CHAPTER FIVE

The day dawned similarly some miles away in Devon, England. Well, the weather was similar anyway. However, far from being one of the least magically-inclined dwellings in the British Isles (as number four, Privet Drive certainly was), the grand manor house that stood proudly in the heart of the Devonshire countryside was at present one of the most magical places in the country. The building was seeping magical energy from every brick, every window…. Powerful dark magic if the truth be known, but magic nonetheless. The inhabitants of this house were well known in the wizarding world, one of the oldest, most respected families around. They went under the name of Malfoy.

A grand, sweeping gravel driveway led up to the massive oak front doors. The house was extremely impressive; there could be no doubt about that. Curious muggles could often be heard talking about it in the nearby village. It was not only the grandest house for miles around; it was also by far the most mysterious. It is well known that there is nothing muggles like more than a mystery and so it came about that Malfoy Manor was one of the most gossiped about places in the county. Many a muggle child had crept up to the large wrought-iron gates with the dragon carved into them. They often swore that the dragon moved, that its eye (which appeared to be set with a ruby) watched you as you drew close to the gate. What made the whole situation more curious was that nobody seemed to be able to open the gates. Whenever they got within touching distance a curious charge appeared to prevent them from going any further. While it is well known that muggles enjoy a mystery, it is equally well known that they do not like to be seen to be at the centre of anything strange. This perhaps explains why the muggles who lived in and around the village of Old Barrow enjoyed gossiping about the mystical Manor House among themselves but whenever an outsider asked a question about it, they clammed up immediately, snapped irritably that the folk who lived there were the dullest, most ordinary people you could ever meet and marched away irritably. Of course, there may well have been a more interesting explanation.

If the people of Old Barrow had been able to venture up the driveway and into the grounds on that particular morning, they would not have seen much out of the ordinary. If however, they had taken the time to look upwards, right up to a fourth floor window, they would have seen a boy with ash-blonde hair sitting on a window seat, his arms folded firmly across his chest, his head leaning against the glass and his grey eyes gazing morosely out over the grounds and across the surrounding countryside. The boys name, although the villagers would not know this – despite having lived practically on the doorstep of the Manor for many years, they had never seen him, or indeed any of the rest of his family – was Draco Malfoy.

As Draco looked out of the window that morning, one of the very first days of the summer holidays, he found it difficult to put his finger on how he was feeling. He knew that his father would be rapping on his door at any moment demanding that he come downstairs. The trouble was, Draco didn't know whether he wanted to go downstairs at all… not now, maybe not ever. When he thought of them, swarming the house at this very moment with their cold, expressionless faces he felt a strange rush of emotions. The Death Eaters. Part of him felt nothing but a cool shiver of excitement, there was no doubt in that, there certainly was something enticing about the death eaters calm superiority, their calculating minds, their power. Draco sighed and wriggled down further into the window seat, trying to get comfortable. The trouble was, nothing in the Manor house was built for comfort, it was built to be admired, to be wondered at by lesser mortals but it wasn't comfortable, it wasn't homely. His mind drifted back to the Death Eaters and he tried desperately to analyse what exactly it was he felt towards them. It wasn't fear although he was sensible enough to see that they could be terrifying. However he had no reason to be afraid of them, he knew they would never hurt him…. He was a Malfoy after all, if anything… most of the Death Eaters should feel respect for him, simply because of the family he had been born into. His stomach wrenched as he realised all at once what the feeling was that had been plaguing him for days, ever since he returned home for the holidays to discover that Malfoy Manor had become the centre of the Death Eaters operations. It was disgust. He shuddered physically with the impact of the realisation. There was no point in feeling this way. Ever since the day he was born it had been his destiny to become a Death Eater, just like his father and all his ancestors before him had done. On his 18th birthday he would be branded with the mark of the Death Eaters, there was little or nothing he could do about it, even if he wanted to. And he wasn't even sure he did want to. The thought of becoming a death eater was all he had ever known, all he had ever aspired to and he had no idea what he would do if he did not become one. Draco snorted to himself. It did not matter what he wanted, not at all…. His father would never entertain the idea, not even for a second. Draco felt his stomach filled with cold fear at the very thought of broaching the subject with his father… it was unthinkable. In spite of this, he could not stop the cold nausea from rising up his throat whenever he thought of the Death Eaters in his home. And as for the other guest… he couldn't even bear to think about him… his head filled with disgust as soon as he considered the name of the wizard his father had been so proud to look after for the summer. Lord Voldemort.

It might have been a few seconds later, it might have been hours but the next thing Draco was aware of was a sharp rapping on the door of his room and the cold, expressionless voice of his father filtering through the gap under the door.

"Draco? Why have you not come downstairs boy? You are late, have you forgotten what I told you only last night? You must be punctual at all times, it brings disgrace upon you to be late for our Lord and if you bring disgrace upon yourself you bring disgrace upon the family name and that I will not stand for boy, not under any circumstances. So hurry up Draco and don't forget…plain black robes with the family crest on them, do not let anyone forget you are a Malfoy, not even for a second."

Fat chance of that, Draco thought to himself… you only remind me every other minute. Family pride was one of his father's favourite subjects and Draco tended to be treated to a lecture about it every other day at the very least. He toyed rebelliously with the idea of disobeying his father but he knew in the long run that it simply was not worth it. Sighing quietly, he hauled himself grudgingly out of his seat and flung open the door of his wardrobe, with the large dragon carved on the front, coiled around an ornately carved letter M. Taking out his robes, Draco dressed quickly and headed out of the door and down the large, curved marble staircase, into the entrance hallway.

Draco felt himself inhale sharply as he stared around the vast, open hallway. The place was a hive of activity, busier and more full of life than he had ever known it. Usually he would welcome any change in the atmosphere at Malfoy Manor; it was normally so quiet, still and cold that it could easily be compared unfavourably to a morgue. He could not force himself to be glad to see the Death Eaters scurrying back and forth across the hallway however, slamming doors, twisting this way and that, each intent on their own particular duties and giving no heed to each other, or to Draco. The whole effect was sinister somehow and Draco felt himself swallow hard to conquer the wave of nausea that threatened to engulf him as he forced himself to cross the hallway and enter the massive drawing room. He had never liked this room, with its cold stone floor and the walls lined with paintings of stern-faced witches and wizards from various historical periods. The room was un-welcoming and distinctly unfriendly. He had never however, hated it more than he did on that particular sunny, summer morning in July. The huge circular maple table that dominated the room was lined with Death Eaters, talking quietly amongst themselves. Draco knew that these were the Death Eaters of the highest order, those closest to Lord Voldemort himself. The ones dashing around on frantic errands outside were mere minions, just there to do the donkey work. It was in here, amongst these sinister, cold-faced individuals, that the real core of Lord Voldemorts work was planned and exerted. At the head of the table sat Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father. He was looking very pleased with himself; his hard, pale face was lit up with a fire not usually evident as he regarded his son closely.

"Good morning my boy." He said quietly.

"Good morning father." Draco said quietly, his throat tight as he greeted his father with the courtesy that had been drummed into him since he was a toddler.

Lucius cleared his throat loudly as he addressed the Death Eaters, who immediately fell silent, as he began to speak.

"As I told you, Draco was feeling quite unwell earlier this morning and that is of course why he did not join us for breakfast with our lord." He glared at Draco dangerously, as though daring him to disagree or say anything to the contrary. Draco recognised the glint in his fathers' eye and remained silent allowing Lucius to continue.

"I believe some of you." He paused and glanced around at the surrounding Death Eaters with the same dangerous glance he had directed at his son. "Believed that he did not want to join us. I hope that you have been satisfactorily proved wrong and that you will not have cause to doubt my word again."

The Death Eaters murmured clumsily and Draco only caught snippets of what they were saying, things like;

'I don't know what you mean Lucius.'

'Not even for a moment…. No idea where you got that idea.'

'I certainly never thought anything of the kind.'

Lucius listened to their explanations quietly for a few seconds before he held up his hand for silence, smirking cruelly, apparently satisfied.

"That will do." He said quietly. He gestured for Draco to join them at the table. Draco took a seat next to the largest of the group, who's name he knew to be Mcnair. Draco was unable to stop himself shuddering as he settled uncomfortably into his chair. He had never liked Mcnair; he was a strange looking man in his early 40's with a twisted nose and cold, blue eyes. He was very tall and built somewhat like a tank. His breath came in loud rasps, he seemed incapable of regulating it and Draco wrinkled his nose as he inhaled, Mcnair's breath did not smell pleasant at all.

Lucius glared meaningfully at his son and Draco forced his lips into a tight smile. It was very difficult; his entire face was quivering with the effort. What he wanted more than anything was to bolt from the room as fast as his legs would carry him and never return. He remained in his seat however, painfully aware that the Death Eaters were staring at him curiously. He was careful not to look any of them in the eye as his father began to speak again.

"I have called you all here this morning for a short meeting so that you know what is going to be happening today. Lord Voldemort has a plan that involves my son and he wishes for me to bring Draco to him so we may discuss the matter."

The Death Eaters murmured uncertainly, there did not seem to be much point to this meeting and they had a strong suspicion that Lucius had brought them here merely for the chance to brag. They all began to stare at Draco with a kind of quiet awe. Draco was feeling very sick and dizzy by this point. What could Voldemort possibly want with him? He could think of nothing he wanted to do less than meet with the Dark Lord this morning, in fact ever.

"I trust you are pleased Draco?" Lucius hissed in a low, even voice. "To be included in our Lords plans at this age is a great honour indeed, especially considering the extent you are to be involved."

Draco forced himself to swallow hard and regain his composure a little before he replied, his voice shaking. "Y-Yes Father." He hoped desperately that his father would not expect him to elaborate, he felt sure that he would be sick if he opened his mouth again. Fortunately, Lucius seemed satisfied with his pitiful reply. He was beaming round at the Death Eaters looking very pleased with himself.

"Come now boy." He beckoned to Draco, who rose out of his chair numbly and followed his father unseeingly from the room. Lucius lead the way through into the next chamber and down a narrow flight of stairs, lined with yet more family portraits. The air was growing colder as they descended deeper and deeper into the Manor, further down than Draco had ever dared to venture, than he ever wanted to venture….he knew where they were going. It had to be the dungeons. His father kept up a steady stream of words, hissed in his ear as they walked swiftly along, threatening words, warning him to behave, to be polite, to not speak unless he was spoken to. Draco did not need to hear any of this, it all went without saying. He felt sicker than ever as the finally reached the end of the flight of stairs and were faced with a large door, fashioned entirely of solid stone, again with a dragon carved in the centre, this time with an emerald set carefully for the eye.

Lucius pushed the door open a crack and Draco felt as though the bottom had fallen out of his stomach as his father called out softly.

"My Lord? Are you ready for us now?"

A low hiss of a voice followed in reply.

"Lucius…. You are late, slippery one… you know how I like you to be punctual."

Lucius started to stammer an apology and Draco gazed up at him, dumbfounded. He had never seen his father grovel like this before… it was unpleasant and slightly disconcerting.

The voice echoed from behind the door.

"Say no more… enter if you will… I trust you have brought the boy?"

"Yes master." Lucius said gratefully, dragging Draco roughly by the arm over the thresh-hold and into the dungeon beyond.

Squinting in the dim light, Draco's first impression was of a large, empty roughly-built chamber, not unlike Snape's dungeon at Hogwart's only this was much larger, grander. Dragons were carved on every inch of the walls, cut into the stone; all manners of precious jewels glinted where their eye-sockets would have been. The effect was somewhat ostentatious but grand and impressive nonetheless. At the head of the room, Lord Voldemort sat in a roughly carved stone chair, a low table in front of him. Nagini, his beloved snake writhed peacefully on the floor nearby. Draco felt his knees wobble violently as Voldemort turned to them with a cruel smile.

"It is good to see you Draco…. I have heard much about you but I do not believe we have had the pleasure of meeting before."

Draco did not reply until his father nudged him viciously in the back. Even after that sharp reminder he could only manage a stammered reply. "N-No…Lord Voldemort."

Voldemort smiled more widely. "I see you are still learning the art of discipline and obedience boy."

Lucius stumbled forward, it looked as though he was going to apologise for Draco but Voldemort held up a thin white hand to stop him

"Say nothing Lucius, there is no need…. I had all the vivaciousness and disregard for authority myself once, as I believe you did?"

Lucius nodded uncertainly.

"Now… where are my manners? Will you both sit down?" Voldemort went on, gesturing to two chairs facing him.

"Thank you." Lucius said, dragging Draco across the room and fairly forcing him down into one of the chairs. Draco had to hold his legs firmly with his hands to disguise the fact that he was trembling violently.

"Now that we are comfortable, I shall tell you my plan." Voldemort said quietly, his thin fingers clasped in front of him.

Draco privately felt that he had never felt less comfortable in his life but he dared not speak as the Dark Lord went on.

"You know I believe about what happened at the end of last term between myself and Harry Potter?"

Lucius lowered his head, as though ashamed but Draco found himself nodding uncertainly as Voldemort looked at him closely.

"Yes… I thought so. I have devised another plan to end that dratted boy's life once and for all, a plan that cannot fail, a plan that will take place here, in this very labyrinth of dungeons."

Draco stared, confused… not knowing what this could possibly have to do with him.

Voldemort spoke again, very simply, as though what he was saying was only a minor detail. "I need your help in getting the boy here…here to meet his downfall."

Draco continued to stare, not quite sure what Voldemort was suggesting. He disliked Harry certainly, hated him even… but he was not at all sure that he wanted to be directly involved in Harry's death.

If Voldemort noticed anything strange about Draco's expression, he did not say anything about it, he merely continued speaking in the same cold, level voice that chilled Draco right to the very bone.

"It is an intricate plan and it will be dangerous, there is no doubt about that… it will involve taking a measure of polyjuice potion and taking the form of someone dear to the Potter boy to lure him here…. You will I trust, be willing to co-operate?" He looked harshly at Draco, his terrifying red eyes ablaze.

Lucius was nodding violently but Draco remained still and silent, until suddenly he felt something prod him in the back of the neck. His fathers wand. He convulsed with fear as he felt his head being forced to nod up and down vigorously.

"Good…. Good." Voldemort murmured. "But I sense some resistance… some uncertainty…. Perhaps a small incentive is needed…"

Lucius' face hardened at this point as though he knew what was coming but he didn't want to see it. Voldemort extended a long finger and muttered something incomprehensible under his breath. Immediately a figure began to take shape directly before them, a person, bound and gagged, their eyes rolling in terror. Draco saw his father open his mouth slightly and dig his fingers into his thigh as though he was desperate to say something but knew that he could not. The figure materialised fully before them and it took Draco only a split-second to realise who it was there, terrified out of their mind.

"M-Mum?" He stammered. Feeling a tear run down his cheek he ran over to his mother but as soon as he got near, he was thrown backwards. He landed in a crumpled heap at his father's feet. Without stopping to think, he flung himself at Lucius, quite mad with rage, yelling, punching and kicking his father for all he was worth.

"How could you?" He screamed. "You've given her over… to him…. To use as bait?" Suddenly he felt himself being forced back down into his chair; he heard only the sound of Voldemort's high, cruel laughter as his mother vanished. His father stared hard at the floor, not seeming to want to look either his son or Lord Voldemort in the eye. Draco felt his sides heave with anger and emotion as he was forced to face Voldemort who was still laughing.

"I thought that my little surprise might help to convince you…. Lucius has proved more willing to help than I dared to hope…. Now Draco…. What is it to be? Will you co-operate and allow me to return your mother to you unscathed or will you defy me and see her die?"

There was only one possible answer. Draco summoned every ounce of courage that he had to force himself to reply in a steady voice. "I'll do it."

A/N: Thank you for the reviews, more soon.