Author's Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

The next few chapters are written from Draco's perspective. This is the very beginning of his journey from arrogant, entitled prat to brave, honorable hero. He's still mostly a git right now, but the potential for change is there.

I hope everyone has a happy holiday and that you stay safe! Here is my present to you!

Any dialogue you recognize is from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

PS I'm not J. K. Rowling, so I don't own anything :(

Ch 7: Confrontation

"Crucio," the Dark Lord said casually, idly watching one of his lackeys withering on the ground.

Draco wasn't even sure that the man had done anything wrong. From the look and sound of things, this was solely for demonstration purposes, and the man was unlucky enough to have been chosen to set an example for Draco. A way for him to see what failure looked like.

"Ahhhhh!" the Death Eater screamed. Draco thought it might be Gibbon or perhaps Rowle. Hard to tell with the mask on. "P-Pleaseeeee," the man wailed, agony breaking the word like so much splintered and shattered glass.

"Why is there still no word on where Albus Dumbledore has been going this summer? How is young Mr. Malfoy here..." the Dark Lord said, feigning sadness as he momentarily focused his attention on Draco. Well, Draco supposed that was what he was attempting to display. Difficult to tell with the flat, slitted nostrils and red snake eyes. They didn't exactly portray normal human emotions. More, they just screamed monster. "...supposed to achieve his task if you can't provide him with relevant and current intel?"

Draco tried not to cringe as he fought back the instinct to hide. He hated having the Dark Lord's attention on him. Hated being around him. It never boded well. The skeletal pallor and mutated features were so foreign and other that it made Draco feel nauseous every time he took them in.

"Nothing to say? Shame. Crucio," the Dark Lord said again, the edges of his mouth tipped up. It was a mockery of a smile. The man didn't have lips. Not in the traditional sense, but Draco still felt the Dark Lord's amusement as the tortured man twisted in on himself, suddenly losing control of his bowels and soiling himself. The foul odor made Draco gag.

Still he contorted on the floor. His limbs seizing and spasming, his fingers becoming desperately scrabbling claws. Tiny jerks, invisible electrical wires zapping the poor sod over and over again.

When his mother and Bellatrix entered, Draco felt his heart lurch. If he failed, that wouldn't just happen to him, but his mother too. He couldn't bear to consider his mother enduring such shame.

"Oh, Master, let me. Please, allow me to take over, to punish him for you. It would be such an honor," Bellatrix begged, prostrating herself at the Dark Lord's feet, and staring up at him with such adoration that Draco was forced to swallow back the vomit that suddenly filled his mouth. Bellatrix wore the same expression that their remaining house-elf, Twitchy, wore when she served anyone in the family.

It was pathetic and disgusting.

Seeing it the first time, when he'd come home for Easter Hols the prior spring - incidentally, the first time he met the Dark Lord and his Aunt Bella too - was the first time he questioned his family's position and decision to side with the Dark Lord.

Why were they expected to bow and follow orders? Dumbledore didn't make his followers do that. Yet now the Malfoys were meant to obey, or suffer the consequences. And where were all of these vaunted rewards?

So far, there'd been no glory. No prestige. No fun. No nothing. Except talk of Potter. All anyone ever cared about was the stupid, speckled git! He wasn't that special, but he was at the center of every plan. Not to mention, the reason behind every failure since.

Why was it always Potter? Dumbledore's little favorite golden boy. He wasn't so special. Certainly not as smart as Draco. Yet he got all the attention. All the fame. Always breaking rules and never punished properly for it. Because he was the fucking Boy-Who-Lived. As if that made him special. And now it'd been nonstop talk of Potter for weeks. And it was Potter's fault that Draco's dad was locked up, and now he was being punished when he didn't deserve to be!

Nothing about the Dark Lord or this experience was how his father used to describe it. Draco had grown up hearing stories about the glory days. The time when the Dark Lord reigned and Lucius Malfoy basked in the power and connections his position within the inner circle provided him. A time when the undeserving suffered at the hands of the strong. When being a mighty Pureblood meant something.

From the way his father described the way things used to be, the whole world trembled in fear of their family, bending over backwards to give them anything and everything they desired. They were celebrities. And the possibility of instant gratification was theirs for the taking.

Draco had yet to experience anything of the sort.

Fear. Pain. Threats. Punishment. Mortification. Degradation. Servitude.

That had been his hell for the last month. Day in and day out, all he knew was his 'Master's' rage and impossible demands. Then, to find himself bowing and scraping, afraid in his own home. It was galling.

But what choice did he have?

His mother's life was on the line. He could not fail her. He would not. There was nothing for it. He'd have to visit Borgin and Burkes. See if there was a way to fix the stupid cabinet. If he could, then he might stand a chance. Once his father was released from Azkaban, things would get better. They'd have to.

It wasn't like they could get worse.

"No, Bella. You've shown that I cannot trust you to see the job through. Not as you once did," the Dark Lord taunted, throwing the incident at the Ministry in her face once again. He'd already done so at every opportunity. Yet still she begged, desperate to regain his favor.

Draco blinked, bringing the scene before him into focus. Here he was, a month later, and nothing had changed. All right, a few things had changed. The Death Eater currently being tortured hadn't shit his pants or pissed himself this time, unintentionally filling the room with the stomach-turning scent of ammonia and feces. And his aunt wasn't begging like an overeager puppy.

But he was still watching a masked Death Eater being tortured as a warning. This time Mr. Goyle, his best mate, Greg's, dad. But his mum had been brought in again as well to really drive the point home. As if Draco needed the reminder of the consequences should he fail. As if he could have forgotten.

As if Lily… Lily Fucking Potter… would let him forget either.

He'd kissed her. The night before, he'd flown to the Burrow, and kissed the girl. He'd not meant to. Not planned to. Yet somehow, that was precisely what he'd ended up doing.

And he couldn't wait to do it again.

Lily was… mesmerizing. She was full of life and passion. A force of nature. A beautiful, fiery tempest. Utterly unique and intriguing. She didn't care that he was a Malfoy. Neither the good nor the bad bits of what that entailed. She questioned him, made him question himself. And he hadn't stopped thinking about her since the second they met.

Draco was still having trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that she was related to Potter. It hardly seemed possible. She was so much better than her dad. In every way. Lily didn't turn her nose up at people. Not like Potter had when Draco first tried to be friends with the ungrateful brat. Lily didn't judge him either. She was understanding and sympathetic to his plight.

Thank Merlin Professor Snape had insisted Draco learn Occlumency the year before. He'd said it was necessary to keep Dumbledore from learning anything from Draco. He'd felt important at the time, having secrets that he needed to keep from their crackpot headmaster.

Somehow his father had still ended up in jail. But at least he now had the skills to keep his thoughts of Lily Potter to himself.

Careful to keep all evidence of what he was feeling from his face, Draco patiently waited for the lesson to end. Term began the next day, and he still needed to finish packing. He couldn't wait to get away from his home. Probably for the first time ever. And all because his home had stopped feeling like a home.

When the Dark Lord finally dismissed him, his mother followed him out, dogging his steps all the way back to his room. Draco had no idea what she was on about, but her expression made him nervous. Didn't she realize how dangerous it was for her to be so openly concerned? The Dark Lord would use it against them!

"Draco, I've found a way to save you," Narcissa breathed, hastily shutting the door to his room and looking furtively about.

"I'm not the one in need of saving," Draco insisted, frowning at her. There was a feverish glint in her eye, and her normally pale cheeks were scarlet. What had her in such a state?

"You don't have to do this. Severus has agreed to do it for you," Narcissa said, sagging onto Draco's bed and holding a hand out to him.

"What have you done, Mother?" he demanded, alarmed by the risk she must have taken in going to Severus.

The Dark Lord had set him the task for a reason. What if he punished his mother for her interference with his plans? Why would she do it?

"He's made the Unbreakable Vow. He has agreed to kill the headmaster for you," Narcissa continued, unaware of the fear that now gripped her son.

"Why would you do that?" Draco gasped, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. They sounded raw and guttural, strained and thinned until they'd become a bow string ready to snap. And the painful backlash would draw blood when it inevitably did.

"For you. You're only a boy. You -"

"I'm not a child!" Draco yelled, abruptly furious at her for her insistence in treating him like a baby. When would she see that he had grown? That he was capable of stepping up and taking care of her for a change. With his father gone, it fell to him to protect her. But how could he if she was going to undermine him?

"Draco, you must understand why I had to do this," Narcissa begged, gripping his hand and pulling him down to sit beside her. Her blue eyes were huge as they stared at him pleadingly.

"Do you honestly think the Dark Lord will accept this?" Draco asked darkly, shaking his head in answer to his own question.

"He wants Dumbledore dead. He doesn't care how it happens," Narcissa said stiffly, pursing her lips.

"If that was the case, he'd have made it a blanket order for everyone to try, and offered a reward to whomever succeeded," Draco challenged.

They both knew he was correct. This impossible task he'd been set had everything to do with his father's failure. His friends might be impressed, wrongfully believing he was being given an honor, a way to advance that they envied.

But every adult knew the truth.

The Dark Lord was through with the Malfoys and ready to have gone of them. They were of no more use to him. Broken toys in need of discarding.

"I… I cannot let you suffer for your father's mistakes. You are my child -"

"I am not a boy! And he will punish us worse if it is Snape and not myself that kills Dumbledore," Draco argued, clutching her hands firmly in his own, attempting to press the truth into her palms. He understood she was scared, but this only made things worse.

Draco had no idea if he could truly trust Severus Snape. The man was a spy for crying out loud! Who knew which side he truly served. Worse, Draco didn't know which one he'd prefer his Potions Master to be aligned with in truth.

"I don't want this for you," Narcissa moaned, freeing her confined hands to bury her face in them.

"It's a little late for that," Draco said dryly, unable to keep the bitter resentment entirely from his voice. He didn't blame his mother. She'd always tried to protect him. This mess was entirely his father's doing.

Idly, he wondered if she was referring to the task, which involved becoming a murderer. Or if it was becoming a Death Eater at all. She'd never seemed particularly enamored with the idea of the Dark Lord returning, for all her husband lamented and longed for it to happen.

"At least use Severus as a resource," she begged, but Draco barely heard her. His mind was already traveling down a different path. Curiosity gripping him. "He can help you. You'll have a much better chance with someone on the inside."

"Why didn't you go to the Order?" Draco asked quietly, studying his mother closely. "For help, before it came to this. Before -"

"Draco!" she hissed, glancing fearfully at the closed bedroom door. That reaction said so much.

"Your sister…" Draco tried.

Andromeda Tonks, his aunt, was never mentioned in their household. But Draco had been wondering. Ever since he met Lily. Ever since he realized he wanted out. And his Auror cousin, known member of the Order of the Phoenix might just be the way.

Because Lily was a beacon of hope. It was just too bad there were a million traps and pitfalls separating them. She was unattainably distant. A lighthouse with a rocky shore between them. If he tried to approach, his ship would be bashed to bits and he'd drown.

"Bella -"

"The other one. She's family. Why didn't you go to her? Before you let him brand me," Draco clarified, feeling a child's hurt that his mother hadn't stepped in and stopped the Dark Lord from hurting him. She insisted on viewing him as her baby, but she'd failed to protect him that day. And it was that day, that Draco had been forced to grow up.

The searing pain of the brand still hadn't faded. It still felt like his arm was roasting over a bed of roaring flames, the skin blistering and boiling.

He'd once thought the tattoo a cool design. Daring and badass. Now it was just a mark of his new reality where he was the Dark Lord's slave. A minion to be used and sacrificed at will. He wasn't valued or prized. Not by the one that had chained him.

"Quiet. Do not speak such things here," Narcissa said, swallowing and checking that the door was still closed.

So that was the reason. Fear.

"Would you want out?" Draco asked, watching her carefully.

"That is not an option for us," Narcissa said brusquely, a hard set to her chin. "If you had made friends with Potter, perhaps… but… Well, that's that. Now, no more of that. Promise me. And promise me you will go to Severus if you have need of help."

Draco still wasn't sure he trusted Severus Snape. Perhaps Lily knew if he could. He'd have to ask her in his next letter.

Narcissa watched him expectantly. "I will, Mother," Draco finally agreed.

Draco was still in a rotten mood when he boarded the Hogwarts Express the next day. He felt a sense of doom hovering about him. Worse, he was surrounded by his friends, but the only person he wanted to talk to was Lily, and he couldn't. She wouldn't be attending Hogwarts with the rest of them. And it would look too suspicious for him to send an owl while on the train. He'd have to wait until after the start-of-term feast to write her again.

"Where was Malfoy going that day?"

The sound of Potter's voice floated in from the crack in the window of his compartment. Draco eased it open a bit more and tried to listen to the whispered conversation taking place on the platform. It was difficult to hear over the clamor of his friends, but he managed to catch the gist of it.

"He was probably buying school supplies. Same as you were, Harry. I doubt it was anything more than that," Mr. Weasley insisted.

"Without his mum? We saw them together in Madam Malkin's. He didn't want her touching his left arm. He's taken the Mark. I know it! Why would he give his mum the slip if he wasn't up to something? And why hasn't he told anyone about… well, her?"

"It's hard to judge a person's motives. But I think you're wrong about the Mark. You-Know-Who doesn't need students in his inner circle. He's got no use for them," Mr. Weasley insisted. Potter looked ready to argue, but Mr. Weasley held up a hand to forestall him, and continued, "Look, you better get going, but I promise we'll keep our ears open to any mention of her. You needn't worry. Just focus on your studies and stay out of trouble."

"Right," Potter said dubiously.

So Potter suspected that Draco had already taken the Mark. Had he really been that obvious? Or was Potter just that much more clever than Draco had ever given him credit for?

At least no one else was taking his warnings seriously. That would have made things so much more difficult for Draco.

"Draco? Aren't you coming? We have our Prefect meeting and our duties," Pansy Parkinson simpered, sliding over on the bench to wrap a tentacle-like arm around him.

"Not going," Draco muttered, scowling at her and trying to shake her off. She clung to him, tighter than a tendril of Devil's Snare. Prefect duties seemed so meaningless in the face of everything else he had going on in his life. What was the point of telling off first years?

"But you have to! It'll give us a chance to spend time together," Pansy insisted, battering her eyes at him. It only drew attention to her snout for a nose.

"Pansy," Draco said slowly, "listen carefully. This," he paused to gesture back-and-forth between them, "is never going to happen."

"Well, really, Draco! There's no need to be rude just because you've a stick up your arse today!" Pansy said in a huff, then with a flourish, pranced out of the train compartment amidst the various laughter of the assorted Slytherins present.

Draco hadn't liked another girl touching him. Not after the way Lily had. He didn't want anyone else trespassing on his memories of what it had been like for her to touch and kiss him. Plus, he knew Pansy was only interested because she had the mistaken impression that he was being favored by the Dark Lord, and wanted some of his notoriety to rub off on her. Blood-thirsty little social climber that she was.

The sliding door of their compartment was thrown wide an hour later. "Ah, I see I've found members of my old house!" a portly old man announced, his protruding belly blocking the entire opening.

"Who are you?" Vincent Crabbe grunted, staring at the bald newcomer in befuddlement.

"Professor Slughorn, my boy," he said, summarily dismissing him as he scanned the other faces. "I used to be Head of Slytherin House. Probably taught most of your parents. Now, let's see. Ah, yes, yes. Mr. Zabini, would you care to join me for lunch? I'm gathering a few noteworthy individuals to get to know a bit better, and I thought to extend the invitation to you personally seeing as we snakes need to stick together."

"Sir," Draco began, recognizing the man now that he knew his name. Draco's father had mentioned him a time or two, and he looked just as he'd been described. He was the type of professor that they'd been needing at Hogwarts for a while now.

"You would be... Mr. Malfoy, if I'm not mistaken? Take after your father. Well, be sure to grab something off the trolly," Professor Slughorn suggested, turning and walking away from their group without another word.

Draco felt his face flushing as the others cast pitying looks at him, not even bothering to try and hide them. Pity was not an emotion he was used to having directed his way. He was far more familiar, not to mention comfortable, with envy.

Right at that moment, Potter and Longbottom walked past the still open door of their compartment, discussing what Slughorn could want with them.

It was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous that he should feel so hurt to be excluded. It wasn't as though he wanted to be included in Slughorn's little band of misfits. Not when types like Longbottom were in it. But it had still cut him to the quick when Slughorn, a former Slytherin, had basically told him he wasn't welcome to attend the lunch.

Draco was trying to pretend that it hadn't happened. After everything else that had occurred over the summer, he should be numb to such insignificant insults. But it still hurt regardless.

It was a struggle, but Draco managed to keep up a carefree facade the rest of the train ride to Hogwarts. He put on a show, displaying every bit of his usual bravado. And not one person commented or even seemed to notice that it wasn't genuine.

How could these people claim to be his friends when they didn't even notice that he was dying inside, drowning on dry land?

Would Lily have been able to see through his mask? Would she have viewed it as the flimsy, transparent veil that it was? Draco wished she was there, getting all fired up over the way he was acting as she had the other night.

"What's wrong with this thing?" Blaise demanded, struggling with the sliding door when he returned, a short distance away from their destination.

Draco watched, slightly amused, almost despite himself, as he saw Potter's legs, dangling from his invisibility cloak as the Gryffindor clamored up onto the luggage rack.

Spying, was he? Seemed pretty par for the course. Usual tricks and all that.

"So, Zabini, what did Slughorn want?" Draco asked, attempting not to let his resentment show or inadvertently reveal that they had a guest.

"Just trying to make up to well-connected people. Not that he managed to find many."

"Who else had he invited?" Draco demanded, frowning. Had his father truly fallen so out of favor with his imprisonment? Draco hadn't thought it was quite so bad.

"McLaggen from Gryffindor," Zabini replied.

"Oh yeah, his uncle's big in the Ministry," Malfoy said absently, barely listening as Zabini continued rattling off names. His anger at not being included made him want to lash out. He wondered if he could bait Potter into reacting.

"Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at 'the Chosen One,' but that Weasley girl! What's so special about her?" he sneered, regretting the words the moment they left his mouth. Thinking about Weaslette reminded him of Lily. And she would be so disappointed in how he was behaving and the dishonest vitriol spewing from his mouth.

"A lot of boys like her. Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!" Pansy announced, watching Draco for his reaction to the taunt. Draco cast a withering look her way, reminding her that her chances with him were still nonexistent.

"Not half as much as Draco did last year," Blaise said, ratting him out. "But at least you had the good sense never to actually fancy her."

"She is the best-looking girl at Hogwarts though," Greg Goyle agreed, looking to him for confirmation, asking "right, Draco?"

"I've seen better," Draco said vaguely, recalling her attractive deeper red hair and hazel eyes full of challenge. The brazen honesty and heat of Lily's embrace.

The rest of the conversation buzzed about his head, an annoying fly, but he was lost in remembering the secret letters he had tucked away in his trunk and the taste of honey and cinnamon that had been Lily Potter's perfect mouth.

He spoke when expected, and must have managed to say all the right things, because no one reacted or questioned him. Again, he was left to wonder if Lily would have noticed his strange behavior.

When Potter grunted in pain as the group readied themselves to exit, Draco glared at the empty spot where his old enemy perched, eavesdropping on him. Deciding it wouldn't go well for Potter if the others figured out he was there, Draco decided to pretend he'd not heard anything.

"You lot go on," Draco said, waving Crabbe and Goyle on. "I just want to check something."

Draco closed the door and drew the blinds, wondering the best way to go about things. Did Potter plan to attack him? Was he providing the perfect opportunity?

Paranoia had Draco spinning and aiming his wand, crying, "Petrificus Totalus!" before he'd really thought it through.

Potter fell from the luggage rack with a loud, and likely painful, crash.

Draco stared down at him in shock, not actually having expected his trick to work. Potter had bested the Dark Lord. He'd not thought he'd allow himself to be caught so unaware.

The petrified, dark-haired wizard glared balefully up at him. Hatred and mistrust etched into the frozen lines of his face. Sharpened blades of emerald shot from his eyes, shredding Draco with the intensity of the piercing stare.

"I should leave you here," Draco said wearily, slumping onto the seat and returning Potter's stare.

For nearly two minutes, Draco watched him, debating the ramifications of doing precisely that. A large part of him wanted to. It was an undeniable fact. But when he looked at Potter, all he could see were disappointed hazel eyes. Hurting Potter would inevitably hurt Lily. And he didn't want to be responsible for causing her a moment of pain. She was too untouched, too pristine for that.

"But I won't," Draco concluded, seeing surprise flicker through Harry's eyes. "Finite," Draco whispered, striding towards the door.

"Why, Malfoy?" Potter demanded, forcing Draco's hand to freeze on the door. Draco looked back, studying Potter. His wand was gripped tightly in his fist, but it wasn't aimed Draco's way, probably for the first time ever.

"Because…" he sighed, not knowing how to form the words. They were reluctant to form. "Because if something happens to you, she might not ever exist."

"Was that a threat?" Potter demanded, lifting his wand a fraction, though still not pointing it fully at him.

"No, Potter. It was the opposite of a threat," Draco said honestly.

"But… But you don't even know her!"

"If you say so," Draco intoned vaguely.

"Malfoy!" Potter cried.

"What?" he hissed, impatient to go. The whole situation was too surreal for him to handle. He couldn't properly process it.

"What are you playing at?"

"We're too old for games, Potter. I would have thought Black's death last spring taught you that," Draco said, giving a sharp nod before exiting the compartment and leaving Potter staring flabbergasted at his retreating back.

Draco had barely taken two steps when he ran face-first into a mousy-haired witch. She looked very like his mother, and Draco recognized her instantly. Nymphadora Tonks.

"Potter's in there. He's fine," Draco said awkwardly. Recalling the conversation he'd had with his mother the night before.

"Draco Malfoy," the witch said carefully, studying him closely. He felt a bit like a bug on display.

"We're family…" Draco said cautiously, wondering if he should ask her for help. She had all the right connections. She was right there -

"Are we?" she asked, expression closed, and a dubious thread woven around the question.

"I hope so," he muttered. Then, losing his nerve, he filed briskly past her.

It wasn't as though she'd have believed him anyways. And the Dark Lord was still at his house - with his mother.