Chapter Sixteen
After the Karkaroff incident, Draco thought that the Dark Lord would leave. After all, his jobs not just a Secretary of State but also as one of the world's most notorious mafia lords was bound to keep him busy, but he stayed for the night. And the next. And the next. When Draco quietly asked Mother when he might be leaving, she replied in a quavering voice that she did not know.
It was summer. The sun shone from clear blue skies, the weather was pleasantly warm, and Draco knew that he should be enjoying it. He should be hanging out with Pansy and Blaise and his legion of friends, inviting them to his home or heading out to the city, but with the Lord Voldemort in the staying with them, Father insisted that he couldn't leave.
The Manor had always been cold, but with the Dark Lord staying with them, it became unbearable. Their home became an informal base of operations, and at least once a day, Death Eaters or other leaders of the underworld would step from sleek black cars pulling into their driveway, spending hours in meetings about god-knows-what with the Dark Lord – or hours in the basement pulling information out of traitors and spies. It didn't take long for Draco to grow accustomed to the sight of servants carrying body bags out the back door, or for him to grow used to the smell of bleach that lingered around the basement door.
Draco hated it. He knew that they were safe and had nothing to fear, and that he should be honored to have such an important guest in their home, but he hated it. He hated the tension that lingered in the halls, the feeling of anxiety and fear that kept him looking over his shoulder even in the safety of his bedroom. He hated the long dinners with the Death Eaters, whose expensive perfume failed to hide the scent of blood that lingered on their clothes, and nothing terrified him more than whenever he was invited to be a part of their meetings, where it would either begin or end with a death.
He knew that the Dark Lord was important to Father and an integral part of his future. But at the same time, a part of him wished that Father had just been an ordinary banker, and that they had nothing to do with the underworld and its darkness.
"The Dark Lord wants to see you."
"Now?" Draco said blankly.
"Now." Father confirmed.
It was the last week of summer. After two months of living with Death Eaters, Draco was more than ready to dive back into the safety and comfort of Hogwarts and start his seventh year, but of course. Heavens forbid that he be let off so easily.
"A-are you sure, now?" Draco stammered. Reality was sinking in. The Dark Lord wanted to see him. He was going to see the Dark Lord. "Why would the Dark Lord want to see me?"
Father paused. Oh god. That was not good. As a businessman, Father always had a response in mind to any question, replying promptly and efficiently, but this time… Draco's stomach was already twisting with anxiety, but seeing his hesitation, felt almost sick.
"The Dark Lord needs your help." Father said at last.
"My help?" Draco was confused.
"The Dark Lord has his plans. We all have our roles in it, and so do you."
Then, Father reached over and gave his shoulder a firm pat. At the moment, Draco had just been about to start demanding more answers, but when he felt his father's touch, he stiffened in shock. For as long as he could remember, Father had never hugged him or kissed him or shown him any affection in the form of physical touch, and Draco had long since accepted the fact that he'd go his entire life without it. But now…
"Draco." Father said. His voice was stern, but… was that a flicker of pride he heard? Draco glanced up to meet his gaze, and found himself even more astonished. Father looked as stern as ever, but the glimmer of confidence in his eyes – confidence that Draco would not let him down - were undeniable. "I have faith in you."
The nervousness Draco felt earlier hardened. A part of him was still terrified, but at the same time… Father was confident in him. Father had faith in him. Father trusted him. And Draco did not want to let him down.
"Thank you, Father." Draco said quietly.
He stood up, squared his shoulders, and went to see the Dark Lord.
The Dark Lord's quarters were located in the west wing, and Draco headed there. He had grown up in the Manor and was familiar with every inch of every hallway and chamber, but as he made his way down the corridor, he felt like a complete stranger. Maybe it was because of the Dark Lord's preference for darkness, so every window was covered in drapes, without a sliver of sunlight seeping through. Or maybe it was because the Dark Lord distasted heat, so the air conditioning was cold enough to send goosebumps covering his arms.
Or, honestly, it was probably because of the Dark Lord himself. Even the mention of his name was enough to make any sane person fearful, and Draco was on his way to see him.
Draco arrived at the door to his chambers. He wiped his palms on his trousers and his nerves were prickling with anxiety, but he forced himself to take a deep breath and exhale slowly. It was an honor to be in the presence of the Dark Lord. He had nothing to fear. And Father was proud of him.
He knocked on the door.
"Come in." it was a cold command.
Draco was still repeating these thoughts – these lies – to himself when he stepped into the room, but none of it mattered. The Dark Lord was seated behind the desk of his office, looking through a sheaf of papers like any ordinary businessman, but when Draco saw his face…
Draco had experienced unease. He had experienced anxiety. And he was more than familiar with fear, considering how he was rubbing elbows with the most dangerous criminals on a daily basis, and after this summer, he might even dare say that he was familiar with terror. But when he saw the Dark Lord, everything he experienced was nothing in comparison to the undiluted horror he felt that had him frozen as his mind struggled to process the man before him.
What he saw wasn't the handsome face of Tom Marvolo Riddle. But the ruined visage of Lord Voldemort.
The Dark Lord's face was as pale as a ghost, delicate blue veins visible on the sickly pallor of his skin and stretching like a twisted map across his hairless scalp. His lips were thin and colorless, his cheeks sunken, and where his nose was were simply two harsh slits cut into his face. It was enough to give anyone nightmares, but what terrified Draco wasn't his skin or his nose or his features.
It was the eyes. Those eyes were as cold and cruel as ever, but now, there was a hint of madness within them. A hint of rage and vengeance that promised that retaliation was coming, even if the world had to be torn apart to get there, and knowing who that wrath was directed towards…
Draco was terrified, for himself, evidently, but… a part of him couldn't help but to feel terrified for Potter as well.
"Draco Malfoy." The Dark Lord said. His lips pulled back to reveal a row of teeth.
Draco forced himself out of his fear and bowed stiffly. "My Lord."
"Take a seat." The Dark Lord gestured towards the chair on the opposite end of the table, and Draco sat there quietly. He kept his head low, but caught a glimpse of what was on the desk. There was a piece of glittering plastic placed carefully in a large black plate, and with a jolt, Draco realized that that must be the Dark Lord's mask. He had heard Father discussing with his colleagues about a piece of technology that resembled a piece of transparent plastic, but after placing it on a person's face, would display another visage. That must be how Lord Voldemort maintained his public appearance as Tom Riddle.
"Tell me." The Dark Lord said. His tone was incredibly conversational, looking very casual, and in any normal circumstance, it would seem as if they were about to have a friendly chat. However, with his ruined features, the effect was unnerving and did nothing to put the situation at ease whatsoever. "How much do you know about Harry Potter?"
Draco swallowed. He had heard enough from Father to know about Potter and the Horcruxes. The words tasted strangely bitter in his mouth, but he said them regardless. "He is nothing but an arrogant brat who has been creating inconveniences for my Lord, and I look forward to the day my Lord puts him down for his crimes-"
"You are just like your father." Lord Voldemort cut him off. His face was twisted with disgust. "Groveling for a scrap of favor. Pitiful."
Draco shut up. He felt his face burn with shame, but his body was cold all over from fear. Before he had much time to dwell on it, the Dark Lord spoke again.
"Regardless." His voice calmed considerably, returning to its previous amicability. "Let me ask you a question. Do you know how I managed to get to where I am now? Successful as the Secretary of State Tom Marvolo Riddle and as Lord Voldemort?"
"No, my Lord." Draco's voice was barely a whisper.
"It was because I am careful." Lord Voldemort answered simply. "I was clever. I was resourceful. I was efficient. And I was cruel. But the most significant reason why I remained unchallenged in my seat of power for the last seventeen years was because I was careful. I took every threat seriously, no matter how insignificant they seemed, and eradicated them so thoroughly that once I was done, not even their closest family and friends would dare associate themselves with them."
"However, in my entire life, I have only made one mistake - Harry Potter." Lord Voldemort's voice hardened, and his lips curled into a sneer. "Harry Potter and his little hunt for Horcruxes, hiding behind the protection of that senile old man and his merry band of usurpers. I should never have let him become the Boy who Lived."
Draco nodded mutely. He didn't dare to speak. His hands were trembling.
Potter wasn't without allies on his search for the Horcruxes, the most significant being Headmaster Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix, a secret organization with substantial resources dedicated to taking down the Dark Lord. It was only thanks to their protection that Potter had been able to survive for this long.
"Not that it matters. He will be dead in the coming week."
Draco looked up in shock. Seeing his surprise, the Dark Lord smiled cruelly.
"That is where you come in. On the first day of school, while everyone is in the Great Hall enjoying the feast, I will have a Death Eater waiting by an entrance. You will lead three of Potter's friends to him, where they will be used to incentivize Potter to adhere to my demands. Then, you will find Potter, isolate him, and lead him to room R08, unsuspecting. I will be waiting there, and by the end of the night, there will no longer be a Boy who Lived." He reached into a drawer and pulled out a pistol, placing it on the surface of the table before them. "I believe this will be helpful in completing your task."
There was a moment of silence as the commands sank in, and Draco couldn't breathe. The light reflecting off the black device seemed to gleam mockingly at him. The Dark Lord wanted him to lead three of his friends into danger, to be used as discardable pawns, and Harry… Harry was going to be gone in seven days. And at the end of it all, his hands were going to be stained with his blood.
"Draco Malfoy." The Dark Lord said. "Do I have your loyalty?"
Draco's eyes flickered up. The Dark Lord was still had a smile on his lips, but his eyes had darkened, the madness in its depths even more pronounced.
Draco didn't want to do it. He might hate Harry, but he didn't want him dead. He didn't want to be the one leading him step by step into his demise. He didn't want to be the one to watch those green eyes flare with betrayal and rage before fading out into the glassiness of death as Lord Voldemort killed him in the most gruesome ways possible.
Then… Draco remembered Karkaroff, vomiting his guts onto the floor. He remembered the body bags, the screams from the basement, the smell of blood that lingered in the halls. He remembered the Death Eater's unrestrained delight at the torture, and the cold satisfaction on the Dark Lord's face as he watched his subordinates carry out the violence he commanded. And at the same time… he remembered Father. The pat on the shoulder, the pride in his voice, and the confidence glimmered in his eyes as he with absolute certainty that his son would bring honor to the family and not let him down.
Father was proud of him. And as long as he obeyed the Dark Lord, he had nothing to fear.
"Yes." Draco answered steadily.
"Good." The Dark Lord looked immensely pleased, and seeing his satisfaction, a part of Draco exhaled in relief. He was more than ready to be dismissed and get the hell out of there, but Lord Voldemort pulled out a sleek metal box. "Your hands, please."
Draco obeyed, placing his hands on the table, wondering about this strange request. But when he saw his exposed forearms, he felt immediately fearful, and when he saw Lord Voldemort open the box to reveal a tattoo machine inside, nothing could stop the naked terror from showing itself on his face.
"Congratulations, Draco Malfoy." The Dark Lord smiled. It was a cruel and terrifying thing. "You are now a Death Eater."