Disclaimer for entire story: I do not own the Castlevania or Harry Potter universe.
Author's Note: I hope you enjoy this; it's just a story that's been nagging in my head. It's a bit of a stretch, I suppose, but give it a chance. My thanks to Patricia de Lioncourt who is the operator who connects me to my muses.
Spoiler: This is set directly after Draco apparates outside of Hogwarts near the end of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, and it contains many spoilers for the 6th book.
Chapter 1: Bad Faith
Malfoy Manor was a shadow on night; its gray-stone walls were part of the landscape itself, hidden fold upon fold in the damp woodland that outlined the towering cliff. The land it was built upon jutted out into angry white-tipped waves that let out thunderous cries as they slapped worn rock. The sound of Draco's apparation drowned in the loud claps. He landed on the edge of the cliff, so close that one false step would have sent him to his maker. Draco shuttered--thoughts of the afterlife did not sit well with murder accomplices.
Severus Snape's shouts still echoed in his ears, though he was certain his old professor was hundreds of miles away. Had the other Death Eaters escaped? No. Not all of them, Draco knew. His eyes drifted down to the still wet blood on his boots. Not everyone had made it. The wizard rubbed his eyes as the waves sent their own salty tears to join his pitiful weaknesses, gathering on his cheeks. This was why he apparated outside the manor instead of into the warmth of his home. He could not let his mother see him in this state, crying and paler than usual, fine robes streaked in only Merlin knew what. Also, he could not face his mother knowing that he had not fulfilled his duty to the family. Narcissa had spent many nights begging her son to disobey their Dark Lord, but Draco had acted offended by the mere thought of not following Voldemort's orders.
It was now that Draco realized what a fool he truly was in trying to kill Dumbledore. The old Headmaster had spoken the truth to him. Draco did not have the courage or coldness for such a deed, and Voldemort had known that much when he had requested the impossible from the young man. Dumbledore had been right; Voldemort must have wished him dead. Nevertheless, Draco could not push himself to hot rage at his Dark Lord. He, Draco Malfoy, had released the Death Eaters onto Hogwarts. He had been the one to ignore Dumbledore's offer of freedom. He had been to one to let Severus murder an innocent man, not Lord Voldemort. The fault was his, and the pain of knowing this much made Draco wish he had apparated one foot to the right, where rock escaped black sky.
He drug his feet as he made his way to the manor's gate, wand still clutched in his hand. Draco stopped, listening closely for commotion. After all, he had no idea if the Ministry would already be searching for him. He glanced the dilapidated servants' quarters that lay outside the manor's left wing, unused in over a century. It would house him for the few hours before morning, he decided. He stepped up to the hut, but his eyes caught a light in the manor, the only light in fact. It was coming from the ground level, the chandelier of the spacious dining room.
Curiosity pushed him to the window. He peered inside, and his eyes burned even more furiously. His mother sat at one end of the long mahogany table, a full bowl of soup to one side and a book in front of her. Her beautiful face was twisted in some inner pain and tears wet the breast of her robes as they fell. She moaned out her son's name as she sobbed, napkin clutched in her long thin fingers. A house elf stood beside her, trying to please his mistress, but Narcissa Malfoy only cried out at the small creature, pushing the bowl of soup off of the table.
Draco realized that he wasn't breathing and inhaled. His mother—he could not let her sit and suffer. "She thinks I'm dead," he whispered.
He muttered a spell under his breath, and his robes were clean and straight. Draco made his way to the kitchen door and pushed his way in, past the house elf carrying the remains of the soup bowl in gnarled hands. His mother's eyes met his as he entered the dining room. A sound that reminded him of an owl escaped her lips.
"My Draco," she said. Narcissa's fingers covered her mouth as she let one final sob rake her. "Oh, thank you, Severus," she muttered gratefully. "Then he fulfilled his vows?"
A puzzled look crossed Draco's face. "Mother? What do you mean?"
She shook her head. "Don't fret on it, my son. The important thing is that you live. Come to me."
Draco walked toward her and fell onto his knees in front of her chair, embracing her with greedy arms. "Mother," he whispered. "I may not live for much longer."
Amazement crossed Narcissa's face. Never had Draco showed such reverence to any but his father and his Lord. Her hand combed through her son's blond hair, and she bit her lip.
"Wrong, son," she hissed. "None will take you from me now. I will not allow them to have you."
Draco stared up at his mother. "But I did not fulfill my orders. Dumbledore did not die by my hands. Snape killed him as I watched. Our Dark Lord will not let me live after tonight. I have failed him too many times."
"Draco," his mother began, "pull a chair close to me."
Draco obeyed his mother, taking a seat so close that their knees touched. "Mother, I don't have long. It will be only a short time before the Ministry discovers my involvement. Even if they are stalled, the Order will find out what role I played soon enough. I need to go, and I want you to go with me. Dumbledore. . ." Draco stopped, noticing his mother's questioning face. "I mean—that old fool had an idea. We could cover our tracks."
Narcissa squeezed Draco's hand inside her own. "My son, you can not run from your blood. Voldemort—yes I will speak the name of the man who tried to steal my son and husband—'he' wishes you dead. He wishes to use the Malfoy blood to make himself a new alliance with another Dark Lord."
"Another Dark Lord?" Draco asked. "There is none."
"No, Draco, listen to me," Narcissa snapped. "I refer to the Lord of the Undead. His name is Dracula, and he is a vampire long destroyed."
"A dead vampire?" Draco hissed. "What would the Dark Lord care for a destroyed vampire, and why would he need a Malfoy? This does not make any sense, Mother!"
"Quiet!" Narcissa slid the book before her son, her fingers running across its yellow, cracked pages. "This is a journal. It is almost three hundred years old. It belonged to a wizard named Joshua Malfoy, the first Malfoy."
Draco shook his head. His father had said that his family tree could be traced back five hundred years with ease. Draco did not voice this but instead looked down at the page. He raised a brow. "Mother, you're mistaken. This entry was signed by a man named Joshua Belmont."
"Yes, yes it was," Narcissa breathed. "When I carried you in my womb, your father told me the truth of the famous pureblood Malfoy bloodline. Draco, Joshua Belmont was the father of all Malfoys, and he was—how do you put it, my son?—a mudblood."
"What?" Draco shouted. "If father heard you say this. . ."
"Draco," Narcissa cooed. "It was your father who disclosed this to me."
"Yes," Narcissa answered calmly. "The Belmont family is very old. They uphold a tradition of battling the vampire Dracula whenever he is awakened from his dead slumber. Joshua Belmont was the younger of two sons, and he showed talents in magic at a very young age. It was noted in his journals that he attended the newly founded Durmstrang Institute as a child. However, his muggle family did not fully appreciate his magic. A great feud broke out when he came of age and decided not to uphold the family's traditions. He thought of his family as magicless fools and told them as much. He was, naturally, disowned. After this, he had no choice but to change his name.
"As he left, his older brother said that the family had put bad faith in him. Joshua found this a laughing matter and took a name of the same meaning. When he moved to Scotland, he became Joshua Malfoy. He upheld an honorable position in the magical community, lying about the pureness of his family. Thus, he came to own this manor, Draco."
"So my ancestor was a liar—somehow that does not amaze me." Draco smirked. "An interesting history lesson, Mother, but how does this relate to my current situation." Draco noticed the unshed tears reddening his mother's eyes and dropped the haughtiness from his voice. "Forgive me, Mother, but I don't understand."
"Oh, my son." Narcissa closed the book. "Dracula is a vampire who refuses to remain dead. When his is awakened from his sleep, he is wrathful of the Belmonts who are responsible for slaying him. I know very little of the matter because Joshua did not write much of his old family in the journals. Over the past few months, the Dark Lord has been finding any information on Dracula and the Belmont family. He, of course, knows of the Malfoy and Belmont relation. It was your aunt Bellatrix who delivered the news weeks ago that the last Belmonts had recently lost their eldest son. The father is dead as well, leaving an infant daughter and a wife with no blood relation to the Belmonts." Narcissa paused, her ocean blue eyes piecing her son. "You are the eldest of the blood line, you and Lucius, and Voldemort knows this."
"Then Father and I will not fight this vampire," Draco reasoned.
Narcissa shook her head. "Draco, I received new information this morning. Voldemort told the other Death Eaters to meet in the ruins of Dracula's fallen castle, if and when Dumbledore took his fall. He plans to use Belmont blood, Malfoy blood, to help awaken Dracula and seal a pact with the vampire."
"But, he expected me to die. . ." Draco's eyes shot up. "Father!"
Draco stood, but Narcissa grabbed his wrist. "No! Don't go," she cried. "Your father is loyal only to the Dark Lord, not his family. Draco, listen to me, I am your mother. Lucius would serve Dracula as an ally. Don't you see, he even named you after the follower's of Dracula to mock his Belmont blood. He knew this day would come many years ago."
Draco jerked his arm away. "Mother! I can not believe you would sacrifice him so easily!" Narcissa cringed at his declaration. "He is my father. I will save him from the fate you say he is so desperate to embrace, with or without your help."