forty three
Chapter Forty Three
“Hermione?” Draco called out.
Hermione whipped back around, tightening her ugly night robe around her waist as she crossed her arms for comfort. Harry snored in the bed down the room. They both glanced at the poor chosen boy, who was more than happy to have a week of solid nights of sleeping, free from the curious stares he was not immune from.
“Yeah?” Her brows cocked up, trying not to smile too widely at Harry who had one leg dangling off the edge of his bed and his mouth wide open.
Draco pushed his pillows up to cradle his back that still felt slightly sore. One of his legs was bent up at the knee and used to rest his forearm.
“I know you want to continue that conversation,” Draco began and Hermione shook her head.
“We don’t have to,” She assured, her core aching for a different response.
“I probably overstepped that night, assuming you were going to ask if I still had feelings for you,” Draco gulped.
Hermione grimaced, ashamed she couldn’t look directly at him.
“You didn’t assume. Well, you did, but what you suspected...” She cleared her throat, “I was going to ask that.”
Draco puckered his lips in thought. Although his heart swelled, it didn’t necessarily mean anything. Hermione could have been asking for simple clarification or even just morbid curiosity.
How curious that she had someone like Draco wrapped around her finger...
“I think you can understand when I say it’s not a topic that I like to discuss. In fact, if I think about it for more than a few seconds, I can feel myself get angry, or maybe it’s ashamed, considering everything. I don’t know.”
Hermione bit down on her lower lip.
“Oh, of course. I don’t want to see you upset,” Hermione frowned.
“And I don’t want you to hide things from me,” Draco calmly said, his mood on the topic now entirely different.
“Likewise,” Hermione nodded nervously, her hand unintentionally touching her collar bone.
Draco cleared his throat, “I wish I could tell you how I feel but... I don’t know.”
Draco watched her face crack and the worst part was that he was telling the truth. He didn’t know why it was so hard to just fess up his feelings. He would soften at the sight of her and then something would bring up that night at Daphne’s party and out of all the memories, he wished the Department of Mysteries could erase that.
They way he chased after Millie afterwards and Hermione, if his memory proved him right, had been a tad distant. She was probably weirded out.
“I do love-,” Draco gulped, “Or I did, really, but I think life has been fucking confusing and I’m not sure how to make sense of any of it.”
If Draco only knew how tumultuous his words were rattling inside Hermione skull. It felt like her stomach dropped well beyond the floor.
“But I can say,‘Mione,” Draco continued, “I don’t plan on straying too far from you. We are friends, aren’t we?”
Hermione was thankful that it was dark enough so the shadows concealed the glass of tears now covering her eyes.
Friends.
The word cut deeply in a way she didn’t know a word could. Even beyond seeing Draco with someone else. To have him so close, so perfectly in love with her and he chose to remain as is. Her skin burned under her nightgown, in protest of his answer. He wanted her didn’t he?
He wouldn’t have ravished her if he wished to remain friends.
“I don’t know what that means, in terms of love. Maybe I need the space and time to think.” Draco smiled sheepishly. He noticed Hermione’s blank face.
“’Mione?”
“Huh?” She breathed out.
“I know finding out the way you did was probably burdening and confusing. But I’ll be exactly what you need me to be. I promise.”
Mine, Hermione prayed, be mine.
Courage left her body while her ego wrapped itself to prevent any more harm from the gentle rejection. Still, Draco found it curious how blank Hermione was, standing at the foot of his bed.
“I’ll always wonder about you, even when you think I won’t. Trust me. You’re there in my mind.” He assured her with the only truth he knew, because he had always been curious since their first year. She gave him a small smile and nodded.
Hermione didn’t want to push any further. She had hoped for a perfect segway to profess her love to Draco but perhaps the timing wasn’t right. Maybe with the time and space, Draco would be able to recover over the summer and see things from a new perspective.
They could start fresh, maybe, in sixth year.
There was a tinge of hope as she quietly announced her departure, invisibility cloak draped over her arms. She walked towards the door and lingered there, a pensive look on her unfocused eyes.
“Will you write?” Hermione asked, “Over the summer?”
Draco stuck his tongue into his cheek in thought and Hermione grew irritated with herself at how handsome Draco was, especially when he broke out in a sly grin. There he was, as gentle with her as he broke her hopeful heart and he still had the audacity to stir something primitive in her.
Hermione had a slight hope that she came off as nonchalant as he did but she felt her face form a puckered look trying to stop herself from her jaw dropping.
“I’ll think about it.” He teased.
Hermione let out a sigh, “Then I guess I’ll see you after summer then-”
“No!” Draco shouted and Harry choked on a long snore. Draco and Hermione both suppressed a smile at the timing. Hermione padded quietly back to the foot of Draco’s bed and cocked her head to the side innocently. Draco inwardly groaned. This had to be torture as he pinned to see her crawling over him, while he got rid of that ugly nightrobe.
“No?” Hermione asked in a matter of fact tone, “Then, yes?”
Draco let out a small scoff, “Well... what I meant to say-”
“Goodnight, Draco”
Hermione began to march off and Draco jumped out of his bed, rushing to grab her before she left. Hermione’s visioned wheeled around and somehow, she found herself facing him, his hands around her wrist.
Hermione let out a small yelp when a small painful zap went up her shoulders.
“Are you okay?” Draco furrowed his brows and immediately released her.
“I should go,” Hermione insisted.
“Wait,” Draco pouted, “At least tell me I didn’t hurt you.”
Hurt? Hermione’s throat turned into a painful knot.
“I grabbed the arm Madam Pomfrey had been trying to heal, right?” Draco asked.
“You don’t have to write if you don’t want to,” Hermione frowned, her face finally mirroring her feelings, “Both Harry and Ron are terrible at consistent correspondence. I’m not offended.”
“If you really want me to,” Draco cracked a smile, “Now answer me. Stop being stubborn, are you okay?”
He was insufferable, Hermione thought, “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to hear from you. But if you insist on make it a game just to tease me, nevermind-”
Draco stepped away, going back to his bed and ripping a piece of his envelope. He scribbled something quickly before he ripped another piece of paper off. He walked back with a quill in his hand to hand it over to her.
“What’s your address then, Granger?” Draco smirked. Hermione gawked at him but eventually proceeded to jot down her address.
“It’s in a muggle town,” Hermione bit down on her lip. Draco rolled his eyes at the obvious, his eyes looking over her neat handwriting.
“I’ll be busy with summer courses, I won’t be home most of the day,” Hermione grimaced, “If you could tell your owl to deliver after the sun goes down, I’ll... I’ll be by the window expecting him.”
Draco held out his piece of parchment but as Hermione reached to take it, Draco pulled it away, toying with her.
It earned him an immediate glare.
“I’ll hand it over once you tell me if I hurt you,” Draco bargained. Hermione quickly swiped at the folded parchment that he held with his pointer and middle finger.
Hermione was chuffed she had successfully snatched it from his hands. She gave him a side eyed look and smirked.
“Yes,” She said honestly, in response to both her shoulder and her heart, “But it was just a jolt. I’m okay. It’s not like I don’t hurt myself too, Draco. I can barely lift my arm up to ask questions in class.”
Draco licked his lips, “Oh the horror.”
Hermione huffed in annoyance at him but she couldn’t get the emotion quite right when he gave her that devilish look of his.
“And just so you are aware,” Draco cleared his throat, “Now that you know my address, I hope you realize what a huge deal it is.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes as she glanced down at Draco’s perfectly loopy and sophisticated scrawl.
Malfoy Manor
East Wing, Third Floor, Last Set of Windows
St. Winsley, Wiltshire, England
“It means you can walk straight into my home, without setting off any security, Granger,” Draco cocked a teasing brow, “I hope you know how precarious of a situation you just put me in.”
“Afraid?” Hermione scoffed softly.
“Around you?” Draco smirked, “I’d be stupid not to be. You’re a danger.”
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Draco,
I hope this letter isn’t too forward. I was hoping to test this letter as soon as
possible. If I recall correctly, it must be your Sixteenth Reception already. Or,
perhaps, it has already passed. I’m sure you’ll have a spectacular party. Your
mother seems to have an eye for festivities. She also seemed keen to throw a
big celebration you.
As for me, I’ve been stuck in my room juggling some muggle summer work.
and reading up on the stolen books you mentioned before the week is up.
Memory retrieval is proving to be quite tricky.
And I know you’re probably rolling your eyes, thinking ‘oh, well of course it’ll
be tricky. It’s the Ministry!’ But they were dumbfounded by what happened,
weren’t they? I’m sure it’s only a matter of time I’ll be able to crack this
mystery with trial and error, I’ll be able to help everyone remember. I can’t
imagine what we will discover about that night.
Hope your summer is starting off great, I’m stuck studying Calculus.
xo
H
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Draco's dressrobe was unbearable to wear. It was a millimeter too snug around his neck making it feel like he was a dog wearing a collar. Even worse was the stiff starchy fabric of the blindingly white color he had to wear, per tradition. Draco couldn't wait to throw this god awful dressrobe into his room's fireplace.
He had to endure it.
It was his own Sixteenth reception after all. It wasn't like he had to choice to pick out something from Madam Malkin's when he only had two days to settle into his own room that felt foreign to him.
Draco stood stiffly as his parents' side as he was introduced into a small stream of guests at the lobby of his very own Manor. The guest would take off their cloaks, hand them over to a houseelf and then drift off into the large opulent dining room.
Draco hadn't seen much of his mother other than his arrival at King's Cross. After flooing directly into his home, Narcissa let him be, busying herself with last minute details of his party like what silverware to use. The color of the napkin rings. The biggest task his mother took on (and made sure everyone knew about her efforts) was making sure that their six course meal was absolutely divine for their twenty guest.
"The final course is to die for," Narcissa strained a polite smile out, tilting her head stiffly to the side in a manner that looked forced. Draco noticed. Even MacNair and his wife took note as they scurried away and exchanged a knowing look between the pair.
Draco waited patiently for a familiar face or two, hoping that he could later on sneak off with a bottle of brandy and better company than whoever was showing up.
Once the doors officially closed, right at 7:10 on the dot, Draco deflated.
None of his friends showed up.
He should have suspected it when Crabbe’s and Goyle’s fathers strolled in without their sons. Nott also strolled in Theo-less, looking like an older version of his son with thick wiry grey hair and a cheeky smile.
Draco had been counting on his friends to show up, well, those who received an invitation at least. They were his only hope of turning this rather dull tradition into something he was looking forward to.
Draco quickly learned they were unable to attend.
His mother and father ushered him into the dining room, announcing his arrival and he sat at the head of the table, opposite of his father who looked rather grim. He hadn't spoken a word to Draco all day.
Mr. Crabbe, a big beefy middle age man, gave Draco what he believed was supposed to be a pitying look. Draco wasn’t doing such a good job at hiding his own displeasure of being surrounded by adults.
They all took their seats, as his mother announced the first course being honeyed miso glazed scallops as their starters.
The plates appeared in front of them and everyone raised their filled wine cups at Draco, who lifted his own cup as well, signaling their start. Soft clanking of knives and forks filled the air.
“Miss your friends, don’t you, Mr. Malfoy? Vincent unfortunately as abducted by his bitch mother,” Mr. Crabbe laughed a bit too harshly for the awkward environment, “Took him on an excursion to Tibet. Thought he deserved the travel after doing well on his OWLs.”
Goyle’s father joined in, who sat next to Nott, “Goyle’s sick with the Kneazle Pox. And Nott’s son, I believe is taking flying lessons this summer?”
Nott’s father nodded.
“Yes, indeed,” Mr. Nott gave Draco a lingering look, “He’s hoping to try out for the team next year, now that your captain- Montague, is it? Has graduated. Speculation is that you’d be the next reasonable choice for Captain.”
“Vincent did say you were first choice this past year for Captain,” Mr. Crabbe cleared his throat, taking a swig of his champagne, “You declined in favor of Montague?”
Draco’s mouth parted at the number of questions and revelations thrown his way while he was grappling with the fact that none of his Slytherin friends were going to make an appearance. It was only now he had wished to have concocted a plan to have a vat of Polyjuice potion readily available to him to sneak his own friends in. It had worked at Daphne's party hadn't it? Surely it couldn't have catastrophic consequences if he attempted it here.
Draco had barely raised a scallop to his mouth but paused in thought.
“I...” Draco composed himself, “I recognized that Montague was a better leader.”
“Well I hope Theo will be able to shape up this summer,” Mr. Nott winked in Draco's direction, nudging the idea into his head, “If he has a shot at all. He’s rather lanky for a Chaser but he is a hard worker.”
They all chuckled heartily while Draco barely cracked a smile. Every so often he’d glance over to his parents and noticed how eerily robotic they seemed going through the motions with nothing behind their eyes. Draco had barely finished his small portion of scallops when their plates disappeared.
“The second course is a Truffle and wild mushroom risotto,” His mother announced, before diving into polite conversation to the short fat wizard next to her, some Ministry worker Draco presumed.
Draco heard the chatter around him and he felt utterly out of place. It felt as foreign as staying at a stranger’s house. Hell, even Daphne’s Summer home felt more welcoming than Draco’s childhood home.
It was the eve of his Sixteeth Reception and it was exactly what he thought it would be.
Boring.
It was a hell of a lot of Deatheathers present to an awkward dinner party, and when their last course came around, Draco let out a sigh of relief knowing that this dullness would soon be over.
He broke the hard of a saffron infused Creme Brulee, spooning in the rich silky flavor into his mouth. Draco had to admit the only pleasure in this whole party was the food. He'd have to give credit to his mother for that. It was possibly the only redeeming part of his entire party.
“A toast!” His father cleared his throat, standing up with his cup full near the brim almost. Draco watched his father carefully as age started to wear on his sharp features, “For an outstanding son. I’m pleased to see you grow into a bright young man. I hope your future is what you make of it.”
His words were stale and lacked any emotion. It wasn’t that Draco questioned that his father loved him, there was just something off about the way he delivered it that caught Draco’s attention. Like his mind was a million miles away. Draco must admit he hadn’t thought much of what his father had been going through these past weeks.
He recalled how desperate he was planning his retrieval of the prophecy; it must have been hard to return empty handed to Voldemort.
Narcissa rose to her feet as well, distracting everyone else when Draco’s father knocked back more than half of the full wine glass.
“Gifts,” She smiled widely, scurrying off to fetch the boxes she had prepared.
Draco did the filial thing to do while his mother approached Sephina who had a two boxes in her arms. One rather flat one and the other long. Draco already knew the long one was his wand. His mother had taken his wand away from him the second they arrived at the manor.
With his own reasonably filled wine glass in his hand, Draco thanked his parents and the guest that were able to attend. He gave a speech about his great respect for his ancestors and the grand opportunity he had of carrying on the legacy of the House of Malfoy.
Yada-yada- yada .
He had the speech imprinted in his head from one of the muggle movies he had watched, he simply tweaked somethings here and there.
His parents presented him with his family heirloom, the first flat box. It was a rather old book of Malfoy family magic and spells, said to have recorded special familial magic dating back to the year three hundred.
And his wand.
The handle hand been changed to a rather sleek black stone handle. His mother beamed when she saw how impressed Draco was with the craftsmanship of the change. Not that his wand was bad before but now, there was a certain weighted balance that made it better to flourish.
Narcissa kissed his cheek hoping to come across lovingly, but Draco knew his mother and she felt performative. None of her actions came off as genuine to Draco.
“It’s obsidian,” She explained, “A powerful stone. It’s protective in nature and absorbs any negativity or illnesses.”
Draco pressed his lips together, "Could have used this before I got Kneazle Pox."
The entire table let out a polite hearty laugh. Draco didn't think it was that funny.
While the laughter died out, Lucius rose to his feet, clearing his throat. He reached into his breast pocket of his dressrobe and pulled out a rather tiny box. He nervously handled it as he crossed over to present Draco with another, surprising, gift.
“I present to you, my son, um- not an old heirloom but a new one, to start a new tradition in our house. A goblin metal ring, meant to store your heart and to gift it whenever you are ready to give it away, um, metaphorically speaking of course.” Lucius awkwardly laughed, handing a ring box to Draco. He flipped the top open to reveal a rather large simple band. Draco didn’t believe it would even fit him, until he slipped it on his right ring finger and then the ring shrunk comfortably to fit.
Draco gave his father a firm smile.
“Thank you.”
It was all very nice gifts. Draco was about to flip through the family spell book but his mother stopped him, shaking her head no. Nevertheless, Draco sat and waited for the dull conversations to fizzle out. He suppressed an obnoxious yawn begging to be let out.
His eyes kept sliding over at the doors, hoping to escape with some silly excuse like, he was tired and he’d like to sleep but for one reason or another, he was pulled into a small chat by each guest curious to his ambitions and his studies so far.
Time dragged on and his dinner party was beginning to wear him down. There were a few things Draco was looking forward to, for example tomorrow morning he planned on a nice walk to the nearest muggle town, a hamlet, that was about an hour away on foot.
East Knoyle.
He might have dubious reasons to stroll into a muggle town, perhaps a post office wouldn’t be so bad to visit. Draco had seen plenty in televisions shows, plus, Hermione explained how to use the muggle post.
She had an air of uncertainty that Draco would favor using the muggle ways to send a letter, but he was somewhat of a romantic he supposed. It wouldn’t be awful to use the muggle post. He already had his letter addressed to her written out, hidden in the desk in his room.
Draco was already imagining enjoying the fresh morning air while he listened to a new tape he discovered, Tears for Fears, he was really looking forward to listen to on his walk over to the post office.
In the midst of being lost in thought, the guests grew quiet as they filed out of the dining room without saying a single word.
Draco had been sipping on his wine, snapped out of his day dreams. He watched intrigue at the guest leaving. Draco whirled back to his parents who stared absentmindedly into their empty plates. A small fleeting hope filled him, begging that it was the end of the party. Draco placed his cup back down and waited a fully moment to speak.
“Is it over?” Draco asked, “May I be excused?”
His father shook his head, refusing to look at him directly. Lucius did stand up, clearing his throat as he offered his hand to his mother. Narcissa stood up, ignoring her husband as she gave Draco a tearful weary smile.
“Come Draco. We have arranged an honorable gift for you,” Lucius gulped, delight vacant from his face. Narcissa sent Lucius a sharp glare. There was a sudden heavy hand on Draco shoulders, gripping him tightly as to warn him to hurry up. Draco took the cue and stood up to join his father who motioned towards the doors, the same ones that the guest had just exited out of.
“What other gift could you possibly give me?” Draco twisted his face in thought. They had already gave him enough, one too many if he was being specific. Sephina quietly approached him, extending her thin arms to receive the family spell book to take to his room, “The wand is great, mum.”
Lucius gulped, his hand awkwardly on his son’s back, now ushering him into their grand foyer.
There was an immediate dread the second the doors reopened.
When Draco noticed that most of his father friends hadn’t left, he did a double take at his father.
It was the strangeness of it that made him pause in his tracks only to be pushed forceably forward by his father's guiding arm.
They were all spread out in a perfect circle just staring back, they were all masked and cloaked looking in his direction. It send an uncanny feeling down his spine.
A guttural throat humming began as Draco was slowly guided to the center of the circle.
His mother duck away into a shadowy corner hidden by a ceiling high pillar. Draco could sense she was collapsing on herself seeing the outline of her body now clinging on to herself.
Something was off.
“Well, well, well,” A voice rang out from up the grand stair case.
Bellatrix Lastrange, his aunt.
She held her arms out, wide, as she sauntered down each step with a manic smile on her small face. She pushed past the circle and approached Draco like she had been waiting for this moment for the entire night. She was not masked but she was cloaked in heavy robes for a summer evening.
Draco had no clue she had been invited.
The slow and low chants casted a heavy ambience as his aunt swiped her hand on his shoulders as if to primp and prime him to look his best. She then pinched his cheeks before giving him a good 'loving' smack.
“Happy belated birthday, my darling nephew. Hope we’re not too late for the festivities,” Bellatrix pouted, giving him a toying look, “It's been a few years hasn’t it Lucius? My, hasn’t he grown.”
Draco took a moment to response while Aunt Bellatrix circled around him, looking him up and down.
“Thank you, Aunt Bella.” He cleared his throat. There was something primitive that snapped in Draco. He felt his breathing begin to hitch and he forced himself to focus. His mind now building barriers around the most recent memories, stuffing Hermione into his heart in a hurry.
“The Cauldron,”Aunt Bellatrix sighed as if she was bored and waved over a man who carted in a large caldron. It glowed an odd green, fumes now filling the room in an intoxicating earthy smell. The gutteral chanting continued to reverberate around the foyer.
Another man, one who wasn’t cloaked like the others still singing, bowed to Draco.
“Pettigrew,” His father ordered with less command he had ever heard in his voice, “Call.”
His father joined the circle, now pulling over a mask over his broken face.
Draco stomach lurched as the man named Pettigrew shoved the sleeve of his cloak up and presented his dark mark. He took his wand and pressed the tip firm against his skin causing the serpent to wriggle around like there was something alive under the skin of his forearm. The sight was grotesque.
Draco whirled around to search for his mom. Her face was hidden but Draco could sense her palpable anger as she hid in the shadows curled up into herself. Draco at first thought that it was another strange family tradition he hadn’t a clue about but after seeing the Dark Mark, the pit of his stomach dropped.
Within the next breath he suddenly found himself in the worst nightmare possible. The stench of death and whispers of smoke filled the air as a figure began to solidify in front of him. The fear in Draco gripped him, almost disabling him, as he stood watching in horror as a dark wisp of smoke grew and morphed until a dark cloaked figure stepped out.
Lord Voldemort held himself proudly as he cursed the very floor he stepped on.
The stench of disease and rotting flesh filled Draco’s nose. He swallowed a mouthful of bile as his worst nightmare solidified in his reality.
He could feel himself breathing hard, panicking.
He looked towards his father for some answers but his mask hid his regret well.
“Father?” Draco called out quietly, “What-”
“My dear Lucius,” Voldemort’s voice hissed out in this weird amplified tone. It sent a ripple of nausea up Draco throat, “I hadn’t realized your boy has grown so much.”
“Yes, he has My Lord,” Lucius replied robotically.
“Now you know the circumstances of this trade.” Lord Voldemort step forward, stepped into the light, and that’s when Draco saw the horrible disgusting creature that was the Dark Lord. His skin looked thin and grayish with a slick sheen. His eyes brimming red and almost swollen with slits where his nose should have been.
Breathe, Draco reminded himself but it was hard to when the stench reeked and it only seemed like it was affecting him. It even felt like it was now seeping into his skin, staining him.
“For your failed sacrifice,” The Dark Lord began, “I will gladly take your son as suitable offer, Lucius.”
The thought of Cedric entered Draco mind and a swirl of pain and fear debilitated his train of thoughts. Perhaps Draco would soon join the Hufflepuff boy and they'd be able to talk about thier untimely deaths under the hand of Voldemort.
“An honor for our family, My Lord,” Bellatrix called out, proudly, “Draco has Black in him, a capable bloodline.”
Draco’s ear perked up at the smallest of sniffs where he recalled his mother stood.
“I don’t understand,” Draco began and held his breath when those fearsome eyes turned to him, “My Lord.”
Pettigrew, who had been tending to the cauldron, dipped a ladle into the potion.
"A chair, Lucius," Voldemort ordered.
There was an armchair that was conjured and knocked the back of Draco’s knees, causing him to fall into the seat.
“I’m not sure how much your father has shared with you my boy,” Voldemort began, “Bellatrix has informed me that it has only been a few days since you arrived from Hogwarts.”
Draco bowed his head in confirmation, fearing to make direct eye contact with the evil slits of his strange eyes.
“Your father has failed to inform you? Not the surprising considering how much he has failed me in more ways than I care to recognize.” Voldemort smiled wickedly, the sour odor of his breath now falling over Draco’s skin. He hadn’t realized how close the Dark Lord was now.
He forced himself to detach himself. Disassociate.
“As my faithful servant, he was given the great task of retrieving something valuable for me.”
Draco bowed, closing his eyes. He needed to protect himself.
Thankfully, Voldemort took it as a sign of submission and continued on.
“It is a guarantee that the Ministry will throw your father into Azkaban, as well all his partners, I’m afraid. Not that I'd have a problem breaking them out if I wanted to.” Voldemort tsked, feigning pity on his family’s inevitable punishment. Draco’s eyes flew over to his father who stood by, alone, without his faithful mother at his side.
“As you can see,” Lord Voldemort gestured around, “I am losing a lot of my best due to the failures of your father, so I do believe it is only fair to hold him accountable for it, wouldn’t you agree?”
Eyes were suddenly upon Draco who watch in horror as his reality developed right in front of him. There was something in his heart that was starting to fear the worst but he refused to let it be true. Because if it were, Draco didn’t know how he would be able to make it out alive if he ran.
“Yes,” Draco quietly answered suppressing a shiver from speaking to him directly. He tried his best to hide his frown by gluing his eyes low.
“Perfect,” Lord Voldemort turned to his Aunt for his wand and Pettigrew walked over to Voldemort to give him a goblet of the glowing potion, before bowing low, his nose nearly touching the floor. “Your father long ago once expressed how he long to raise a capable servant for me.”
Draco’s eyes fluttered shut.
This was worse than death.
“Draco Malfoy,” Lord Voldemort said like a haunting curse, “Are you willing to devote your life to me, serve me, as your Lord?”
This was it. He was being inducted. Draco had opened his eyes to face reality and goblet was near his trembling lips. He glanced over his masked father who gave one single nod. Draco looked towards his mother who had her hands slapped over her mouth and her eyes squeezed shut. She gave the smallest of nods as well.
“Yes,” Draco answered.
“Thank a sip Draco.” His father's voice instructed just as the goblet tilted into his mouth.
He did so, without questioning it, all sense of hope leaving his body the moment a powerful taste of dirt and sludge stung his lips. It felt like he was infecting his body, introducing it to the filth of evil as it corrupted his very veins and destroyed his heart further, threatening to release the only thing keeping him sane.
His aunt howled in celebration and Draco could sense that those in a circle watching him visibly relaxed, as if their life had been dependent on his answer. The potion was kicking in quickly feeling like too many shots of fire whiskey. Draco’s eyes began to roll back and he resisted. He couldn’t let his guard down. Not in front of Lord Voldemort. If he found out only a fraction of his treacherous past, it would be certain death for him and his family.
Thankfully the potion was nothing but a powerful numbing potion. Draco could conclude that much when his father stepped up had shoved the sleeve of Draco’s white dress robe to present Draco’s arm to Voldemort.
His world slowed. Voldemort raised his wand and when the tip pressed onto his skin, Draco could feel his body jerking around, his muscle spasming with the jolts of being marked. Although he couldn’t feel the pain, Draco was held down by not only his father but the other Death Eaters who were facing the same punishment as his father.
Draco’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t hear his own screams leaving his mouth. His ears were hot and buzzing with numbness. Through glassy eyes he could see black thin lines etching themselves into his pale skin, like someone with a hot knife was carving out an intricate design. Tears stung his vision as he caught his breath.
It felt like an eternity but it was over. He could tell people were talking around him but he couldn’t understand.
Once the wand had released him, Draco slumped back into the armchair, nearly collapsing into the floor. He took a deep breath and assessed himself. Apart from the pain he was starting to feel on his arm, his mind felt untouched. He didn’t know how to explain but it felt relatively clean compared to the filth that was now engraved into his arm.
Lord Voldemort hadn’t bother to search through his memories. Draco was sure that he would have left a stain in his head if he had entered. He could feel the skin where Voldemort had touched him and his foul hold on Draco’s arm made it feel cursed.
Draco eyes fluttered open and shut, feeling like he was jumping through time. He was hanging by a thread on his seat one moment, and the next he was on the floor. Then Draco’s mother was cradling him on her lap, silently crying.
Then another potion.
Draco tried to refuse but even with a drop of the potion they forced him to take gave him the mind clarity to have more focus on what was going on. Unfortunately, that also meant that the searing pain of the Dark Mark was now burning on his arm.
“Allow me to the be the first to welcome you Draco,” Voldemort gestured with his arms out, “As our new defender to the better side. A Deatheater.”
The sense of betrayal filled his veins, biting his own cheeks to stop himself from tearing up. This is not what Draco imagined. His chances of a different life were now dim and distant. It was as if fate had seen him work meticulously at changing his path and decidedly dragged him back to what was rightfully meant to be.
His heart screamed.
Draco didn’t want this.
He could tell by his mother’s tight grip, she didn’t want this either. All her work, everything she had hidden from his father, to make sure Draco was kept away from this life was now dismantled and it was all his father’s fault.
Or had it?
Draco close his eyes.
Was it not Draco who actively worked against his own father’s favor? He had aided Harry Potter to stop his own father from gaining that prophecy, something he had been tasked with.
If it wasn’t for Draco extensive research, none of them would have the full understanding of the layout. He wouldn’t have given them the confidence to march into the Ministry and then face the most bewildering battle none of them could remember.
Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if Voldemort had gained the prophecy, then maybe his father wouldn't have been on the chopping block once again and Draco...
Draco found a bit of clarity when he felt that dying hope inside him, like a small heartbeat of a pixie.
“You don’t want your father to stay in Azkaban, do you?” Voldemort asked and Draco realized he was talking to him directly. Still in his mother’s arms his strained to sit up, his head lolling to the side.
“No,” He gulped the foul stench, “My Lord.”
The grin spreading across Voldemort’s face revealed what looked like yellow rotting teeth.
“Then for his freedom and all those who served under him,” Voldemort began, pointing at every single masked Deatheater in the circle. They all took to their knees in mercy, “I request a favor from you.”
Draco could feel his body shaking but it wasn’t him, it was his mother who had been craddling him. She kneeled next to Draco her side pressed against his and her head bowed, withholding the silent cries rocking through her body.
“It is an honor Sissy!” Bellatrix shouted out, noticing her sister on the floor.
“Yes, My Lord,” Draco said finally having enough strength to look up at the figure that was slowly closing in on him. Draco noticed how his revolting feet almost left a stain of filth on their checkered marbled floors.
“In exchanged for their freedom,” He repeated, “I need a life.”
Draco stared.
“Dumbledore’s.”
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Draco,
Summer is halfway done! I can’t believe it. It feels like it’s flying by, doesn’t it?
I suspect that we’ll be receiving our letters from Hogwarts soon. I’ve feel a bit
silly admitting this in a letter but I’m looking forward to our Sixth Year. It
shouldn’t be as tough as OWLs but academically fulfilling, I hope. I haven’t
heard from you yet. You must be busy. I'm not sure if I forgot if you told me
what your plans for the summer were. I’m still suffering through Calculus. It’s
a kind of arithmancy for muggles. I reckon my parents thought it was the only
class I can take where I can’t use magic to do my homework. I’ve explained
more times than I care to admit, that I’m not allowed magic outside of Hogwarts
They’re quite funny, aren’t they?
Anyways, I’m looking forward to reading about your summer so far. I can’t even
imagine what a summer at the Malfoy’s is like. It’s a shame that we haven’t been
taught apparition yet. It would be cool to set up a day and time to pop into your
corner of the world and share a sunny afternoon together. Maybe a movie?
There's a new movie out about tornados. I think it would be fun to go if it wasn’t
for the distance. I wouldn’t mind grabbing a bus to your area but my parents will
notice the obvious absence if I’m gone the whole day. Shame.
Write back soon, you prick. I’m dying to hear from you.
xo
H
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
“Again.”
Draco’s body flopped to the ground in a dull thud. Sweat had matted his hair down and his breath was staggered as he tried to remember how to breathe.
“Stupid lessons they teach you at school,” His aunt huffed as she walked around him, clearly irritated with him, “Transfiguration and Charms... it’s no wonder you’re so bloody inept.”
Bellatrix’s footsteps echoed towards him and while Draco was withering on the floor he jolted at the contact of a soft kick at his leg.
“Get up.”
Draco, who once feared for his life, now wished for death.
“Get. Up.” She ordered again and not a second later she had become frustrated, “Levicorpus!”
Draco’s body rose to his feet like a limp marionette doll. Once he had his weight on his toes, Draco struggled and stumbled around to find his footing. Aunt Bellatrix huffed in annoyance once more, crossing her arms as she studied him.
“You’re far too soft.” She frowned, “The Dark Lord won’t be pleased to hear about it.”
Draco almost wanted to beg her to not mention it to him. He could improve. He could do it if only she changed who he was practicing on.
Draco simply didn’t want to use their houseelves as targets. Something inside him tore at his heart every time Bellatrix used them to demonstrate or when he had to direct a curse at them.
Draco’s eyes flicked over to a frightened looking houseelf, one that had been helping him so much throughout the years.
Sephina’s big ears had folded over themselves in fear, she stood in the corner watching him attempt to torture a fellow houseelf. She hunched down, anticipating the grueling pain her own friend was about to endure.
It was like he betrayed her. He had freed her after the biggest act of service he had asked of her and he still asked her to stick around the Manor so his parents would question her absence. Draco regretted it, doubting his parents would be able to single out Sephina from the staff of some fifty odd houseelf staff they had.
Worse yet, it was only a matter of time before his aunt discovered that Sephina was the only houseelf Draco didn’t have the heart to even raise his wand at.
Draco couldn’t possibly think of how he would use the dark hexes and jinxes that his Aunt had taught him. None of it would never be allowed to be mentioned in Hogwarts and, yet, here he was learning a hex that made skin melt off a body from the family book of spells.
Properly named, The House of Malfoy: The Arcana.
That was one spell his Aunt particularly loved to use.
"It's not as good as the Black Family spell book, but it'll do," She sighed, peering into the ancient book.
The elf had hissed in pain and then fainted seeing its own skin pooled by its feet staring back at him. It was one of the nicer curses his Aunt pushed him to perform amongst the bigger Unforgivable Curses.
After a embarrassingly poor attempt of the Cruciatus Curse, his aunt nearly lost it on him.
“If you don’t mean it,” She pointed her wand at him, not to inflict pain on him but to make a point, “The spell will fail!”
Draco, finally finding a bit of strength to respond, snapped back, “But, I hit my target.”
The third elf, who had been cowering in the corner after being blasted back, was now trembling, hoping that Bellatrix wouldn't turn her wand on him. Meanwhile Sephina inched over to the second elf, who was collapse on the floor, bright pink muscles twitching in the stale air. Draco wanted to get this lesson over with to tend to the skinless elf with the help of Sephina who couldn’t look him straight in the eye. Draco didn't blame Sephina. He had become something she had always feared; one of them.
Aunt Bellatrix glanced at Sephina and grinned widely, “Well that’s the best part! These little filths have a different kind of magic, don’t they? It’s like a shield of protection. If you could master your magic on them, then people are much much easier!”
Bellatrix pointed a wand at the elf, sending a bloodcurdling screech towards the third shaking elf. It immediately fell to the floor of his room, withering in pain. Draco stared in horror.
“Do it Draco!” His aunt commanded. He hesitated for too long.
“DO IT!”
Losing all patience, Bellatrix turned her wand on her own nephew and before Draco could process it, there was a blinding light of pain that fill his eyes. It seared his insides and scorched his skin as agonizing screams tore at his vocal cords.
That had been his punishment.
Anytime he took pause in thinking, his own Aunt tortured him.
His mother fought her own sister for a week before she gave up. Aunt Bellatrix insisted lessons were needed to train Draco to be the best Deatheater as well as to exercise his curses. None of the Unforgivable curses are easily performed.
It takes intent.
Something Draco couldn’t find in his heart to do, and his Aunt was fully aware of this flaw.
“I blame your bloody father,” Bellatrix sneered, “Don’t know how your mother ended up with such a soft, spineless husband. But we mustn’t blame ourselves Draco, it isn’t your fault your precious Black blood is tainted. Don’t you fret. Auntie will fix that right up. There is still some good left in you.”
Good , Draco questioned. His eyes filled with bitter tears. There was something definitely tainted in him and it wasn’t his blood. It was the touch of the dark that infected his being, forced into a road he did not chose.
He did not want this.
The more Draco fought against it the more he was backed into a corner, with nothing but his mental barriers building layers upon layers to keep his sanity intact.
Bellatrix Lestrange spent weeks torturing her own nephew, while his parents withered away. His father was carted off to Azkaban about a month into Draco’s summer. Draco caged himself in his room, refusing to come out and say goodbye to his father.
He felt no pity towards him. Not when his own actions had pushed Draco straight into the life his mother worked hard to circumvent. Draco knew his father was riddled with guilt.
He’d see it in his eyes every morning for Breakfast when Draco was forced to eat as a family, as his weary mother put it.
Draco simply didn't have the heart to forgive him.
His father remained speechless while Bellatrix rambled on and on about her progress on Draco before he left for Azkaban. It made for awkward meal times when nobody but his aunt spoke.
“Eat, love,” His mother would beg.
Draco was hungry but he simply refused to give into the whims of his parents now. Besides, it wasn’t like he actually skipped his meals. Once dismissed, Draco would storm into his room where Sephina had a full layout of Breakfast ready for him.
Draco would scarf down as much as possible before his aunt came around.
Bellatrix noticed, of course, and took it upon herself to educate how defiance only impeded his progress. She also pounded the idea in Draco’s head that it was all Harry’s fault that his family had been fractured.
Yes...
No.
It was Draco fault for allowing all of this to happen.
If he would have been smarter or- or maybe more concerned about his family he would have seen the flaws in their ideas. Instead of over correcting them, foolishly chasing after a muggle born for years, he could have save them the trouble of needing them to rejoin Voldemort’s side.
Draco could have found a way to make them truly neutral like Daphne’s family...
Draco body jerked, a wave of blinding pain as his Aunt found something displeasing about the way he casted a hex towards a houseelf.
“CISSY!” She bellowed out, “I’m growing concerned!”
She stepped over his limp body and stormed out of his room, as hot fat tears gather in his eyes.
He was concerned too.
How was it even possible to expect him to kill the greatest wizard of their time when he could barely harm a houseelf?
His family had gambled a dangerous hand in Voldemort’s game and this was their retribution.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
“He’s just a boy.” Narcissa begged, hopeless to have tasked Severus with yet another favor.
Narcissa had hoped that by leading Draco on the right path would eventually lead him away from the dark arts but still uphold the blood ideals they hoped Snape had reinforced in Draco.
That was the whole point of lending her son out to him all these summers.
Of course, Narcissa didn’t expect the return of the Dark Lord nor her husband's further involvement. It nearly destroyed her when the proposition was brought up by Lucius to offer their one and only son to Lord Voldemort.
Well, it wasn’t really a proposal. It was more like a requirement if they all wanted to live.
“If we don’t offer him something of equal value, or something he deems fit,” Lucius said on his knees a day before Draco’s arrival, “He will kill us all. Of that I am certain.”
Narcissa nearly wanted to kill her own husband but she regrettably loved him so much so, if the opportunity presented itself to save all her family, she was willing to go down that route.
It pained her to see Draco withering in pain, receiving the darkmark. She hadn’t been privy to the information of what the Dark Lord wanted in exchange to Lucius mistakes and freedom from Azkaban, but the moment he instructed Draco with his mission, Narcissa knew it was mean to fail.
Voldemort had set their entire family up for failure and she was not going to allow that to happen.
She had to remember this was all because of Lucius's poor decisions. Nothing Draco could have done would have prepared him for this.
Draco could have been the perfect pureblooded boy, faithful to the ideals of his father, dedicated to the Dark Lord, and he would have still come up short in his task to kill Dumbledore.
It was the lion and the lamb.
She needed Snape’s help.
It had been easy to black mail him before but she didn't have much on Snape now.
She knew of her.
Narcissa had been Head Girl as a Seventh Year, watching over the young Slytherins trample over each other and survive their tumultuous beginnings at Hogwarts. It hadn’t escaped her curiosity that Snape was always at the will and call of a certain muggle born, Lily Evans.
She had taken points from Severus for helping this odd girl navigate their world, but Severus always somehow figured out ways to bring in double the house points he had lost.
Narcissa turned to target Lily Evans and that’s when Severus drew the line, fighting back with her as a defiant Second Year. It was curious, almost peculiar that Narcissa started to sense this wasn’t just a loving friendship.
Severus fancied this muggle born witch.
It was the oddest thing she had ever witnessed. Sure, Half bloods had the strangest whims but for one being in Slytherin and pining after a muggle... it was nearly unheard of.
She watch them like a hawk, at first disgusted at the thought of liking a mudblood but then grew fascinated with the pair.
A strange thing formed in Narcissa that she almost rooted for them, only because the Gryffindors in Snape’s year were terribly annoying. It would kill their spirits if the most popular girl in their year was snagged by someone worthy of such intelligence.
Narcissa’s adolescent musings somehow ended up being spot on.
When it came time that Voldemort targeted Lily Potter to kill their son, Narcissa watched Snape closely. She had approached him long before Draco was born, while in the height of Voldemort's reign. Lucius was going up in rank along with Snape and naturally, every so often, Lucius would invite Severus over for dinner to get to know Voldemorts newest prodigy .
It had been almost eight years since she last saw Severus Snape at Hogwarts and something clicked in Narcissa's head. He had grown, obviously but his aura had changed and it was palpable and recognizable.
She recognized his talent because it felt like a cage around Severus. Legilimens felt that way to Narcissa. Not that she was one. She was able to do it simply because her father was a gifted one too, but she had a rather different gift.
It was a form of legilimens of a different flavor as her late father like to call it. It wasn’t like Narcissa can jump into the minds of others and see the minds of others clearly as Snape could. She didn’t need the magic. Narcissa simply felt the aura around people and sense with accuracy the feel of their thoughts.
Sentamens, her late father told her once. The ability to feel and interpret the thoughts and emotions of others.
Deception felt gritty.
Happiness tickled, like rays of sun.
Betrayal left a sour taste.
And Love, well, it varied. It could be buried and held deeply in their core and Narcissa could still sense the overwhelmingly depth of a flowing river as large and wide as an ocean. Heartbreak was a sharp bitter dunk in icy waters and it was what Snape carried.
And it worried Narcissa that her son carried that as well.
What could her son's heart be aching for?
It was this very gift she was able to convince Snape of helping her because after years of Lily's death, Narcissa still sensed it in him. His unwavering love. He had shot through her mind and figured her out immediately when Narcissa approached him once more after Draco's first year.
The words in Draco constant letter's updating his life at Hogwarts concerned Narcissa. Even in Draco's writing, Narcissa sensed the turmoil of obsession he had for the muggleborns. It had concerned her when Draco was growing up but she chalked it off to his insistent curiosity and constant loneliness.
She felt that in him too.
But that obsession and interest in that... Hermione, was it? It felt very much like how Snape watched over Lily Evans as children. Severus buried relationship with Lily gave way to time in Narcissa memory but when those same peculiarities arose in her son, Narcissa was slapped with the reality of Snape's own path. He was the only one who could relate.
"You're a Sentamens?" Snape gave her a curious look once a young First Year Draco had gotten up to order a slice of lemon cake to snack on. They sat there as a curious pair in the middle of Eli's Elixir Emporium. Snape had only agreed to meet after a lengthy owl letter begging for his time. He had thought it was simply a matter of academics Narcissa was worried about.
"I am," Narcissa gave him a single nod of confirmation.
Severus Snape glanced over to his student who had just finished his first year at Hogwarts.
"And what do you sense in your son?"
Narcissa had to choose her words carefully.
"Exactly what I had sense in you concerning Lily Evans."
It was then Snape realized some one else who had known his deepest secrets all along especially after Lily’s death. Narcissa did have to commend him on his performance. Severus was a particularly good actor if he was able to fool one of the greatest Wizards of their time.
It couldn’t have been easy to watch his first love be murdered by the person he served. Narcissa needed to know if Draco was going down his path, she needed his gifts to hav ehim report back to her.
She could sense his emotions, but Snape could see his mind.
She had approached Severus Snape in a similar way she had now.
Begging. Almost on her knees, so he could protect Draco.
Maybe he’d put him on a straight path. Or maybe Severus would find a way to protect him better than she could.
“You should be honored, ‘Cissy, as should Draco!” Bellatrix huffed, annoyed of having to trail behind her sister who was seeking out the assistance of Severus Snape.
They sat across from each other as they had many times before, this time in stale silence. It was painful for Narcissa. She couldn't exactly read Severus as she once could before. It was the many reasons she kept her secret to herself. Sentamens were easily blocked if the person was aware of it.
But she had to expose her secrets in order to reveal Snape's secrets as well. It was the fairest of exchanges.
The only difference now is that she has nothing to hold against him. What use is it to reveal his love for Lily when she is dead?
“I cannot change the Dark Lord’s mind, but it would be possible to help Draco.” Snape said, nervously gripping on to the cup in his hand. It was the only indicator that showed he was apprehensive. His face was calm and collected.
Bellatrix paced around, still in disbelief that Severus had knowledge of the great task that Draco needed to do.
“I’ve helped him plenty already!” Bellatrix rolled her eyes, “What could Snape possibly offer that I couldn’t sister?”
Snape, unwilling to be looked down upon, cocked his head to the side an inch.
“I don’t know, perhaps, an eye inside the castle? Insight to Dumbledore’s activities, and perhaps the only access to the castle if you guide Draco properly.” Snape darted his gaze to Narcissa.
A tinge of hopelessness flashed in his eyes.
Narcissa didn't need her Sentamency to see the change in his eyes. She had observed him more than enough to see right through him other than Albus Dumbledore.
“Make the unbreakable vow,” Bellatrix squinted at the pair suspiciously.
And they did.
Soon after Bellatrix remained unsatisfied, even with the unbreakable vow that she began to press Snape on how he thought best to aid Draco on his task.
Snape plopped down on his own armchair, his own faith sealed in place.
“I have it on good authority of a pair of vanishing cabine-”
Bellatrix groaned and flopped on his couch, placing her dirty boots on his coffee table.
“Oh please,” Bellatrix groaned out, “There’s only one at Borgin’s. That’s your big plan? Wouldn’t you need to find the other one? How long will that take?”
Snape’s eyes were fixated on her boots. With a swift flick of his wand, Bellatrix’s feet slammed into the ground.
“As a matter of fact,” Snape exchanged looks between both women. One woefully underwhelmed with him and the other hanging on to every single word he spoke, “I am certain of the location of its pair.”
Bellatrix snorted, “Bullshit.”
“I’ll have you know that it is conveniently located in Hogwarts.” Snape snapped his attention over to Narcissa who closed her eyes in relief.
“But I’ll have you know,” Snape began once more, “The connection between the vanishing cabinets is severed. Draco will need to find a way to mend it.”
Bellatrix rolled her eyes, “Why don’t you just do it for him, then?”
“And deny Draco the opportunity to serve the Dark Lord with his own achievements?” Snape snapped back, “I think not.”
“I trust you Severus,” Narcissa spoke up, “You said one was at Borgin’s, correct?”
“Absolutely,” He confirmed.
“How certain are you that it’s twin is residing at Hogwarts?” Narcissa asked.
“I bet my life on it,” Snape said, glowering, "Didn't I?"
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Draco,
There’s two more weeks left before September. I feel like I should be looking
forward to school but, I don’t know, this time around I’m feeling much more
apprehensive than I did as a first year...
You were right about the library books. I wasn’t able to get enough information.
out of them before they popped away but I have an inkling on what to look for
once we are back at school. Tonks is helping me find books on the topic. I gave
her a list of wizards and published resources that were annotated in the back of
the books I took. I hope we can find something of worth.
I hope your summer has been splendid so far. I barely passed my summer course.
You’ll be surprised that was not the first in class. Fourth, actually. It’s not so.
bad but not the best. Humbling to say the least. Our family trip got my mind off
it. I felt pretty crummy about it if I'm honest.
My parents and I just came back from cycling in Dartmoor. It was lovely. I took
a few polaroids pictures to share. I sent a photo to both Ron and Harry. Ron.
doesn’t see the big deal about a few stacked boulders, nor does he care for photos
that don't move. I thought maybe you'd like to have one too.
I’m assuming you’ll be heading to Diagon Alley soon. I got my letter already. It's a
secret but McGonagal says that I'll most likely be Head Girl next year. Wouldn't it
be a laugh if your award Head Boy? I guess we'll have to work hard as Prefects this
year if we want that to happen. Speaking of Diagon Alley, what day will you go? I'll
be going on August 30th with Ron and Harry. The Twins opened their shop, did
you hear?
I know it'll be nearly impossible to chat if your mum is around but it would be nice
to see you! You can even pretend to insult me if it makes your mother happy.
I heard about your father. I can only imagine how confusing it must all feel. I hope
you're not blaming yourself. Your parents' mistakes are not yours to bare.
Hope you are doing well. Write please!
xo
H
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Over the weeks, Draco could feel himself harden.
His mental walls were built up and reinforced over and over again after every punishment he received from his aunt. She remained unsatisfied with his progress. Every Unforgivable Curse that Draco hurled at the houseelves did nothing but tickle them with the Cruciatus Curse, and Merlin forbid that the Killing Curse be performed because it only triggered Bellatrix’s rage.
“YOU ARE A BLACK!” Bellatrix shouted at him, “NOT BY NAME BUT BY BLOOD! YOU WILL NOT DISGRACE THE ANCIENT MAGIC THAT RUNS THROUGH YOUR VERY VEINS! CRUCIO!”
Searing white hot pain filled Draco’s eyes, collapsing down to the ground as the trembles of uncontrollable muscle jerks shook his body. The Houseelf shoved himself into the corner of Draco’s room, watching in horror. There was a single cut, sliced on its cheek from Draco’s attempt of the Killing Curse.
It was starting to become obvious that Draco didn’t have the heart or the will to perform any of these curses to the fullest. Bellatrix took it upon herself to build up Draco in any way she could.
She even confiscated his wand and made him do strenuous physical work until he earn the privilege to gain access to his wand again.
His days were filled with strenuous physical activity that made Bellatrix’s curses a bit more bearable to endure, though, Draco would never let her know. She did anything to make Draco a bit more ruthless.
She had Draco wake up early in the morning to run to and from the East Knoyle, the small village he once thought would be nice to visit.
Draco did pull ups on his broom, tearing the muscles in his arms over and over again. It was hard to be won’t lie, but it was the only way he was able to earn permission to fly and practice a bit for quidditch.
“Quidditch?” Bellatrix snorted, “Who has time for that stupid sport when you have more important things to do?”
Draco was scarfing down second plates after his Aunt had him box a dummy so he could release some anger out of him. The hope was that if he could channel his anger through physical means, Draco would eventually be able to manifest it through his magic.
He realized the more the summer progressed and the harder his aunt pushed him, he felt hungrier. There was a few days where that hunger back fired on Draco, and he lost his lunch a few times when his aunt’s punishments were too harsh.
But the more he gained weight, gained muscle, he could bear the punishments a bit more than before.
His mother glanced at her sister and then to Draco, concerned that he had lost his table manners.
“He still needs a semblance of a normal school life.” Narcissa pointed out, "What of his studies? He's been accepted into all his advance courses. I received his Hogwarts letter a few days ago."
Draco perked up.
“Normal?” Bellatrix snorted, “Draco is anything but normal! He will be exceptional! He has been chosen for a great task, no normal child would come close to even attempt!”
There was a flash of a cruel reminder in Narcissa’s eyes. It wasn’t that she didn’t think Draco was extraordinary. He was her darling son, after all. It was the simple idea that Bellatrix has just voiced our her concern.
No normal child would come close to even attempt.
He was a child.
Her child.
Yes, he had grown into a strapping young man but he was still young and foolish, given the task that she plainly saw as Voldemort’s punishment.
“How are your lessons going then?” Narcissa asked, eyeing her half-eaten plate. She felt the dull ache of her stomach protesting in hunger but had no will to eat anything.
“Splendid,” Bellatrix sighed out. One of Draco’s eyebrows ticked up. Narcissa tilted her head to the side, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Draco wouldn’t exactly describe his lessons as going splendid or even close to mediocre, but it was quite bold of Bellatrix to lie to his mother.
Especially when his aunt was manic and now panicking that she hadn’t made much progress with Draco. None of his Unforgivable Curses were powerful, his other curses were juvenile at best. The screams of Draco's punishments were sure to reverberate throughout the manor, however, the way his mother was blank made it seem like she had no idea what her own sister was doing to him.
His mother had no clue.
She had chosen people to properly mold Draco, hasn’t she? From the early tutors, down to Snape to keep him in tip top shape. It was his own mother that wanted him to avoid this path and somehow still found that the path led him straight down the Deatheater pipeline.
The tattoo itched uncomfortably under his hoodie.
As clueless as his mother was, both Snape and Bellatrix lied to her face.
Snape assured her that he was keeping an eye on Draco so that he wouldn’t fall astray and reinforce their beliefs while she wasn’t around.
Bellatrix was twisting the truth that Draco was exceptional. Draco was not. He was intelligent and strong but Deatheater he was not. The cruelty that plagued him in his first and second year was long gone and his own family hadn’t realized it.
Because he had been nurtured so long out of their grasp.
“Right.” Narcissa sniffed, “I’ve arranged a visit to Borgin and Burkes. I think there is something quite useful for you to have Draco.”
Bellatrix perked up, “I wish to go-”
“No,” Narcissa interjected, “The Dark Lord maybe back but the Ministry is still finding any excuse to throw you back into Azkaban. May I remind you, you are still a fugitive.”
Aunt Bellatrix stuck her nose up, “That can be pardoned. If Dumbledore is pushing for the pardon of our filthy blood traitor cousin, then I’m sure once we take over, I’ll be fine.”
“Sirus is dead,” Narcissa hissed out, as if it made any difference to Bellatrix, "There is no forgiveness for those sentenced to Azkaban. It's a stain in their reputation, no matter who defends them."
Draco’s hunger disappeared upon the mentioning of Sirius Black.
A part of Draco blame himself for it. If there was only a way he could remember if there was something more he could have done, Draco would love to correct something, even if it was impossible to reverse death.
“May I be excused?” Draco cleared his throat, dabbing the napkin at the corner of his mouth. Narcissa glanced over at Draco and let out a sigh.
“No,” Bellatrix jumped in.
“Yes,” Narcissa argued back, “Let him rest sister. He’ll be returning to Hogwarts in a week.”
“Which means that time is running out!”
“How so?” His mother pushed her plate out, signaling she was done as well, “If he’s doing as good as you claim, then he should be fine.”
“To plan!” Bellatrix blurted out; her eyes widened.
“The plan has been set. It will be explained tomorrow at Borgin and Burke’s,” Narcissa sighed, rising to her feet throwing her napkin on her unfinished plate, “You've given glowing reviews on Draco's progress, then I suppose there is nothing more to teach him, is there Bella?"
His mother placed her hands on the table and leaned forward, challenging her sister. It was the first hint Draco caught that his mother wasn't completely in the dark about his Aunt's lies."
"Now if you excuse me, I’ll be sending an owl to Madam Malkins. I need her to prepare a huge order for you, Draco.”
Draco perked up, “Madam Malk- the seamstress?”
He had enough school robes.
Narcissa flashed over to him, letting out a sneer of disapproval at her own son, “None of your proper clothes are fitting, anymore, are they? Disgrace that you are wearing those muggle clothes that Snape had you wear during the summers. I’ll be sure she has a full wardrobe ready for you within three days, we’ll go to Diagon Alley, then. You have school supplies to get anyways.”
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Draco,
I don't think you received my last letter about Diagon Alley on time. I suppose I’ll be
seeing you at King’s Cross then? We should get a compartment together to catch up!
If you want to, that is...
In spite of your silence this summer, I actually have plenty to share. Thanks to Tonks,
I was able to order a rather compelling memory book thanks to her recommendation.
I won’t lie. I was really looking forward to your correspondence this summer. I’m
starting to believe Harry was right about men not bothering to write. Was I too
forward? I feel a bit silly now.
Nevertheless, I’d like to run a few ideas by you that have already caught my eye in this
book. I think you'll find it interesting. Maybe we can take the first patrol together on.
our first night back? That’ll give us more time to chat.
See you soon!
H