The Dark Mark
Draco felt sick, he knew, realistically this was punishment for his father, not him, but he must have done something to deserve this.
Oh wait, he had. This was karma.
The consequence of his arrogance. Every time he had looked down on someone else, every harsh word, every rebuff. It all led to this.
He stumbled his way through the manor, hallways seeming longer and larger, like he was a kid again, swallowed by a house that felt bigger than the rest of the world combined. His foot caught the edge of a rug and he went down hard, his wrist and shoulder hitting the ground with a sickening crack. He shook with the aftershocks of pain, still twitching occasionally. It had hurt worse than any crucio he'd ever experienced. It felt like his mind was being razed, torn apart under the greedy fingers of a madman. Ice picks still jabbed through his skull, poking into his eyes and making every minute shift risk for nausea. His bones seemed to pull from one another, repelling like magnets, and he felt as if his skin would slough off his bones, leavinging nothing but a pile of mush and calcium. Nothing for his family to bury except the snake burned into his forearm.
Every thought he'd had, laid bare. Every desire, every need, every whim, subject to judgment. He could feel the Dark Lord pause on his Memories of Potter, taking special care to dissect every move the golden boy made. Every mean comment he, Pansy, and Blaise-
Blaise.
Oh god. Blaise.
He needed to warn him. Now.
With a goal in mind, he gathered his strength. He fell twice more before he was able to stand, leaning heavily against the wall. He wiped at his face, smearing the blood he knew was pouring from both his eyes and nose. His feet dragged, and it took more than double the time it usually took for him to reach his room, but he made it in one piece, without seeing any death eaters.
Any other death eaters, his mind whispered.
He crashed into the shelf in his haste to reach the charmed book, slamming his shoulder again. He let out a hiss of pain, and spared a moment to mourn the magic he would have to use to heal it properly after this. He threw books off the shelf wildly in his effort to get to the one he needed.
When he found it, he ripped it open to a random page, uncaring of the blood dripping onto it, he would need it anyway, to alert Blaise immediately.
'You need to hide. Now. Tell Pansy. I'm sorry.' He scribbled the words as quickly as possible, he and Balsie had been sending notes this way for years, he didn't need to worry about a silly thing like handwriting, not with Blaise, never with Blaise. He barely waited for the reply before sprawling his meager explanation.
'Draco? Is that blood? Are you alright?'
'He knows. I'm sorry.'
He slammed the book closed, casting a shrinking charm on it and shoving it into his robe pocket. He needed to plan, he couldn't stay. Couldn't let Blaise or Pansy get sucked into his mess.
He had been so careful. All the posturing, all the cold fronts, all the times he'd ignored his friends in public, because Malfoy's didn't have weakness. A Malfoy had himself and his family, that was it. That was all he was allowed. To have a soft spot, even for his fiancé, was suicide.
He was suddenly hit with another spasm, causing him to fall to his knees, and the sharp pain reminded him of what was at risk. He needed to slow down.
Well. What he needed right now was some healing potions and enough calming droughts to sedate a small elephant, but he digressed. One goal at a time.
He would take his own advice, lay low and be a good little pet to the Dark Lord, for however long his twisted interest lasted. He needed to survive, if not for himself, then for Blaise and Pansy. He began to make his way to the bathroom.
He needed to get ready for dinner.
—-----------------
Draco was wearing his second best robes. He would not be made out as some sniveling boy, too cowardly to show his face. He walked into the dinning room with his head held high, past Severus to greet his parents, leaning down to kiss his mothers cheek. He gracefully ignored their surprised and concerned looks. Every step felt like nails being driven into his heels, and the throbbing in his head hadn't let up for a moment. When he finally sat, it took all of his effort to keep from sighing in relief. He relaxed back in his chair as much as proprietary allowed, draping himself as he would at any other family meal. He felt something drip onto his top lip, and reached his hand up. It came away bloody. Well, so much for manners, he dabbed his nose with his napkin and picked up his fork.
"Draco, dear, we weren't expecting you." His mother pointedly looked at his napkin, the perfect white stained with red flowers of blood.
He looked her in the eye, uncaring of the blood he could feel dripping from his nose down his lips and onto his chin, “Can't imagine why, mother. Pass the peas, if you would, Severus.” His godfather and longtime tutor stared at him for a long moment. His gaze just as unnerving and piercing as usual, before slowly picking up the crystal bowl and setting it in front of him.
“Thank you.” He lifted his fork again and began to eat, mechanically shoving food into his mouth. In truth he had absolutely no appetite, but he would not let a single weakness poke through.
He would not be beaten by someone without even a nose to call his own.
—--------------
Harry was trying and failing to balance a spoon on his nose when Snape apperated in. The loud crack startled him enough he actually fell out of his chair, much to Sirius’ delight. Remus tried to scold him, but he was holding down a smile of his own, so the chastisement was lackluster at best. Their mood dropped however, when Snape billowed into the room, jerking his head at Remus. Harry couldn't read his expression, but the adults could, if the way they scrambled to stand said anything. Snape stopped Sirius with a withering look.
“Stay with the boy.” And with that he swept out of the room. Remus gave Sirius an apologetic look, but hurried out after him. Harry stared after them, only understanding something important must be happening. He half wanted to go and get the extendable ears, but couldn't with Sirius next to him.
He tried the next best thing, Sirius was the one person he could trust to at least tell him if he was withholding information. “What was that.”
Sirius looked grave, “Something's happened. Something bad.” Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “Obviously. I mean-” he waved his hand, “what was that.”
The corner of Sirius’ mouth quirked up, “You know I’ll tell you when I know, but it might also be nothing. Snivellus is known for his dramatics.” He leaned back, practically lounging in his chair. He was right, Sirius had fought for Harry to be a part of the Order meetings, even though several others had loudly protested against it, Mrs. Weasley included. He had argued he would have to live everything they talked about anyway, and if anything he had earned his right to sit there as much as any of them. Sirius had backed him, saying he wouldn't lock his godson out of meeting about his future in his own home. The motion had passed, and now everyone was politely ignoring how much Dumbledore hated it.
He hadn't wanted Harry to live with Sirius and Remus in Grimmauld either, but apparently Sirius had made such a stink his hand was forced. Sirius told him later that he had threatened to close the wards again, revoking Grimmauld as the order headquarters, which had been enough for Dumbledore to agree.
He was so, so, happy to be here. It was a physical pain in his chest, how grateful he was to spend the summer with his godfather and his godfather's partner, able to call up any of his friends at any time. And better yet, to see them. He even had his own floo in his room, admittedly tightly warded against everyone but Ron, Hermione, Remus, and Sirius.
They spent a few minutes sitting in the kitchen, reading the paper and eating half-heartedly until Snape walked back in, followed closely by an ashen faced Remus. Sirius clamored to his feet, glare already in place, but Remus just walked over and put his hand on Sirius’ shoulder. Just like that, the anger drains from his face and his jaw unclenches, but he still stares at Snape with narrowed, suspicious eyes.
“At the meeting” Remus whispered, his tone clear the matter was over. Snape apperated out with a loud crack, and the second he was gone Harry turned to his godparents.
“What's wrong?” He paused, Snape had been more agitated than he’d ever seen him, It worried him. For all Harry disliked Snape, he knew the professor could be counted on to keep a cool head. Snape just didn't feel anything but malice and sarcasm.
He had almost looked . . . worried.
Remus shook his head, gathering his thoughts, "I've called a meeting for tonight. I'll tell you both then."
Sirius' eyebrow twitched, a clear sign he didn't like the thought of Remus withholding
Information, but he let it go with a huff. "Say, Harry, it's almost time to go back to school, you got your books list?"
A little light re-entered Remus' eyes at the mention of Hogwarts, "Well, if he's anything like his father, it'll be buried somewhere under a quidditch magazine." Harry smiled, looking down at his plate. He didn't know how to feel when they compared him to his parents, every bit he learned about them was like a small piece of gold, and he felt warm at the thought he was still like them, even after everything.
They passed the day fairly normally, Harry renovating Grimmauld with Sirius, while Remus sat on the floor reading, occasionally yelling fond insults at them. And by the time dinner passed, Harry had almost forgotten about the meeting. He sat with Sirius at one end of the long table while the rest of the order settled, Dumbeldore sitting at the other end. As usual, his headmaster was avoiding Harry, trying, and succeeding, in looking busy.
The meeting started properly when Snape sat down, next to Dumbeldore. He cleared his throat, looking more drawn and gray than usual. "The Dark Lord has forced Draco Malfoy to take the mark." No one spoke. Half the room looked horrified, while the other looked expectant, as if this couldn't possibly be the big news they expected.
Finally, Sirius spoke up, "So? He's a Malfoy, isn't he?" Remus leaned to the side, kicking hard at Sirius' foot and he yelped.
Snape looked positively murderous, but he was interrupted by Tonks, "But he's . . ." She trailed off, one of the few in the room who looked more sad than anything else, "He's only just turned 16. He's still got the trace." Harry hadn't thought of it like that, that they were all still children in the eyes of the ministry, not that the ministry had much influence on his life anyways.
He didn't know how to feel about Malfoy. He'd known that Malfoy's father was a death eater, but Malfoy . . . well he was just Malfoy. He was a huge prat, and mean and bigoted, but he wasn't a death eater. When he really thought about it, it made his stomach turn. He realized with a sudden lurch that Voldemort was living in Malfoy Manor, where malfoy also lived. It seemed dumb, but he really hadn't thought about what that would mean. He'd experienced Voldemort's hospitality firsthand, and it wasn't really in his top picks. Surely it would be different, though, Malfoy was also a bigoted arse, and his dad was a death eater.
But, Harry realized, he'd seen how Voldemort treated his followers, watched as he forced Peter Pettigrew to cut off his own hand, how he'd so easily used the cruciatus curse on them. He was going to be sick. No matter how much of a prick Malfoy was, no one deserved to deal with that.
"Correct." Snape sneered, "I suspect that is exactly why he has been chosen. He is still a student." The rest of the table fell silent.
"You don't think . . ." Remus spoke up.
"I know." Snape cut him off. "Draco Malfoy has been tasked with killing Albus Dumbeldore."