Prologue-

Summers at Malfoy Manor were never meant to feel as cold as this one had. Draco couldn't pretend he wasn't aware of the icy tension spreading its way into every room of the mansion but he could blame it on his father's absence for the first couple months he was home. He held his mom's hand as she cried over her husband's photograph in the prophet and spent every other waking minute despising Potter for his part in this.

"I'll kill him." He hissed under his breath to himself one night with the prophet clutched in his hand, tears streaming down his nose. His father's face stared back at him, gaunt and watery upon hearing his Azkaban sentencing. Hatred welled up in him and he wasn't sure who it was meant for in this moment his father, the infamous chosen one or both. He tore the parchment up with both hands.

His aunt Bellatrix haunted the mansion that summer like a ghost, turning corners and disappearing somewherein the house with other flowing back figures before he can catch them. With his father gone, it left a position empty of someone to host their fellow death eaters and she happily filled it for the dark lord. Draco wasn't invited to any of their meetings especially the ones where he was in attendance, his mother hadn't allowed it at first. Eventually though, her motherly intuition hadn't been enough to protect him from evil's interest.

"He requires your presence, Draco." Bellatrix told him, a dangerous smile curling her lips.

"Tell me why, Bella? What did he say?" His mom pleaded, small hand already clasped over his shoulder.

Draco despite his fear wanted to forcibly wipe the smirk from his aunt's face when she looked over at her sister with the sympathy of a dung beetle. His voice quivered "Why me?"

This was pointedly ignored by her.

"It is an honor, Cissy." She said instead, taking her sister's hand in her own. "It is a second chance to make up for Lucius' failure at the Ministry and redeem yourselves!"

Narcissa regarded her coldly. "Luscious wasn't the only one at the Ministry."

Bellatrix let go of her hands, eyes flashing. She twitches for her wand and Draco steps between them before things can go any further.

"Stop it!" He says loudly to distract them, voice cracking with emotion. "It's me he wants to see, isn't it? So take me to him."

Bellatrix nods triumphantly and leads him deeper into their house. His mother doesn't let him get more than a few steps in front of her by taking him by his elbow but he tugs it out of her grip before she can get the words out. "Leave me."

"Never." She replies quietly but doesn't try to dissuade him again. He doesn't mean to brush off her concern but if she treats him like he's made of glass right now then he's going to shatter all over their family carpet. He is trembling when his aunt reaches the end of a long corridor and tugs a door open, she bows him in mockingly. His mother follows loyally at his heels as he carefully enters into the room. His wand is in his back pocket, he's hyper aware of it pressing against him through the fabric. He tries to stow these thoughts somewhere deep inside where they won't be found as his eyes find the back of an olive green armchair. A figure irradiates darkness from the seat facing a roaring fire place built into the wall opposite of them. His deep grey cloak folds over the arm rests, one thin hand holds his wand and the other trails over the scales of the snake settled beside him.

"Yes, shut the door. I have been waiting for you, Draco."

Draco can't stop the silent sobs as they bubble out of him and cradles his left arm to his chest. He pushes his sleeve up, and he knows his father is in Azkaban and people are dying, worse things were happening to people right now, but he can't breathe when he looks down and sees it, fresh and raw: black ink stark against his irritated pink skin. He sobs harder, biting down on his knuckles to quiet the sound.

He knows the only reason his mother isn't at his side right now is because that bitch of an aunt of his had her barred from his door after the ceremony.

Draco had stayed somewhat composed during the process; his nose ran a little when he began to understand why he was there, why exactly the dark lord had called him before him but he caught on quickly and numbed himself as fast as possible. He could almost feel his mom's panic rising as she surely figured it out too and he blocked it out because he couldn't think of her right now. Not everyone could be like her; she was the solitary death eater without the mark. Draco, well, he never had a chance.

He remembered the dark lord's grip on his arm, how the sight of his yellowed nails digging into his skin made him feel sick, the pressure of the wand dipping into his wrist and more sobs wracked his body. The process had hurt of course; it was meant for only the most devoted enough to want it seared into their flesh. He just didn't expect it to still sting so much, like a part of his flesh was taken from his arm and sewn back in all wrong.

He pulled his sleeve back up, not being able to stand the sight any longer. I was chosen, he tried to reason with himself. But the part of himself he couldn't get rid of whispered, so was he.

He remembered what the dark lord had said mere hours earlier. "You know your place, don't you? You are your father's son, aren't you, Draco?"

Draco huffed out a breath; he reached under his bed and brought out the creased page of the prophet he'd repaired and destroyed many times now with magic. He stared at his father's flickering face in the image; he flipped the page carefully over between his fingers until it was Potter's face blinking up at him.

The boy's face was nicked and scratched in the photograph;the Headmaster's bracing him up with a hand squeezing into his shoulder. The headline praised him a hero and in the same issue declares his father a murderer and a criminal. The insult is sometimes too much, the first time he saw it he hexed everything in his room.

Glaring at Potter's face, he wished for the times when he and his mother were the only ones truly aware of the despicable nature of her husband, when the Malfoy family name was still spoken with esteem. But that illusion was shattered and dreading on it like this only tortured him.

Draco's chest heaved; he wonders if this is what he deserves. What his mom had said to his aunt earlier was right, in a way his dad wasn't the only person who had failed the day his father led an attack in the department of mystery.

He's no longer crying, the tears have stopped coming, he shoves the page under his pillow and with his face pressed into the sheets his heart has only room for dread and shame. Of course, Draco hadn't known anything about his father's plan that year or the dark lord's for that matter so he couldn't have known. But he wonders if he and the other's on the Inquisitorial Squad hadn't of lost Potter's little squad of misfits, there wouldn't have been so many who went on to fight in the Department of Mystery. Maybe something would have been different. At least that's what his father had implied in the last letter he'd sent him just before he was imprisoned.

His fingers are still curled around the cuff of his left wrist. It was his fault just as much as it was Potter's, this he was certain of and it burned him up from the inside out. His hatred for himself battled only with his hatred for the other boy. Draco doesn't know if he what he wants is actually his dad home from Azkaban or not. It was the principal of the thing. And under normal circumstances- he shuddered closing his eyes- well, nothing was normal any more.

Exhaustion over wells him and he can't even bear to think about what's in store for him in the morning. He knows what this is what he was always expected of him and with two months longer of summer holiday in store before he could escape back to Hogwarts there's nothing he can do. He is a Death Eater now and his life is not his own.

The summer is almost over; mere weeks from what will be the start of his sixth year when his mom doesn't turn up for dinner during the evening. His aunt Bellatrix and Dolohov do, stalking into the room and sitting in the chairs on either side of him. Dolohov grins menacingly and helps himself to a turkey leg biting into it sloppily with his front incisors. Bellatrix slides her deranged gaze between him and Dolohov; she plucks up the wine glass in front of Draco and swishes it around in her hand.

Draco is fuming and fed up with their charade by the time, Dolohov plops a pile of potatoes onto the silver plate meant for his mom. "Where is she? What have you done to her!?"

Dolohov looks at him over his potatoes and slowly shovels some into his mouth with his fingers.

"WHERE IS SHE!?" He snaps, slamming his hands down on the table. His voice trembles and Bellatrix mocks him for it instantly, screwing up her face in exaggerated emotion.

"Where iS she?" She makes a face and points at him with her glass. "Have some pride, sweetie."

Draco knocks the obnoxious death eater's plate across the table out of reach when he goes for more. "I don't give a fuck about pride. What have you done with my mother?"

A hand collides with Draco's jaw and Dolohov is poking his wand into his cheek threateningly, his other hand pushing him back against his chair before he's processed the pain. "You've done it now, boy."

"Stop this!" Bellatrix scolds; the death eater's grip tightens and then drops. He scowls at Draco as he takes his seat again. "If the Dark Lord sees your weakness-"

"Oh, he'd laugh." Dolohov rumbles, looking over Draco as he made a show of brushing off the front of his shirt. He leans toward him across the table, spearing his fork into the glazed wood. "He couldn't have chosen anyone better. You'll be dead by the end of the year."

"Hold your tongue!" Bellatrix hisses and he leans back in his seat, hands spread in surrender. Draco's hand trembles from where it white knuckles his wand, his aunt finally regards him coolly at this. "Cissy is fine. She's been… otherwise occupied. Her opinion on what we have to discuss wasn't needed."

Draco is taken aback, he stutters quietly. "W-wasn't needed?"

She lays her cold fingers over the top of Draco's left hand and it's everything he can do not to shudder in disgust when she keeps them there. "Now, sweetie you have been gifted with a most special opportunity!"

"Right." Dolohov smirks.

She whips on him, raising her voice to a violent level. "SILENCE, PIGHEAD!"

He doesn't even bat an eye, just bows his head and waves for her to continue. Bellatrix draws her lips back and grips Draco's fingers a little tighter. She faces him. "The Dark Lord has given you a wonderful chance. If you do this, Draco, your family will be forgiven and honored beyond what happened at the ministry."

Thoughts of what he may have to do and memories of what he has already been made to do over the past two months flood his mind.

"Spit it out." He says as numbly as possible, he doesn't allow his face to portray a thing.

His aunt's lips pull back into a snarl like smile, her fingers drift from his hand to curl tightly around his wrist almost as if reminding him of the mark tattooed into his skin just below her finger tips. "You are to kill Albus Dumbledore."

Draco is bleeding out in the cellar of his family's mansion. He's lying on the grimy floor, curled around himself like it would've mattered when they were casting spells at him.

"Mom?" He croaks into the silent dark room. His voice is barely loud enough for even him to hear it over the constant drip of the busted wine barrels in the corner. There isn't any hope that she is will hear him or that she will be able to come to his aide, he knows this. This isn't like his father's punishments and his mom can't protect him from this one either. Still, her name slips past his dry lips again if only as an act to keep him present. "Mom."

His body aches from curses and spells unknown. He squeezes his eyes shut against the fear and the sob building in his throat. His clothing feels coated in blood and he's not sure where each wound actually lies because his whole body feels torn and wrought with pain. His mind wanders as he tries to keep himself awake; naturally it drifts over the past twenty four hours. His initial shock and refusal was met by threats of death on himself and every member of his family, including Bellatrix judging from the purpling bruises that circle his left wrist. Then Dolohov had craned his neck and told him that even if he accepted his mother was going to be held away from him as "insurance" until he completed his task.

That hadn't gone well, Draco clutched the right side of his chest remembering. He'd attacked Dolohov and gotten stupefied before he could do any real damage, he fell into the table and onto the floor in that order. The kick to his ribs had been aimed at him just before the spell that knocked him out.

He woke in his room and thinking back on it now, every stupid thing he did next was why he was in this position in the first place. His mind had been all over the place when he woke up, scrambling, desperate for any kind of idea that could spare him and his mom from the wrath of the dark lord when Draco surely fails the task set by him. Who could he turn to? In that moment, thinking wildly, he recalled what the Hogwarts Headmaster had said to him at the end of the year before he'd ridden the train home and this nightmare of a summer had begun.

"I must impress upon you the importance of the knowledge that you are not alone, Draco. With what this following year may bring it seems this especially needs to be said, Voldemort does not truly win until he makes us believe we have no one else." The headmaster had said directing at him the same wise gaze he had always felt inferior under. "Just some food for thought."

Draco scrapped his knuckles against the stone floor and gritted his teeth angrily at the hot tears springing up behind his eyelids. Fucking liar, disgusting hypocrite, he wished he could scream at Dumbeldore. It's your fault I'm here. It's all yours, you old bastard.

He had given up believing hours ago that any kind of help was coming. His floo conversation with the Headmaster wasn't enough to bring the cavalry in for him or his mother. Despite everything Draco had told them about the dark lord's assassination plan it must not have been enough. Not enough to redeem him or to make it worth sending Dumbledore's precious order out on a rescue mission. It had been his only request.

"Please, Headmaster. I'll tell you everything, just swear to me you'll save her."

He has never hated the headmaster more than he does now, sure that as soon as he tipped him off he'd gone back to drinking tea while Draco was tortured by his aunt Bellatrix and the other death eaters after Dolohov had discovered him ending the floo call.

Regardless Draco's mouth twitches into a small grin, blood and saliva bubble up around his teeth. He feels a hint of satisfaction for not folding. The death eaters didn't get anything out of him, those assholes had otherwise no idea who he'd contacted and what he'd told them.

Maybe, he thought tiredly as he drifted deeper into his own head, he'll remember what I did and when the time comes they'll get her out. It's a weak sentiment even he has to admit but he's shivering, starting to fade in and out, and he really doesn't want to die for nothing.

The mice are his only company and their chatter urges him to stay awake. He tries to draw his to mind something, anything, to invoke feeling in him. Potter's face appears in his mind and he groans exasperatedly digging his forehead into stone. Perhaps anything else, he thought and yet he purposefully fans the flames of anger growing in his stomach as if it'll keep him warm, picturing the other boy's irritating green eyes.

Boom. The floor wavers beneath him as a loud noise echoes from the Manor above, the walls hum as dust trickles down from the ceiling. It falls over Draco's still form. He starts to hear voices at the top of the stairs, low whispering like a draft, it causes goose bumps to rise along his skin. He knows it the death eaters come back for more and he's too weak to move, he's resigned to lie where he is drenched in sweat. More whispered voices and then-the sound of dueling breaks out, voices shriek somewhere far off, closer there's scuffling and the sound of a body being thrown down the stairs.

"Filthy blood traitors! Wretched half-bloods!" His aunt's distant screams reach his ears ."I'll kill you, I'll kill you!"

Draco never sees who the body belongs too, the last thing he hears before he loses himself to merciful, terrifying sleep, is the caged door of the cellar being blown off its hinges.