Author's Note: Wow, it's been a long time, hasn't it? Please forgive the delay, and thank you all for your gentle prodding and continued reading. I can't even begin to express how much it means to me.

It might be worth skimming the last chapter for a refresher. This one picks up almost right where that one left off.

Chapter 37: Children

The thick ropes of pressure that were looped around his torso loosened suddenly, and he pitched face first into the dark. His right arm came up on instinct, and his elbow jarred hard against solid ground, his hand scraping painfully across gravel. He tried to look down at the damage – his palm was stinging fiercely, and he could feel the wet warmth of blood – and realized he couldn't see. He felt a surge of panic. The world was swimming around him, blurry and unfocused.

It took him a full second to realize that his eyes were full of tears.

Blaise's eyes at the base of the staircase, full of panic and fear.

Oh Merlin, Blaise was –

His stomach turned, and he heaved violently, his face pressing into the gravel so that the smell of dirt filled his nostrils. He coughed and spat, gasping for breath.

"Would you look at the poor, little boy, Amycus?" Alecto's voice, mockingly sweet, cut through the nausea.

"Can't even handle a simple Side-Along," her brother replied, tutting gleefully.

He could hear other voices reeling around him, but he couldn't make out the words.

Fingers gripped him by the collar, dragging him up once more, and he was pulled a dozen stumbling steps, then half pushed across a threshold. He collapsed against a wall in a lit room. The unexpected, shocking coldness of the stone against his cheek, coupled with the brightness of the room, sent a jolt through his system. The voices came suddenly into focus. He swiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve and recognized the room.

It was the foyer of Malfoy Manor.

As if to confirm, he heard the quick click of heels on the tile floor, followed by his mother's voice. "Draco! Bellatrix! What happened? Did it go…did it go as planned?"

Her cheeks were pale, and her eyes were wide with worry. She must have been waiting for them.

She crossed the room, and her hands came up to cup his cheeks, turning his face from side to side, checking for wounds. "Draco, are you hurt?" she murmured.

Ginny collapsed against the wall, blood soaking her shirtfront and speckling her deathly white skin.

Blaise…Blaise was –

Another wave of nausea broke over him, this time accompanied by a sharp sting in his chest that rushed up to the top of his throat, nearly choking him. He pushed her hands violently away. She drew back, stunned.

"A bit old for Apparition Sickness, isn't he, Narcissa?" Greyback said, his rough growl laced with amusement.

The others laughed. Their spirits were high, that was obvious. Albus Dumbledore was dead. Somehow, that fact seemed small to Draco now. How could it possibly seem small? The great, the invincible Albus Dumbledore….

One of the Death Eaters Draco didn't know swaggered forward. He stopped and rocked back on his heels, crossing his arms over his chest. "You've raised him weak, woman," he said. He jutted out his chin in a smug grin.

At that, Draco felt a sudden, unexpected rush of anger. It pushed down the nausea and some of the pain. He clung to it. The man was big, with hulking shoulders and a neck like a tree trunk leading up to a flat face and a head of close-cut blonde hair. But the way he was chortling at his own comment reminded Draco forcibly of Goyle.

If his father had been here, Draco thought savagely, this half-wit excuse for a wizard would never have dared insult Narcissa Malfoy. He clenched his fists at his sides, gritting his teeth against the sting that raced across his cut palms.

"Her name," he snarled, "is Narcissa. And you will never speak to her like that again."

The room fell silent. The man's eyes turned to him. On any other day, Draco might have been satisfied by the way the dull surprise in them gave way to a flicker of nervous uncertainty, but now all he felt was a harsh, all-consuming urge to send a curse hurtling into that massive chest, to watch the body fly back against the wall, limbs flinging forward, then back, just like Blaise's –

Merlin, Blaise….

He gripped his wand and exhaled. The anger come roaring back, pushing down the sting again.

By now, the man had regained a degree of composure, and he shifted, tightening his arms in an attempt to make the muscles bulge. "And who's going to stop me, boy?" he retorted. "You couldn't even kill an old man."

An answer was on his lips, but Draco found that this time, he couldn't be bothered. Instead, he raised his wand, a hex on his lips.

Snape cut in. "I think, Rowle," the professor said, his voice low and measured, "that the Dark Lord will feel there was too much killing tonight, rather than too little."

The room went very still. Snape had brought up the one topic capable of dulling this moment of triumph.

But the professor wasn't looking at Bellatrix. Draco's brow furrowed, but Rowle – Draco had never heard the name before – answered his unspoken question.

"Gibbon should have watched where he was going," he snapped.

Draco glanced around and realized that there were too few figures. One was missing. Someone named Gibbon, apparently.

"In the alternative, the Dark Lord may find that you should have watched whom you were cursing," Snape said dryly, arching an eyebrow.

Rowle flushed. "I was doing what was ordered," he said. His voice was still harsh and defensive, but Draco could read uncertainty and fear in the way he shifted from foot to foot. "It's not my fault Gibbon ran in front of my wand."

"And that excuse just might work for you," Snape replied without a pause. Finally, his gaze flicked coolly to Bellatrix. "I have no such hope in your case."

At that, Bellatrix reddened with fury. By now, the room was deathly quiet. "Do not test me, Severus," she growled into the silence. Her voice was low, but it seemed to echo all the way up to the vaulted ceiling.

"I wouldn't presume," the professor replied wryly.

"Why?" Narcissa asked, anxiety obvious in her expression. She turned to her sister. "What's happened?"

Draco spoke from beside her. "She killed Blaise," he said. The words caught in his throat so that he had to grind them out from between gritted teeth.

His mother gasped. "But…why?" she said, her voice a soft whisper now. "He was a Pureblood."

"He was a traitor," Bellatrix spat.

"But his mother – Aradia has always been –"

"Traitors can spring up anywhere," Bellatrix snapped, fixing her sister with a venomous glare. "Do not pretend to have forgotten," she added, and the image flashed suddenly across Draco's mind of an album full of photographs, and not a single one of the middle Black sister.

"Anyway," Bellatrix continued, waving a hand dismissively, "his mother is hardly worth mentioning. A cowardly slut…just like that Weasley girl he was trying to save." She let out a few notes of a throaty laugh, but they fell strangely flat, and Draco realized suddenly that Bellatrix Lestrange was uncertain – nervous, even – and trying to conceal it.

That realization sent an unexpected rush of cold satisfaction through his system. His fingers tightened around his wand.

"That Weasley girl was not supposed to need saving," Snape cut in. "The Dark Lord was quite clear, if I recall."

"What you recall, Severus, is irrelevant," Bellatrix snarled.

"You are certainly correct, Bellatrix," he said. "The Dark Lord's opinion is all that matters." He paused, letting them all – letting Bellatrix – linger on just what the Dark Lord's opinion might be. "Shall we call him?"

No one moved. A moment ago they would have been tripping over each other for the honor of making the call, but now….

The professor raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Well?"

Now they all began to shift uncomfortably, glancing sidelong at Bellatrix. Amycus scuffed the toe of his black boot against the floor. His sister tugged her left sleeve down over her hand, bunching the fabric in her fist.

Draco could read the politics of it in their movements. An hour ago, Bellatrix had been the undisputed leader, the Dark Lord's right hand, while Snape had been the man of questionable heritage, the man who had spent more than a decade as Dumbledore's lapdog and had come away with the unmistakable stench of disloyalty. Now, Bellatrix might pay – who knew how much – for what she'd done to the Zabini boy, and Snape…Snape was the man who had killed Albus Dumbledore.

They all stood in silence for several long seconds. Draco's eyes followed Bellatrix's profile. Her cheeks were flushed, and the line of her back was stiff.

She let out a frustrated growl. "Well?" she snapped finally, echoing the professor. "Call him."

Amycus, the relief evident on his face, got his sleeve up first. He stepped forward and drew his wand, then pressed the tip against his skin. Air whistled between his gritted teeth as inky black snaked up his forearm.

Then he stepped back, and they all stood in their half circle, their eyes focused on the center of the room. They waited.

The Dark Lord appeared without the slightest whisper of sound. He was swathed in his usual long, black robes, the bone white of his skin standing out against the darkness of the fabric.

His posture was strangely gentle. His head was bowed, and his arms were folded lightly across his chest, so that Draco had the momentary, disconcerting thought that he was cradling something in his arms.

But it was the quiet that made him shiver. Most witches and wizards didn't have the skill to Apparate without a loud accompanying pop, and those that did, like Bellatrix or Dolohov, amplified their softer sounds for dramatic effect. The absolute silence of the Dark Lord's arrival made the hairs on the back of Draco's neck stand on end.

Suddenly, the figure inhaled and shuddered, as if waking from a deep sleep. Draco felt his mother give an involuntary start. The Dark Lord seemed to unfurl himself, letting his arms fall to his sides and lifting his skull. His eyes flicked opened.

They fixed on Bellatrix.

"He is dead, my Lord," she reported. Her lips split into a wide grin. About that fact, at least, she could afford to be triumphant. Draco knew that she was hoping the Dark Lord would be pleased enough with Dumbledore's death to overlook Blaise's.

There was a beat of silence as the Dark Lord took in her words.

And then he did something strange.

His head tipped back, his eyes sliding slowly shut once more, and his whole body began to tremble. The movements were subtle at first, then more visible beneath his robes, his limbs moving more and more erratically. All the while, a high, thin sound issued from between his lips.

It took Draco several seconds to realize that the Dark Lord was laughing.

The others began to realize it too, and they began to join in, until the foyer was filled with the manic cackles of more than half a dozen Death Eaters. Only he and Professor Snape remained still, their expressions stony. Beside him, Narcissa let out a few half-hearted titters, then fell silent, stiff with anxiety.

"Well," the Dark Lord said finally, recovering himself. His skin remained taut around his lips, features contorted in an eerily gleeful smile. "It seems young Draco is to be congratulated on his performance."

He began to turn, and Draco steeled himself for his gaze. But Rowle, who was still chuckling, muttered a word under his breath. "Hardly."

The crimson eyes darted across the room. "You have something to contribute, Rowle?" the Dark Lord sneered, his tone shifting in an instant to dangerous impatience.

Rowle flushed. "No, my Lord," he stammered. "I only meant…. That is –" He stopped short, and his back stiffened. Draco knew what was happening. Rowle's memories were being…reviewed.

After a few brief moments, the Dark Lord turned away. "Or rather, he said slowly, "Severus's performance."

Draco's heart began to pound hard in his chest. The images of a dozen punishments flashed through his mind. But when the red eyes finally came to rest on him, he saw that the Dark Lord was still smiling. "There is no need to be afraid, dear Draco," he said. His voice was like velvet.

Draco swallowed. "I am not afraid, my Lord," he replied. He just managed to keep his voice low and calm, but his fingers clenched into tight fists at his sides. Whatever happened, he was not going to show fear in front of Dolohov or Rowle or any of the rest of them.

The smile widened, and the eyes flicked momentarily to Bellatrix and then to Snape, dancing with obvious amusement. "Now, now, there is certainly no need to lie," he replied. "You have performed with much more success than any of us expected."

"So I've been told," he said stiffly. Bellatrix let out a light laugh.

"You gained us entry into the castle, you came face to face with Dumbledore, you raised your wand…." He paused, still smiling. "…and you killed him." He made a movement that might have been a shrug. "That is, you cast the Killing Curse. Do not worry, the death itself will come in time. And with practice."

Draco didn't know how to respond, but the Dark Lord kept speaking.

"Yes…." he continued, suddenly thoughtful. He paused again, considering. "You have done very well, Draco. Indeed, I think it is time you joined our ranks in a more…official capacity." There was a sharp intake of breath, and Draco knew that the others had understood something that he hadn't. His mind began to race again.

"Don't you agree, Bellatrix?" he mused.

His aunt seemed startled, but she recovered quickly. "Of course, my Lord," she said smoothly. "You are very generous to do Draco such an honor...despite his failures…."

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed. "It is hardly a failure when the old man is dead, is it?" he asked coolly.

"Of course, my Lord," Bellatrix repeated quickly. That seemed to soothe him, and she continued. "I only meant that it is exceedingly generous of you to show such favor to the Malfoy boy, despite his near constant need for my help and supervision during the months that it took him to complete a relatively simple task."

The Dark Lord let out an bemused laugh. "Ah, Bellatrix, is that jealousy I detect? I was unaware that you required constant praise."

Bellatrix gave a little, self-deprecating smile. "I do not, my Lord. I just wished to point out the circumstances of Draco's actions. This will, after all, be the first induction into our ranks since your return. It has…symbolic value."

"An astute observation," the Dark Lord replied. "Perhaps it is time for young Draco to account for his delays…." he mused.

He continued to speak – "…you remain my most capable servant, Bellatrix…." – and Draco knew that he should be afraid of the way the conversation was shifting, but he hardly heard, because in a moment, he suddenly realized two things.

The first was that the honor that the Dark Lord wanted to bestow upon him was the Dark Mark. He wanted to make him a Death Eater.

The skin – the unblemished, unblackened skin – of his inner forearm began to tingle. The memory rose unbidden in his mind of the first time he could remember noticing his father's Dark Mark. He had wondered at it, first at its beauty, the intricacy of the skull and serpent intertwined, and later at the care with which his father kept it out of sight. When he had finally understood what it represented, he had wanted one for himself, and there had been years when his greatest desire was for the Dark Lord – then a blurry ideal – to offer it to him. He had dreamed of this moment for his entire life.

But now he found that he was filled with dread. He should be feeling triumph, coupled with a mean sort of self-satisfaction. After all, Greyback was growling softly behind him, and he remembered that the werewolf had never been accorded this honor. And he should be feeling relief. If he was going to convince the Dark Lord to spare Ginny's life, he would need to be high in his esteem.

But after everything that had happened…. If it came, he would accept the Mark with a grateful smile on his face. He had no choice. But he thought of Ginny and Blaise, and he tasted something bitter at the back of his throat.

The second was that Bellatrix really didn't require constant praise, but neither did she care a single whit about the symbolism of this first induction. Her comments had been coldly calculated to draw the Dark Lord's attention away from the events that had taken place tonight. The less that was said about Dumbledore's death and the events surrounding it, the fewer questions asked, the better. So she had pointed out his early failures – the time it had taken to repair the cabinet, her constant help and supervision…. And she was distancing herself from him…calling him the Malfoy boy…. He felt a stab of anger, and he grit his teeth.

Bellatrix was throwing him to the wolves. She had killed Blaise, and now she was trying to save her own skin. And she was willing to sacrifice him for it.

He watched as Bellatrix said something more, her smile widening. His wand twitched at his side. All it would take was one swift flick, a whispered word, and she would be on the other side of the foyer, slumped at the base of a wall the way Ginny had been, the way Blaise had been…the way they maybe still were….

"Draco!" He was jolted back to reality by Bellatrix's harsh hiss. He realized that she had turned to look at him, and that everyone else in the room had done the same. His eyes caught on Dolohov, who was watching him keenly, a strangely pleased look on his face, as if he had just had a delightful realization.

The Dark Lord was looking at him expectantly. He had obviously just asked him a question.

Draco glanced at his aunt one last time.

And then he met the Dark Lord's eyes and focused as hard as he could on the memory of Bellatrix confronting Blaise and Ginny at the base of the staircase, and then Bellatrix shouting the Killing Curse, her wand pointed squarely at Blaise's chest and that look of unfettered joy on her face.

There were several long moments when the Dark Lord kept their gazes locked, and Draco knew that he had seen. Other images from the night flashed across his mind in quick succession. The Dark Lord rifled through his memories as if flipping through a book. Not a quick review this time, as it had been with Rowle. He wanted the entire story, and Draco let him have it.

The intrusion withdrew as subtly as it had come, and then the Dark Lord turned slowly, deliberately. No one spoke.

"Symbolic value," he said finally, lingering just long enough on the words to let each individual syllable form completely on his tongue.

"My Lord?" Bellatrix murmured, recognizing her own phrase.

"Symbolic value," he repeated, just as slowly. Then, "Tell me, Bellatrix, do you also consider disobedience to have…symbolic value?"

Bellatrix blinked once. Then suddenly, she flushed with realization, and she shot Draco a look of such unbridled hatred that if he had had any emotion to spare on fear of her, he would have taken a step back. As it was, he met her gaze, unflinching. "My Lord," she said, "I have never disobeyed. I merely –"

"Silence!" he hissed. He let the silence hang. No one dared move. Finally, he spoke. "The Weasley girl was not to be touched."

"But, my Lord…." Bellatrix said, her words coming out in a pleading, garbled rush now. "She was…I would never have…the others…."

"Ah, yes," the Dark Lord said coldly. "The others." And then, so quickly that Draco hardly registered the movement, he drew his wand and gave a small flick. A few yards away, Rowle crumpled to the ground and began to scream. "The rest of you…." He continued speaking over the man's deafening shrieks, which jarred so harshly with the complete silence of a few minutes prior. "Leave us."

They didn't need to be told twice. "Severus," he added as they moved in a wide circle out of the room, stepping around Rowle's writhing body, "stay. I will have need of you, after."

Over Rowle's screeching and the pain at his elbow where his mother was dragging him from the room, Draco registered the significance of the last statement, and he knew the others did too. Bellatrix had fallen. Snape was in favor now.

As he rounded the corner, he felt a cruel smile tug unexpectedly at the corners of his lips. His mother pulled him deeper into the house, obviously trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the foyer, but he could still hear Rowle's agonized screams echoing off the floor to ceiling marble. He found himself hoping that Bellatrix would be next, though he knew she wouldn't.

The Dark Lord had elevated Snape to her position, and she would idle in disgrace. For Bellatrix, that would be a punishment much worse than pain.

His mother drew up short at the entrance to the kitchen. She turned, ashen-faced, to say something to him, but just then, someone grabbed Draco by his other arm. He whirled to see Dolohov standing at his shoulder.

"I saw your face in there, boy," he said lowly, his lips curved in a knowing smirk. "You want her dead. For what she did to your little friend."

Draco didn't answer. He knew that Dolohov was only taking the golden opportunity to encourage dissension between a Malfoy and a Lestrange.

"That won't do it, you know," the man continued, glancing back in the direction of the foyer. Rowle was still screaming. The sound was higher-pitched now, a desperate keening for release. "Nice trick, showing the Dark Lord what you wanted him to see. Very neat. But he won't kill her. Not for killing that boy. Not even for trying to kill that Weasley slut."

"Antonin –" his mother began, but he shot her a look, and she fell silent. Still, Draco didn't speak.

Dolohov leaned closer to speak the next words beside Draco's ear. "Bide your time, boy," he said. "Soon enough."

Draco shut his eyes, remembering Bellatrix's harsh voice. Soon enough, she'd said, staring at Ginny over Blaise's prone form. He shook himself. Dolohov was waiting for a response, but Draco just held his gaze, expression impassive, and after several seconds, the man made a scoffing sound and released his elbow. As he withdrew, Draco realized how right he'd been. In this moment, more than almost anything, Draco wanted Bellatrix dead.

But he could wait.

Without a word to his mother, he freed his arm from her grip and crossed into the kitchen. He found Dusty first, cowering beneath a blanket beside the stack of firewood.

"Parchment and a quill," he snapped.

Dusty glanced from Draco to the doorway, from which the sounds of Rowle's torture were still issuing, and back again. "Now," Draco growled. The Elf jerked in fear, then scrambled up and away.

A few moments later, he returned. Draco grabbed the quill and scrawled four words across the sheet.

Tell me you're alive.

He folded the page and thrust it into Dusty's hands. "Ares is still in my dormitory," he said. "Find Apollo, and see that he brings this to Ginny Weasley." The Elf was near-paralyzed with fear. "Dusty," Draco said, looking him straight in the eye. "Do you understand? This is very important. Ginny Weasley."

Dusty gave several emphatic nods in quick succession. Then, with a loud pop, he was gone.

Draco took a step back and swayed where he stood. He gripped the edge of the long table in the center of the room to steady himself. He found that he was breathing hard, as if he'd been running. Until he'd written the words, he hadn't really, seriously considered the possibility that Ginny might be dead too. But there had been so much blood….

He stood there for a long time – for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes – unable to shake the images flooding his mind. Blaise dead. The seriousness in Blaise's eyes as he'd told him to be careful, in those last moments in the corridor. The anguish and hatred in Ginny's as Snape had dragged him away. Blaise dead. Potter's face, contorted with fury and vengeance, as he'd pursued them across the grounds, sending curses hurtling past them and screaming that Snape was the worst kind of coward. Ginny dead….

His mother was still standing in the doorway when he left the kitchen. He tried to walk past her, but she spoke. "He was just a child," she murmured. "You're all just children…."

At that, he actually laughed. It came out flat and cold and sardonic. "Don't be naïve, Mother," he said. He pushed past her. "We haven't been children for years."

Author's Note: I am already hard at work on the next chapter, so you definitely won't have to wait another 6 months. Again, for those of you who are still reading: thank you, thank you, thank you for your patience. Please leave a review.