Author's Note:

Chapters 2 and 3 detail the events that occur at Malfoy Manor. Although the events here occur in December rather than April, some of the character dialogue is pulled from the original story, and other parts are paraphrased.


Chapter Two: Captivis

Christmases at Malfoy Manor were normally memorable affairs, the grounds decorated extravagantly and the house filled with important guests. This year, the day had passed by unceremoniously, leaving Draco in a state of gloom as he had tried not to think about how things had been in the years before.

The 29th of December started the same as the days before it. The Malfoys, Bellatrix and Wormtail gathered in the dining room for the usual strained breakfast. Lucius stared blankly at the tablecloth as he slurped his black coffee, his plate empty as he ignored the assortment of pastries and fruit that the house elves had piled on the table. Wormtail read the relevant articles of the Daily Prophet aloud with fervour through nibbles of pastry. Bellatrix, who had claimed Lucius's place at the head of the table upon her arrival, and who was in a surprisingly good mood that morning, made a point of listening to Wormtail for once, cackling through a mouthful of omelette and hurrying him along impatiently when particular parts bored her. Narcissa sat straight-backed in her chair, poised as always, her face a mask as she slowly stirred her tea and took small sips. She didn't eat, but that wasn't anything unusual – the woman had the appetite of a bird nowadays. Draco picked mournfully at his croissant and wished that he was elsewhere.

Bellatrix Lestrange was dangerous. When she was in a bad mood, she was particularly dangerous. When she was in a good mood, she was even worse. So, Draco was wary when he followed the woman as she marched out to the courtyard that morning, but schooled his features so that he appeared calm and composed. That morning, they practiced duelling, with Bellatrix attempting to use Legilimency to throw him off track. This proved to be a challenge for Draco, who considered himself reasonably adept at Occlumency. Just as he'd been trained to, Draco ensured that his Occlumency shields were always up nowadays – they needed to be, particularly now that he was starting to have doubts about the Dark Lord's motives. If these thoughts were revealed, he would be in serious trouble.

The difficulty of duelling and defending Bellatrix's attempts to Legilimize him were evident at once. He struggled to efficiently split his magic between keeping his shields intact, defending against Bellatrix's advances, and casting his own attacks. His blocking abilities were significantly weakened when he had to direct a greater portion of his magical energy to maintaining his shields – which was what he needed to do when Bellatrix attempted to get into his head – and he could hardly prioritise attacking her at all. The woman had much more experience than he, and refused to go easy on him, hitting him with curses that he struggled to block and often had to simply dodge to avoid. Yes, he was no nephew of hers, just a weapon indeed.

By midday, the lessons were finally over, and Draco returned, limping and bruised, to his own quarters, where he summoned a house elf to prepare him a bath and performed the necessary healing spells to fix his more major injuries. He was too exhausted to worry about the other ones. He sank himself into the lemongrass perfumed water, allowing it to lap at his aching muscles. He closed his eyes and must have fallen asleep there, because the next time they opened, the sun was setting.

Realising he hadn't eaten since breakfast, he forced himself to have a light supper, summoning a house elf to his room once again. Like his mother, he didn't have much of an appetite these days, but he knew that it was important to remember to eat. The weaker his body, the harder he would find it to counter Bellatrix's spells, and the more he would be punished. He needed to be strong, needed to survive.

After swallowing down as much of the food that he could, he made his way to the drawing room and found his father there, sitting in his usual chair before the fire. Draco eyed him with disappointment, noting that the man still hadn't shaved, then sank into his own chair, grabbing a tome from the stack that was piled beside him. At the moment, he was studying healing magic, something that had only been skimmed over in his classes at Hogwarts. With battles inevitably looming, becoming confident with assessing and counteracting damage to his person was necessary. Some of the other books in the pile had been assigned by various members of the inner circle for him to read in order to be of further value as a Death Eater. However, most of them, like this one, had been self-selected. Although he wasn't known to be a book-worm like Granger was, he had always been a prolific reader, his interests wide-ranging. Perhaps in another life, he'd have been a Ravenclaw.

He'd been immersed in the tome for about an hour when he heard the sound of his mother's voice. It was cold and imperious, emphasising her authority. Curious, he snapped the book closed and placed it back on the pile, listening intently. He knew that Bellatrix had returned to her own quarters and that Wormtail was in the library, both of which lay in the opposite direction to the manor's entrance, where his mother seemed to be. That meant that there were newcomers.

Lucius had also heard Narcissa, and it was almost as if he knew what was coming, for his eyes suddenly grew sharp and clear and his normally slackened jaw tightened. He stood smoothly, expectantly, his spine straight and his eyes focussing straight ahead for once rather than on the ground. He was still an unshaven mess, but he looked more like himself in that moment than he had in months. Draco remained confused but he followed his father's lead, listening to the oncoming approach of his mother, and the arrhythmic clumping that indicated that a group was with her, moving slowly, awkwardly. More prisoners, perhaps?

He recognised Greyback as he entered then, but even if his eyes were closed he'd have known that it was the werewolf that joined them, for his offensive stench – sweat, blood, death – permeated the room immediately. Three Snatchers followed behind him, each managing a prisoner. Draco almost gaped at the newcomers, but of course, he knew better than that.

"What is this?" his father spoke then, his voice low and silky. He almost sounded like the Lucius of Draco's childhood, authoritative, terrifying.

"They say they've captured Potter," Narcissa responded coolly as she stepped to the side of the room. Her eyes flicked to her son, "Draco, come here."

He moved forward then, slowly, trying to keep his expression neutral as he stood by his mother. He'd already recognised Granger and Weasley easily enough, so he ignored them and considered the third, who had been wrenched away from the Snatcher who held him and pulled to the front of the ensemble by Greyback. Sheer logic would dictate that this one was Potter.

"Well, boy?" growled the werewolf.

The prisoner that Greyback had twisted and forced to face him seemed to have been the recipient of a nasty spell, possibly a Stinging Jinx. As a result, his face was distorted and swollen, pink and unnatural. The hair was the right colour to be Potter's, but it was much longer than he remembered. A hasty attempt to disguise his appearance, most likely.

"Well, Draco? Is it? Is it Harry Potter?" From behind him, he could hear the sheer desperation and impatience in his father's voice, and with that, the hope that his father had come back into himself fleeted. The old Lucius would never have allowed himself to sound so pathetic before his enemies.

He turned his attention back to the captive. The boy before him didn't want to meet his eyes. Draco didn't particularly want to look at him either, didn't want to be in this position at all. Why did this have to happen now, instead of during term when he would have been back at the school? Why did this have to fall on him?

"I can't – I can't be sure," he said.

His father's tone was urgent, almost bordering on panic as he pressed, "But look at him carefully, look! Move closer!"

Reluctantly, Draco moved away from his mother and closer to Greyback and his captive, then heard his father come up behind him, flinching in surprise as he grasped a hold of his hand and pulled him forward impatiently. It had been months since they'd last touched.'

"Draco, if it's him, then we can hand him over to the Dark Lord, and then everything will be forgi-"

"Mr Malfoy, I hope you aren't forgetting something." Greyback interrupted, the threat clear in his voice as his foul breath crested over them.

"Of course not," Lucius hastened, placing his hands on Draco's shoulders and adjusting him so that he stood facing the captive, "Now look at him, Draco. Look carefully. Is it him?"

Draco could still feel his father's hands clasping his shoulders, and he couldn't work out whether he relished or reviled the contact. He felt that old familiar sensation of wishing to please the man, warring with the discomfort of this sudden responsibility. Once again, he willed himself to be calm, and finally fixed his eyes on the boy properly. There was a scar on his forehead, though it wasn't the lightning bolt that Harry Potter was known for. The skin here was twisted, looking almost melted, as if something burning had been pressed into the boy's forehead and then held there. But through the swelling, he could see emerald green eyes looking back at him, and those were familiar, those had fixed upon his before. So yes, despite the disfigurations, there was no doubt in Draco's mind that Greyback was not mistaken. But…

"I don't know," he said finally, and took a quick step to the side, moving out of his father's grasp.

He turned himself away, cursing the internal conflict that he was experiencing, and forced himself to return to his armchair by the fire where hopefully he could be forgotten. He knew the weight of the decision before him, knew that revealing Potter's identity could mean the end of the war and spell the Dark Lord's victory. But that wasn't exactly what he wanted, was it? If Potter died, then the future - Draco's future - was set.

Lucius continued to hover, scrutinising the boy, "What happened to him?" he demanded, glaring suspiciously at the other captors, "Did you cast a Stinging Jinx on him?"

"Looked like that when we caught him, sir," one of the Snatchers spoke up in a tone of voice that tried to convey that they were hardly that stupid.

Lucius sighed in frustration, fingering a lock of his lank blonde hair as he continued to stare at the boy that was Potter.

"We'll have to wait," Narcissa spoke up, addressing the room, "The Dark Lord cannot be summoned unless we are certain that it is Potter. You know that if we are wrong, if his time has been wasted, we shall suffer greatly."

"Yes, yes," The blonde man dragged a hand through his hair restlessly, then seemed to remember that there were other prisoners present. He stalked over to the other two, inspecting them with narrowed eyes.

"Well this one is definitely a Weasley," Lucius declared, thrusting a finger at the redhead, who paled visibly at the accusation, "Is it the one from your year, Draco?"

Draco swallowed, "It… is possible."

Lucius turned his gaze to Granger, transfixed as he tried to place her. He opened his mouth to comment, but then-

"Cissy!"

Bellatrix flounced into the room, then ground to a halt, fixing her hooded eyes on the crowd haphazardly assembled in the drawing room. Slowly, her eyes brightened in recognition, and her lips curved in a knowing grin.

"New guests," she murmured quietly, drawing her wand and stroking it between her fingers as she moved sleekly through the room. She squinted questioningly at the boy that Draco knew to be Potter.

"This one is a Weasley." Lucius said, interrupting her thoughts as he jerked his head at the redhead; his voice had become hoarse, more tentative in the presence of his sister-in-law.

However, Bellatrix paid no attention to his father's comment and glided past Weasley, coming to stand beside Lucius, who was still near Granger. His father flinched noticeably at her arrival. However, noticing the woman's attention was focused on the prisoner rather than him, he turned his head to look at the girl once more.

"It's the Mudblood, isn't it?" she said quietly, "It's Potter's little Mudblood whore."

"So the other one must be Potter," Lucius whispered, and Bellatrix whirled around, advancing on Greyback and his prisoner. She peered at him once again, wide-eyed and gleeful.

"We've got Potter!" Bellatrix shrieked, turning to fix the Malfoys with those manic eyes, "The Dark Lord must be informed at once!" and with that, she dragged up the black laced sleeve of her robe, revealing her Dark Mark.

"No!" cried Lucius, lunging forward to grasp a hold of her wrist.

"You dare touch me, Malfoy?" she hissed.

"I was going to summon the Dark Lord. The boy is on Malfoy grounds!"

"Malfoy grounds?" the other woman spat, "These were your grounds, Lucius. You have no claim to the boy now."

"Well I'm thinking that if there's a reward, we'll be earning that, seeing as we's the ones that caught 'em, right boys?" Greyback growled as he joined the dispute, resulting in resounding shouts of agreement from the Snatchers.

"A reward?" Bellatrix's voice was low and dangerous as she whirled around to glare at Greyback and the Snatchers, her arm twisting in Lucius's grasp, "You'll have your-" she paused, eyes widening as she took in the sword that was grasped in one of the Snatchers' hands, "Where did you get that?" she snarled, ripping her hand out of Lucius's grip.

Bellatrix advanced on the cluster of Snatchers, sparks flying from her wand. Lucius, taking advantage of the woman's turned back, pulled up the sleeve of his own robes. Draco, seeing what his father was about to do, lunged forward and took a hold of the man's wrist, similar to how he had just grabbed Bellatrix's.

"Wait." Draco said softly, pressing down gently with his fingers.

"Draco, you don't understand," Lucius pleaded, his tone sending shivers down Draco's spine, because he'd only ever heard Lucius plead like that before the Dark Lord, "We need this."

"Wait." Draco repeated, keeping his grip firm. Eventually, Lucius appeared to see reason, or perhaps his will had simply weakened; his shoulders slumped in defeat and he nodded. Seeing that reaction from a man who had once seemed so ambitious, so determined, and so terrifying to Draco – who had just shown glimpses of that old self just mere minutes before – made it difficult for him to stay in control of his emotions. But he did. He had to, because his father could not.

After guiding Lucius to his armchair by the fire, Draco turned back to the scene. By this point, the sword was in Bellatrix's grasp, and the Snatchers lay crumpled on the floor, victims of her wrath. Only Greyback remained standing, still holding onto Potter – for surely it had to be Potter – but he was submissive and fearful now. Granger and Weasley stood by the fallen Snatchers, still bound. Their eyes were fixed warily upon Bellatrix.

"I will be gaining answers tonight!" she announced to the room, whirling to acknowledge them all as she spoke, "And when I am finished my… interrogations… the Dark Lord will be summoned here. Greyback, these traitors can be taken down to the cellar with the rest. Draco, lead them there. Oh…" she paused, turning and tracing a finger down Granger's trembling cheek, "But not you, little Mudblood. We need to get reacquainted."

"NO!" Weasley shouted, fighting against his restraints as he made an attempt to lunge towards Bellatrix, "Take me, not her! Take m-"

"Langlock!" Bellatrix hissed, and Weasley's protests were replaced by non-verbal sounds as his tongue became affixed to the roof of his mouth. The boy stopped wriggling and simply stood there, glowering. "Take them, Draco."

He stepped forward then, holding his wand before him, a silent threat to the three Hogwarts students. He saw Potter glance in his direction, and promptly tore his eyes away from his face, staring at a space just past his shoulder instead.

"You will follow me," he said to the two boys, his voice low and threatening, "And if you try anything, anything, you will regret it."

There was no reply, but the hatred in their eyes was clear. It didn't faze Draco; the expressions were hardly unfamiliar to him. Greyback thrust the dark haired boy in his direction and the boy stumbled towards him, then Draco half-turned to lead them out the door, his wand trained on him all the while. He followed Draco down the hall towards the cellar and Weasley followed close behind, with Greyback pushing roughly along at the rear.


"We've got Potter," Bellatrix shrieked, "The Dark Lord must be informed at once!"

It was at this point that Narcissa managed to slip out of the drawing room unnoticed, and made her way silently down the darkened hall. If that disfigured prisoner truly was Harry Potter, then they'd be in good standing with the Dark Lord once more; if it was someone else, however, they were all as good as dead. The risk was too great, so she needed to do this, and she needed to do it now. She reached a sealed room that she had not entered for many years. A few days ago, she had caught her older sister attempting to gain entry, and had stood there for a few minutes, a Disillusionment Charm cast over herself as she had watched the other woman alternate between hissing at the door, casting an array of spells and placing her palms against it. Bellatrix had not been successful, and eventually she had stalked away. It was unlikely that Bellatrix had known the purpose of the room or suspected it to be of any particular importance; the woman had been trying to access each and every place in the house that she discovered.

Bellatrix and Lucius had always shared a cool relationship, which had become particularly evident during the years between him courting Narcissa and the two starting their marriage. Bellatrix had grudgingly accepted that the marriage arranged between the Blacks and the Malfoys was acceptable, mostly due to the other family's blood purity and social standing than any of Lucius's own personal qualities. The woman had been hard-pressed to relinquish her control over her youngest sister, particularly after Andromeda had been disowned by the family. She loathed to accept that Lucius's role as husband took precedence over her own, even though Bellatrix and Rodolphus were already wed. Lucius, who had known the Black sisters from childhood, had always looked upon Bellatrix with distaste. Although classically beautiful in her youth, she was unrefined and her ill grace belied her breeding. He had been thankful to be paired with the middle sister, Andromeda, at the time, who was admired by many for her elegance and charismatic disposition. He had been further relieved when this arrangement had fallen through and he had been betrothed to the graceful and subdued Narcissa. He had informed Narcissa of this at length many a time, that it was fortunate that Andromeda's defects - that is, her sympathy toward Mudbloods - had been revealed before he had committed to her, before his children could be tainted with such nonsense.

Bellatrix had always viewed herself as the Dark Lord's most loyal and devoted follower, particularly over Lucius Malfoy, who had prioritised protecting his own reputation after the First Wizarding War. Now that her brother-in-law's status in the eyes of the Dark Lord had been reduced to little more than chattel, Bellatrix's more favoured position was all too clear. Lucius did not warrant her respect, and there had never been any camaraderie between them, so there was nothing to stop her from taking advantage of him and making a show of it in the process. Even if there had been fight left in him, there was little that he could do - he had no wand after all. Narcissa was the only one who could intervene - to demand respect as she firmly reminded Bellatrix that this was her home, her legacy to protect, not just her husband's. But how long would the woman continue to listen to her?

Narcissa placed her hand upon the cool wood of the door, allowing it to recognise her magical signature before she murmured the password and stepped into the room, surveying it with a nostalgic eye. The bedroom looked exactly the same as it had almost twenty years ago, its furnishings elegant and feminine, the decor selected by Lucius's mother. The last time she had slept here, she and Lucius had been engaged to be married. Propriety had ensured that they maintain separate rooms until they were wed. A fond smile crept upon her face as she remembered just how little that rule had been obeyed, how he had visited her each night and then crept back to his own room, sated, at the crack of dawn. Then, she shook her head slightly and her smile faded as she brought herself back to reality. There was no use in reminiscing. That Lucius was only a memory now.

She made her way to an ornate cherry wardrobe that stood against the far wall, stroking her index finger over its elegantly twisted design before pulling the doors open. She breathed a sigh of relief as her eyes roamed its floor and located a smooth ebony box engraved with the initials NB. She had remembered the box a few weeks ago, but it had been so long since she'd last seen it; she'd been worried that she'd moved it somewhere else over the years and forgotten. She bent down and smoothly scooped up the box. She moved to the bed with it cradled in her arms and sat down gently, stroking her index finger over the box as she softly murmured the appropriate incantation. It had been so long ago, but she remembered it perfectly. She heard a click, and then the lid to the box lifted slowly. She gently raised the lid, revealing a necklace, diamond encrusted with a large black one at its centre. It was nestled in a bed of black silk, and the note that it had come with was still tucked underneath. Carefully, she pinched the corner of the note and pulled it out. It said one word.

Forgiven.

Narcissa placed the note in her lap as she scooped out the contents of the box, wrapping the necklace up in the silk, carefully ensuring that her fingers did not dance over its surface. She tucked it gently into the pocket of her robes then slipped the note back into the box, dropping the lid softly closed. She returned to the wardrobe and placed it back in the same position, then made her way out of the room. She stopped in the doorway to give the room one final glance, a part of her knowing that she would likely never set her eyes upon it again. She nodded decisively and stepped back, closing the door behind her. She had to hurry back before they noticed her absence.


The four of them reached the cellar, Draco silent as Greyback continued to taunt the two boys – Weasley in particular – loudly voicing his intentions to sup upon Granger and claim her as his own. While the boy behind him had remained surprisingly silent the entire time, Weasley had not been able to hide his rage - even without the ability to talk, his growling had made his feelings all too clear.

Disarming the barrier, Draco stepped aside, and the two boys stumbled unceremoniously down the stairs and into the cellar, Greyback thrusting his wand at their backs. Draco curtly informed the werewolf that his services were no longer required, staring up at Greyback coolly as the other leered, the putrid reek of the werewolf wafting over him. For a moment, he expected some kind of confrontation, but Greyback had swung around abruptly, yelling a final threat down into the cellar before retreating, leaving Draco to apply the barrier once more.

After Greyback had rounded the corner, he stepped quietly into the cellar, standing halfway down the stairs. He eyed the two boys who glared up at him from the dusty floor then pointed his wand at Weasley. Too slow, the boy that he was certain was Potter tried to leap in front of him. Always the hero, Draco thought in amusement.

"Finite Incantatem." Draco released the spell on Weasley's tongue, relishing the way that the dark-haired boy's mouth gaped open. Weasley however, remained indignant, eternally ungrateful, and Draco felt particularly smug when he asked, "Better now?"

"Fuck you, Malfoy." Weasley snarled, and his friend blocked him as the redhead made to throw himself forward. Surprisingly, Weasley heeded the movement and did not try to push past, though he still looked furious.

"Smart decision, Potter," he said softly, "Attempting to attack me would be… unwise."

He noticed that neither of them bothered to deny Potter's identity, which was a foolish choice on their part if they were hoping to maintain the lie that they'd told upstairs. Potter simply glared up at him, or at least that was what it looked like he was doing – it was difficult to know for sure since his face was so swollen.

He backed the way up the rest of the stairs, forcing himself to take his time and ignore the furious ricocheting of his heart in his chest. Even if he was the only one with a wand, even if he knew how to protect himself, he could feel the terror rising within him as he looked down on the two boys that stood frozen on the cellar floor, staring up at him with expressions of utter abhorrence. If they had their wands, he was sure that they would attempt to annihilate him without a second thought. He reached the top and applied the barrier.

"YOU COWARD!" he heard Weasley yell, but by then, he'd already turned away.