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Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England

11 June, 1996

If the tales in the lurid two-knut books were true, it would have been grey and depressing, with odd mists rolling in over the manicured gardens of Malfoy Manor. Draco almost wished it was, because it seemed wrong to him that his father should be gone, stuck in Azkaban, and nature should choose the day he was forced to return to the Manor for summer holidays to break with the stereotype of a cool, wet, English summer and let the sun out to shine and glimmer off of the stone of the manor itself and the water of the fountains.

This seemed especially true when his mother informed him that the Dark Lord was in residence, and he was very displeased with Lucius for getting caught and for failing to get the prophecy, not to mention what happened in his second year. This seemed particularly unfair to Draco, as really, it was all Potter's fault, but he wasn't stupid enough to tell the Dark Lord that, especially with how frightened his mother was. Lucius was gone, and until he returned, it was his duty to take on his father's responsibilities and to take care of his mother. It didn't matter that he didn't feel ready, or that he was frightened, not that he'd admit it to anyone else. It was his job, and he would do it well. He would prove to his father when he returned that even if he had never beat Potter to the snitch, or got better marks than Granger, he was a true Malfoy. He'd do whatever was required of him.

Inside the house, however, seemed much more apropos to the situation. It was surprisingly still inside, as if everyone were afraid to make a wrong move, or even breathe. He would have thought there was no-one here save for him and his mother, before he heard a hissed "Cissy!" from one of the hallways that led to Narcissa's smaller parlour. He resisted the urge to shake off his mother's guiding hand, until they were face to face with her sister and his aunt. Draco wished he could say that he wasn't frightened by her, but there was a madness in her eyes that he feared more than the witch herself.

"Bella." Narcissa said, somewhat affectionate, but her voice was tight despite herself. "Is there news?"

"Not yet." Bellatrix said with a sniff. "Our Lord is very cross with Lucius. He entrusted him with something of great value, and your husband lost it, and then when he was given a chance to redeem himself, he let himself be caught, forcing the Dark Lord to break his cover. He is still contemplating an adequate punishment for your husband, though he has some...ideas." Bellatrix's eyes skimmed over her nephew in an obvious way.

"Not Draco." Narcissa said, a note of desperation in her voice, as she put a protective arm around her son, almost instinctually. "If someone must pay for Lucius's crimes, let it be me. He's just a child!"

"I'm not a child." Draco replied, hating the way his voice wavered, just slightly. "With father gone, I'm the man of the house, and the only Malfoy by blood. I am my father's son, and I won't hide behind you, Mother."

Narcissa let out a deep groan of anguish at the same time Bellatrix let out a gleeful laugh. "You should be proud, Cissy! There are far too many cowards these days. At least your son knows how to play!"

"This isn't a game, Bella!" Narcissa snapped. "It's war and my son's life."

"If only I'd had a son to offer up to the Dark Lord's service, I'd do it gladly, Cissy!" Bellatrix snapped, sweeping from the room and slamming the door behind herself with a bang that reverberated through the too-still manor.

Two days had passed before the Dark Lord wanted to see Draco, and as he had been waiting he hated that he was relieved the wizard hadn't yet called him. He had always known he wasn't a Gryffindor, courage and bravery did not come naturally to him. He had always thought growing up that he would feel honoured to meet the Dark Lord, and maybe in another life he would have been, if his father wasn't in dishonour and his home wasn't being used and abused by dirty, uncouth people he would have never invited in of his own free will.

He shook his head to banish the thoughts, and dressed in his best robes, before heading down to the room that had once been the best ballroom, that now held the Dark Lord all but enthroned. He deliberately did not look at the dirt, grime, and blood that had built up on the usually immaculate black and white marble or the Death Eaters hugging the walls in a strange kind of horseshoe. His aunt led him to an area directly in front of what was usually a dais for musicians, but now held the Dark Lord in one of the antique chairs from his father's study.

"My Lord," He said, kneeling when he saw Severus in the corner of his eye, make a subtle movement in instruction. "I am honoured you have chosen our home in which to take up residence, and that you have asked to see me." He bit down on the part of him that was raging at the idea of kneeling to another wizard, remembering all the times his father had claimed that they were the pinnacle of wizarding society, better than anyone, and here he was, kneeling in his own home. He scolded himself for such thoughts, reminding himself that his father served, and until Lucius returned, he had to do his duties, whether it was with the companies or with the Dark Lord. Still, he hated kneeling, He pushed the thoughts down, trying to keep his face a mask.

"Young Malfoy…" Voldemort said, his voice oddly dry, like fragile book pages. "Your home has been adequate, but your father's service has not."

Fear managed to keep Draco from bristling at the slight to Malfoy hospitality as well as his father. The second was oddly easier than the first. Draco loved his father, but their relationship was fraught with Lucius's disapproval and discipline, and the fact that Draco never felt as though he lived up to his expectations. "I apologise for my father's errors, My Lord." He replied. "Whatever I can do to aid you, I will do without a second thought."

If Voldemort had been more human, his lip would have curled. "You think that you, a mere schoolboy...one who isn't even top of his class, can aid me?"

There was a titter of laughter through the rest of the Death Eaters ringing the ballroom, and in their amusement, Draco knew he had made a grave misstep. "I only meant that any task you would have, I would do it gratefully, My Lord, I would never dream of suggesting that I could do something you could not." He maneuvered, turning paler despite himself.

"The only aid you can offer me is to be a message to your father, boy." The Dark Lord hissed. "Severus...is your potion complete?"

Draco dared not look up as he heard his godfather move to his side, the Potion Master's black scuffed dragonhide boots moving into his field of vision. "It has not yet been tested, My Lord, but I believe it is finished."

"Well, we have a volunteer for testing, Severus." The Dark Lord replied, in a way that made a chill go down Draco's spine. "After all, Young Malfoy wishes to aid us."