âDraco,â an almost hesitant knock came at his door.
âCome in,â Dracoâs voice sounded unnaturally low and scratchy in contrast to his motherâs smooth tones.
The ornate oak clicked open softly and he was greeted with the image of a teary-eyed Narcissa, who was so obviously trying to pull herself together for the sake of her son. Draco pushed his covers back and stood up, summoning all of the shrapnels of dignity he had left and using them to build the illusion of a strong exterior
âMother,â Draco whispered.
That was all it took. Narcissa was across the room in a second. She took Draco in her arms and, although he was bigger than her now, squeezed him as though she could shrink him small enough to fit in her pocket. Hide him away from what few dreadful things he had yet been forced to face.
Draco felt his mother start to draw back and fought to suppress a whimper. He studied her face and watched as she composed her strong, aristocratic features into the usual Malfoy mask that occupied them.
Draco reached a pale hand up and wiped a stray tear from his motherâs face.
âIâm okay,â he assured her. Or maybe he was assuring himself. Or maybe he was assuring both of them. Draco didnât believe it, and he doubted his mother did either.
She didnât answer, but nodded her head and set her lips in a grim line.
Narcissa fussed with her sonâs fair hair and Draco frowned but made no move to stop her. âYouâre wanted in your fatherâs study within the hour.â
Draco sucked in a breath of air and nodded his head in a single jerky motion.
Everyone communicated in nods and vague hand gestures lately. It was almost as though they were scared of using their voices too much. Which was oddly ironic, considering how they had all ended up here. Voicing opinions no one else wanted.
His mother exited the room and Draco - with a shaky exhale - made his way to the bathroom that was connected to his spacious bedroom. He stripped down with only a few seconds hesitation, still uneasy after an unfortunate incident with the wolf, Fenrir Greyback. Thankfully, the Dark Lord had called the obscenely large werewolf into some sort of emergency meeting before Draco had seriously injured him. Or been seriously injured.
As he showered, he wondered idly if this was how the Gryffindors had felt back in third year when Sirius Black had been on the loose. Nervous in their own house because of a lunatic hunting down the Chosen One. Hunting down Potter.
It was with a heavy heart that Draco stepped out of the shower and dressed. Nothing too fancy, this could hardly be considered a special occasion.
Draco wasnât stupid, he was well aware of the reasoning behind his requested presence.
Requested. Draco scoffed ever so slightly at the word. As if he had a choice. If he didnât show, he - and his mother - would be killed.
If he did show⌠heâd be punished. For his failure, and his fatherâs.
Deep breath. Sharp exhale. Draco put his hand on the doorknob to his fatherâs study. His eyes slid shut as he braced himself to open the door and face whatever was waiting for him on the other side.
Draco felt a delicate hand rest on his left shoulder lightly and he turned his head to meet his motherâs blue eyes. They held love and hints of reassurance, but Narcissaâs eyes had always been a direct window to her emotions, a trait she had unwillingly passed along to her son, and now they held barely concealed fear. Fear for the fate of the son she had raised. Fear for the boy who had no choice.
âDo you know-â Draco was cut off by the hesitant yet rough shaking of his motherâs head.
Grey eyes met blue one last time before Draco opened the door to his fatherâs study and stepped inside.
The tense atmosphere in the room prickled at Dracoâs skin. His father refused to even look in Dracoâs direction from his place in a chair in the edge of the room. On the flip side, his Auntie Bella looked positively ecstatic, smiling maniacally as the occasional giggle - which sounded suspiciously like a cackle - escaped her thin lips.
Lord Voldemort sat at the wooden desk in the centre of the room, stiffly perched in the same chair Dracoâs father had sat in so many times before. There was something malicious glistening in his eyes. Though, that could just be one of the side effects of having red eyes. (Seriously, what muggle movie villain must the Dark Lord have based himself off of?)
The Dark Lord had always been intimidating but something was different this time.
âMy Lord,â Draco regarded his master with a dip of his head.
âDraco,â The Dark Lord stood leisurely and a cold, cruel grin stretched across his white face as his snake, Nagini, slithered about near the bottoms of his robe. âYou are to accompany us to Hogwarts, we have some⌠business to attend to.â
Draco had to restrain himself from furrowing his brow in confusion. (He could hear Pansy chastise him in his head, âReally, Draco, darling, that causes premature wrinkles,â).
Snow covered the Hogwarts grounds in a pillowy blanket. It seemed the sky, too, would have liked to cover the horrors that this war had conceived.
Draco walked behind his aunt and father, who were following the Dark Lord into the school. The irony of it all was not lost on Draco.
Familiar grey stone pillars towered around them as they entered the school. Every student in the vicinity - which wasnât many, considering almost all of the students were already in the great hall - turned to glance in their direction before quickly looking away and flicking their eyes elsewhere, either at their shoes or towards the ceiling.
Draco watched silently as the doors to the great hall opened to accept their little group.
A hush fell over the already nearly quiet hall. Draco couldnât think back to a time when the students had been this contained, not even after the death of Cedric Diggory, and it added to the ache heâd been feeling in his very soul since he had been marked a Death Eater, and therefore sealed his fate.
The Dark Lord stood at the front of the great hall, facing out towards the expanse of students.
âIt has been brought to my attention that there are some,â the Dark Lord drawled and it made Draco regret ever using a similar tone, âwho still resist my rule at this school.â
The Dark Lordâs eyes were skirting around the room - taking a particularly long look at Gryffindor table, Draco noted - before landing on Draco, himself.
A cruel smile stretched across his face and a sharkâs mouth of teeth were put on display. âThis will not be tolerated,â His words remained as calm and calculated as ever, but there were heavy notes of underlying anger in them that Draco only knew how to detect because the man (if he could even be called that) had been living in his house.
âAnd while I am unsure of what has given these students the false impression that Harry Potter is coming to save them,â He raised his arms up and glared cruelly out towards their audience, âNo matter, I am here to right old wrongs, and give punishment to those who deserve it.â
Draco forced himself to stay still in his position between his Aunt Bellatrix and his father, Lucius. He was still confused as to why he, of all people, was asked to come along. He was also confused as to what they were doing here in the first place. Were they simply here to taunt the students with the hopelessness of their situation? No, he said he was here to âright old wrongsâ and to âgive punishmentâ. Dracoâs stomach flipped sickly as he realized the implications of what was happening.
Draco was no fool. He knew this was only the beginning. The Dark Lord surely had more planned than to force Draco to stand in front of his former peers and watch as he mocked them, like a petty schoolboy did a crush. Surely, there was more to come.
Sudden commotion dragged Draco out of his thoughts. He looked around, trying to pinpoint the source of uproar, and of course, it came from Gryffindor table. Specifically, from a certain boy known as Neville and a certain girl known as Ginny.
So, Potterâs sometimes-sidekick and his little girlfriend. Great.
âHarry is coming to save us you snake-faced bastard!â Longbottom burst out.
Girl Weasley stood next to him in a show of support, before yelling out, âHarryâs more of a leader than you could ever hope to be!â
The Dark Lord surveyed them with a front of amusement but there was a certain amount of malice shining in eyes. âBellatrix, restrain them.â
âWith pleasure, My Lord,â His Aunt smiled in that extra disturbing way of hers. She aimed a Petrificus Totalus at Longbottom and before the Weaselette could protest she was hit with one as well.
Alecto and Amycus Carrow were at the scene within seconds, where they exchanged grins and levitated the two defiant teenagers out of the great hall. Bellatrix skipped merrily behind them, humming a tune and laughing to herself occasionally. Draco grimaced in sympathy.
âLucius,â The Dark Lordâs high, cold voice echoed in the suddenly silent again hall. âThe boy.â
Alarms rang in Dracoâs head as a heavy sense of foreboding fell upon him. His palms had started to sweat and he was fighting the urge to run.
Large hands that belonged to Dracoâs father gripped his wrists and Draco could feel waves of confusion rolling around inside the hall.
The telltale static of a radio being turned on filled the room. Merlin, they were broadcasting this?
âNow,â The Dark Lord said, âYou know what youâve done.â
Dracoâs heartbeat increased tenfold. He was trying to control his breathing as he risked a glance toward the tables.
His gaze landed first on Pansy. She looked terribly frightened as Blaise kept one hand on her arm, a look of set determination on his face. When he met Pansyâs eyes the look on her face shifted into defiance. But her eyes, her eyes held a question.
Draco managed a small and subtle shake of his head and watched as tears filled her eyes. But Draco did not miss the slight flashing of relief. Pansyâs Slytherin self-preservation was still a strong part of her.
Good, Draco thought, Maybe sheâll make it through the War.
He directed a look at Blaise and knew he understood it perfectly as his shoulders slumped the smallest bit, his chin staying high in the air while he comforted Pansy.
Draco took a deep breath and turned his head to face the Dark Lord, who had used the time Draco had taken to watch his friends to speak of his greatness. Speak of how no one could disobey the Dark Lord and get away with it.
The task must be completed, no matter the consequences or difficulty.
Draco remembered those words from when he had first been given his assignment. An impossible task.
The Dark Lord stared directly at Draco as his long, white fingers curled around his wand. He whipped the wand up and pointed it at Draco.
Draco felt the grip of his fatherâs hands intensify in their place of holding Dracoâs wrists behind his back.
Draco knew he should stare the Dark Lord down as he was punished. Knew he should exert some form of bravery. A way of showing he was not scared. But he was. He was so scared.
And although Draco knew he should do all of this, he also knew he wouldnât. Because those were all the kinds of things a Gryffindor like Potter would do. And Draco was not a Gryffindor. He was a Slytherin through and through.
Huge thanks to @ferret-face for being my wonderful beta, @bigjellymonster for being the best Angst Lord⢠anyone could ask for, and to @fairydrarry for just being an overall amazing wife.
AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11153835/chapters/24888843