Draco presented the note to Snape with an extremely troubled look just before the Easter holidays. "He says he'll be here for me this evening," Draco said, voice flat and expressionless, but eyes obviously worried.

Snape studied the letter delivered to Draco that morning. It was a note from Lucius Malfoy stating that Draco's mother was ill and wished her son home for the Easter holiday to see her. Draco was to be at Hogsmeade station that evening, awaiting his father's arrival.

Snape sighed and looked up at Draco. "This does complicate things." He had not planned on the boy having to deal with being around his father or the Death Eaters before he broke off his ties with their kind after finishing Hogwarts.

"I don't believe for an instant," Draco said, frowning, "that Mother is ill. He had mentioned at Christmas letting me attend a meeting before I took the Mark--introducing me to the Dark Lord. That was the night before…well, before that." He gave the usual helpless half-shrug he resorted to when pondering the events of that night, indicating his lack of knowledge.

Snape smiled humorlessly. "Your interview with Voldemort, Draco."

"There's no way I can avoid it, is there?" Draco grimaced.

Tosca sighed and said, Dangerous game, Sev. I don't like it. Snape nodded idly, to let her know he was listening and agreed. He didn't talk with her in front of young Malfoy, as the boy had no idea that he (or Hermione Granger for that matter) was an Animagus. That would tip his hand, and while he was reasonably sure of Draco's intents, it wasn't a secret he wanted to be confiding immediately. If necessary, he would divulge it. Else, it was none of Draco's business, and talking with Tosca would rather give him away.

"Not really," he replied. "About all you can manage is to act loyal--there are only two months left," he said in an effort at consolation. "And he will not have you take the Mark before leaving Hogwarts." Voldemort had refused to allow him to do so, saying that he would not lose a valuable Death Eater to Albus Dumbledore's scrutiny.

"I see."

"If it's any help," he offered, "you are not supposed to…participate…until you are in the ranks. Your experience at Christmas will not be repeated, at least not with the Dark Lord present." Voldemort really didn't care what his followers did with those they captured, so long as they eventually ended up dead, but he detested such distractions at his meetings. Never mingle business with pleasure, Snape thought wryly. "You will merely observe," Snape continued, recalling his first meeting. He came out of it with no idea of what the Death Eaters really did; if he had, would he have joined their ranks? He didn't know, but his concern now was for Draco rather than his own sordid past.

"I had best be packing," Draco said with a sigh. "Father will be here in a few hours." He gave Snape a ghost of a smile. "Wish me luck, sir. If I'm not here come Monday, assume the worst," he said, almost matter-of-factly.

"I hate this," he muttered, once Draco had closed the door after himself.

There's nothing you can do? Toca asked, gliding lazily onto his desk and regarding him with her large black eyes. Tell Malfoy he's got to stay here to make up for abysmal grades and has had all leaving privileges revoked or the like?

He shook his head. "No. Leaving privileges are not pertinent in the case of family emergency, as Lucius wrote is supposedly the case, and in any case, any such effort would more than set him upon alert. Draco's quite a prize for Voldemort, one that Lucius Malfoy will be careful not to lose."

Damn. I suppose you'll probably be summoned if it's a meeting this weekend. Take Hermione, I suppose, and keep an eye on him.

"Are you getting fond of him, Tosca?" He grinned.

As fond as I can be of a boy who turned into a ferret, she chuckled. Blasted prey-mammals, the lot of them. My sister Carmen insists they're wonderful partners in flushing out hares for you, but I think she's quite frankly fibbing.

He nodded idly. "He may summon me, or he may not." He shrugged. "In all likelihood it'll be tomorrow night, so even if I'm not called, perhaps I should go: see what I can glean in the way of information, and to keep an eye on the boy."

He hoped Draco still possessed a Slytherin's cunning and deviousness to get him through this. It hadn't been easy, since all of Hogwarts considered him the foremost Death Eater-to-be and treated him accordingly. When his turning sides was known, he likely would not be widely accepted, even by those he should have been able to call allies. Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin: at least to them. They'll think he'll switch sides at the first opportunity, he thought tiredly. It would be the first test of many for the boy. He only hoped the burden wasn't too heavy.

Tosca suddenly groaned, studying the Potions essay he had been grading when Draco had burst into his office. Who is this? "Nundu breath is the result of not using mouthwash"? They get worse every year…I swear, I could do better in your class than most of these lackwits. He chuckled slightly at that image, and rose to his feet, intending to go find Hermione Granger and let her know that there was work to be done this weekend.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was a calm and moonless night that Saturday, as Hermione and Snape watched the gathering in the dungeons. She was used to the slight distortion of sounds by now through the charmed window.

Draco was in there with them, trying to look calm and composed, but obviously a little unnerved from the impressions remaining of the memory of what he had done in these dungeons. Still, though looking a trifle paler than usual, he was holding up well.

"My son, my Lord," Lucius said, pride obvious in his voice, as he led Draco forward.

"Young Draco," Voldemort said, glowing red eyes fixed upon Draco standing before him. "You would follow me?"

"My Lord," Draco said smoothly, his voice sounding like a silky younger version of his father's, "I would follow what I know to be right."

Snape made a faint grunt at that. Don't equivocate, Malfoy, he muttered. You're Slytherin. Lie and have done with it!

Draco must have realized that, because he continued with nary a hitch, "And I know that it is only right that magic should be reserved for those who are pure and untainted by Muggle filth." Hermione tried not to shudder at the old propaganda coming once more from Draco's mouth--she had grown used to the idea of him as wiser and determined to fight for the right side, not the whinging brat he had been before. But it had to be done.

"Really," Voldemort said coolly.

"My Lord," Lucius protested, seeming to see his high position slip through his fingers if his son was not trusted, "he has always sought to humiliate the Mudbloods…"

"There is a great deal of difference," Voldemort said, turning that fiery gaze upon Lucius, Hermione not surprised to see Lucius pale a little and take a half-step back, "between humiliating Mudbloods and exterminating them. I must wonder if your son has the spine to follow my orders, to do what must be done to cleanse this world of the filth that has tainted it."

Draco stepped forward and bowed his head slightly at the monstrous figure, half-snake, half-man. "I will do whatever is necessary, my Lord. There will be deaths in this struggle, I know. Those who are against me and those I follow must die."

Again, he was playing too close to the razor's edge, obviously a little squeamish about proclaiming himself to Voldemort openly, even falsely. Voldemort sensed it, as a shark sensed blood from wounded prey and pressed further. "Would you die for me, young Malfoy? Would you give up your life in my service?"

Draco looked up and smiled at Voldemort, hints of the old arrogance back in his countenance. "Yes," he said calmly, though Hermione noticed his hands trembling slightly, as though saying that eternally damned him.

"Very good." That test initially passed, Voldemort further questioned Draco with the boy answering calmly from the way he used to be, with hardly any compunction as the interview went on.

Tell him what he wants to hear, Hermione muttered softly. We won't think less of you for it.

She was aware of a sound of surprise from Snape. I'm surprised to hear that from a Gryffindor.

Are you surprised to hear it from me, not just "a Gryffindor"? she retorted, thinking she must have been mistaken in thinking he had seen beyond her house.

No, not from you, he admitted plainly, turning his eyes back towards the window, shifting slightly on the branch. She was quite comfortable seeing him in falcon form by now.

"Bring him to me once he is free from Dumbledore and he shall enter my service," Voldemort finally declared imperiously. Lucius gave a slight bow of acknowledgement at that, lips curving into a smile beneath his half-mask.

"Ah," Voldemort said lightly. "One more thing, Draco."

Draco turned back, the very picture of servile humility. "My Lord?"

"Tell me, how is," Voldemort smirked, "Severus Snape these days? Pitt tells me," he nodded towards a stocky young Death Eater, "that when he left Hogwarts a year ago Severus was…" he waved a hand idly, "…not his usual self?"

Draco shrugged. "Snarky and sarcastic as usual, my Lord. He had a funny turn for a few weeks last year, but he's mostly the same." He smiled widely. "I could kill him for you!" he offered in a convincing display of youthful overabundance of eagerness to please. "Traitors can't be tolerated."

She knew it was all an act to enhance Draco's masquerade as an exceptionally eager Death Eater candidate, but she couldn't help looking at Snape and seeing him sitting still as death. The Death Eaters actually chuckled at Draco's seemingly innocent adoration of Voldemort. Voldemort smiled indulgently. "No, there will be other opportunities for you to prove yourself. The pleasure of capturing Snape I believe I shall give to Walden and Desdemona now that they are freed from Azkaban, since he," now the voice changed to a malevolent hiss, "betrayed them into the hands of the Aurors. I shall be the one to kill him, of course. That is the law."

"Yes, my Lord," Draco said, the very picture of reluctance and petulance.

You set the Lestranges up? Hermione asked softly, impressed. She knew they had escaped Azkaban shortly after Christmas with the assistance of the Death Eaters.

Yes. I betrayed them, Snape said flatly.

With that, the victims to come were named: this time Killian Ruiadh, a journalist for the Daily Prophet who had been publishing editorials calling for a rally against Voldemort, was foremost.

Suicidal fool, Snape muttered darkly, as Voldemort Disapparated, along with a few of the Death Eaters. Did he think they'd ignore him publishing such things?

With that, the masks were removed and hoods thrown back, the Death Eaters looking cheerfully at home. Ah, Snape said flatly. It's to be a weekend at Lucius'. I have such fond memories.

Beg your pardon?

He'd often invite, Snape explained patiently, some of us amongst the Dark Lord's higher ranks to stay at the manor for a few days and "amuse" ourselves. He does like to curry favor amongst the ranks; keeps him in power just below Voldemort. Well, below Pettigrew now as well, he amended.

You don't mean…

Oh, fine vintages from the Malfoy cellars, banquets in the dining room, and probably he's got some Muggles or the like for the "amusement" later, he replied, shaking his head. Maybe an Auror, even, though I've heard of none captured lately. Don't get ideas, Hermione. We can do nothing. I could do nothing even when I was there in the thick of it, besides not fall to doing such things myself. A world of regret was in his tone.

I know, she acknowledged. But it hurts no less. She turned back to see Draco mingling freely with the Death Eaters, helpfully passing around some of the Ogden's Old Firewhiskey that the house elf had brought. Leaning over shoulders to listen to conversations, and looking in general bright-eyed and cheerful about the whole business.

Quite the consummate actor, she observed. Hurrah for devious Slytherins, she added jokingly.

My my, he said mildly, you sound almost fond of us. Come, now. There's nothing else we can do here. He took off from the branch, she following close behind, saying a quick prayer that Draco would make it through the weekend intact and still sane.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sunday evening found Draco bursting again into Snape's office, but while on Friday afternoon he had seemed in despair, now he appeared almost jubilant. Ignoring that Hermione was heading out the door since Snape was showing her that her article had indeed been published, he grinned widely and reached in his robes. "I have something for you!" he practically crowed.

"Yes?" Snape's eyebrows rose. Rarely had he ever seen Draco Malfoy looking so utterly triumphant. Actually, he never had. The boy was all cool composure, normally.

"Some of them stayed the weekend after the meeting," Draco said quickly. "I knew they sometimes did, and Father told me that he wanted me to mingle with them this weekend; get to know my fellows." He smirked. "I got to know them all right, well enough to use these!"

Carefully he handed over a series of leather pouches to Snape. Puzzled, he looked at the first one, seeing it neatly labeled in ink, "Desdemona Lestrange". The next, "Peter Pettigrew."

"What is this?"

"Well, open it and see!" He opened the one labeled for Lestrange and was startled to see it nearly full of midnight-black hair.

"Lovely how firewhiskey puts you in a stupor," Draco smirked. "So much of a stupor you might not even notice a Severing Charm on part of your hair, and a Growing Charm to repair the damage."

Snape looked up at him, startled at the sheer nerve it displayed. "They never suspected a thing," Draco said confidently. "They think I'm just an eager little junior Death Eater to be chuckled over. That should keep you in Polyjuice Potion when you need it, don't you think?"

He looked through the names represented. Voldemort's highest ranking Death Eaters: the Lestranges, Avery, Pettigrew, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy. He smiled slowly. Draco had indeed been busy that weekend. For all he had decried himself as a coward, this was quite audacious. There was no innocuous explanation if he had been caught at work--even the least wizard knew hairs were primarily used in Polyjuice Potion. This was quite a good supply, indeed. "It should indeed. Thank you." He smiled as Draco left. Cunning certainly is valuable, he thought with a faint air of pride, carefully hiding the hairs. He would give them to Dumbledore later, of course boasting it had been one of his Slytherins that had procured them. Such a feat earned some bragging rights, indeed.