Chapter Text
Part one: Denial
August
His mother was still locked away in her room. People were seated at his dining table, eating breakfast made by his House-Elves while discussing… He didn’t even know anymore and didn’t bother keeping track of his surroundings. The Dark Lord was sitting at the head of the table, in his father’s chair, while observing his Death Eaters.
Draco noticed how scarlet eyes kept slipping in his direction.
And he tried not to care—he really, truly tried, but... sshh, dangerous thoughts.
His fingers wrapped tightly around his utensils, though he wasn’t planning on taking a bite of his food. His stomach was in knots, his mental walls were up, and he kept hearing his aunt’s shrill voice as she vividly recounted their last mission, destroying a bridge and watching muggles jump off the steel railings, musing about how red their muddy blood had seemed to be.
It was despicable.
It was beautiful.
‘And you, young Draco, any thoughts you would like to share? Ideas about your mission?’ The Dark Lord’s whispers quieted the room at once, and many eyes now focused on him. The pale boy had almost white hair, a perfect posture, and hands wrapped around silverware.
His plate was full.
No one cared.
His obligation.
His task.
His suicide mission.
His duty.
Kill Albus Dumbledore.
Kill the most powerful wizard in the world.
‘I have ideas, my lord.’ A hand gripped his knee under the table, and he didn’t have to look at Severus to know what the man was asking of him. His eyes were cast downwards, focused on dark, polished wood.
Be careful.
His godfather had taken up the role of the parental figure while his father was locked away in Azkaban, with his mother hidden away from not only him but all the other Death Eaters as well. It was her punishment, having to be away from her only son.
The throbbing black mark on Draco’s arm was his punishment for being the son of a pathetic, useless father. If it had been anyone else, he would’ve taken out his wand and challenged the other wizard, talking about his father like that for a duel.
But it had been The Dark Lord, and Draco knew better.
‘Ideas? Draco Malfoy has ideas….’ He smiled and revealed reddened gums and yellow teeth. This… this being, still called himself a man, a wizard, as if he didn’t resemble his own snake more than his human followers.
‘I will have to be at Hogwarts to lay a more concrete foundation before being completely sure, but I promise you, my lord, I will do whatever I can to make you proud and to restore my family’s honour.’ Words tasted like ash in his mouth, and he just wanted to go; he couldn’t stomach being there anymore. He needed to be dismissed so he could return to his room and pretend his world hadn’t been flipped upside down.
‘I’ll be expecting a letter from you next week. Do not make me regret my merciful patience.’ Nagini slowly slid up her master’s body and licked his throat before she slithered over the large table towards Draco and hissed, wrapping slowly around his arms, shoulders, and wrists, constricting his movements and his ability to breathe.
He nodded and listened to the grins and barks of laughter as the other Death Eaters read the terror on his face.
Snakes.
He hated snakes.
Always had.
‘Leave.’
And he left.
His plate full.
His skin was slimy and scratchy after the scales had slid over it.
His head was a mess.
A hostage in his own home.
*-*-*-*-*-*
He had gone to Diagon Alley alone to meet with Blaise and Theo. His mother hadn’t been released, Severus was too busy preparing his classes for Hogwarts (though Merlin knew why since the man had taught the same courses for ages now), and truth be told, he had no one else to ask. Crabbe and Goyle had told him when they were going, in case he wanted to meet up, which is precisely why he went two days later.
He couldn’t be with his oldest friends anymore, not now he had seen how hungry their eyes had been at the sight of his bleeding Dark Mark.
Theo, however, soon recovered and promised to research a way to remove it safely. Blaise had asked his mom for a soothing ointment to reduce the redness. Daphne had cried, and he’d cried with her. Pansy had stocked him up with spells to conceal and glamour it. All four of his friends had given him the responses he'd needed.
But Crabbe and Goyle…
If anything, they’d just seemed… jealous.
Would he have been as well, had he been the same person he was at the start of his fifth year? Or would he have made a scathing remark to make his friends feel less proud, to see the joyful grins slip away until they felt just as bad as he did?
‘So… are we going to address the hippogriff in the room?’ Theo asked nonchalantly. They were in the Leaky Cauldron, one of the few establishments that had remained open despite the many threats against the owner, Tom. They didn’t want to serve Draco when they first saw him but had relented once Blaise dropped a ridiculous number of Galleons in front of the bartender and pushed through to one of the darker corners of the pub.
Blaise and Theo looked at him; Daphne and Pansy weren’t present; Daphne was with her family in Paris, and Mr Parkinson had ordered Pansy’s supplies through Owl. He didn’t want his daughter outside for now.
Draco understood why.
‘Which hippogriff? The one who made your hair look like that?’ He curled his lip at the sight of his messy dark brown locks, his hair meticulously brushed through and combed out of his face.
‘Drake…’ Blaise said with a slight groan, but he interrupted before his friend could proceed.
‘I don’t see why we must keep speaking about this. It has happened. No use to dwell on it, 't will only make us more miserable.’ He took a sip of his water and kept the cool liquid in his mouth for several seconds before eventually swallowing, and he had to fight against the urge to gag.
His stomach was too empty to accept water as a substitute.
It was cruel, allowing a man to feel hunger and have him lose his appetite at the same time. Food tasted like ash; everything was just bitter or sour.
Except for apples.
They still tasted sweet.
He wondered how long he had before fate would also take that away.
Not that he didn’t deserve it. No, he knew he deserved all that was coming for him. He’d been a prat, and it had finally come around to bite him in the arse.
‘Father told me you had an assignment,’ murmured Theo almost casually before taking a bite of his treacle tart. ‘A big one. He pitied you.’ Bright blue eyes focused on him. ‘Told me you were set up to fail.’
His stomach sank, but he kept his face passive. ‘Well… it certainly will with that attitude.’
‘Why is this the first time I’m hearing of this?’ Asked Blaise offendedly, and Draco rolled his eyes.
‘It was supposed to be a secret.’
‘Theo knew!’
‘It’s not my fault Theodore Nott Senior is an awful gossip, is it now? So, what did you say? Did the two of you have a laugh about poor Draco Malfoy being on death row? Have you spelled a calendar to count the days for you? Who knows, maybe you’re lucky, and The Dark Lord will let you have my Dark Mark for free after I’m gone and—’
‘Drake!’ He managed to conceal his flinch and just looked at Blaise, whose dark skin seemed pale now and large brown eyes were focused on his, worry evident in those depts. ‘What does he want you to do?’
What does he want you to do?
What does he want you to do?
What does he want you to do?
What are you going to do?
‘It’s not important.’ He glanced at his watch before getting up and throwing a Galleon on the table. ‘I’ve got an appointment. I will see you next week.’
‘Drake…’ Blaise started, but a sharp look from Theo silenced him. Even though Blaise was a Slytherin through and through, he had no clue what living with a Death Eater as a parent was like. Theo knew and understood, though even he couldn’t fully claim to know what was going through Draco’s head.
After all, it wasn’t him who had The Dark Lord living in his manor.
He slipped into Knockturn Alley and quickly went to Borgin and Burkes. It was quiet, almost deadly quiet, and there was no sight of the usual filth that used to hang around this area: the Banshees, wolves, witches with cursed objects and wizards with quick hands.
It was abandoned.
Which was why he immediately turned around when he heard a soft scrape and shuffle behind him. The air was empty, the alley dark, without a soul to see.
He kept staring, could’ve sworn something was holding their breath…
He was going crazy.
Getting mad.
Maybe some of that Black Madness had been passed along through his mother, and it was slowly sinking its claws in Draco’s brain. It wouldn’t surprise him—just one more shite problem to add to his long list.
He turned back to the store and slipped inside, giving Borgin a quick nod before moving along with the man to the end of the shop, his eyes immediately finding the familiar wood of a closet, a closet which twin he had seen just a few weeks ago when he had rushed in the Room of Requirement, as everyone seemed to call it, and had caught members of “Dumbledores Army” for Umbitch. It had been seemingly inconspicuous in the corner of the space, and it had kept playing with his thoughts until he finally remembered why it was significant enough to take up so much headspace.
A Vanishing Cabinet.
Rare.
Extremely illegal.
And worked no matter what enchantments you had built into the perimeters of the place you wanted to protect. Even a Fidelius charm couldn’t stand a chance against the magic of the Cabinet.
He had been doubtful at first…
Until he remembered that story about the Weasley Twins shoving a student into a random closet, the Slytherin was still in St. Mungo’s, recovering.
If two Slytherins had done it to any other student, they would have been expelled and possibly even faced a sentence in Azkaban.
‘This one is still in good condition, isn’t it?’
Borgin winced and made vague motions with his wrinkled hands. ‘It will always be somewhat broken; everything the Cabinets do comes in pairs. One cannot stay whole with the other being broken—’
‘I know where the other one is. Do you know how to fix it?’
‘Possibly,’ Borgin said reluctantly and almost seemed to sink into himself as if he already could see how much work that would be. ‘I’ll need to see it, though. Why don’t you bring it into the shop?’
‘I can’t. It’s got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it.’
The man licked his lips nervously, and he could see the glimmer of saliva sticking to purple skin. ‘Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn’t guarantee anything.’
Impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible—
His hands were sweaty.
Fingertips felt numb.
‘No?’ He pushed his mental walls up, his lips curling into a sneer and his jaw clenched, everything to keep fear out of his face. ‘Perhaps this will make you more confident?’
He didn’t want to do this, but it was a move his father had often done as well.
And he’d always gotten what he wanted.
Draco unbuttoned the sleeve of his expensive silk shirt before rolling it up to reveal the poisonous black colour of the mark on his forearm. He watched as Borgin blanched and seemed to shrivel up, his back slightly arching and his hands raised in useless defensiveness.
‘Tell anyone, and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback…?’ A smirk curled on his lips. ‘He’s a family friend. He’ll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you’re giving our problem your full attention.’ It hadn’t been his idea to involve Greyback, but he and Aunt Bella had been promoted (or demoted) to be his handlers, his partners for this… project.
They were not to help him.
If anything, they had been assigned to make sure the pressure was up, and the task stayed at the forefront of his mind as if he could forget.
They were lovely.
Deathly.
‘There will be no need for—’
‘I’ll decide that.’ He smiled and enjoyed the chance to be cruel for once instead of having to face cruelty himself. ‘Well, I’d better be off. And don’t forget to keep that one safe; I’ll need it.’
‘Perhaps you’d like to take it now?’ Hope shone like stars in his beady eyes.
And Draco made sure to dim the light. ‘No? Of course, I wouldn’t, you stupid little man; how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don’t sell it!’ His mother would’ve had his tongue had she heard him speak like that to an elder.
But mother wasn’t here now.
‘Of course not… sir.’ His bow was deeper than it had to be, making the tiny seed of guilt in Draco's chest soak up some water so it could grow more.
‘No word of this.’
‘Naturally.’
Draco turned and it felt like the world was on fire, because finally something had gone right, he’d been dreading this conversation for days and he… he had done it. The Cabinet would remain here, Borgin would share instructions on how to repair the other one, he…
He had done it.
Phase one was finished and successfully finished.
And he hadn’t needed his father’s, mother’s, or anyone’s help.
He may be able to survive this after all.
Maybe.
*-*-*-*-*-*
His euphoria didn’t last long.
Because he was back at home.
Bella was on a raid with the other Death Eaters that often frequented his home.
But the Dark Lord never left.
Couldn’t leave without the risk of being seen before it was his time to fully come out of the shadows and reveal his so called glory to the rest of the world.
Which was why he shared his dinner with the dictator.
Seated at his right side, Nagini heavy on his lap to remind Draco that he was not to leave without the permission of her owner.
His plate was full.
‘You are not eating,’ inquired Lord Voldemort softly, his hand with too long fingers reaching out to wrap around his left wrist, trapping the limp in his cold hand. ‘You’ve gotten delicate since you returned from Hogwarts at the start of the summer. Is the food not up to your usual standards, boy?'
He might not want to eat while looking at the hybrid between a man and a snake.
‘My stomach has been a bit restless, my lord, the task has occupied my mind, and I sometimes seem to forget myself in those thoughts.’ A Perfect Pureblood Response.
As if his heart wasn’t beating all the way in his throat.
As if his fingers hadn’t gone numb again.
As if his mind didn’t feel the scratches of fangs searching for a way through the maze he’d set up to protect his core.
As if The Dark Lord’s fingers weren’t combing through his hair in a possessive manner, making him feel sick and icy.
‘Eat.’ He could feel the Imperius smooth over his nerves, his body relaxed, his fingers regained the sense of touch again, and his hand forced food inside his mouth.
Pick.
Lift.
Bite.
Chew.
Swallow.
Repeat.
Pick.
Lift.
Bite. Fingers slid down to his nape and caressed the gentle pulse of blood pounding through his veins. A nail pressed into the pulsing flesh until his head started to hurt.
Chew.
Swallow.
Repeat.
Pick.
Lift. Soft hisses between master and pet. The weight disappeared from his lap, and a second hand moved to rest against the flat of his stomach, caressing the layer of muscles obtained by endless Quidditch workouts and core exercises to stay on his broom—
Bite.
Chew.
Swallow.
Repeat.
He couldn’t remember what had happened after that.
And he was not sure if he even wanted to know.
Next week, he’d be going to Hogwarts.
And he’d be safer there than in his own home.
Don’t fool yourself.
Not safe.
But.
Safer.