Chapter One: A Lie

The Ministry had official fallen.

Draco did not need to be told, for he knew firsthand. The plan of attack had been finalized in the formal dining area of Malfoy Manor just a week earlier, and for whatever reason, it did not cause him the excitement he always thought it would. In fact, it caused him an immense amount of anxiety – so much so that he found himself clutching his chest more often than not.

Draco stood in front of the large mirror in his private bathroom, his knuckles white from gripping the edge of the sink. This was the third time that day that he had to splash cold water on his face after a fit of dry-heaving.

His tongue lashed out and attempted to revive his dry, cracked lips. He barely recognized his own reflection. His eyes were accented with dark shadows, his cheekbones were protruding more than normal, and he could not remember the last time he ate a substantial meal. What had caused his body to revolt him in such a way?

Fear.

There was a time when Draco truly believed the day Voldemort reigned would be similar to Christmas – a party would be thrown, gifts would be given, people would be merry… There was a time when he believed the world would be a better place without filthy mudbloods and blood traitors tainting it. His father had painted a beautiful, beautiful lie.

Draco stepped into his bedroom and glanced at his packed trunks. It was only August, but he could hardly wait. He had to get out of the Manor, especially now that his family was not in the Dark Lord's good favour. September could not come any sooner.

His mother stepped into the room, and her eyes immediately glanced at the packed trunks.

"Mother," Draco said, a bit of annoyance in his tone. He felt a pang guilt at the anguish in her eyes, but he'd never admit that. Not now. "I'm just anxious for my seventh year. That's it."

"You aren't running?" she asked, her eyebrow arching.

She stepped closer to him and put the palm of her hand on his right cheek. It felt cold. Too cold.

He shook his head and stepped back, allowing her hand to fall back to her side.

"I'd never leave you," he said quickly. However, his tone was firm. He never would leave his mother in this situation. Over the past year, Draco noticed true fear in his mother's eyes – something that had, until now, always been replaced with loyalty to his father's plan of action.

"They are here," she said, stepping back and looking toward the door. She looked as broken down as he felt, but as usual, they swallowed their emotions.

Downstairs, Death Eaters were appearing left and right. Cheers of victory could be heard. Their plan had succeeded – they now had power of the government.

There were several Ministry employees with them – the ones that Draco assumed were not lucky enough to evacuate or die. Upon arrival, they were escorted down into the cellar beneath the drawing room where Voldemort had ordered prisoners of war to be stored. He did not keep most of them there long; he held them long enough to get whatever information they had before giving them the mercy of death.

Severus Snape had a wand to the throat of the Minister. As usual, Snape had a calm, dull expression on his face. He waited for orders.

Bellatrix, on the other hand, held her wand to the throat of a young girl that Draco hardly recognized. There was something about her that seemed familiar – was she from a dream? A nightmare? Her dark, wavy hair fell around her face like a heavy curtain until Bellatrix jerked her head back up by her hair. When she did, the girl's bright blue eyes darted at Draco. It wasn't fear that consumed her expression when she looked at him; it was hope.

She knew him.

"Draco, dear," Bellatrix called in a sing-song tone, "I came across one of your schoolmates!"

The girl squealed when Bellatrix jabbed her wand deeper into her neck. At that, Bellatrix let out an ear-shattering cackle. Draco didn't wince. He knew better than that.

"Schoolmate?" Draco answered, eyebrows furrowed, "She hardly looks like a Slytherin…" It was all he could manage. He knew that he was expected to find it thrilling to watch a young, female classmate be tortured from being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it only made Draco want to double over and vomit. There were many of times that Draco found pride in bringing certain classmates misery, but he never imagined this. It made him feel incredibly foolish, though he would never admit it.

"R-ravenclaw," the girl said, her voice raspy. Only a bull-headed Ravenclaw would correct someone in a time like this.

Bellatrix sneered, "Who asked you to speak, Girl?!" At that, Bellatrix murmured an all-familiar curse, and the girl let out a scream that chilled Draco to the bone. One would think that he would be used to torture-induced screams. "I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be intell-"

"Enough!" Voldemort stepped up with a menacing glare, and Bellatrix stopped, her head bowing. She still kept a tight grip on the girl.

"Name?" he questioned, glaring down at the girl. By now, she was an emotional and physical wreck. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks were wet, and snot dripped down onto her upper lip. When she noticed the Dark Lord's eyes on her, her body began to convulse with sobs.

Beneath the mess, Draco imagined she had the potential to be pretty. Not that it mattered.

"Emerald," she girl said after a few failed attempts, "Em-Emerald Oleander."

The name, for whatever reason, did not strike a chord with Draco. However, Voldemort nodded as if he recognized it.

"Pureblood," the Dark Lord purred, "Not many respectable Orleanders left. Less than I thought, apparently."

Emerald let out another sob as he reached out and touch her cheek, just as Narcissa did to Draco moments before.

"Draco," Voldemort murmured, not taking his eyes off her, "Miss Oleander claims she is in the same year as you at Hogwarts - that she was only working a miniscule summer job at the Ministry."

Draco jumped at his name, but luckily, no one was paying attention. He did not answer for a moment; instead, he was trying to rationalize why he was being questioned in the first place. What did it matter who she claimed to be? Why was he prolonging her torture when Snape had the Minister in his grip only a few feet away? Clearly, Voldemort was feeling exceptionally cruel this evening.

Draco's father narrowed his eyes at him. Draco had paused longer than he thought.

He looked into the eyes of the girl, and his chest tightened. Anxiety.

"I, uh," Draco stammered.

Lucius shifted around, his eyes looking desperate. They could no longer afford to anger Voldemort.

"Do you recognize the girl, Draco?" his father asked impatiently.

Emerald looked like she wanted to say something, but she knew better. Bellatrix had a tight grip on her long, dark hair.

"Yes."

What was he doing?

Voldemort brushed Emerald's hair behind her ear; it was a tender yet threatening move. She looked like she wanted to vomit. Draco almost did.

"So she's expected back at school this fall?" Voldemort asked, finally turning to look at him.

Draco slowly nodded.

"Bellatrix, let her go," Voldemort ordered. Emerald fell to the floor.

"What do you know?" he barked, his tone taking an unexpected turn. "Do you know where Potter is? Do you know what foolish plans they have in place?!"

The whole room fell silent. The Minister spoke up, even with Snape's wand at his throat.

"She knows nothing!" the Minister insisted, his lion-like twisting with anger, "She did nothing more than fetch coffee and clean around the office. Don't harm the girl." Draco noticed that he seemed prudent on getting Emerald's life spared. Did he already know there was no hope for himself?

Voldemort looked frustrated at the fact that he was talking out of turn. He looked at Snape and pointed toward the basement. "Take him away," he ordered, "Get whatever information that you can from him, then dispose of him."

Emerald raised her head off the floor, but didn't dare stand, for there were many wands trained on both her and the Minister.

Snape nodded, and with the help of Selwyn, carried the struggling Minister off to his fate. His screams could be heard moments later.

"I truly know nothing," she insisted, shaking her head with desperation, "Nothing! Please! I have had no part in this war."

The strength in her voice was commendable. Idiotic, but commendable.

Voldemort circled her. "If you have had no part in this war, then you are not on the right side of it."

Bellatrix began to fidget, her grip on her wand tightening. Her balance shifted back and forth.

"I'll get it out of her, My Lord!" she shrieked, her eyes wide with a frightening amount of determination.

Ignoring Bellatrix, Voldemort kept his glare trained on Emerald, and it was menacing. Draco could tell that Voldemort's mind was racing with ideas of how to make this girl pay for her foolishness. Several moments went by before he stopped to peer outside, his eyes settling on the full moon. With that, a grin spread across his face. It made Draco feel the need to swallow.

"I think I have the perfect way for you to remember which side of this war you should remain," Voldemort murmured. When he looked back at her, his eyes were wild. "The perfect way for you and those around you to… never forget."

Emerald looked at him with a sudden confusion. Her crying had stopped, and she snuck a glance at Draco. She wanted help that could not give.

"After all," he continued, "I hate to spill such pureblood... Do you pledge your allegiance to me?"

His voice echoed in a way that Draco was becoming much too familiar with.

He stalked back over to Emerald and grabbed her wrist, yanking her to her feet. He put her want to her throat, and her eyes flew wide.

"DO YOU PLEDGE YOUR ALLEGIENCE TO ME?"

"Yes! Yes," Emerald screamed, her knees bucking, "Yes!"

"Yes, WHAT?!"

She swallowed and nodded. Her cheeks were once again wet with tears. "Yes, M-my Lord."

He let her go, and she hit the floor again. Draco had an unfamiliar urge to help her up, but he didn't dare move. He'd only make things worse for the both of them. After all, he had already lied for her when he certainly had no obligation to do so.

"Good," Voldemort snarled, "Then I shall spare your life… But only so you can live as a reminder of why you do not associate yourself with those who defy me!"

He turned to Lucius. "Get Fenrir. I asked him to stay close by."

Draco's father gave a quick nod and left the room. It wasn't until then that Draco noticed the Minister's cries could no longer be heard. He looked at his mother, and she shook her head.

When Lucius returned with Fenrir, Voldemort gave a simple nod.

And with that, Fenrir lunged at Emerald.

Her screams echoed through the Manor, and despite his parents' glares, Draco fled the room to vomit for the fourth time that day.

He should have let her die a hero.