Chapter 53: Draco's summoning

An eagle owl swooped down to Draco at breakfast, dropping a letter on heavy parchment, sealed with his father's signet. Why was his father writing to him? he wondered, as he used a clean knife to break the heavy dollop of black sealing wax. Usually, it was his mother who sent news of home and small packages containing gifts- sweets, new quills and trinkets, sometimes a book or game. Was his mother unwell?

Draco, the note began tersely.

You are required at home. Inform Severus; we expect you by floo as soon as practicable. Do not tarry.

L.M.

Well, that cleared the situation up admirably. Draco sighed, and glanced up to the head table, where Severus was glaring at the room at large, as per usual. He'd have to try to catch him before first lesson. He wanted to ask where Blaise was too: he'd never returned to Slytherin last night. They was no great friendship bond between them anymore, not since… well. That was a mistake best left in the past. But he still wondered where the other boy was. They were Slytherins, after all. They stuck together when necessary.

He watched, waiting until Severus got up to leave, then pushed his breakfast away to follow his head of house. "Sir?" he called as Severus was beginning the descent of the main dungeon stairs.

"What is it, Draco?" Severus asked, trying to keep his annoyance down. It wasn't Draco's fault that he hadn't slept last night, that his goddaughter and his… his what, student lover? were missing.

Draco offered up his father's note- it couldn't reasonably be called a letter. "I need to go home, Sir," he said.

Severus took the note with a frown, his eyes glancing over the words. Lucius was short, as always. He did not waste words, much like Severus himself. "Very well," he said. "Gather anything you need, and come to my office. You may use my floo connection."

"I don't need anything," Draco said.

"Very well. I will inform your teachers of your absence. Come along."

Severus swept around and simply expected Draco to follow. Draco was used to Severus, and simply went. "Professor," he began, "Blaise wasn't back last night…"

"Yes, I am aware," Severus said shortly. Draco knew from his tone that no further information was to be forthcoming, so wisely kept his mouth shut. Severus thought what a difference there was between Draco and his fellow Slytherins, who simply assumed that Blaise must be elsewhere, and Ron Weasley, who had searched the castle for his friends before alerting the headmistress to their absence, and had then gone to another teacher when he didn't feel Minerva had an appropriately concerned response.

Severus whirled on the spot as soon as the door to his office closed, his robes swirling around him. "Draco," he began, "If there is anything of concern at home, I would appreciate it if you kept me abreast of the situation. I am here to support you, and any other student at the school."

"Yes, Professor," Draco said. "I… I think it may be my mother, Sir. Her health has been failing of late."

Severus frowned. "Give your parents my best," he replied, "and if your mother is in need of any potions to support her health, I am more than happy to provide them."

"Thank you," Draco replied. Severus took a pot of floo powder from a locked drawer and offered it to Draco, jerking his head towards the fireplace. He, like all the heads of house, had an active floo connection in his office. The fireplace in his private rooms connected only to his decrepit house at Spinner's end, to Robin's flat, and to Harriet's room.

Malfoy Manor, like most homes connected to the main network, had a restricted connection, requiring a kind of password, shared amongst friends and family, to access. Draco, though, as a blood-born Malfoy, did not require any such fripperies. Severus, too, had been blood-bound at the time of Draco's naming, and was able to come and go at will. The Malfoys preferred this more secure method of choosing their visitors, rather than widely spreading a passphrase which could be shared. Severus himself did not know the correct words, relying instead on the drop of his blood on the records for Malfoy wards. Sometimes, knowing that the Malfoys had access to a blood record of him made him nervous, but there was no dark magic in his considerable knowledge of the arts that could be performed with such a small amount of old blood.

Severus replaced his pot of floo powder and locked the drawer again with a tap of his wand. He looked at the clock on the mantel with a sigh: he had the second year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in ten minutes. He felt so powerless, teaching twelve year olds to brew shrinking solutions when he could be searching for Harriet and Hermione. He didn't even know where to start, though, and he couldn't pull in his usual contacts- the Death Eaters would take Harriet to Voldemort before bringing her to him. He just had to trust that the rest of the Order would be looking for them. He would help where he could. He'd spent the night in his lab with Robin, brewing up healing potions, at least until Robin had finally fallen asleep with his head on the workbench beside his cauldron at half past three in the morning. He was far too big for Severus to carry to bed anymore, and had to be levitated to his room, but it had felt a little like the times Severus had held the little body to him as he put his son to bed after a nightmare or a bout of illness. He could still remember the heat from the child as he held Robin during the long hours of a bout of dragon pox, coaxing potions and juice into him by turns.

He knew that the infirmary was perfectly well stocked with potions, but it was something that he could do, something that he could provide if Harriet and Hermione came back to them and needed healing. At the moment, he was just holding out for 'alive', not even hoping for 'unharmed'. But now, instead of doing something that might be helpful to them, he had the second years. He went through to his classroom to write their instructions on the board, only his long training in controlling his emotions stopping him throwing the chalk across the room instead.

Draco, meanwhile, had stepped out of the floo into the echoing marble hall of the Manor. He hesitated, glancing up the sweeping staircase: if his mother was ill, she would be in bed. He could go to her there… but his father would most likely be in his study or the breakfast room. Better to find his father, he thought. Lucius may be angry if he did not report his compliance with the letter.

The Malfoy patriarch was in the breakfast room, frowning over the estate accounts. That could mean only one thing: the Dark Lord was in residence, and had taken the study for himself. Lucius always said that it was an honour to host the Dark Lord, but that didn't mean he liked giving up his study. He looked up with a scowl at the disturbance. "Ah, Draco," he said. "My thanks for responding so quickly."

"Hello, father," Draco said. "How is mother?"

"Hmm? Oh, she's fine. She tires easily, as you know."

Yes, Draco thought, most people were tired when they were drugged to the eyeballs, and none of it pepper-up. "I thought perhaps that she had taken a turn for the worse," he suggested, wanting to know why he'd been summoned.

"No, no, she is quite well," Lucius responded, setting his quill aside. "I called you here for quite a different reason."

"Yes, Father?"

Lucius tapped his fingers sharply against his desk. "I was brought something of a gift, yesterday. It was something I had been hoping to receive from you, actually." Draco frowned in confusion. A gift for his father? Luckily, Lucius continued before Draco had to start guessing. "Blaise Zabini has succeeded where you have failed. He has secured Harriet Potter for the Dark Lord."

Draco had been trained from a very early age to school outward manifestations of emotion; as such, his face was carefully blank. "I see," he allowed. "What I cannot see is how this must involve me. Surely the wench is dead and in a shallow grave by now."

"No," his father said, leaning back in his seat. He had not offered a chair to Draco. "His Lordship has decided to spare the life of the girl. Our friend Severus Snape has recently come by the full text of a prophecy made about the child before birth, hidden for years by Dumbledore, and the Dark Lord is inclined to use it to his advantage."

Draco frowned. "I thought that he had dedicated years to the task of killing her," he pointed out.

Lucius waved his hand regally. "Who are we to question the workings of a greater mind?" he philosophised. "I personally feel that there is still too much risk in leaving her alive, but he is certain that she is of more use alive. I must bow to his intellect. Nevertheless, I have called you here so that you might ingratiate yourself. The Dark Lord has given permission to Zabini to use the three prisoners-"

"Three?" Draco interjected hurriedly.

Lucius glared at the interruption. "Yes, boy, three- Potter, her mudblood friend Granger and the Weasley girl. As I was saying, the Lord has given Zabini the unfettered use of them today. He is mindful of sparing the Weasley girl's life and keeping her as a helper and companion for Potter. You are to gain control over her- if she is to be a confidante, she will be able to report Potter's movements, her wishes, desires, fears, even the details of her monthly cycle. All this is information that will be invaluable to the Dark Lord, and to the Malfoy family in gaining his continued favour."

Draco thought that this was going a little too far, but it wasn't for him to deny his father. "Have you any suggestion of how to go about it, father? Would a truth serum not be more effective?"

"Extended use of veritaserum is not recommended for mental coherency, stupid boy. It drives one past the point of insanity, and thus past our uses. For what purpose do I donate hundreds of galleons to Hogwarts each year if you do not even have basic knowledge? Potions are all very well, but there is a lot to be said for psychological methods. Shield the girl from Zabini, make her bow to you. Show her that you are a strong wizard. Make her rely on you. And show Zabini that you are a Malfoy, and far closer to the inner circle than he, a newcomer. We must rise to greater heights."

"Yes, Father," Draco said dutifully. He knew that it was his duty, he knew he'd failed his family… but he just couldn't see why it was necessary to bow to family duty did it have to be about total domination of everything? Draco just didn't have the same drive that his father did to reach the top of society, not if it meant killing anything and anyone that stood in your way.

Blaise broke into his train of thought, swanning into the breakfast room as if it was his own home. "Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," Blaise said, conveniently ignoring Draco, who fumed. It was all very well his father saying he was out of favour, but to have the fact rubbed in his face by Blaise, a boy who'd looked to him as leader for six years…

"Nice to see you here, Blaise," Draco said, glossing over the other boy's snub.

"Oh, Draco, I didn't notice you standing in the corner there," Blaise said, a wide grin splitting his face. "Nice to see you, too."

"We wondered where you were last night," Draco said, moving over to the sideboard where breakfast was still laid out. He poured himself a cup of coffee, kept magically warm in the silver pot. "Will you be coming back today?"

"I don't think I'll be returning to Hogwarts," Blaise said offhandedly, helping himself to a pastry. "I can't see that they can teach me anything I can't learn at the Dark Lord's side."

Lucius Malfoy gathered up his papers, leaving the young men. Draco had to learn to manage affairs alone, he mused, and now was as good a time as any. Really, the boy had been coddled by his mother. Politics was the Malfoy family business, and Draco needed to move beyond petty schoolboy power struggles. This was a good launching point. Lucius just hoped he didn't blunder.

Draco seated himself at the table, now that his father was gone. At the head, of course: he was the Malfoy in the room, and he knew he should. "The Dark Lord has never taken followers who are not old enough to have finished NEWTS," he pointed out.

Zabini smiled. "There's a first time for everything," he said cockily. "I've brought him the prize he's searched for. Besides, he has followers who are our age: Crabbe is here, and Goyle joins in too. He just doesn't mark them." He paused, took a drink of his pumpkin juice. "He has invited me personally to the revel where he'll bind Potter. He says that he admires my nerve in asking."

Draco snorted. "I don't think you could compare either of us with those goons," he sneered. Zabini didn't respond. Malfoy wasn't getting anywhere with this tack, so he changed direction. "I hear you've been given playtime with your captives," he said.

Zabini gave a toothy grin. "As a reward for my efforts. I'll show the Potter brat that she should never have crossed me."

"You interested in company?" Draco said, trying to sound nonchalant. "I've a bit of a bone to pick with the Weasley girl, too. Wouldn't mind showing her that she belongs on her back, not the quidditch pitch."

"Well, I can't use them all at once," Zabini admitted with a raised eyebrow. "I was going to see if Crabbe wanted some fun, but, hey, three girls… we may as well have one each. I get Potter, though. I've wanted her ever since that stunt you pulled."

"You took that a bit to heart, you know," Draco said. "Anyone would think you had set your cap at her."

"That was you, if you recall, Malfoy," Zabini reminded. Draco had to suppress a wince. Yes, it had been him. It had seemed such a good idea at the time. Everything had seemed to fall into place in September, and it had seemed a perfect plan...

He'd had a miserable summer with his Aunt Bellatrix. The woman truly did seem crazy, consistantly berating him for choosing anything but the most ruthless option at every turn. If there was an foodstuff that caused an evil disposition, he would have expected her to feed it to him morning, noon and night. His father threatened to cut him off, removing his access to the Malfoy fortune unless he fulfilled his task in killing Dumbledore, and soon. Draco didn't much want to kill, didn't want to be reviled by the world, and go into history as the killer of the great Albus Dumbledore. He also thought it was foolish- he, a schoolboy, kill the wizard who had defeated Grindelwald? It was laughable, and it was that which had finally driven him to Dumbledore, to confess everything. Draco Malfoy may not have been entirely his father's son, but he knew when to jump a sinking ship.

Somehow, the Headmaster knew already. He wasn't in the least surprised at a red, blotchy, tearful Draco, and he showed no horror at the prospect that Draco had intended to murder him. He'd assured Draco of protection by the light, if he wished to turn away from his family's history.

And so, Draco had begun to plan how best to distance himself. He'd tried to convince his mother to leave the Malfoy family. He'd failed. And he'd also failed in his other plan: to secure a fortune. If he could make Harriet Potter, heiress, fall in love with him, marry him, he'd be the legal owner of all her wealth. He'd persuaded Zabini to mimic a rape, from which he would rescue her, and thus secure her eternal gratitude and hopefully, her hand in marriage.

Of course, the plan backfired. Potter wasn't like other girls: she still retained her boyish tendencies, apparently, though if she took Granger as a role model in womanhood, it was no surprise that she'd fought Blaise. And she'd won. There was no gratitude for Draco. And so, he'd settled in for the long haul, trying to befriend her and woo her, and he still couldn't comprehend why she was so resistant. She had no other suitors, no other boys she spent time with other than Weasley and Longbottom, and he was as sure as he could reasonably be that neither was in her knickers. The only explanation he could come to was some kind of hormonal deficiency on her part, making her dramatically under-sexed.

What was done was done. That plan had failed. His best hope now was to make himself useful to his father, hope to retain some grace, and tread a careful middle line until a chance presented itself. Draco turned his attention from introspection back to Zabini, and lifted one shoulder. "You can have her. That's fair enough, I brought them in. I prefer a pureblood in any case, though I admit, having the Dark Lord's future bride has it's appeal. Knowing that you've been there, that you've plundered the same depths as such a great wizard…"

Draco had wondered if he was laying it on a bit thick, but Blaise seemed to lap it up. "Maybe I can be persuaded to share, when I've had my fill," he allowed with a wolfish grin. "They're not to be really hurt- can't have Potter not able to fulfil her wifely duties, after all, but I'm guessing a bit of roughing up won't be beyond the pale."

"Quite," Draco said. He'd pulled a pastry over to him, but he'd quite lost his appetite. "When were you intending on taking your prize?"

Blaise popped the last of his breakfast in his mouth. "Oh, I thought after lunch. I thought I might take a little stroll about your grounds first. I rather like the look of your peacocks- an ostentation I can imagine adopting myself."

"They're my mother's favourites," Draco said mildly. "She likes the white ones best- they aren't so showy. If you are to be occupied for the next few hours, I shall go to visit her."

Blaise scooted back his chair to stand. "If you must," he said. "I should prefer not to be around my mother… all she can ever think of is womanly concerns. I have a life to lead, after all."

He left his plate on the table, a few crumbs surrounding it. When he was sure Blaise had gone, Draco carefully brushed up the crumbs and emptied them onto the plate.