Disclaimer: I'm not even sure I need one - you all know that they aren't my characters!
She never shuts up, does she?
All Draco could hear, as he lay on the carpet of the room, was the shriek of his aunt's laugh, echoing through the house. All he ever seemed to hear now was her cackling. She laughed when she was full of joy after slaughtering a house full of muggles. She squawked with glee when plotting her next vicious move. She giggled as she gave him his daily dose of the Cruciatus curse. Apparently a little bit of torture a day would help him get used to it, in case he was captured. He didn't feel the need to point out that the only people who used the Cruciatus were the people currently using it on him - logic was never Bella's strong point.
The only time he was spared from listening to her was when the Dark Lord was around. When talking to him, she practically panted at his feet, like the pathetic little dog she was. Sometimes you could actually see her drooling as she looked at him. You'd almost feel sorry for Rodolphus. Most men would be humiliated, seeing their wives behave in such a way. However he was almost as obsessed.
Draco rolled over, clutching his pillow to his ears. He was beginning to worry that he would always hear her. A constant soundtrack to the rest of his life. She sounded particularly pleased this evening - the snatchers had delivered another haul of unfortunate runaways. The lucky ones - the ones she considered not useful, would be murdered on sight. The unlucky ones, the ones with some degree of 'worth' - they would be left to rot in the dungeons, like Mr Ollivander.
He heard a gentle knocking at the door, before it opened.
'Darling? You're needed downstairs.' His mother crossed the room, and sat on the edge of his bed. Leaning down, she placed her hand on his forehead, like she used to do when he was little. It was cool, and instantly soothing. His head had been pounding for hours. Father had recently found that throwing Draco across the room was his new favourite method of stress relief. His mother had healed the wound that had resulted from his head striking the window, but the pain was still there. Draco was aware that he was probably imagining the throbbing, but that didn't make it feel any better.
'You've done this since you were a little boy' she smiled as she looked down at him. He has always loved the rug in his room. There was just something about lying on the floor that calmed him. Grounding, even. For some reason it would drive his father mad - an unintended benefit.
His eyes met his mother's bright blue gaze. Her eyelids were swollen and red - she'd clearly been crying again. Neither said anything. They had had the same conversation so many times. He would suggest they leave, she would insist she couldn't go without Father. There was no point in saying the words again.
Her hand moved down to clasp his.
'Come on, you know it will be worse if we leave them waiting'. She was right, as always. He could already hear Bellatrix shouting from downstairs. He pulled himself up, taking a moment to stretch. She brushed off some fluff from the shoulder of his black shirt, and straightened his collar. It was almost reflexive - she just didn't seem to be able to stop herself from tidying him up. Even if he looked immaculate, she would still adjust his cuffs, or brush his hair back. He used to try and bat her away, as all teenage boys do. But lately, he just couldn't. If anything, these brief moments with his mother were the highlights of his day.
He followed her down the corridor - the manor seemed to get darker by the day. As they descended the staircase, the noise in the drawing room grew louder. He took a deep breath, and opened the door. He hated this room most of all. Nothing but the worst seemed to happen there.
It wasn't always like this. Despite its reputation, the manor was actually a lovely place to grow up. He had everything he could ever want. The latest brooms, the newest robes, the best toys. His parents would host the finest dinner parties - Draco would run the halls with Theo and Pansy whilst the adults ate their feasts. The decorations at Christmas almost rivalled those at Hogwarts, with almost a forest of trees in every room, dressed with snow and silver bells. The food - oh god. The food was indescribably wonderful. His mouth would water just thinking about.
His summers were spent flying around the estate on his broom - he had acre upon acre that he could use chasing snitches. Father was always up for a game of Quidditch when he returned from work, and (rarely) even Mother could be convinced to play. She was quite the chaser in her Hogwarts days, but it was considered 'unladylike' for her to hitch up her robes too often. They would often take tea in the garden, the house elves conjuring up the most wonderful picnics. Occasionally his father would mention 'blood traitors' at the ministry, but this was only when they interfered in his work. He didn't even hear the word 'mudblood' until he was 12 years old. He was home from Hogwarts for the summer after his first year, and Theo let it drop over dinner that Draco had come second in the class to Granger. His father, who had been subdued since his return from Hogwarts, fixed Draco with a steely glare.
'Is this correct, Draco?' His voice was quiet - there was an edge to his tone that Draco hadn't heard before.
'Urm, yes. But she's friends with Potter - the teachers just give her the good grades because of that,' he muttered, crossing his arms like the petulant child he was. Suddenly he was forced to sit up straight, as if a steel rod had been painfully inserted in his back.
'If I hear that you've been beaten by a Mudblood again Draco, you will regret it. Do you hear me? I shall not have you embarrassing me in such disgraceful fashion.' He spat this at his only son, seemingly ignoring his guests. Narcissa lay her hand on his shoulder, but he quickly shrugged this off. 'Stop babying him. He's old enough to know better than this. He's old enough to uphold our name'. Draco whimpered. It was as if his tongue was glued to the top of his mouth - his father didn't ever treat him like this. He had never laid so much as a finger on him, let alone his wand. He nodded, looking down at his plate.
'Good', his father wiped his lips with his napkin, and looked around the room at his guests, his charming smile back in place. 'Right, let's get desert.'
Nothing more was said for a few days - Draco avoided his father, preferring to spend his time with Mother in the drawing room. It was his favourite room in the entire manor, especially on those rare evenings they weren't entertaining. They would sit for hours and play exploding snap, or chess. Or they would take a sofa each and read in companionable silence. Sometimes he would sit with his head in his mother's lap, whilst she told him stories about their family. She would stroke his hair, sing him songs. Of course as he got older he would pretend to be far too grown up for this, but after his Father's reprimand at the dinner table, he went back to his safest place.
One evening, two days later, he was sitting in the drawing room with Mother. He was trying, and failing, to beat her at a game of chess. People always talked about how beautiful Narcissa was, and how 'well-bred' she was. No one ever mentioned that she was excellent at chess, a genius at potion making, and had the sharpest wit of anyone he had ever met. He had once asked her why she didn't have a job - she was by far the cleverest person he knew, even more so than Father.
She had waited a few moments before answering.
'Being Narcissa Malfoy is my job, darling,' she sighed. She'd looked so sad when she said this that he didn't know what to say. He'd never asked what she meant. He didn't think he wanted to know.
In the cosy comfort of the drawing room, her queen beheaded his king. He was now beginning to realise that his Mother used to let him win - there was no way he would have been able to beat her on his own merit alone.
'Why don't you go and ask Father to play the next game?' She asked, cautiously.
'He wouldn't want to. He hates me.' He was aware of how whiny he sounded. However his father hadn't even met his gaze over breakfast this morning, and hadn't taken lunch or tea with them this afternoon. He stalked out of the room as soon as the house elves had removed the detritus of the meal, acting as if his only son didn't exist.
Narcissa hesitated, considering her response.
'He could never hate you. He loves you more than anything in this world. He's just -', she paused, trying to think of the right words. 'He's stressed, at the moment. He has a lot on his plate.' She moved a piece of bright blond hair out of her son's eye, and used his chin to tilt his head to meet her gaze. 'Draco - things are changing. The world is changing. I don't know what is going to happen to us, but we need to be the Malfoys. Do you understand? We need to be the powerful, pure blooded, confident, Malfoys.' There was an urgency in her voice, but he didn't understand.
'Of course we are the Malfoys. How are we anything but the Malfoys?' He wrinkled his nose in confusion.
Narcissa was quiet for a few seconds.
'The world has been very kind to you, Draco. It might not always be so. You need to be strong, and you need to stand up for yourself. For yourself, and for us. A time may come when we have to choose a side.' With this, she stood, kissing him on the head.
'Right, off to bed with you! We have to be up early to get your books for school. Although I am slightly loath to purchase that awful Lockhart's books. Whatever was Dumbledore thinking, hiring a prat like him to teach my son' - she spoke brightly as she steered him towards his bedroom. It was as if the conversation they had just had never happened.
His father had seemed much brighter after their trip to Diagon Alley the next day - it was almost back to normal in the Manor. He even joined him and Mother for tea in the garden again, something he had only done once that summer. Yet it was still with some trepidation that Draco entered his father's study when summoned, the evening before he was due to return to school.
He took a seat on the opposite side of the desk to his father. He used to sit in this chair when he was younger, pretending he was here for an important business meeting. His father would play along, trading a galleon for an apple, as if he was doing some grand deal. He would call Draco 'Master Malfoy', and say it was a pleasure doing business with him. Draco had never before felt scared, sitting in this seat. Everything had changed, within the space of a week.
His father leant forward, clasping his hands together in front of him.
'Draco. I must apologise.'
Draco's head whipped up. That wasn't what he was expecting. His father pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling. 'Things are...difficult, at the moment.'
'Difficult?' Draco was not used to being spoken to in such a frank manner by his parents.
'Difficult. I've been given a sort of task, one in which I must succeed. And although I've done my best, I'm not really sure that I actually want to succeed.' His father sounded so sad. A knot began to form in Draco's stomach. This wasn't right. Lucius Malfoy was never unsure. He was never defeated. He looked up at the man he admired the most. He had never seen his father nervous before.
'Draco, when I was younger, I made some decisions. Decisions that I don't think I would make again. And those decisions, they led me to high standing with the Dark Lord'. The knot grew bigger. Mother and Father rarely talked about the Dark Lord. He knew their history. Father was a Death Eater in extremely high favour when Draco was born. Draco hadn't been aware of quite how high up his father had been until he started at Hogwarts, and was told by other pupils in hushed and slightly fearful tones. He'd had no idea. His father cleared his throat.
'I don't believe the Dark Lord is truly gone, Draco. He was well acquainted with death, and if anyone knew how to avoid it, it was him.' There was a slight tremor in his voice. 'If, or when, he returns, I will have no choice but to stand with him.' He pulled up his sleeve, revealing his fading Mark. Draco rarely saw it, his father would hide it as much as possible. It wasn't at all respectable these days.
'But, why? Why will you stand with him?' Draco almost didn't want to know the answer.
'Because I am Lucius Malfoy. I am the head of the oldest pureblood family in Britain. I have made my choices, and now we will have to live with them.' Draco didn't miss the use of the word 'we'. A heavy silence settled between the pair.
'Well, I will stand with you Father,' Draco stated, his voice earnest. Of course he would stand with his parents. Why wouldn't he? The two people he loved more than anything in the world? It was a no brainer really. And it didn't mean anything anyway. You-know-who was dead.
Lucius let out a wan smile, before standing. He turned and examined his bookshelf, selecting two books. One was quite new - 'The Rise and Fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named', by August Florentine. A smaller, scruffier book was underneath it, 'Introduction to Curses' by Leonardo Scapori. Draco clutched them to his chest.
'Here. Something interesting to read after those awful Lockhart books turn your brain to rot,' his father smiled at him, finally looking like himself. 'Now, tell me, you are trying out for the quidditch team? I think if you make it we may need to look at updating your broom - the specs for the new Nimbus are pretty interesting!'
As Draco entered the drawing room, he couldn't help but think of that last conversation before he returned to Hogwarts for second year. It was the last time he had truly seen his Father smile, in fact it was the last time that he'd felt happy in his father's company. Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle. Bellatrix clapped her hands with glee as he entered.
'Ah! My darling nephew has arrived!' She wrapped her arm around his neck, making a show of kissing his cheek. He willed himself not to recoil from the putrid smell wafting from her mouth - maintaining her teeth was never Bella's strong point. 'Good thing you came so soon. It would be awful if I'd had to go and find you!' her sing-song voice echoed throughout the room. Everyone present could hear the thinly veiled threat.
Draco took in the room - the snatchers, a raggedy group of the wizarding worlds dregs, stood by the cold fireplace. The fire hadn't been lit for months - Voldemort preferred it that way. He only recognised one of this group, the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback. Draco had tried to imagine what Greyback was like before he received the bite, but he found it impossible. He couldn't conceive a world where this man was nothing but a beast. At their feet Draco could see a young woman, her hands bound and bleeding in front of her. Her face was covered by long, dirty blonde hair, but he could see a bright blue eye peering through, as if watching through a curtain.
One of the snatchers stepped forward. He looked about 17 years old, his face covered with acne. Draco didn't recognise him, so he must have been older, but his gangling features and nervous hand twisting made him look childish. He muttered something, whilst looking down at his shoes.
'What was that?' Bellatrix sounded oddly polite. The young man shuffled forward again.
'I just asked when we would get our payment.' He still looked away, seemingly scared to meet the woman's eye.
'You'll get your money when I say so.' Despite appearing calm, Draco knew that his aunt was anything but. Her index finger began tapping against her wans, a surefire tell that she was becoming annoyed.
'It's just that...we brought her. Like you ask. And we need to go.' His voice tailed off towards the end. Draco inhaled. Stupid boy. Bellatrix stepped forward and grasped the snatcher's face, filthy fingernails digging into his cheeks.
'You will go when I am content, and not a moment sooner,' she said, sweetly. She let him go, and he almost looked relieved. She then cocked her head to one side, pouting as she looked at him. He started to back up. 'Actually. You're annoying.' A flash of green light swept across the room, striking the young man in the face. He fell down dead at her feet, his eyes unblinking. The few death eaters assembled laughed among themselves. Draco spotted his father in the corner, arms folded, a smirk on his face.
Bellatrix roughly kicked the corpse away from her, fixing her glare upon the remaining snatchers. 'Let that be a lesson boys. You are nothing. You are replaceable. You are little more than a common house elf, doing the tasks I set you. If you speak out of turn, you will meet the same end as your little friend here. Is that understood?' The snatchers shuffled awkwardly, but murmured their assent. Bellatrix turned her beady eyes on the girl. 'You. Come here.' The girl looked up, but didn't move. Draco saw that her feet were also bound. Bellatrix must have also been able to see this too, but chose to ignore it.
'I told you to COME HERE', she screeched, waving her wand. It was as if invisible hands had grasped the girl by her hair, and she was dragged roughly towards Bellatrix. Draco had to give credit to her for not making a sound. Bellatrix leant down, placing her wand under the girl's chin. She forced her face upwards. 'What is your name?' The girl paused.
'Hannah. Hannah Abbott.' The girl whispered, sounding unsure of her own name. Bellatrix was still for a second. Draco had been potions partners with Hannah in fourth year, and although he had tried to ignore her as much as possible, he was sure he remembered her having brown eyes.
'LIAR!' with a shriek and a flick of her wand, Bellatrix slashed a wound down the girls cheek. 'For every lie, you'll get a mark. If you get three marks, I will kill you.' Her voice was hurried, every word dripping in venom. Not-Hannah Abbott whimpered. Bellatrix stroked her hair, suddenly speaking sweetly. 'Now, let's try again. What's your name.'
'Luna Lovegood'.
Draco recognised the name. Loony Lovegood, the addled Ravenclaw who walked around with that ridiculous magazine, wittering on about Nargles. He obviously hadn't associated with her in Hogwarts, but he knew she was harmless. Bellatrix smiled, baring her rotten front teeth.
'Now, that wasn't so difficult, was it?' She looked at the snatchers in the corner. 'Well done boys. Normally I would give you some reward for your hard work, but having to deal with your companion rather took it out of me.' She raised a dramatic hand to her head, almost as if she was trying not to swoon. Draco couldn't help but smirk. Nothing made Aunt Bellatrix feel more alive than a sport of murder, and everyone there knew it. 'Now, run along, and if you're fast enough I won't kill you. Off you trot!' The Snatchers hurried out of the room, chased by the green bolts of light that Bella shot after them. The distinct 'pops' of disapparation sounded from the hallway.
'Bellatrix, I've asked before, could you please not leave scorch marks from your Avada on the parquet flooring? It's rather upsetting your sister', Lucius drawled from the corner. Bellatrix rolled her eyes, ignoring him completely. She turned to Greyback, and pointed at the still staring corpse on the floor.
'Hound. Take this body out of my sight. I don't care what you do with it, just don't play with your food in the manor.' She then added, in a mocking tone ' The mess upsets Cissy'. She met Lucius's eyes, daring him to argue with her. Draco's father stepped forward, but just as he opened his mouth, Draco's mark started to burn. He looked around the room, and it seemed it was happening to all of the assembled Death Eaters. Bellatrix's eyes blazed with excitement. 'He's coming!' Bellatrix placed her hand on Draco's shoulder. 'Draco, take our new guest to the dungeon. Show her a bit of hospitality, why don't you'.
Draco pulled Luna up by her manacled hands, and started to walk/drag her out of the room. He and Bellatrix had very different ideas of hospitality. He sighed as they entered the corridor, letting out a deep breath that he didn't know he had been holding.
He really fucking hated that room.
Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed! There is a lot more to come. A review, if you get a chance, would be appreciated. Thanks!