It was only when Draco walked down the empty hallway of the Malfoy Mansion that he realized his shoes were ridiculously loud. Each smack against the hardwood flooring echoed down the passageway with a decidedly solid thunk. The beady eyes of platinum haired ancestors followed his every step, sniffing disapprovingly from their framed prisons. Draco's lip curled as he continued walking, making sure each step reverberated off the richly decorated halls. The snobby paintings were never kind to him, and anyways, wasn't he allowed his petty joys?
"Master mustn't make so much noise." a quiet voice behind him remarked.
Draco rolled his eyes. "And house elves shouldn't talk to their masters like that. It's practically against the law for a lowly creature like you to be basking in my shadows." He leered at his servant, hoping that it would just shut up and walk in silence. Merlin only knew how much trouble he had working with this particularly obnoxious one.
The scrawny house elf rushed to catch up to him, stumbling over big feet and skinny limbs. "Draco Malfoy must not talk to Dobby like that! Dobby is not a house elf! Dobby is a free el-"
"Oh, shut up Dobby." Draco snarled, exasperated. "If I hear your little freedom speech about stupid sniveling Potter one more time, I swear you'll never see daylight again."
Dobby grabbed Malfoy's trouser leg and waved it around indignantly. "Draco Malfoy must not insult Harry Potter! Harry Potter is a good wizard!"
"Dobby, just get off me!" Draco shook his leg, dislodging the small elf into a bundle of skin, bones, and abnormally large eyes. Draco snorted and turned away. Working with Dobby was like working with a hyperactive toddler. But he had to; he and Dobby were the only cracks in Voldemorts faith system and they had to stick together. Although the job never required them to like each other. "And your name is Gumby, not Dobby."
"Master Malfoy needn't be so mean to Do-… Gumby." The house elf had gathered himself up, glaring at Draco. The Malfoy ignored the pitifully wavering glower, continuing to strut down the hall.
The sun was beginning to wane, its dying light leaking into every crack in the curtains and dripping onto the floor in luminous stripes. Back in Hogwarts, students would be just starting to return to their commonrooms to get ready for supper. Why he was here in the first place? His father had called for him, which was essentially unheard of. In fact, Draco barely had enough time to finish his Potions Essay before Lucius' mental commands became too strong to overcome, and too annoying to ignore.
This possibly meant Draco had done something bad enough to warrant the attention of Lucius, the Dark Lord, or both; either way none of the options were any good. He could only hope whatever Lucius wanted would be quick and to the point, so he could get back to Hogwarts and possibly not miss a sumptuous feast that awaited him.
He played with a chain around his neck, from which a heavy ring dangled against his chest. As long as its intricately molded platinum touched his skin, Lucius was able to call Draco at a whim like a puppy. Draco scrunched his nose in disgust, fishing the ring out from under his collar and letting it bounce over his cloak. Lucius wouldn't be able to whisper in his mind now; it was the only small victory he got from wearing that.
Draco stopped at the end of the hall, straightening his shoulders and taking a deep breath. Facing Lucius was never easy; he was demanding, hard, foreign and constantly disappointed. And although Draco no longer cared about what his father thought, the Dark Lord would always watching them and Draco needed to put on a mask of respect and utter loyalty. Oh, yes. The Dark Lord certainly did not like young troublemakers and rebels like Draco.
"Gumby," Draco said. "Stay here and wait for me."
Dobby meekly bowed and slunk to the shadows, although his gleaming eyes still glared defiantly.
Draco pushed the door wide open, striding in confidently, but with a slight drag, as if he had much more important places to be. He had perfected this walk years ago, along with a Malfoy-quality smirk that adorned his face at that moment. The heavy door slammed shut behind him.
"Father," Draco said, taking a seat on a plum-colored couch that faced a fire. "You called?" He leaned back casually, taking up as much space as possible, if not just to annoy his father.
Lucius stood with his back to his son staring outside a silver lined window, his posture erect and his hands clasping themselves tightly at the small of his back. In the setting sun, Draco imagined he looked quite intimidating to muggles and mudboods alike. Lucius Malfoy was the spitting image of what the Malfoys were supposed to be like; Draco almost grinned when he wondered what his father's reaction would be to his own son being a blood traitor. Disown him? Beat him? Throw him out naked to the mass of people in the I-Hate-Draco-Malfoy club? Kill him? He wouldn't put him above that.
Lucius made a minute gesture directed at a shadowy form standing silently in a corner.
"Narcissa. Leave."
Draco clenched his fists as he watched his mother walk out dutifully, a purple-blue bruise forming on her temple. He willed his face to go completely blank, betraying no emotion but two shaking fists and slightly tensed shoulders. He would have to deal with that later.
Father and son sat in an apprehensive silence for several minutes; Draco's eyes boring into Lucius' back. He remembered the first days Narcissa would leave with fresh bruises, scrapes on her hands and a tearful face. It had started when Voldemort was beginning to rise, and Lucius had needed an 'outlet' for all the pent up stress. Now, she left slow and dignified, like a weary old woman. Draco often wondered why she wouldn't just leave the bastard. But then the small fact that Voldemort would ultimately destroy them if they had a toe out of line constantly floated in his consciousness. He knew that.
"I have a message from the Dark Lord." Lucius said quietly, bringing Draco to reality and making him strain to hear the words over the ticking clock and spitting flames. "For Hogwarts."
Draco narrowed his eyes, a million questions on the tip of his tongue. "And?"
Lucius turned, staring unperturbed at Draco and his moodiness. "And he expects you to deliver something for him."
"A package?" Draco guessed, straightening his posture when his father began a deliberate walk towards him.
"Not quite." Lucius stopped in front of his son, reaching for his face.
Draco stiffened and turned his head, avoiding the touch. But Lucius only picked up the ring that still hung outside his shirt; the tiny chain coiling like miniature silver serpents as it pooled on the older Malfoy's hand.
"Think of it more like a letter." Lucius tucked the ring back under Draco's collar, so it nestled cold against bare skin. "Voldemort sending his regards to Dumbledore."
A jolt ran through Draco as his father reached him mentally; like an electric current.
Lucius smiled slowly as Dracos eyes widened.
"O-of course." Draco stood up, feeling a slight butterfly of apprehension. He made his steps intentionally slow and unhurried, waiting until he reached the door before trusting himself to turn around and nod a quick goodbye. "Father."
Lucius nodded back.
As soon as the door clicked shut Draco tensed like a spring; sprinting down the hallway when he realized Dobby had disappeared off somewhere else.
"Gumby! Where the bloody hell are you? We need to get to Hogwarts."
Dobby materialized in front of Draco, his mouth full of treacle tart and his hands sticky with the same. "Dobby- er, Gumby was just getting a snack Master Malfoy. Gumby is sorry if he has made Master late."
Draco peeked impatiently out the window. The sky had fallen dark, the stars already twinkling in their places. There wasn't much time, if there was any left at all.
His heart seemed to be hammering in his throat. He managed to choke out; "Dob-Gumby, listen to me. Apparate me directly to Dumbledore's office."
"But-"
"Dobby! Something is happening right now, and if you don't stop your blathering idiocy, Harry Potter may be as good as dead."
Immediately, Dobby clutched onto Draco's leg; stirring Draco's reality into a soup of muddled visions as they travelled a vast expanse. In the pounding realm of his own mind, Draco replayed the essence of his fathers' message again and again.
Tonight, someone will die.