A/N: Keeper Tutshill Tornados. Write about your chosen Death Eater and their family.
Three weeks had passed since the fateful day of Dumbledore's untimely demise on the roof of Hogwarts. A strong presence of darkness was felt everywhere from the school to the Leaky Cauldron- but no where more so than at Malfoy Manor. The atmosphere there was blacker than the night sky.
Draco had always been quite proud of their large stately home (and the bragging rights that came with being part of a wealthy family) but of recent, he had felt nothing but disdain for the grand walls that encompassed it. He had always felt that he was above the education system, and loathed being a student of Hogwarts- especially as it meant rubbing shoulders with Mudbloods, the poor, and worst of all, idiots. Normally he couldn't wait to get back from the castle, and away from the dregs of society that he was forced to be surrounded by, but something seemed amiss. He couldn't put his finger on what exactly was so off. His father, Lucius, had seemed more preoccupied than ever. Only swooping in occasionally to kick the House Elves around a bit and dish orders out to his long suffering wife, before disappearing again on 'Ministry business.'
It seemed he wasn't the only one that was feeling a change, as Narcissa, his warm and loving mother, had seemed a million miles away of late. He'd counted at least four or five nights where he was certain he'd heard her crying into her pillow.
It hadn't escaped his notice that the usual warmth of love that usually shone in her eyes had faded, and the accustomed warmth in her voice had all but vanished. He'd been home a week now, and nothing seemed to be getting any better. He wanted to ask her what was wrong- but wasn't sure if he really wanted to know. Avoidance seemed to be his only option- another thing he really wasn't used to. Being surrounded by 'his own kind' had always given him a feeling of self righteousness in the past, and reminded him that he was indeed better than most of the Wizarding community.
Why didn't it now? A part of him seemed to feel that he was lower than they were. What was this feeling? Sorrow? No, It couldn't be that. He and his father had often spoken about how Hogwarts had taken a turn for the worse under Dumbledore's tenure as headmaster, with his 'all are welcome here' stance, and how getting him out would be for the best. Was it anger? What could he be angry about? It wasn't school - that had stopped getting under his skin after the first six months. No matter how much he searched himself, the answers seemed to elude him.
Tired of staring at the walls of the dining hall where he'd sat in silence with his mother for yet another evening, he excused himself and went to bed. It may have been earlier than usual, but better than the coldness of the castle. He lay on his bed and tried desperately to figure out exactly why things felt so wrong- he needed to figure this out before he drove himself crazy. He didn't get far- he fell asleep before he could even really get started.
The light of dawn touched the side of his face through the window, waking him. He reached for his watch. Six am. Sighing, he dragged himself into the bathroom. He stood in front of the mirror bleary eyed, and studied his own reflection. He looked as awful as he felt. As he stared at himself, a surge of rage swept through him. Before he could stop himself, he screamed out and punched his fist through the glass, sending shards flying everywhere. Panting, he came to his senses. The shockwave of his own outburst left him shaken. Sure, he'd felt anger before, but never this strongly. Looking down at his cut and bloodied knuckles, he caught sight of the tattoo like blemish now firmly burnt into his forearm. The Dark Mark. He turned his arm and stared at it. He was now officially one of Voldemort's followers. One of his fathers' family. It should have filled him with a sense of pride; of belonging to something bigger, but it didn't. It just made him feel sick to his stomach. He didn't understand why, but he bitterly regretted going to Borgin and Burkes' that day.
"Draco?! Are you okay sweetheart? I heard you shout, and glass breaking!"
Narcissa had heard the commotion. Time to put his game face back on.
"I'm alright mother, I slipped on a towel, fell forward and broke the bathroom mirror is all. Go back to bed."
"Open the door darling, I want to make sure you're okay. Have you cut yourself?"
There was no chance of her leaving. Gritting his teeth, he opened the door, and awaited the ensuing freak out from his mother. Narcissa burst through the door, and surveyed the wreckage. The sink was full of broken glass and blood, and a trail of it following Malfoy. Steeling herself, she cupped his face in her shaking hands.
"Oh my god are you alright? Let me look at your hand."
She couldn't distinguish what was broken glass, skin or exposed knuckle due to the thick carpet of blood oozing from the wounds. She'd never been one for the sight of blood at the best of times, but seeing her precious baby boy bleeding profusely like that sent her into a panicked frenzy.
"Oh Draco, Draco my poor child! Come to the kitchen. I need to clean the wounds before I can heal them. Those STUPID House Elves! They should have cleaned that room thoroughly! I will make sure they are severely punished for this!"
Her delicate hands cupped the sides of Draco's face as she looked at her son.
Draco stood motionless. He hadn't really seen much of his mother up close since he'd been home until now. Her eyes were virtually black, and her cheeks were pretty much stained with the marks of tears. He could see the loss of weight evident in her face. It frightened him. All the anger he'd felt melted away, and concern took place.
He'd normally tell her to stop fussing, pull away and remind her that he was a big boy now, and didn't need molly coddling. Sensing how much she needed this, he offered no resistance. Instead, he gently took her hand, and followed willingly.
Draco stood at the sink, and watched the water cascade over his hand as it went from clear to red with blood; it somehow felt cleansing. He felt his mothers' shaking hands gently turning his at different angles to rinse it. He looked away from the sink, to his mothers' alarmingly drawn and tired face. Neither had spoken for the last five minutes, and neither seemed to want to break the silence. This in itself was absurdly abnormal. He'd always been close to his mother, they'd always had a close bond, but of late, it had almost all but diminished.
"Mum, its now my turn. Are YOU okay? Don't think I'm prying, but you seem to be losing weight, you're not eating much, and I've heard what seems to be crying coming from your room quite a few evenings."
She seemed not to hear him. She was intently cleaning his hand, and removing the fragments of glass imbedded in the skin. Her only reaction seemed to be the intensified shaking of her own.
"Mum?"
Still nothing.
"Mother, please don't ignore me."
More tears started to roll down her cheeks. He could stand no more. He reached and gently grabbed her shoulders, and turned her towards him.
"I'm worried about you. Please don't shut me out."
He pulled her into his arms, and gently embraced her. As soon as his arms closed around her, the flood gates opened. She howled as the tears flowed like the river Nile. He no longer felt the pain from his hand- just the pain so evident in his mother.
They stood like that for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, the tears subsided. He gently led her to a chair and sat her down. Sitting in front of her, he gently wiped the tears from her eyes, and tried again to get her to open up to him.
"What's going on, mum?" he asked gently.
Narcissa dried her eyes, and slowly composed herself. She knew this wasn't going away. She couldn't look him in the eye, but knew she had to answer him.
"It's you I fear for," she said quietly. Before he could respond, she continued slowly.
"Ever since your father had you initiated into the Death Eaters, I had feared for your safety. I have seen Voldemort's darkness- seen what awaits those that displease him. He has killed many times without remorse. I fear that if he should find out that it wasn't you that took Albus' life, he will take yours."
Draco sat motionless and stunned. He knew what the Dark Lord was capable of. He'd been told the stories.
"Of course he has killed his enemies, mum, we all know that! The tales are legendary. He wouldn't harm me, I am one of his followers. Just like dad, and you."
Without looking up at him, she responded. Her voice no higher than a whisper.
"He has killed his own as well. He doesn't tolerate failure; or what he sees as disloyalty. It doesn't matter who you are. If you are in his way, you will be disposed of. Even Severus Snape wasn't safe."
The silence was deafening. He wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly.
"What about Professor Snape?" he blurted impatiently
"He's dead, Draco. The Dark Lord killed him three days ago," she whispered.
All the air left His lungs. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. There was no way it could be true. Could it?
"Professor Snape was his most loyal follower, that can't be true. Snape is his link to Hogwarts."
Sensing Draco's confusion hurt her more deeply than anything else had ever done. With fresh tears formed in her eyes, she looked up at her son. She drew a deep breath, and told him the story surrounding the Elder wand, and why Snape was killed.
"He knows it was Snape that killed Dumbledore. His orders to your father were that it was to be you that dispatched him. I don't know what fate lies in store for us. If he knows about my part in this, we could all be next," she concluded gently.
The room seemed to spin on it's axis. It wasn't his fault that Snape had done the deed instead of him. Sure, he'd never taken anyone's life before, but he would have done it- Snape had just appeared from nowhere, and done it before he could.
"I was about to do it when Professor Snape burst through the roof door, and before I could raise my wand, he had already done it!" Draco reasoned.
With a lump in her throat, Narcissa dealt the final blow.
"Severus did it because I begged him to." she sobbed.
"Wait. You begged him to?!"
Without looking at her son, she explained the full story. She told him about her history with Severus, and how they had come to be friends over the years, and upon his initiation into the Death Eaters, Snape had agreed to look out for him.
"When your father told me of the Dark Lord's plans, that you were to kill Dumbledore, I couldn't bear the though of you becoming a cold blooded killer.
That's when I went to Severus, and asked him to save you. I made him take the Unbreakable Vow. That's why he appeared on the rooftop and did it before your soul could be tainted."
Draco felt all the air leave his lungs. If he hadn't been sat down, he would have fallen down. He had no idea that Professor Snape had been so closely involved with his mother outside of the Death Eaters. This information alone was hard enough to hear, but knowing that a man he had seen as nothing more than a teacher at his school- one who didn't seem to have any interest in the students, had cared enough for him and his mother to put his own life on the line.
"Does father know any of this?" he asked quietly.
"He learned of it from Bellatrix. She couldn't wait to tell your father how much of a coward I had been, and how my sentimental attachment to you had resulted in the death of one of the finest Death Eaters in the Dark Lord's camp," Narcissa answered, feeling more ashamed with every word.
Draco was reeling. It dawned on him that very moment what had been plaguing him. It was disgust! Unbeknownst to him until now, the feeling that had been burning within him had been disgust at himself. He had been disgusted and angry that he'd hesitated in killing the old man, and that Snape had stolen his moment of glory. The fact that it was pre- orchestrated hit him like a ten tonne truck. Another surge of anger started to rise up within him, but he suppressed it.
He looked across the table at his mother. He didn't know what he felt at that moment.
A part of him was angry with her, but part of him pitied her. He understood that she had done what she felt was the right thing to do, but couldn't help feel that she had robbed him of his own choices.
Thankfully, rationale kicked in before he began to scream and shout at her.
"Professor Snape was killed so that the Dark Lord could be master of the Elder wand, because it only follows the person who disarms it's owner" Draco mused slowly.
"So what you're telling me, is that if I had killed Dumbledore that night... then I would have been..."
"He would have killed you for it." Narcissa interjected.
"The Dark Lord is loyal to no-one but himself Draco. I never wanted you to become a part of your fathers' world. I tried to keep you from it, but your father seemed insistent on it "
Draco didn't need to guess why.
"I am guessing, that if I hadn't joined them, you and dad would have been killed for that. I don't really think I would have had a choice," he reasoned.
The conversation had to end there, as Lucius had returned home. He swept into the kitchen, and surveyed the scene. His eyes narrowed with suspicion. He looked from his wife to his son who looked rather cosy and deep in conversation, before spotting the badly cut knuckles, and bloody cloths on the table.
"Everything okay here, dear?" he drawled, trying to sound concerned.
Narcissa stiffened slightly at the sound of his voice. Draco looked up with a steely gaze.
"Just an accident in the bathroom. I slipped, and my hand went into the mirror. Nothing for you to concern yourself with. I'm sure you have far more important things to do"
Lucius stood and studied his son. He sensed the boy was being flippant, but was more concerned that his wife hadn't jumped to her feet to tend to him immediately.
Looking more at the back of his wife's head he mustered a frosty response.
"Then perhaps you should try being more careful. I have told you enough times about due care and attention."
Draco knew exactly what his father was getting at, and his arrogance angered him further. He felt his fist clench.
At that moment, he wanted to lunge at him, and smash the smugness right out of him. This was his fault. All of it. He sat with his gaze firmly fixed on his mother. It was the only thing that was stopping him from doing so.
Narcissa finished wrapping Draco's hand, and slowly got to her feet. She tried not to let any emotion show. If Lucius sensed anything had gone on, it wouldn't end well for either her or her son.
"There. That should do the trick. Try not to use it too much for a few days, and it should be better in no time," she said, her eyes pleading with Draco not to let anything on.
Lucius let out a snort of derision.
"Don't smother the boy dear; if he can't learn to act responsibly and carefully, he must be prepared for the consequences."
Before either of them could speak he continued briskly:
"Now that you've taken up enough of your mother's time, be a good boy, and go to your room. Let the adults alone to talk about grown up things."
Draco glared at him. Never had he ever allowed anyone to speak to him like that: let alone his own father.
He was now seeing him in a very different light and hated everything about him. The violent urge that had arisen in him this morning was surging in his throat so hard, he thought he was going to choke. For his mother's sake, he left the room without incident.
"Now then. Back to me. What time is dinner ready?" Lucius asked airily, knowing Draco could still hear every word.
Back in his room, Draco fumed. He blamed his father for the whole sorry situation. Why did he get involved with Voldemort? If he had only stuck to making an honest living, then none of this would be happening. They would be happy. He would never forgive him for it. Lucius Malfoy had ruined everything.