notice-Me-Nots and Disillusionments—for a moment during the interrogation, he had feared that the enchantments wouldn't be strong enough to resist her Summoning Charm, but the magic had held.

Maneuvering his wand clumsily until the tip touches his Dark Mark, he feels a surge of adrenaline rush through his veins. "My Lord," he whispers to his forearm. "I've found them."

The Mark writhes.

Its glamour falters, allowing its true shape to glimmer through.

He can't hold back a grin as the Dark Lord's high-pitched laughter echoes wildly through his mind.

We've won.