Draco sat in the library of Malfoy Manor, a place he had once called his sanctuary, but it no longer held that endearment in his mind. It was cold and uncaring, just like the monster that ran the household.
His mother had brought a breath of life to the Manor; she had been its only warmth. Now that she was gone the Manor was dark and lifeless.
His chin rested on his hand as he stared into the burning fire.
Draco had been in charge of the mission that ultimately ended the lives of the Creevy family. The only redeeming factor in his mind was that the Dark Lord had said that they had to die, but had never stated how. Not a drop of blood was spilt. Draco had given the order that they all be in and out as quickly as possible.
It had still sickened him, and he was violently ill when he had completed the mission and had some time to himself. The other Death Eaters who had accompanied him had all been smiling and congratulating each other. The only light on the whole damned situation was the fact that he had given the Creevy family a quick death.
His plan was ready, or as ready as it would ever be. The one flaw that he couldn't get around was the reality that the Manor had enchantments placed upon it, enchantments Draco knew meant certain death to anyone who attempted to take out the Manor's master. He needed to get Lucius away from the Manor and its surrounding area, but how to do this?
He tapped a finger on his cheek.
He could use Harry for bait, but he would never use the young wizard that he had come to know as a friend like that. But what else could he do? He hardly saw Lucius any more; he was always away doing some secret work for the Dark Lord, and when he was here he was often distant and self-absorbed.
Draco was startled and jumped from his comfortable chair in the library when he felt the wards around the Manor shift. This could only mean one thing. The Dark Lord was paying them a visit, and Draco's heart raced with the implication of what that meant as his face contorted with panic.
Lucius had not mentioned that they would be playing host this afternoon, unless he had just found out himself.
Maybe the Dark Lord was not here to see him. Perhaps he had some business to discuss with Lucius. But why was he coming to the Manor and not calling Lucius to his side?
Draco willed his heart to beat slower as he quickly plastered a look of indifference on his face. His godfather had taught him well, and he mimicked the outward calmness that Severus always portrayed.
He went over to one of the bookshelves and grabbed a random tome from its shelf before seating himself once more before the fire. He would stay here, in the library, unless asked to present himself to the Dark Lord.
His mind was racing a million miles per hour even as he opened the book cover and began to look at the words displayed there, not really paying any attention to them.
Lucius paced his study. Back and forth, back and forth. The anticipation was killing him. He had a speech prepared for his Lord and went over it again and again in his mind.
He had been down to see his slave and give her a plain white dress to put on. No shoes, for slaves weren't permitted shoes. She had looked at him quizzically, but had made no protest as she had pulled the dress over her head and awaited further commands. He had told her that the Dark Lord would be seeing her this afternoon, and that she was to be respectful and follow his orders without hesitation. She had frowned at this, and he left her there, with the frown on her face, as he shut the door and made his way to his study where he had quickly downed a tumbler of Firewhiskey.
He had dropped the wards surrounding the Manor a mere five minutes ago. They would only permit entry to his Lord.
He had been summoned to the Dark Lord's side earlier that morning, where he was told that he would pay Lucius and the Mudblood a visit that afternoon. Lucius had felt the first stirrings of terror deep within his gut, but he simply nodded his head.
His Lord wouldn't take his slave away from him, would he? He would give Lucius this one boon, for he had asked for nothing else in all the long years of service to his Lord's campaign. He would grant Lucius the Mudblood after he had defeated Harry Potter, and she would be his. He could then move her out of the dungeons and into her own suite within the Manor. Everything would be perfect.
The feel of the wards around the Manor dropping and the sound of Apparation made Lucius turn and cease his pacing. The time had come to prove his worth to the Dark Lord and see that his galleons were put to good use. After all, Malfoys had deep pockets. What he couldn't charm out of people, he usually bought.
Straightening his immaculate clothing, he made his way out of the study and down to the entrance hall to meet his Lord and Master, silently praying that all would go well.
Severus sat in his office. He could feel the migraine developing at his temples and he rubbed furiously at the sides of his forehead with both hands.
First year essay marking was never enjoyable, and he doubted it ever would be.
He paused in his marking and looked up as he saw the door to his office open and close. A moment later, Harry and Remus were standing before the closed door.
He sighed loudly as they made their way towards his desk. Harry wore a big grin on his face whilst Remus just looked worn out.
"How are you doing, Severus?" Harry asked as he stopped before Severus's desk. Remus stood to his right, slightly behind the young man.
"Do you know how strenuous first year essays are?" Severus replied, scowling slightly. "It seems that the newest batch of miscreants to grace the halls of Hogwarts are complete and utter idiots."
Harry's smile widened even more.
"Well, I hope my essays weren't that bad," Harry said. The gleam in his eye was contagious, and Severus felt the corner of his mouth pull upwards, threatening to turn into a grin of his own.
"No," Severus replied. "Now if you have come here and dragged that mutt with you to talk about your days as a first year, I simply don't have the time, but if you have come here to discuss something of importance, then I would ask you to ward and silence the room."
"Play nice, Severus," Harry stated as he flicked his wand at the door using a nonverbal spell to hide their conversation from prying ears. Severus's scowl deepened.
Harry turned back to look at the dark-haired wizard, who was looking at him and wearing a scowl on his face.
"Now, everyone is situated in the safe houses and here at Hogwarts. All the werewolves have been settled in the Forbidden Forest, and everything seems to be going according to plan," Harry started, marking each point off on his fingers.
Severus held up one pale hand before Harry could continue.
"Why, precisely, are you telling me all of this?" Severus drawled.
Harry rolled his eyes before crossing his arms over his chest.
"You weren't there to oversee any of this. I know you have been locked up in here doing God knows what." Harry gave Severus a hard glare.
"Yes, contrary to your beliefs, I do have another job," Severus replied mockingly, his hand sweeping across the desk to encompass the grading he was doing before he was interrupted.
"Oh, yes, we mustn't forget about the first years Potions essays," Harry spat out, the frustration growing in his voice.
Severus just lifted one eyebrow in response as he waited for Harry to continue.
"In case you haven't noticed, we are all preparing for war whilst you sit in here 'marking' these oh-so-important essays," Harry said.
Remus let out a chuckle, and two sets of eyes looked in his direction.
"And why did you have to bring the werewolf down here to tell me this?" Severus asked Harry, though his eyes never left Remus, who felt himself begin to redden at the Potions master's continued scrutiny.
"Remus was concerned about you; we all are," Harry replied, looking back at Severus.
Severus scoffed at his words.
"Well, as you can see, I am fine, nothing to report, nothing to do, except mark the first years' essays," Severus said, a hint of resentment in his tone.
Harry knew now without a doubt that Severus's problems were those of his own resentment towards Dumbledore. They both had discussed their ongoing feelings of uselessness, sitting around whilst others were out there fighting and dying every day. Harry knew that Severus was not a man who was used to being idle and created more work for himself then strictly necessary.
"When do you think you will be finished with those?" Harry asked as he nodded towards the ungraded pile sitting on the Potions master's desk.
"An hour, perhaps two. It would proceed quicker without your presence though," Severus calmly replied, rubbing once more at his temples and closing his eyes.
"You've another headache, haven't you? Let me get you a potion for that," Harry said, already making his way to Severus's storeroom.
Severus sighed loudly, his eyes still closed.
Remus stood there in shock. He had lost count of the times he had tried to befriend the wizard sitting behind the desk and had been pushed away and snarled at for his efforts. It seemed to him as though Severus had found an unlikely companion in young Harry. How many other things had he missed whilst he had been too busy with his own needs and those of the werewolves?
Harry came back with a potion in his hand. He came around the desk, placing it next to Severus's right hand whilst placing his left hand on his shoulder.
"When was the last time you ate?" Harry asked. His voice was laced with concern as he watched the man before him uncork the potion and swallow it in one gulp. His hand never wavered from his shoulder, and Severus didn't cast him aside, as Remus was expecting him to.
"Last night some time, I think," Severus sighed as the potion started working immediately.
"Remus," Harry said, looking up to the wizard, startling him out of his own thoughts. "Would you be so kind as to Floo the kitchens and ask them for some lunch for the three of us?"
Remus nodded mutely as he turned around and headed for the hearth, his brain not quite catching up to what his eyes had seen. Harry Potter had somehow managed to get under Severus Snape's icy exterior, and in doing so, had earned himself a most loyal and dependable comrade.
Lucius met the Dark Lord in the foyer of his Manor. He bowed low before speaking, "My Lord."
"You may rise, Lucius." The reptilian wizard spoke, and Lucius rose from his bow.
"This way, my Lord," Lucius said, the reverence in his voice speaking volumes as he swept his arm to indicate that his Lord should follow him. Although he knew that the Dark Lord always liked to lead the way, he also knew that pureblood traditions dictated that the Manor's master always led his guests to the place that he wanted them to go. The Dark Lord made sure to follow pureblood convention as long as it suited his needs.
Lucius made his way down the hall and to his left, where he stopped abruptly before a blank wall. There was no difference to be seen in this stretch of wall, and only the few who had the honour of knowing that this was indeed where Lucius kept his prisoners even knew of its existence.
Taking his wand from the silver-headed serpent cane, he pushed it against a series of bricks. There was a much easier way to open the door, but Lucius was nothing if not an exhibitionist, something that the Dark Lord was well aware of.
As a set of narrow stairs materialised before him, he placed his wand back into the cane and started the descent down into the bowels of the dungeons. The sconces on the wall lit up immediately as he placed his foot on the first stair, bringing dazzling light into the passage.
Making his way to the final cell at the end of the narrow passage, he lifted up his left arm, bracing it against the hard wooden surface of the door. The door immediately clicked open, swinging inward on its hinges. The sconces instantly flared to life, showing his slave seated on the small cot. She immediately jumped up and assumed the position of submission.
Lucius grinned.
The Dark Lord preceded Lucius into the room, taking in the various furnishings—of which there were little—with a sweep of his red eyes before they settled on the Mudblood.
"I see you have taught the Mudblood her place." His master spoke, never taking his eyes off the girl who was sprawled before him.
"It wasn't too difficult, my Lord. Mudbloods and the Muggle filth they come from pose no real threat to a wizard of either your or my calibre to break. Their puny brains are really quite suited to this kind of servitude," Lucius drawled, his tone signifying all the pureblood snobbery in his lines.
"Very good, Lucius," Voldemort replied, his eyes narrowing as he watched the Mudblood on the hard, cold floor.
He cared not for her comforts; he knew she was a tool to win this war. Throw that Potter brat off course. His face broke out in a grin as he pictured the scene within his mind.
"My Lord," Lucius said, breaking Voldemort from his musings. "What is to become of the Mudblood once you have been successful in killing Potter?" Lucius's tone was cautious, and although he tried very hard to appear nonchalant, Voldemort could tell he was hiding something.
Voldemort spun around and faced Lucius, his eyes narrowing and his face taking on a look of anger.
"What business is it of yours Lucius?" he whispered menacingly. "You are not to question me—ever. Is that understood?"
Lucius was taken aback at the Dark Lord's tone. He hastily took a step backwards and quickly fumbled for a response, "No, of course not, my Lord," he spoke quickly, bowing his head. "I was merely curious is all. I meant no offence."
"Once her usefulness has ended, she will be disposed of. Preferably whilst Potter is still alive, but if it is after he is dead, it matters not," Voldemort answered.
Lucius tried to not show the dismay on his face as his mind scrambled to come up with a way of keeping his slave alive.
"My Lord, if you will, may I ask you for a boon?" he asked. His whole body was shaking with nerves, though none of this showed outwardly.
Voldemort considered this and then nodded his head for Lucius to continue.
"I wish to keep the Mudblood here, after you win the war, as a message to the other Mudbloods and blood traitors," Lucius improvised hastily. He knew that the Dark Lord was getting irritable, and it was never wise to speak to him when he narrowed his eyes so. But Lucius had nothing to lose really, and he felt if he lost his slave now, he would in fact be losing a part of himself.
"And why would I need this Mudblood to do as you suggest?" Voldemort asked, his voice merely a whisper to show his growing anger.
"Because, my Lord, she is a close friend of Harry Potter; what better way to crush those that will oppose you than to show them all what will become of them?" Lucius held his breath as he awaited his Lord's decision.
"Potter thinks her dead. Severus told me himself that the boy is inconsolable and prone to fits of rage. I too have felt his growing depression and despair, and I think that when the time is right, to have her brought before me and killed in front of Potter will break what little resistance he has left. The Order will be useless without their precious Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-Only-To-Die-Again. It will be a slaughter worthy of the history books, and I shall triumph and live forever." Voldemort finished his long winded speech, something he was not prone to doing without an audience.
This conversation was not going as planned but Lucius knew to hold his tongue.
Finally, after what seems like hours, but actually was only a handful of seconds, Voldemort continued.
"Lucius, although you have been one of my most faithful servants over the last few years, you know it is not possible for me to grant you this boon. You will have your choice of Muggles and Mudbloods once I have defeated Potter," he replied, turning his back to Lucius once more and facing the Mudblood, who hadn't moved an inch.
"Such a shame too, it appears you have taught her well, but as you say, it was a simple task, one which I am sure you will be able to recreate." Voldemort threw Lucius's words back at him.
What have I done? Lucius thought, as he hung his head further in failure.
Malfoys weren't used to not getting their way, and in a last ditch effort he spoke once more.
"But my Lord, if only…"
"I have made my decision on this matter, Lucius. You will not question me on this; do I make myself clear?" Voldemort's voice was getting quieter and quieter as he finished his sentence. Lucius knew better than to argue with him.
"Yes, my Lord," Lucius replied, his tone one of defeat.
Voldemort clapped his hands together.
"Good, now show me all that you have taught the Mudblood," he said, conjuring himself a chair in the corner and sitting down in it gracefully as though he were about to watch the opera instead of torture.
Lucius, with a heavy heart, went and stood before his slave. He would take out his anger on her, as to do otherwise would be suicide. Malfoys were, after all, big on self-preservation.
"Draco!"
Draco jumped, half dropping his book in the process as he heard Lucius call his name using a Sonorus Charm. Draco was sure that the whole of the Manor had heard Lucius calling him.
"Draco, come down here this instant," Lucius bellowed once more. Draco was sure his eardrums would never be the same.
Draco winced as he rubbed at his sore ears, his face screwing up into a look of worry as he quickly exited the library. Making his way to the top of the stairs, he looked down to see Lucius standing at the bottom. He was dishevelled—everything, from his clothes to his hair, was unkempt, and if Draco hadn't looked closely, he would have thought that Lucius had been in a wizards' duel, as there was blood decorating his usually immaculate clothing.
"Yes, father," Draco said from the top of the stairwell, although it pained him to call this monster his father.
"Go and get your cloak, we are going out," Lucius commanded; the glint in his eyes showed Draco just how unstable he was at this precise moment.
Draco swallowed the retort that was itching its way up his throat and quickly nodded his head, turning around and hastily making his way to his room.
Once inside he slammed the door and quickly made his way over to the hidden hole under his bead. Lying down on his stomach, he silently opened it, the wards recognising only him, and reached inside to grab the Polyjuice potion and the locks of Lucius's hair.
It's now or never, he thought to himself as he flicked his wand at the smallish sized hole, closing it and straightening up. He picked up the travelling cloak off his bed, placing it over his shoulders and doing up the clasp. He carefully put the bag and potions vial in one of the pockets. He made sure that the vial was unbreakable before he made his way to the door.
He paused, his hand on the knob, as he took a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. Steadying himself for what was to come.
You can do this, he told himself sternly before he exited the room.
One thing was certain: tonight, he would either succeed in his mission, or die trying.
She was cold, oh so very cold.
Her body ached and her various cuts and gashes were still bleeding slightly. Her Master had never before failed to heal her completely after he exited her home, and she was confused as to why she was now in this state.
She huddled down further in the straw that was to be her new bed. Her bed had been stripped of its hard mattress; the frame was upright against the wall, its twisted metal and springs showing her Master's displeasure.
She felt as though he was dismissing her, disappointed in her. She had tried so hard to please him. She tried not to listen in when the other man came into her room—the Dark Lord, her Master had called him—but it was hard not to do so. She did not understand everything that went on between the two men, but she had thought that she had heard frustration in her Master's voice.
Was it directed at her? She couldn't be positive, although they were discussing her, and someone named Potter, so it must have been.
He had treated her more roughly then he had previously. The cut of the whip had stung a little more, been a little deeper, as had his use of the knife, which he usually wielded so skilfully. Not this time, however, as he cut into her with no regard for her flesh. He had made his wounds deep, the blood flowing freely.
When he finally emptied his seed into her, she was startled to hear clapping coming from the corner and lifted her head up, perplexed that they were not alone. She had forgotten that they had had an audience. Catching a glimpse of the other occupant in her home, the thought brought a fresh wave of shivering through her body, although this one had nothing to do with the chill in the air.
He was almost snake-like in appearance; his legs were neatly crossed at the ankle, and he wore the most hideous smile on his face. She quickly looked down at the ground, ashamed that she had actually looked up at her master's companion, this Dark Lord.
He had never let anyone view them before, and she was interested as to why now he was doing so.
When they had both left her, she had crawled up to the bed and curled up upon it. She started to drift off, not sure whether it was from the blood loss or the fact that she was just so tired.
She was awakened a short time later by the door slamming against the wall. She was too exhausted to move.
"Wake up, you useless Mudblood!" Her master screamed at her, kicking her in the legs with the toe of his boot, causing her to stifle a scream.
She tried to get up, but her arms and legs would not support her.
Grabbing her by the hair, he yanked her off the mattress and on to the floor.
"I said GET UP," he yelled, once more kicking her in the ribs, and this time she did cry out, and she heard a distinctive snap of bone.
"Now look what you made me do," he said. There was however, not even the slightest hint of remorse in his voice.
She whimpered as she attempted to roll over and struggled to get into the submissive position that he seemed to approve of.
"Useless cunt of a Mudblood. Look at you. Crawling around on the ground like a worthless piece of shit, you aren't even worthy to lick the underside of my boots," he said in a ragged voice filled with contempt.
She was trying, she truly was, but her limbs wouldn't co-operate with her brain. She was so tired, so very tired.
She started convulsing on the floor then, and his eyes opened wide. He quickly pulled his wand from the cane and set about fixing his slave. Although not repentant, he still cared for her in his own way.
After healing her somewhat haphazardly, he sat down heavily on the cot. His breathing was erratic.
The Dark Lord had said that she was to be killed, and soon too, if he understood correctly. What did her comforts matter to him?
"Fuck it all to Hades," he cursed loudly and stood up. Whirling around, he had taken out his frustration on the small bed.
Satisfied that he had destroyed something, he had left, shutting the door firmly behind him with a bang.
She had lain there, as quiet as could be, while he had destroyed her small measure of comfort.
Hardly daring to breath lest he turn his wrath on her, she had waited until he ran out of steam.
After he left, she had taken stock of her body and found that she could breathe a lot easier now. That was a relief. Her cuts were no longer oozing blood, but she still felt slightly light headed.
She had seen the pile of straw materialise before her eyes and crawled towards it, dragging blood all the way across her home. She would use the dress that her Master had brought her to wear later to tidy it up, when she wasn't so dizzy.
She huddled down in the straw, covering herself in it. She still ached, but it was nothing compared to how she felt about angering her master.
She lay there, shivering from both her thoughts and the cold, and closed her eyes.
Thanks to my fantastic beta, AmyLouise.
I am still trying to complete this story and apologise for my lack of updates.
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