Better Be Slytherin
XLIII
Blood Will Out
The snake ringled around the large, dark drawing room. Lord Voldemort stood before him in billowing black robes, his silhouette on the wall dancing along with the flames that were the only source of light in the room. His shadow seemed even larger and more frightening than the man himself.
"What is this I hear?" said the cold, high voice. Voldemort's long slender fingers were caressing the wand in his hand. Theodore bowed once more. "You defy your father's wishes?"
"I do, sir," breathed Theodore, bent over in a low bow. "But only for a cause I strongly believe in."
"If you do not obey your father... How do I know you shall obey me..."
"I've always wanted this," he whispered but tried to sound firm. "I've always aspired to it."
"You will give your life for me?" said Voldemort quietly.
"Yes." He was shaking with excitement, anticipation and fear.
"You wish to offer yourself to my service?"
"Yes, sir."
"But you are merely a boy..." Said Voldemort coldly, "What can you provide me that none of my other Death Eaters can?"
"I'll do anything you want. I know the Carrows have asked Malfoy to sort out the Mudbloods at Hogwarts. But, master, he's not doing it. I can do it better-"
"Draco's useful to me in other ways..." Said Voldemort, turning around to look out the window. The snake slid closer, it was circling them. Theodore glanced out the window where the thunderstorm was rumbling on. There were no sign of the white peacocks that usually patrolled the high hedges... The rain was so thick he could hardly see past them anyway. However gloomy the weather outside, he saw a long and bright future for himself with the Dark Lord.
"If you want to join my cause, Theodore," said Voldemort, his back still to him, "Then I shall not deny it."
For a second, Theodore studied the Dark Lord's back. He glanced at the snake, still circling them, it's long thin tongue vibrated and gave off a hissing sound. And for a second, he wondered whether he was doing the right thing.
Then, "Yes, master."
"Pull up your left sleeve."
When Voldemort gripped his hand and pointed his long, thin wand hard into Theodore's skin, it hurt more than anything he'd ever experienced. It burned like real flames, but worse than real flames, and he screamed, and he saw in his mind how his mother had collapsed by the end of the bed, blood leaking from her nose, and he saw how Pansy had chosen Malfoy over him, they had kissed and held hands like she'd never kissed him or held his hand, and he screamed as if he was going to die, and distantly he saw Voldemort's red gleeming eyes focused on him, with fierce malice and a malevolent sort of amusement...
There was a rumbling thunderstorm outside that had rained away all the snow. Draco lay on his back on his wide bed, looking up at the moldings on the ceiling around the chandelier when he heard the fire crackle a bit too loudly to be natural... He turned to look at his fireplace at once and saw the face he'd just been thinking of.
"Pansy!" he exclaimed and hopped off the bed, hurrying forward. "What are you doing here?"
"Visiting you, clearly," she smirked derisively. Her eyes had the exact same green colour as the glow from the lake in the Slytherin common room, he realised. The colour reminded him of home and everything he loved.
"I'm surprised to see you," he said, ignoring her taunts. He smiled at her, despite himself.
"How are you then?" she said expectantly. "Had a nice Christmas?"
"Fine. And you?"
She grimaced. "It was all right. Bit too many relatives. Got loads of presents though," she smirked.
He sniggered.
"I got your owl," she said, smirking slightly, "saying you miss me. So I thought I'd pop in."
"I do miss you," he said in a low voice.
For the first time ever, she said "I miss you too," albeit without looking at him. It warmed his insides more than anything lately. He wished he could reach out into the fire to touch her.
"Can you come over soon? I don't think I'm allowed to leave really."
Pansy looked surprised. "Ok, yes," she nodded. "Didn't think you were allowed visitors."
"He's not always here," he said quietly. "I don't think it should be a problem."
"Lovely. And maybe you can pop out and join me for Bletchley's New Years party."
"I don't think so, Pansy," he said. "Sorry."
She looked disappointed. "It's supposed to be really fun. He's invited tons of people."
Draco had a difficult time imagining that people even threw parties at this dark times. It was vastly different from his own life at the moment.
"I'm really excited," she said dully. With a jolt of unpleasantness, he imagined Pansy dancing with Theodore Nott in his absence. In her new dress robes, undoubtedly.
"I think he wants me for something. He's planned something for me," he said softly. "It's not the right time at the moment. Perhaps next year."
With a jolt in his stomach, he wondered if he would even be alive next year.
"He wants you for something? Again?" She sounded even more disappointed now. "I thought that was all over."
"Quite to the contrary... This is when the real stuff starts. Whenever he wants me I need to be there."
She pouted slightly, looking away. "What's the point in having a boyfriend if you can't go places together," she said, and he hoped she was joking, at least a little bit.
He smiled casually. "Come over and I'll show you what the point is."
It made Pansy giggle.
She came over in new dress robes, tailored and burgundy-coloured this time, and very pleased with herself. She would look amazing at the New Years party. She and Draco had dinner and wine in the dining room with Mr and Mrs Malfoy, and over the exquisite meal of pheasant and gooseberry sauce, she looked around the magnificent room and all the silver. All of it could be hers someday, she realised.
She made sure to seduce him and go down on him as soon as they came up to his bedroom.
After the sex, he pulled her towards him and kissed her head, putting an arm around her.
"All right," laughed Pansy. "Marry, snog and avoid. Go."
He pinched her upturned nose playfully and said, "You start."
"Ok. Goyle... Zacharias Smith... and Blaise," she laughed.
"Oh, come on..." groaned Draco, screwing up his face in a disgusted manner. "I suppose I'd... avoid Smith, I really can't stand him, well, can anyone...? Snog Blaise because I wouldn't want to see him every day for the rest of my life..." Pansy shrieked with laughter now, and he went on, "and... marry... Goyle?"
"Potter, Weasley, and Granger!" Draco hastily retorted to her.
"Oh well that's easy! Weasley is a Pureblood, albeit a Bloodtraitor. Potter's halfblood so I guess that makes them equal. I'd definitely avoid the Mudblood Granger," pondered Pansy. "Weasley would be a right bother to be married to, that nasty temper of his... Soo... I'd snog him despite his awful ginger face, and marry Potter. I reckon he might make a good husband. The hero complex, saviour thing."
Draco looked disgusted. He shook his head quickly as if getting rid of an annoying fly. "Ugh, don't let me here you say that again!"
"But I'd sneak out to see you behind Potter's back."
"Oh you would, would you? Lucky me, being your mistress!"
Pansy laughed hysterically again. "Mistress?!"
"Or whatever it's called for males," grumbled Draco. Pansy only laughed harder and he could barely make out the word 'mistress' inbetween her laughs.
"Fine!" said Draco wanting to get her back. "Professor Snape, Hagrid and Professor Carrow."
"Which of them?"
"The woman. Alecto."
"Avoid the half-giant!" Pansy screeched with laughter. "Snog Carrow and marry Professor Snape? Or, wait! How am I supposed to answer that one? That's too difficult!"
"No, you've decided," drawled Draco. "You'll be waking up next to Snape's greasy head every day for the rest of your life!"
"Well... same there, I'd still have you as my bit on the side. My other potential marriages couldn't keep us apart."
"I'm not a 'bit on the side'!" said Draco mock-indignantly. Pansy laughed and ignored him.
"Lisa Turpin, Lavender Brown and... Tracey!"
"Well done, Pans, that's a difficult one..."
"Is it really?" she wrinkled her nose. "Tracey's a slytherin, obviously! So she would be favourable..."
"And a Half-blood and one of your best friends."
Pansy laughed again. "Well," he went on, pondering this, "Brown's thicker than a concussed troll.. I could never stand all that giggling and gossiping."
Pansy cleared her throat, "Err, what the hell are you doing with me then?"
"You do it in another way," he gave a snort laugh and waved it off with his hand. "Anyway, and she's a Gryffindor so she's shared a dormitory with that beaver Mudblood Granger – she's tainted. So I'd avoid her, definitely. Let's see – as you say, Davis is a Slytherin but a meek one at that, she's got the brains at least, I'll give her that... Turpin is the blonde one, isn't she?"
Pansy nodded. "Used to go out with Boot."
"Well, she's quite all right, then,"
Pansy hit him on the arm.
"I'd snog her and marry Davis then," he concluded. "Finnigan... Zacharias Smith... and... Zabini."
Pansy's face screwed up and she said in a disgusted tone, "Ugh. You know how I loathe Smith. Ugh, but Zabini..." she groaned. "Oh, and Finnigan... setting everything on fire... I don't want to touch either of them..."
"Blaise isn't that bad. He's a slytherin. And rather clever."
"Ugh, so full of himself. Can't stand him. I could marry Smith and kill myself after a day, I suppose... Or I'll avoid Zabini and... snog... no... I'll have to snog Zabini, avoid Smith and marry Finnigan and move to Irland and hear non-stop Quidditch talk for the rest of my life."
Draco laughed. "Doesn't sound too bad actually."
"But you can't marry Tracey," she pouted, still laughing. "Or anyone."
Their eyes met for a second. Then he smirked. "Don't worry."
"Me, Crabbe and Goyle," said Pansy then.
"Well that's easy," said Draco casually. "Obviously I'd avoid Crabbe and marry you. But, that means I'll have to snog Goyle... Maybe I'll snog you and marry Goyle, as long as we don't have to do anything..." He shuddered.
"Obviously you'll have to snog Goyle so we can be married. Small sacrifice to get me for a wife, don't you think?"
Draco gave a snorting laugh and looked at her fondly, while she smirked at him.
"Me or Theodore Nott?" he then said without breaking eye contact.
Pansy gave a short laugh. "You obivously, you idiot."
"Are you leaving?" he asked, sitting up straighter in the bed as Pansy began getting dressed.
"Yes," she said, her back to him, "I'm going straight to Bletchley's New Years Party."
"Oh," he said, taken aback, "I thought that wasn't for several more hours..."
She turned to him and gave a crooked smile. "You'll manage without me, surely."
"Of course I will," he said quickly. "Where's the party then? At his house?"
"No, his family's got a place in the Cotswolds."
"Why, that's near the manor," said Draco.
"Why don't you come?" said Pansy in what sounded like a hesitant tone, and he wondered whether she actually wanted to invite him or just felt forced to.
"Can't," he said shortly, "The Dark Lord expects me here."
Watching her finish getting dressed and rising from the bed, he wondered when he would see her again.
Everything was spinning and she had no idea where she was, somewhere inbetween places, until finally her feet hit ground and she staggered slightly. Her mother dropped her arm at once. Pansy had never really gotten used to Apparition, and it didn't seem to get any more pleasant with time.
"You do know I have my Apparition licence," she said in a chilly tone to her mother, who had insisted to take Pansy side-along Apparition.
"Oh, darling, it's quicker if I do it," said haughty Perpetua Parkinson quickly. "This way." They had arrived in a small village with rural houses hidden behind hedges, bushes, threes and flowers. They were standing in the middle of a small square which she guessed was the centre of the village. There was a large noticeboard, a post office and several small roads leading off in different directions.
An old lady flew by on her bicycle, the basket on the handlebar filled with vegetables and eggs. She stared at them as she passed, and nearly went down a ditch because she kept her eyes on them too long. Pansy realised that for any Muggle, they would look very different and odd.
They were both wearing long, strongly coloured dress robes for one. Her mother was also in a black pointed witch's hat and dragon skin gloves with fur trimming. In the Pureblood society, they looked very respectable and fashionable, but compared to the Muggle cycling by they were from different worlds. Pansy wore new dress robes in magenta, and her mother were in purple and green robes, as were very fitting in the Wizarding world.
They walked down the country lane for a minute or so and then Perpetua exclaimed, "Oh dear! This must be it!"
Pansy knew at once why she'd come to that conclusion. The garden was filled with light, and when she looked there were actual fairies flying around and occupying the trees and hedges. There were moving ice sculptures lining the grovel path up the large house. There was a cluster of people by the large oak doors, all in Wizarding dress robes too, drinking, catching up and laughing. Pansy was excited at once to start mingling.
"Ah, Mrs Parkinson," came a loud, drawling voice from amidst the gathering of people. A man, balding except for two grey patches of fluffy hair just above his ears, stepped out to greet them. He had low set bushy brows and was wearing a bottlegreen suit. "Fancy seeing you here. And what of your husband?"
Perpetua kissed both of his cheeks and said, "Pleasure, Mr Blane! He's away on business I'm afraid. Urgent matters in Sweden!"
Oh, what a bore, thought Pansy, even though she'd known there'd be lots of Ministry employees there – Bletchley Sr worked with her father at the Ministry after all.
"And young Pansy!" the man went on, turning to her. They cheek kissed, although she couldn't remember meeting him before.
Perpetua offered her hand to everyone in the group in turn, regally letting them shake her hand. She was shorter than every single person. Pansy then cheek-kissed everybody. Lastly, there was a boy who looked a couple of years older than her. He was cleanly handsome but gloomy.
"I don't think we've met," she said.
"Alfred Runcorn. I think you know my sister," he said with a slight smirk.
"Agnes?" said Pansy, suddenly laughing. "She's one of my Prefects, yes."
"I've heard you're not the fastest broom in the shed," he laughed.
How rude! Who would dare say such negative things about her? She could only think of one – Blaise Zabini.
Seeing how angry and indignant she went, he quickly said, "My father works in the Ministry with yours, too, I think."
"Fascinating," grunted Pansy. She narrowed her eyes and said suspiciously, "What do you think of Muggleborns?" because she knew that was the ultimate way of judging somebody's character.
"What do you think?" he sneered.
"Good. Because I'm Draco Malfoy's girlfriend, and I couldn't possibly be civil to anyone not like-minded. He's in with the Dark Lord after all."
"That's not really anything to boast about. The Malfoys at the bottom of rank – being connected to them means nothing these days."
Pansy bit her lip in anger to stop herself saying something she might regret. She loathed this boy already. "Pardon me," she said quickly before he had the chance to say something else that would aggravate her. She needed a drink now.
"Oh, Mr Bletchley!" came the haughty voice of her mother, who was waving a glove-clad hand, hurrying closer with a large smile plastered on her evil face. The doors had opened and their host, Bletchley Sr had stepped out for a cigar. "Clever man inviting Orabella Nuttley – we've had a lovely time discussing Calestina Warbeck's latest concert – it was really quite a disappointment!"
"Nice to see you Mrs Parkinson," chuckled Mr Bletchley.
"And you," she said politely. Pansy cheek-kissed him and then Perpetua said, "Pansy I'd like you to meet Orabella, she's with the Improper Use of Magic Office."
Pansy fake smiled and said, "Pleasure."
Longing to leave the rude boy behind and free herself of her mother's grasp, she smiled again at Mr Bletchley and thanked him for inviting them, before she moved inside the loud and crowded hall inside.
She passed a couple of Death Eaters she recognised as Selwyn and Travers who were retelling the story of how they had exploded the editor of the Quibbler's house just yesterday. She didn't really care, so she made her way in to the large sitting room where the furniture had been moved to make room for everyone to mingle.
She wondered who would be here. Daphne had said she was going, and she knew Miles Bletchley must be here somewhere since it was his family that hosted the party, but she had no idea who else were coming. The room buzzed with chatter as people stood in groups with glasses of champagne in their hands. House-Elfs were carrying trays of drinks and finger foods, and a large gramophone was playing.
"Pans!" a voice suddenly shrieked and she turned around to see the Greengrass sisters hurrying up to her. "I've been waiting for you to come!" said Daphne as they cheek-kissed quickly. "This party's well boring," she then added under her breath. Astoria giggled. "I don't know why mum and dad dragged us along here. It's just a bunch of old fuddy-duddies!"
Pansy laughed. "No fit boys?" she said and Daphne narrowed her eyes.
"Aren't you with Malfoy?"
"Dunno," she said, looking around for a drink. "He's so boring at the moment..."
Daphne scrutinised her for a moment. "Don't be silly! You love him! What are you annoyed with him about?"
"Nothing," said Pansy quickly. She didn't want rumours to start. She was after all with Draco, she was only a bit sick of the Dark Lord and the Carrows taking over all his time. "I was joking. Let's go get a drink."
As they made their way through the crowded room, Daphne asked her, "Have you seen Blaise?"
"No," said Pansy shortly. And she certainly hoped he wouldn't show his face. Daphne needed to get over her silly crush.
Grabbing a glass of Quigley Cunningham's Fizzy Champagne off a passing House-Elf's tray, she said, "Who's here?"
"I've spotted Crabbe and Goyle," said Daphne, rolling her eyes and grimacing. "They're in the kitchen stuffing their faces, not talking to anybody."
"No surprise there," snorted Pansy.
"Davis wasn't invited obviously, her family's got no connections, and I think Bulstrode's ill. I've heard Thedore's coming with his father, though, and he'll hopefully bring Blaise."
Pansy took a sip of her champagne and rolled her eyes so that Daphne couldn't see.
"Have you spoken to Queenie?"
"Yes," said Pansy, "she's coming."
The sky was indigo, they noticed as they went upstairs and found themselves in a room with large windows. They could see miles through the windows. The atmosphere up here was vastly different to downstairs – Miles Bletchley was the centre of attention as usual. He was chugging down a large glass of mead to cheers from Adrian Pucey, Callum Yulley, James Yardley, Caecus Warrington and Philip Vaisey, the old gang.
There were a couple more boys there, that she didn't know as well as the others – Draco's old Quidditch captain, Linus Urquhart; the idiot she'd kissed last summer, Lucian Bole; and his two friends Terrence Higgs and Marcus Flint, the latter whom Pansy had rowed with that same summer evening. He'd been the one to start the rumours about Draco not being able to finish Dumbldore off. Anger sprouting in her chest at once, she turned away from them and decided not to say hello to them.
Instead, she grimaced at the boys she did know and said, "How unbefitting of Purebloods," making herself known. They turned to her, and surprised and shocked, started laughing.
They all greeted each other with cheek-kisses, and then Pucey said, "So what's Hogwarts like this year?"
Pansy knew a lot of them had become Death Eaters after finishing school. The peer pressure within this group was abundant, she knew. The coffee table was filled with beer-glasses and spilled liquid, and the boys were loud and boisterous as always – wildly different to downstairs where people sipped champagne and spoke politely to each other.
"It's well different," said Daphne.
"How have you been? Where's Malfoy?" Miles asked Pansy, taking her aside and sitting down on one of the sofas. She did the same, although was careful not to put her expensive shoes on any of the beer-stains on the carpet.
"He's at home. Doing something for the Dark Lord," shrugged Pansy. Miles' eyes widened slightly.
"Didn't think he got to do anything for the Dark Lord after what happened last," he said in a lowered voice. Taking offence by this, Pansy snorted haughtily.
"Nott's got his Dark Mark, hasn't he," continued Miles.
Daphne and Pansy gasped. "What?!"
"Yes, just last week. His father didn't want him to do it yet, though," he said under his breath. Pansy's eyes widened – she loved gossip.
"But Malfoy should know that. The Dark Lord resides in his home after all."
"What, and Theodore came to Malfoy manor?"
"Yes, that's where he got the mark."
Pansy looked at Daphne, who looked equally surprised as her.
"Doesn't seem like the Dark Lord lets the Malfoys in on his plans anymore, really."
She knew Miles hadn't said it in a spiteful way but she was still annoyed. "I just told you, the Dark Lord's actually given Draco something new to do!" she said defiantly.
"That's all right then," said Miles quickly. "I'll just pop downstairs to check on my brother. To see he's not cringing the girls out."
Pansy giggled. "I saw him dowstairs with Pucey's little brother, and that Oliver Harper."
As they reached downstairs, Blaise Zabini had just arrived – he was in a wine red velvet travelling cloak, looking out coldly over the crowd to spot somebody he knew. Daphne elbowed Pansy at once.
"Yes," sighed Pansy, "I've got eyes for myself, thank you, Daph. I can see Zabini is here."
"Let's go say hello!" squealed Daphne, but Blaise was already sauntering over to them, after having dumped his cloak on one of the House-Elf's outstretched hands.
"Parkinson... Greengrass... Miles..." he said in his usual cold voice, and only stretched out his hand for Miles to shake. Pansy rolled his eyes. He was rude as ever, then.
Daphne made a movement as if to hug him, but was taken aback when Zabini frowned derisively at her. She went scarlet. Miles went away to fetch them drinks, and Zabini said, "Whre's Malfoy then? You're usually joined at the hip..."
Ignoring his sneer, Pansy flipped her hair over her shoulder and said, "He couldn't attend."
Just then, Queenie came running up to them, a bottle of champagne in her hand, and a large smirk on her face. "Looky what I found!"
After splitting the bottle up between their empty glasses, Queenie went on, "I just really want to meet some fit blokes. Don't seem to be any at Hogwarts."
"Oi!" interjected Pansy indignantly. "Malfoy's fit!"
Zabini laughed loudly. Miles returned with his father on his heel.
"Where's your feller, then?" boomed Mr Bletchley. "Miles told me you're going out with the Malfoy boy!"
"I am, Mr Bletchley," simpered Pansy, "and he's, er, not well at the moment."
"Not Dragon Pox, I hope?" said Mr Bletchley, grabbing a Fire Whiskey off a passing house-elf's tray.
"Scrofungulus, I think," she said quickly, sipping her champagne, while the company laughed.
"Unlucky," said Miles, grinning widely.
Theodore arrived looking flustered and misplaced. "All right, Theodore?" said Blaise.
"Yes, just nice to be out of the house," said Theodore, as Pansy kissed both his cheeks quickly, and just because she knew it was expected.
Mr Bletchley asked, "Where's Albert then? Too busy to come?" with a knowing smile. His large belly was restricted with difficulty behind a tweed jacket. He was red and blotchy in the face, probably the drunkest one at the party.
Theodore stammered, "Er—Father's away. Not really sure, Mr Bletchley..."
"Fine, fine," Mr Bletchley waved it off with his large hand. "Have a drink, why don't you, Theodore..."
As soon as Mr Bletchley had turned around to speak to another group of guests, Pansy rounded on Nott.
"What's this I hear about you taking the Mark?"
Theodore studied her, frowning slightly, and said nothing, seemingly taken aback. "That's not really any of your business, is it?" he then said, his eyes narrowed.
"Fine," said Pansy coldly, turned around, grabbed a glass of champagne off a House-Elf and walked away from him.
At dinner she was placed between Miles' great aunt and uncle. "You know, in my day, there was a large campaign about not letting Mudbloods and Squibs and the likes into Hogwarts..."
"Really?" said Pansy, utterly bored.
"And now, finally, it seems, the cause has been reignited..."
Miles' great aunt was obese and wearing the largest hat Pansy had ever seen, making her look like a giant mushroom in magenta dress-robes with excellent table manners. Pansy sighed and looked over at Queenie and Daphne who'd been lucky enough to sit together with Miles and Warrington, while she was over here alone. She downed her glass of champagne, and noticed that it was instantly refilled by magic. That could be dangerous.
The great uncle had large white sideburns and in long dark green dress-robes. He pulled up a pair of rectangular glasses on the tip of his long nose as he joined the conversation. Soon they were so wrapped up in their conversation that she could sneak away without being noticed.
Making her way through the crowd of people chattering and House-Elfs carrying trays with food and drink around, she grabbed a bottle of champagne from a small table in a corner of the hall, hurried upstairs and out onto the large terrace.
She was at the top, she knew, as she sipped her terribly expensive champagne and looked out onto the misty marches. She was the top part of society. The Pureblood elite.
She was the perfect example of a Pureblood witch, freshly of age and the world at her feet. Leader of a gang of girls, popular in Slytherin. Dating the up-and-coming Death Eater.
Then why did it feel so wrong?
The cold wind finally brought her to her senses and she went inside, frightened of what this new year would bring.
Draco soared higher over the dark fields of the Wiltshire countryside, the cold wind whipping his hair back. He breaked his broomstick as he passed the security charms around the manor, and reached the area from where he could Disapparate. He tossed his broomstick to the side and did a quick concealment charm on it so it wouldn't be found by anyone inappropriate, although there wasn't really much risk of that as he was far from any civilisation.
Then it all faded. He came to with a stagger and found himself on a hill when he'd opened his eyes. The Apparition still made him nauseous after all these months. He was looking out over a small village. Dilapidated houses stretched as long as he could se, and at once he noticed the weather was better here than in Wiltshire, it was a different county after all. The thick clouds had been replaced by a clear and starry night sky, and suddenly his thick travelling cloak felt too warm.
He swallowed nervously but made his way down the hill, determined.
When he'd found the right house, he glanced sideways before moving into the back alley, away from the quiet suburban street. Around the house he went, and found a kitchen door. He knocked three times quickly and heard scuffling on the inside, even though the house was completely dark. Whoever it was had expected him, and tried to hide in the darkness. There was no point hiding from Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters.
The curtain next to the door peered sideways and an unkempt face appeared in the gap, his eyes red and his grey stubble a little too long, he had the look of one of those frequenters at the local pub. The old man's eyes widened in terror, and just as he began running away from the door, retreating back into the room, Draco pointed his wand and muttered, "Expulso"
The door was blasted in, and he kicked the man in the stomach, making him fall to the floor gasping and moaning. He had drooping skin and tired eyes, a bulbous nose – he was far from attractive and looked like he wasn't long for this world, which made this easier. Large hands waved up at him, "Get off me!"
"Is there anyone else here?" hissed Draco.
"Yes!" gasped the man, trying to get back up from the floor, "My wife's upstairs, she'll alert the Aurors—"
"Liar," he muttered, focusing his mind on entering the old man's thoughts. Draco was a skilled Legilimens, and nobody seemed to have informed this man of the importance of Occlumency practice... Draco could see at once that he was lying. But the second of concentration that had taken him to see into the man's mind, the man had managed to get a grip on his own wand, and shouted, "Impedimenta!"
Draco flew back from the man and hit the opposite wall with enormous force. His back collided with a shelf lined with crockery, the hard wood banged into his spine and the porcelain broke over the back of his head. Battered, dizzy and hurt, he staggered to the floor, just as he the old man who had taken to a run, were reaching the door frame.
"Stupefy!" he gasped, barely pointing his wand in time – the man stumbled and fell into the door-frame but the spell hadn't hit him fully. Suddenly everything happened really quickly. He dodged the man's curse while he shot blaze after blaze from his own wand, jerking his wand again and again, shooting quick darts of red sparks, the room was alit with sparks and rubble and they were both dodging each other's curses. Finally, Draco's spell found him.
"Petrificus Totalus!" he yelled, out of breath, and the old man froze in mid-air and then, as he began falling stiffly, Draco shouted, "Expulso!" and he flew into the cabinet behind him, which cracked and broke, and it fell down on top of him, along with its contents of iron pots and cookbooks and dusty tablecloths. As the man was down, Draco shot another extra Stupefy on him for the sake of it. He didn't want him to get up.
As Draco rose through the dust, he swore loudly to himself. It wasn't supposed to get this messy.
"Please... please..." a weak voice came from the floor, sounding almost sobbing. Draco walked up to him, pushed some pieces of wood away from the man's chest, and grabbed him by his nightshirt. It was splattered with blood from the man's nose, which looked like an explosion in itself. Draco hoisted him up to face him, kneeling down.
"Please..." he gasped, his chin pushed up towards his face. His face was almost purple. Draco wiped dust off his face fiercely.
"You shouldn't have defied the Dark Lord," he said coldly. He hoped the man wouldn't notice he was shaking, but so what if he did. He'd be dead soon anyway.
"I've got a family... I've got a wife and child..."
An image of Pansy shot through his head, unwillingly, he felt ill, and his grip on the man's clothing slackened.
"You should've thought about that before."
"No! Please! No!"
"Avada Kedavra."
The body limpened in his grasp. The face rolled back and the mouth was open. The eyes were the worst. The just stared emptily. And even though he knew they couldn't see anymore, he loathed having them directed at him.
He sniffed as he stood and looked around. The place was utterly ruined. He swallowed and took a deep breath. His insides were aching and he thought of his parents and Pansy, how they wouldn't want him to do things like this. But it was too late now.
"Reparo," he muttered, waving his wand around the room, which made all the furniture spring back to their old form. As the chest of draws put itself back together, the body jerked, when pieces of it was being pulled out from under him. It made Draco jump. There were broken glass and dust everywhere however. Not to mention the blood that was spreading from the man's dead body.
Draco glanced out the window quickly and then pointed his wand at the curtains, closing them wih as snap even though he'd only seen empty dark street outside.
He really hoped this man had deserved it.
He flew over Malfoy manor, the air chilly and dark again, the vast fields around him felt strangely suffocating and he couldn't help looking over his shoulder every other second. He jerked his broomstick left and came upon the large house down below. He flew further and further down, over the high wrought iron gates and finally landed by the fountain.
Pausing for a second, hesitating as always to enter the place where Voldemort was, he tried to calm his breathing.
Then, closing his eyes heavily and taking a final deep breath, he strenghtened himself and forced himself up the grovel path and inside the house he'd once loved so much. As he crossed the echoing entrance hall to make his way to the drawing room, he realised distantly that his heart was pounding. He closed his mind before opening the door.
The Dark Lord had his back to the entrance, Draco studied him for a second. He was in black billowing robes, and was hissing at the snake which was moving around his feet in a large circle. It made Draco slightly ill. His aunt was sitting in one of the high-backed armchairs watching her master longingly – he seemed to have interrupted a private chat.
"Ah, Draco," the high cold voice said, as he turned around to tower over him. Draco swallowed. "Is it taken care of my boy?"
Bellatrix looked at him disapprovingly, and he realised he should bow.
"It is, my lord," he said quietly, counting down the seconds in his head until this meeting would be over.
"You did as I wished?"
"He's dead, yes."
"And you left no signs after you? No clues?"
Draco hestiated. "I don't think so, master..."
"Don't... think so?"
Draco swallowed again, a fear creaping upon him. Had he locked the door before he left?
"I, er, Vanished the body, sir. And nobody saw me."
Voldemort hissed at the snake again and Draco winced unwillingly. Bellatrix was watching him from her arm-chair.
"His companions will know there is no use defying Lord Voldemort. That will do."
A rush of relief came over him. Finally he would be able to leave this room. "Thank you, master." He bowed again and turned to leave.
"Leave me," hissed Voldemort at Bellatrix. A mixture of shock and disappointed spread on her face. She looked visibly hurt but she rose at once at his command. "Join your nephew, Bella..."
Her voice was raspy when she spoke Draco guessed she hadn't spoken in a while, been busy watching the Dark Lord with adoration and longing probably. "Yes, my lord. Of course."
Nothing made him more relieved and content than leaving the Dark Lord these days. But whenever he did, the countdown to meet him again began. He didn't want to think about that now however.
Bellatrix grabbed his arm as he walked towards the hall, out of the horrible room. "You did well then, did you?" she whispered and her voice had lost its simper now that she wasn't speaking to the Voldemort.
"I did."
"There weren't any complications?"
"No," he said curtly.
"Fancy that, my little nephew mastering the killing curse, eh.."
"Never without you, auntie," he muttered, as it was her who taught him the Unforgivables.
"So there's no need to practice with your auntie a bit more, then?" jeered Bellatrix. Draco pursed his lips and didn't look up at her.
"I can manage just fine on my own now, thanks."
"Fancy that!" she said again, looking slyly proud, "I knew you'd do well.. Narcissa always doubted you, Draco... but I knew you'd grow into a worthy servant..."
Draco winced at being referred to as a servant. He knew his mother hadn't doubted him, she simply hadn't wanted this life for him and he respected her immensely for that. His aunt had completely lost her marbles.
"Thank you," he said anyway.
Always the liar.
When he arrived back to his room he was shaking so much he could barely turn the door knob. Once inside, he fell down and was sick on the floor.
Binky found him on all fours vomiting all over the old majestic carpet. How unbefitting.
"Oh, young master Draco," wimpered Binky softly, "why is you not well…"
"Just ill, I think," he grunted as he rose shakily and collapsed on the bed. "Bit poorly."
"Binky thinks master needs to rest more... Nasty business going on... Binky wished master Draco didn't have to do those horrible things..." She was whispering as she cleaned his vomit from the floor with her wand.
"Put on a fire please will you?" he said curtly, laying down his head carefully to rest on his pillow. He felt sweaty and cold at the same time.
"Does master Draco want a bath...?"
"No..." he groaned, it would be nice but he didn't think he could make it that far, he just needed to sleep. "Just rest.."
"Master is not looking well at all!" she squealed, looking up at him from the vomit-stricken floor. "Master's face is white!"
"I just need a rest..."
"Binky thinks she should call on her mistress.."
"No!" gasped Draco at once. He didn't want to see his mother after what he'd just done. "I order you to not tell my mother, Elf!"
"My mistress Narcissa and master Lucius would want to know young master Draco isn't well..."
"Did you hear me?" he snarled, opening his eyes despite his nausea. "Just clean that up and light a fire. My parent's need not know anything."
When he opened his eyes next she had conjured a wet towel and jumped onto his bed to stroke his forehead with it.
"Master Draco needs to rest more," she repeated forcefully. "No more of this nasty business..."
"There won't be as soon as I return to Hogwarts," he muttered, more to himself than the Elf.
"Can you get me a Sleeping Draught?" he then asked her in a deliberate weak tone. "I think I've just caught something temporary. If I get a good night's sleep then I might be better in the morning..."
She looked hesitant. "But... but the potions are in master Lucius' bathroom."
"Yes, just... sneak in there, and get me a small bottle..." he whispered, and then he added reluctantly, "Please."
Her small brain worked for a couple of moments, her large brown eyes darting around as she decided who to stay loyal to.
"If it'll make master Draco better..." she then mumbled. She had, along with the old Elf, Dobby, raised him after all, so she was bound to have a weak spot for him.
"Thanks," he said curtly, despite himelf. "And Binky, remember," he added sternly, "I forbid you to tell anybody."
He was running, faster than he ever had run before, his body in excruciating pain. He was gasping and clutching his chest struggling to keep up with the figure by his side, panting loudly.
"Harry... Wait..." he gasped out.
"There's no time!" hissed Potter and grabbed his upper arm roughly to drag him along. "You've got to run, Malfoy... Or you'll get us both caught..."
The ground was slippery beneath him, dark grass and mud. His expensive shoes were getting ruined. His robes clang to him, sticking to his skin because he was wet with sweat. Cold sweat in the night air. He'd been wearing his warmest cloak because it was minus degrees outside. He regretted that now. He heard the curses behind them, getting closer. Keep running...
Suddenly the country lane curved left, and they kept running down it, until they came upon a deserted town square.
"Can't we... hide... here..." panted Draco, but Potter shouted "Come on!" and Draco heard the quick, angry, pursuing footsteps behind them.
Soon they were out on the muddy field again; he could barely make out Potter against the indigo sky... The horizon seemed further away than ever. Suddenly Potter turned sideways and ran towards a gathering of thick trees; he had no choice but to follow... Potter was his only chance at rescue.
"Shhh!" Potter hissed because Draco was panting so loudly... Well, what did he expect? They were running for their lives... They hid tightly together against a trunk, and saw the Death Eaters run past in the opposite direction out on the frosty field. His momentary relief was quickly ruined as the treetops under which they were hiding suddenly caught on fire. Shocked, Draco looked from the flames to the Death Eaters who stopped, and slowly turned towards them.
"Where the hell did that come from?" he hissed in a high-pitched voice, frantic.
"I don't know!" snarled Potter, panic on his face. Draco finally felt pleased Potter was frightened too, it made him seem more human, and it made Draco feel less ashamed. He still relied on Potter to get them out of there however.
"Aguamenti!" Potter mumbled forcefully, pointing his wand upward towards the flames that began spreading down the trees, further down towards the ground, crackling... "Aguamenti!" The smoke became thicker.
"Aguamenti!" Draco copied him, but the fire only seemed to spread more each time they tried stopping it. The Death Eaters were now running towards them over the icy field.
"Aguamenti!" Potter now shouted in frustration, because no water erupted from their wands – instead, more flames appeared, streaming out of their wands.
"It's cursed!" hissed Potter, "It's cursed to do the opposite!"
Suddenly the grove had both ceiling and a wall that stopped them fleeing further into the forest. Green snakes circled around on the ceiling and on the wall, guarding them. The Death Eaters were coming closer.
"I hate snakes," moaned Draco in panic, treading around.
"I think these are poisonous too," mumbled Harry.
"What the bloody hell do we do? They're here in a minute!"
Potter turned to look out between the trees at the approaching Death Eaters, large and small figures alike, all cloaked and sending large shadows before them. "We go out under the cloak."
He wrapped Draco under the cloak with him and they moved slowly because they wanted to make sure their feet weren't visible or that their footsteps weren't audible.
They tread around the large blonde Death Eater, Thorfinn Rowle, who had spent several evenings at Malfoy manor that summer; Draco even knew how he preferred his whiskey... He held his breath as he looked up at Rowle, whose breathing made puffs of white steam. Lucius was on his other side, yelling, "Game over, Potter! I know you're there," he added in a hiss, "I can smell a Blood-traitor anywhere."
He wished he could just call out for his father to rescue him... Draco and Harry had just breathlessly rounded Rowle and began hurrying back across the field towards the path, when Draco slipped on the muddy ground and slid over a patch of ice which broke loudly.
"NO!" roared Lucius, "He's getting away! He's under that bloody cloak of his!"
They began running, and so did the Death Eaters, casting spells and curses towards what they thought was only Potter.
At the road junction they chose they wrong way and found themselves at a dead end – a trench filled with the Death Eaters treasures – golden goblets, bags of galleons, jewellery, fine robes and cloaks as well as old rubbish like crooked brass scales, broken cauldrons and old wellies... Above there was a high metal fence, too high to climb...
They saw Rowle running past in the opposite direction, roaring curses at random. Draco and Harry turned on the spot, aghast. There was nowhere to go.
Lucius was walking calmly towards them, with his arms stretched out like a zombie and his eyes wandering around, trying to see them in the nothingness.
"You're here, aren't you, Potter?" he mumbled with a small smile. His skin was yellowish and his face meaner than ever before – Azkaban and aging hadn't been kind on him. Draco and Harry slowly backed away, trying to get down the trench as quietly as possible. "Finally, I shall capture you... Finally I shall hand you over to the Dark Lord, securing my position again... At last... I shall overpower you... I shall rescue my wife and son… You won't get away this time…"
As if on cue, Draco accidentally stepped on an old brass goblet, and it rattled and clanked before it rolled down the trench and hit a gang of cauldrons. Lucius froze. Draco's heart pounded. Potter sent him a furious look before dragging him along the side of the trench, trying to get out of Lucius way, as the latter shouted, "ROWLE! He's here! Come, now!"
"Is it done?" suddenly a high, cold voice said, and it seemed to be echoing all around them. Was it in his head? Draco froze, paralysed in fear. This was what he had feared. This was what he'd rather die than face...
"You arrived right on schedule, my lord," Lucius panted, and sure enough, the Dark Lord materialised right in front of their eyes, behind Lucius... A snake-like noseless face with red slits for eyes... No... Not him...
Voldemort hissed something that sounded like 'zaaarshh' and Draco realised he was speaking Parseltongue. Harry screamed beside him. Draco dropped his wand, his hands shaking and sweaty, and as he bent down to pick it up, Harry moved in the opposite direction, making Draco's face appear from under the cloak – and he met his father and his master's eyes for just a second.
"Run!" shouted Harry as he pulled the cloak over him again, and a shocked Lucius said meekly "Draco?" while the Dark Lord roared in anger.
"Harryyy Poootter! Kill him!"
"Stop it! What do you think you're doing?" Lucius shouted at the other Death Eaters who began running after them, roaring like mad. "Stop it, it's my son!"
They ran and ran and ran until they managed to Disapparate, a Killing Curse mere inches from his body.
Then Draco woke up in his cold dormitory at Hogwarts soaked in his own sweat and panting as if he'd been running for his life. It took a few moments before his eyes adjusted to the darkness. His shirt was drenched. He could hear the other boys snoring, and there were no Death Eaters, no snakes, no fire, and no Dark Lord anywhere near him. Still, it took several minutes until his breathing and heartbeat slowed down.
