Moonlight shone through high narrow windows as a small figure tiptoed through the hall. 13-year-old Draco Malfoy, in emerald green evening robes, was sneaking to the kitchen for a late-night snack.
He reached the grand Malfoy foyer and started to sneak across. As soon as his feet brushed the cool, hard marble, he heard voices. Two deep baritones, ringing with laughter from beyond the front doors. He jumped, scrambled quickly inside the nearby sitting room, and shut the door, leaving only a small crack to peer through.
The wrought iron front doors of Malfoy Manor flew open, triumphantly, and two tall figures strode quickly inside. Draco recognized one of the men as Walden Macnair, a Death Eater. The other was, of course, his own father, Lucius.
Draco smiled. Father was always in such a good mood after one of these meetings, which meant that the house would be calm and quiet for a few days.
"Narcissa!" Lucius voice called softly into the semi-darkness of the hall.
A house elf immediately appeared, with Narcissa in tow. From his hiding place, Draco smiled at the sight of his mother. Then he leaned close to the crack in the door to listen see what would happen next.
"Darling," Narcissa greeted her husband, clasping his hands. She inclined her head to the other man and said, briskly, "Macnair. Welcome. Do come in."
"We have no time for pleasantries," Lucius spat out, and his voice sounded both heated, and deadly calm. "We have more...important matters to discuss."
Lucius pivoted to face his wife more fully. His back was now to Draco, but the young boy clearly heard his father's every frenzied word.
"Tonight, Narcissa," Lucius said, excitedly. "Tonight is the night! This evening at midnight, in a small private ceremony, the Dark Lord himself will bestow upon me the honor of becoming his right-hand man." A ripple of glee spread through the man's frame before he lowered his voice, and continued. "There is but one small matter that stands in our way."
Draco saw a tiny shiver pass over his mother's face, but her voice was even as she replied, "And what matter might that be, my darling?"
"The boy, of course," Lucius growled. "The Dark Lord requires him to be presented tonight. He shall be our means into the inner sphere of the glorious new regime. The boy, Narcissa. Where is he?"
Narcissa looked taken aback. She wrung her hands and shifted her eyes side to side, but she kept her tone calm. "Darling," she began in a sweet, smooth tone, "do you suspect that I know the whereabouts of that half-blood Potter whelp? Would we not already have delivered him to the Dark Lord if such a thing were possible?"
"Not that boy!" Lucius snapped, stepping towards her, menacingly. "Our boy. Our son. Draco."
Draco's blood ran cold. He fought to keep upright, and nearly missed the moment that his mother's eyes flicked sideways, and met his own. She quickly looked away.
"What does Draco have to do with this, my darling?" he heard her ask, still in that sweet, airy tone.
"Everything," Lucius intoned. His voice was fierce now, low and adamant. "The Dark Lord has promised me-promised us-anything we want, if I bring Draco before him tonight."
From his hiding place, ten feet away, Draco began to hyperventilate.
He had known fear before, certainly; all summer he had eavesdropped on his father's conversations, and in the whispers he'd learned of the Dark Lord's return. But those fears were only passing. He was with his family. They were together, and as long as they remained in the Dark Lord's good graces, they were safe.
But now his own father was willing to sell him out-for service or sacrifice, he did not know which-and Draco was terrified by the manic determination he heard in the man's voice.
"We could have anything, Narcissa," Lucius hissed again. "Anything we desire." He grabbed the woman's shoulders and shook her, as if willing her to see the golden proposal gleaming at their feet. His voice again went deadly calm.
"Now tell me, darling, where is Draco?"
Narcissa had seen her son's silver eyes widen in terror, and then freeze, as if in shock. She didn't dare glance again to the parlour, where he stood, barely visible, peeking out from behind badly closed doors.
At the same time, she saw her husbands eyes glow with power. She knew that to act against him now-at the very moment he meant to claim his prize of glory-was to sacrifice her own life.
She made her decision without a second thought.
"In his bedroom, darling," she said sweetly to her husband. "Asleep."
She saw a manic glint in Lucius' eye before he turned towards the hall and stalked from the room, Macnair on his heels.
Narcissa Malfoy knew precisely how much time she had. Lucius would reach their son's bedroom in 45 seconds, and then come racing back as soon as he found it empty. Because by then, he would know. Her husband was a smart man, and not easily fooled. In 45 seconds Lucius would realize what she was planning to do.
She moved quickly, crossing the room in two strides and slipping through the barely cracked doors. The sitting room was cool and dark, and she could barely see her son as he frantically tried to fit himself inside the coat closet.
"Draco," she called softly.
35 seconds...
He didn't answer.
"Dragon, my treasure."
He turned around and fixed her with a panicked stare. "Help me!" he yelped, quietly.
She caught his silver-grey eyes in her own, and memorized the look of them. She pulled a beetle pin from her hair: her emergency port-key.
It was for Draco, only. Draco was underage, and a Malfoy by blood. It meant that he had a good chance of breaking through the manor's anti-apparition wards, to safety. She herself had no such chance. The protective spells would hold her here. She was sure of it.
If she was honest with herself, she had always known that it might come to this. Her husband was an increasingly violent man, and had been a matter of time before his family became his target. And now-as she had always known it would-saving Draco meant sacrificing herself.
15 seconds...
She could hear Lucius' boots now. The staccato footfalls thundered nearer and nearer to her and Draco's hiding place.
Staring straight into her son's eyes, she drew her wand to activate the portkey. "My darling," she said, "Remember, forever remember, that I will always love you." She pressed the hairpin into his palm, closed his fingers around it, and whispered, "Portus." Before he could respond, her son was yanked from her grip and was gone from the room.
The sitting room door was thrown open like a shot. Before she could stand up to fight, she was struck from behind. A heavy black boot struck her shoulders, her ribs, the side of her head. And then she was being pulled by the hair, up to face her husband, the man who had turned so horribly corrupt.
Lucius had always said that he would kill her if she ever turned on him, and her husband was not a man of empty threats.
She knew that she had only seconds left, and so she locked eyes with him, smiled widely, and spit in his face. She wouldn't waste her last words on this scum.
She had already said them, and they were exactly the ones that she had meant them to be.