#i've been binging scp content in the past week and i think i know enough to write a short fic

[joonkorre]

@drarrymicrofic prompt: remake

not gonna say much on this. yall should find out what's going on yourselves :D. ao3

“What do you think, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco doesn’t need to think; he’s done enough of that in the past two months, since the day he opened his front door to see the strange woman’s sharp smile. But he thinks anyway, one last time before he answers.

He’d have to leave the wizarding world behind. Of course, it doesn’t have to be that drastic. However, if he doesn’t want his frequent disappearances to catch the Ministry’s attention, then it’s best to withdraw into the Muggle world altogether, as far from its control as possible. Mother has Aunt Andy, Teddy, and friends from her book club now, she’ll be fine with him visiting only a few days each year.

Other than that, there are no downsides. He has nothing to lose except maybe his life somewhere down the line, but everybody dies at some point, don’t they?

He lifts his gaze to the buzzing light on the ceiling, its shine cold and apathetic. To the mahogany bookcase, filled with tomes upon tomes full of ancient rites and rituals, of creatures considered ‘cryptid’ even to wizardkind. To the bookend that is shaped like a crow, which flaps its wings when its beak is tapped five times, unlocking the hidden safe behind the bookcase. The safe that stores all the actual research and data he’s collected, jealously and fearfully hoarded.

He doesn’t know everything, but he knows enough. He knows enough to be aware that the lore Pansy snorted at when he first mentioned them, the creatures Mother dismissed as another of her bored rich son’s new obsessions, are the same ones Unspeakable Granger narrowed her eyes at when she walked past his table in the canteen and caught a glimpse of his notes. He had a feeling then that he shouldn’t even make any indication that he was interested in these things, which was proven to be correct when Ministry personnel started loitering outside his office more after that day.

He doesn’t know everything, but he knows his findings are not safe in anyone’s hands but his. The Ministry still repeats its tendency to care more about itself than the common people. The Department of Mystery, practically its own entity due to how even the Minister is forbidden from accessing most of its files, has motivations he can’t comprehend, which means motivations he can’t predict. There is no way to know if his colleagues are truly interested in “that old wife’s tale, that Bigfoot, Cthulhu shite Malfoy’s into” or will report him to those who know how to deal with him, to Unspeakable Granger, to the Department of Mysteries. His findings are not safe in anyone’s hand but his.

But if he says ‘yes,’ they are.

Draco dips his quill in the ink bottle the woman—“Dr. Stewart,” she’s introduced, calm and sure—provided him and signs his name on the contract and its related documents. No hint of anything other than indifference is shown on her face, and he wonders how many others before him has she recruited.

Once his thumbprint has been collected, the last step of the process, he Vanishes the ink on his finger. Dr. Stewart raises a brow but says nothing more. She stands up, holding out a hand.

“Welcome, Dr. Malfoy. The SCP Foundation is glad to have you with us.”

Shaking her hand, Draco feels something slide into place at his new title. He smiles politely, heart thundering in his chest.

“Have you worked with wizards before, Dr. Stewart?” Draco asks as he starts packing the valuables at his work desk into his briefcase. Dr. Steward has come to the Ministry by Floo, and though she seemed a bit disconcerted after stepping out of the Ministry Public Floo #13, she didn’t hesitate to follow him to his office. Thus, seeing her reaction to a simple Vanishing spell has certainly been a bit strange.

Dr. Steward gathers the documents to secure in a folder.

“My colleagues have—some of them have Muggleborn and Halfblood relatives—but not me personally,” she answers. “My apologies, I still need to get used to seeing magic in… this way. Ironically, we have more luck with magic users from other dimensions than from our own, especially with what happened in recent history.”

The Second Wizarding War ended barely a decade ago. Its victims, both people and nature, still bleed. “I can see why you aren’t very keen on interacting with us up-close these days,” Draco nods, careful.

“Precisely,” Dr. Stewart says. “So, believe it when I say you’re the exception.”

Draco stiffens. “Thank you. I’m sorry, it’s still a bit hard to, ah, believe that.”

“You are the exception,” she says. “We need professionals in the occult, especially those who dabbled in the Dark Arts along with other types of magic. Not many wizards of your kind in Great Britain remember the Original Gods and Old Magic, but you have that link, whether it be through honest religious belief or just intensive research.”

She crosses her legs. “We’ve had our eyes on you for a while, Dr. Malfoy. We need someone who’s willing to look for the oddity in the mundane, and when our people heard rumours of the infamous Malfoy heir having a—highly accurate, by the way—fixation on conspiracy theories and cryptozoology, visiting various parts of the world in pursuit of those ‘tall tales,’ we knew we need your intellect.”

Draco doesn’t quite know what to say. He was sure everybody thought him unhinged; even Luna seemed off around him these days instead of enthusiastically rallying after his theories like she usually would, gradually gravitating toward Granger whenever they’re in the same room.

“Our goals are different; the SCP Foundation wants to keep humanity safe and alive, you want knowledge and just knowledge. But I hope you find yourself in your element while working with us, finally having access to all the information you’ve been working so hard to find out.”

She tilts her head just so, and Draco can tell she knows he likes what he’s hearing. His thirst consumes him, makes him risk, makes him sin. He has to go insane to stay sane. Despite the small price of most likely dying from working with dangerous anomalies at the Foundation no matter how pretty Dr. Stewart advertises it, every cell in his body sings at the chance to know what is lurking beyond the folds of reality.

He thinks of Mother, of Aunt Andy, of little Teddy, of Pansy, of Blaise. The vision of them killed, maimed, snapped from existence because he didn’t do anything to help makes his gut twist, his throat parched. He’d kill himself from the guilt, a well-casted Sectumsempra. He decides.

His goal is no different than the Foundation’s from now on, and he has no qualms about that. With this opportunity, he is free at last, free to do the work he knows is important, to help and change without outside interference.

He is reborn.

Draco’s back straightens, and he moves his wand this way and that, orchestrating a cacophony of tomes and devices to levitate from the heavy bookshelves to the duffle bag he brought along.

“Dr. Malfoy, did I not tell you where you’ll be stationed?”

Draco halts the objects’ action mid-air, staring at Dr. Stewart.

“I was under the impression that I am to be working at Site-91,” he says, “in Yorkshire?”

“As I thought, I forgot something,” Dr. Stewart sighs, the first sign of human imperfection leaking through. She searches through her briefcase, long nails clicking through the files. “Sit down, please, and there’s no need to pack up your belongings.”

Sending the objects back to their original places, Draco takes his seat, brows furrowed. He toys with his wand, a tick he hasn’t been able to be rid of ever since Potter’s returned his wand after years of what seemed to be perpetual emptiness without it.

“There we go,” Dr. Stewart says and flips open a thick, stapled stack of paper. “You are to stay here for the duration of your first assignment. Count yourself lucky, starting work right away.”

“Stay here? But—”

“There is an anomalous individual working here,” she says, hard lines etched on her face. “You will act like you’ve not changed your career and continue to ‘work’ in the Ministry. Because of your proximity, we expect you to gather as much information as possible about him. You can use any method, as long as you stay alive and well to report back to us and receive your salary. Not to worry, we will assist you as this individual is, like most of what we deal with, deadly when pushed.”

She slides the file toward him and settles back against her chair. Draco is admittedly no less surprised than before.

“Wake up and get ready by 6 AM this Saturday, for we’ll come to get you at your house and go to Site-91. There are other information and protocols you need to know, and you’ll also get the equipment suited for this assignment,” Dr. Stewart adds.

Draco has a few questions, but from the way she ends with a close-mouthed smile, he reckons any at all would be regarded as idiotic. Well, at least she told him something.

With a slight sigh, he opens the file. The peculiar layouts and code words fly past him—he’d have to ask for a manual of some kind, Muggle science-y terminology has never been his best suit. However.

“What,” he breathes, leaning close to the file, eyes wide, “what is he—what is—”

However, there are two words he can’t mistake, no matter how sleep-deprived he is or how blind. A name, in fact.

“What is Harry Potter doing in this file?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Dr. Stewart asks, lacing her fingers on her lap. “Think. His lifelong exposure with the Dark Arts and artifacts, how volatile and explosive his power is, and most importantly, how dangerous he is even to the brightest magic users. There’s a reason why we don’t meddle with your kind. You already have the means available to contain certain anomalies, but Potter is different, and we have to step in this time.”

Draco stares at her, then at the name in the file, at the picture attached, slack-jawed.

“The oddity in the mundane, Dr. Malfoy,” Dr. Stewart leans forward, a knowing look on her face. Draco's legs feel like wooden trunks, sunken into the ground. "Get used to it, and get focused. Because if left unchecked, Harry Potter might very well get powerful enough to become a reality bender."