A/N: All right. I can't believe it took me six months to write this. And I'm really, really sorry. But I can't promise it won't happen again, because I really don't know when I'll finish the next chapter. And this was written before HBP came out, obviously, and the only thing I took from it was Side-Along-Apparition.

This is longer than my previous chapters by a bit, if it helps make up for my complete lack of updates…anyway, I hope you all enjoy it!

Chapter 4: Conforming

"I have to what?" Draco said very loudly, gaping at his father.

"It is expected," Mr. Malfoy said. "Everyone form the Inner Circle, a few from the Outer –"

"No," Draco said flatly. "Absolutely not. There is no way in fucking hell I'm doing that."

"Draco," his father said warningly. "Language."

"Sorry. But I'm not doing it."

"You have to. It's what he wants. Everyone is going to do it."

"Not me," Draco said firmly. "Never. I'll never, ever –"

"Do you want to arouse suspicion? Do you want us to be found out?" Mr. Malfoy asked. "If you don't do this that is exactly what will happen."

Draco shook his head. "I don't believe that. It's my decision. I'm not you."

"Draco, what you do reflects upon me. You know that," Mr. Malfoy told him quietly.

"Then I'll be the son that didn't conform," Draco said.

"That's not an option. Everyone assumes you'll become Dark. You have to do this," Draco's father pressed.

"No!" Draco stood up, the game of chess completely forgotten. "I am not getting the Dark mark. I don't care if they all get it, I won't. I am not becoming a Death-Eater."

"Do you think I want you to? Draco, if you don't I am going to be questioned. They have all been led to believe that you would take the Mark in a heartbeat –"

"I wonder who gave them that idea," Draco said sarcastically.

Mr. Malfoy gave him a stern look. "Do you want to be cast out? It's what I'll have to do. If you refuse it will turn everything completely upside down. Imagine Dumbledore deciding to help the Dark Lord."

"It isn't that drastic," Draco snapped. "I'm not doing it."

"Yes, you are. That part is not open to discussion," Draco's father was firm.

Draco glared at him. "I'm not getting up."

"It is no longer open to discussion."

"I hate this! I hate this, and I hate my life," Draco stormed out into the drawing room, fists clenched tightly. How can he expect me to do that? he asked himself angrily as he strode into the main hallway.

"Draco? Darling, what's wrong?" his mother had just descended the marble staircase. She had a paintbrush in her hand.

"Ask Dad," Draco said shortly, taking the stairs three at a time.

"Is it the Dark Mark?"

Draco stopped, still halfway up the stairs, and turned around slowly to face Mrs. Malfoy. "You knew Dad was going to talk to me about it, didn't you?"

"Well –" she began but Draco did not let her finish. He already knew the answer to his question.

"You knew! I don't – how can you and Dad ask me to do something like that?" Draco demanded, voice rising. "I didn't ask to become a spy, you did! You and Dad, not me! It's not fair, you keep asking me do to these things. I can take being hated by the other Houses, not having anyone to really count on, but I will not take the Dark Mark. Never."

He turned and strode upstairs, down the corridor to his bedroom, ignoring whatever it was his mother was saying. When he reached his room he slammed the door so hard a painting fell to the floor. The painting depicted a dragon and it roared with fury but Draco took no notice of it.

The Dark Mark! "How the bloody hell can they ask me to get it?" Draco asked the air. All he got in response was the dragon's roaring. Draco picked up the painting and tossed it on the bed before sitting down on the green quilt cover himself, looking around his room moodily.

He had not asked for this, this life where he could never be himself, never do all the things he wanted to. Always watching what he did, who he did it with, how to act … Merlin, he was tired of it.

Now the Dark Mark. Trust You-Know-Who, Draco thought bitterly, to think of recruiting us early. We're not even of age, yet. Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle … they would all be getting it. They'd all be ordered to snoop around Hogwarts for information, too.

Draco put his face in his hands. He couldn't see that he had any choice … refusing would reflect badly on his father. But to have something so foul, so hideously ugly, burned onto your arm … no. he could never do that.

Everyone expected him to get the Mark, though. Refusal would cause many raised eyebrows, even suspicion. No secret that a lot of Slytherins would become Death-Eaters after leaving Hogwarts and that Draco would, too. He'd always thought the war might be over before he had to make the decision, however.

Someone knocked on the door, then turned the knob only to have it 'click' as confirmation that the door was locked.

"Go away," Draco called out.

"Darling," his mother began, "please don't do this." Her voice was slightly muffled by the door.

"Leave me alone," Draco told her.

"Draco –"

"Just go. There's nothing you can say to me," Draco said.

After a few minutes Draco heard nothing further, so he assumed his mother had left. The corridor outside was carpeted; Draco wouldn't have been able to hear his mother's footsteps.

Draco's own room was huge; his bed, on the right, was king-sized with green silk quilts and pillows of the finest feathers; there was a bookshelf and glass cabinets, one of which featured his Nimbus 2001; a desk by the window where he did his letter-writing; a couch in front of the fireplace; a walk-in wardrobe that had a floor-to-ceiling mirror; his own bathroom; and a pair of glass doors that opened onto a balcony overlooking the Manor grounds.

Draco approached the balcony now, throwing the glass doors open as he went. He leant moodily against the marble balustrade, chin on hands. There was the fish pond, with lily pads and frogs; there were trees and rose bushes, and other kinds of plants and flowers; a greenhouse; a level plain of grass to play Quidditch; and near the pond Draco spotted Arra the house elf tending to a bush with big red leaves.

He still couldn't see a way out. If he refused the Dark Mark all the respect he had earned from the Slytherins would be gone and he'd also be held in disgrace by his family (both Malfoy and Black), possibly cast out – his father couldn't very well close one eye and pretend his son hadn't refused. The world would know something was up.

Refusing would bring suspicion, too. Draco was sure of that. He could remember boasting in the common room frequently about surely getting the Dark Mark after Hogwarts, about looking forward to "continuing my father's work" … stupid, stupid, stupid, Draco berated himself. You're so bloody good you can't even get yourself out of this! Why did I say that? Damn it!

Draco sighed. No choice. Never have a choice. I always do what Mum and Dad want … because I have to. If I don't everything falls apart.

Merlin, I hate this. I hate everything.

He felt condemned. Like a man about to meet death, a feeling not completely uncalled for; a bad move could mean torture or, if Voldemort suspected the worst, death.

His parents' advice ran through his head. 'Make eye contact, but not all the time' … 'don't avoid eye contact too much or it'll be suspicious' … 'don't fidget, he'll know you're nervous' … 'don't be too eager' … 'keep cool but not detached' … 'choose your words carefully, everything could have a dual meaning' …

"Draco, you ready?"

It was his father. Draco nodded. I'm ready to meet the Dark Lord. But receive the Dark Mark? I don't think I'll ever be ready for that.

Because Draco couldn't yet Apparate, and they didn't want to use a Portkey, he and his father used Side-Along-Apparition. Draco held onto his father as tightly as he could, and felt the uncomfortable pressure and blackness that came with Side-Along-Apparition – and Apparition in general.

They didn't meet Voldemort at Casa Serpente. Instead Draco found himself on the outskirts of the village of Little Hangleton. He and his father walked briskly on towards an old dilapidated mansion and Draco began to fidget as soon as he saw it. Voldemort was in there. He might not come out of there, especially if Voldemort suspected –

"You'll do fine," his father told him gently, as if he had been able to read his thoughts. "Especially with your training."

Occlumency. Draco had forgotten about that. As long as Voldemort couldn't tell he was lying, it should be fine. His father had taught him Occlumency a year ago. It had been hard but Draco had managed it.

All I have to do is make sure he can't tell I'm lying, Draco told himself. That and all the other things Mum and Dad told me … Merlin, how can I remember all of that?

Draco entered the mansion with his father. A Dementor stood by the door. Draco suspected it was there more for effect that anything else, but that did not stop the shiver that ran down his back.

Voldemort was upstairs. Draco would be meeting him alone. Another tactic to weed out the weak, perhaps – take away moral support. Not that his father looked like he was giving it – with the mask over his face, who knew what he was thinking?

Draco's father led him to a room on the right where the blond entered alone. Voldemort sat on a high-backed chair and a large snake lay curled up next to him. As Draco entered the snake's head rose up slowly, fixing its eyes upon him. The fireplace, Draco noted, was cold and empty.

"My lord," he muttered, bowing his head.

There was a deliberate silence. Draco fought not to fidget and to keep his head bowed.

Finally – "Your name, boy?"

"Draco Malfoy, my lord," Draco answered. His mother's words echoed in his mind: do not speak unless spoken to.

"Malfoy … your father failed me in a very important task I set for him," Voldemort said. "Why should you be any different?"

If asked about your parents' shortcomings, be fiercely loyal yet objective.

"I believe anyone can make a mistake, as my father did," Draco said, choosing his words carefully. "Yet perhaps the mistake could have been avoided."

"Tell me, boy, why are you here?"

"I wish to offer myself to you, lord," Draco would have refused such servitude had the circumstances been different.

"And how could you help me, Draco? You are not of age. You cannot do magic out of school."

"I can spy, my lord. I could spy, while I am at Hogwarts."

There was another deliberate pause. "Kneel," Voldemort ordered.

Draco knelt obediently, keeping his eyes on the ground. Voldemort stood up and folded the sleeves of Draco's robes up, revealing his left forearm. Draco felt those long fingers touch his arm and stilled the shudder attempting to run through him

Voldemort pointed his wand at a point somewhere on Draco's forearm. "Morsmordium," he hissed.

An intense pain, as if something was being branded onto his arm with a red-hot poker, hit him. Draco bit his lip hard and struggled against crying out. Another agonising minute later it was all over. Draco tasted blood in his mouth.

"Stand."

Draco stood. His knees were shaky and his legs were threatening to buckle under him. His arm still seared with pain.

"Let us hope your service shall not fail, Draco Malfoy," Voldemort said coldly, a warning of what were to happen if Draco screwed up too many times.

"Yes, my lord," Draco gasped. Not knowing if he had been dismissed yet, he waited.

"Dismissed," Voldemort said finally.

Draco knelt again before standing and turning away. His back felt very exposed, and it took a great deal to walk calmly out of the room when his heart was beating furiously in his chest and his arm was still agony and his legs were threatening to give way at any moment.

When he was back in the corridor he allowed himself a little groan of pain and he gripped his forearm tightly. He wondered if it was bleeding. He dared not look at the Mark, the ugly thing he had seen his father wear.

He must not have noticed his father enter Voldemort's room, because a few minutes later Lucius Malfoy had emerged from the door, hurrying towards him.

"Come along," he said sharply, for the benefit of another Death-Eater, who had been passing by. Lowering his voice, he continued, "Very good. He was extremely pleased. Considering he's not too pleased with me at the moment."

"Right," Draco said through gritted teeth as they hurried out of the mansion. Mixed feelings were running through him. There was a lot of shock at realising he finally had the Mark, relief at having escaped without being tortured or anything bad happening, horror at what he was getting himself into, and rising up, like a bubble, anger that the first thing his father had said had not been, "How are you?" but thoughts on whether he had played his role well.

What really made him snap, however, was reaching home and having his mother ask, "How did it go? Was he impressed?" instead of, "How are you?" again.

Mr. Malfoy had opened his mouth to reply but Draco beat him to it.

"It went great," Draco said shortly. "Dad says he was really pleased. Of course, it hurt like hell and I was damn terrified, but that doesn't matter, does it?"

"Oh, darling, I –"

"I've just had the scariest day of my life and the only thing both of you can think of is whether or not You-Know-Who was happy," Draco spat. "I've got this," he pulled up the sleeve of his robe –"burned onto me and that's all you think about?"

"Darling –"

"It doesn't fucking matter what I think, all you care about is what I do and how well I do it," Draco said bitterly. "If I dropped dead tomorrow you'd probably think of how you've lost a spy – Merlin, you've never even stopped to consider how I feel, you're so caught up with –"

"You will not speak to your father and me in that way, Draco," Mrs. Malfoy snapped.

"Why not?" Draco challenged. "It's true, isn't it? I hate my life and all you care about is how I play my roles."

"Up to your room, Draco," Lucius Malfoy said quietly. Draco knew his father was angry, now – his voice had become dangerously low, deadly calm.

"I'll go," Draco said shortly, "But only because I want to." He turned on his heel and left, feeling his hands ball themselves up into his fists.

Draco stayed in his room for most of the day and the day after, too. Arra the house elf took his meals to him. He refused to see his parents and after a while they stopped knocking on his door.

Draco took a peek at his Dark Mark in the early afternoon, the day after he had gotten it. He caught a glimpse of the skull, with the snake protruding out of its mouth before shivering and covering his arm quickly with the sleeve of his robe. To have something so foul branded upon his arm …

But he had it, now. That evil, ugly mark. Even house elves weren't branded. Draco sighed. There was nothing he could do about it, either. Would he be free from all this after the war was over, when he did not have to pretend any more? He certainly hoped so.

I have to believe that, Draco thought. If I don't I won't be able to do this. It was a thought that always got him going again. When the war was over – again, he thought in terms of when, not if – he would be free. He could do whatever he liked, not caring about how it would look. He could finally have some real friends …

Draco came down for lunch the day after. His mother was not in the dining room. He supposed she was down below the drawing room with his father. He didn't mind. He didn't really want to talk to either of his parents. They can stay down there for all I care, Draco thought, stuffing mashed potato and stew into his mouth.

After lunch he shut himself into the potion room. There were shelves upon shelves of bottled potions in here, an entire wall of bookcases full of potion recipe books and cabinets full of potions ingredients. Two cauldrons, a worktable on the side of each, stood in the middle of the room. You could brew almost any potion here, from a simple Shrinking Solution to complicated Healing Potions, as long as there were ingredients in supply.

Draco enjoyed concocting Potions. He could spend hours in the potion room, looking through potion recipes, making different potions and putting them on the shelves. It was one of the reasons why he did very well in Potions class and why Potions was his favourite subject.

No problem getting an 'Outstanding' OWL for Potions, Draco thought as he scanned through the books on one of the bookshelves. He was looking for one that contained a recipe for an Invisibility Potion that would make any surface it touched invisible for an hour. It was an extremely complicated and difficult potion to make as it required very precise timing, but as Draco wanted to do something that would keep his mind busy, it was perfect for his needs.

Found it. Draco pulled down 'Potions for Stealth' and rifled through the pages. Once he found his page he set the book down on one of the work tables, ran his finger down the list of ingredients and set to work, referring to the book constantly as he weighed, measured and chopped up the various ingredients. He was just about to add the first ingredient into the cauldron when he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"What is it?" he asked, setting the two unicorn hairs onto the worktable.

His mother came in. "I thought I'd find you in here." She closed the door behind her.

"What do you want?" Draco asked coolly.

She pretended she hadn't noticed his coldness. "What are you making?"

"Invisibility Potion," Draco said shortly, turning to the book. He furrowed his forehead, making it appear he'd turned back to making the potion, but he was really waiting for his mother to leave.

Mrs. Malfoy crossed the room to him. "If you don't want to be a Death-Eater, you don't have to be."

Draco looked up at her, surprised.

"If it's making you this unhappy," his mother continued, "then stop. You're right, darling, you never asked for our life."

Draco couldn't speak. He was stunned.

"It'll mean you won't be able to see us often, especially your father. You won't be living here. The Dark Lord will come after you, so you'll probably be under the Order's wing – and you're sixteen already, so you don't need a specific guardian." His mother's face was pained. "If you're going just ask Arra to pack your bags."

There was silence after this extraordinary pronouncement. Draco knew his parents had invested almost their entire lives to becoming spies, on the chance they might come across something that would enable Voldemort to be killed. Turning back on their roles was completely out of the question. Yet here his mother was, offering him something that would create complications and maybe cast doubt on their cover story. Draco Malfoy, the Slytherins all thought, wanted to become a Death-Eater.

"Don't be daft," Draco finally managed. "I'm not leaving. I'll stick it out. I'll hate it, but I'll stay. If I leave it could fall apart –"

"Id rather it fell apart than you hating your own life," Narcissa said quietly. "Your father and I have dedicated years to spying for the Order, but we also want you to be happy, we want you to have the best. I think we might have forgotten that sometimes."

"You're just – really focused on what you do," Draco said. "I really don't want to be a Death-Eater, you know."

"I know," Mrs. Malfoy sighed. "Perhaps we shouldn't have forced you."

Draco knew this was the closest he would get to his mother admitting she was wrong. He didn't say anything in response, but he had lost his frosty exterior. Draco turned to his ingredients and started pounding his roots with the pestle and mortar again, though they had already been turned to powder.

Mrs. Malfoy waited until Draco had consulted the potion book again before prompting, "Well?"

Draco set down the pestle. "I'll stay," he said finally. "I'd like out more than anything, but if I leave I won't be able to see you and Dad. And who knows how long the war'll be?" Draco picked up the unicorn hairs. "Want to help with the Potion?"

"You know I can't do them," Draco's mother smiled. "Go on ahead." She turned to leave and was almost at the door when she remembered, "Your Aunt Sarah is coming for dinner tonight. We'll be eating in the dining room."

"All right. Does that mean Dad's not joining us?"

"I'm afraid not. Enjoy your potion-making, darling."

Aunt Sarah was Lucius Malfoy's only sister. Draco rather liked her, but didn't like the fact that she was a Death-Eater. They actually got along quite well with each other and she was by far Draco's favourite relative. Compared to his mother's sister, Bellatrix, Draco had to be content with what he got. Aunt Andromeda didn't count, because as far as the Black and Malfoy clan were concerned, she didn't exist.

Draco finished his Invisibility Potion about an hour before Aunt Sarah was due to arrive. It was a clear, transparent liquid that was rather thick, and glooped into the beaker Draco poured it into. His cauldron, Draco noted, was only half visible. Its bottom part couldn't be seen at all.

Draco dipped his finger into the potion. According to the book, no one had yet come up with an Invisibility Potion that could be drunk. They should call it a lotion, Draco thought as he took his finger out.

A broad grin spread across his face. He couldn't see the end of his finger anymore. His index finger ended in what appeared to be a stump, and as the potion dripped onto the worktable a hole appeared there.

I can have a lot of fun with this. Draco worked quickly and when he was done he took care to wipe off any extra potion. He half regretted making do much now – in an hour's time it would all be useless.

Draco found his mother in the drawing room. She was on the sofa, reading a book.

Draco checked to make sure he wasn't dripping, then stumbled into the drawing room. His mother looked up at the sound and Draco saw her gape, thunderstruck. Draco walked unsteadily to the coffee table, banged against it and turned right.

For what Mrs. Malfoy saw was this: a pair of legs, apparently unattached to any body, stumbling around and knocking into things.

Draco's mother didn't move for several seconds. Then she brandished her wand, pointed it at Draco's legs and said, "Locomotor mortis."

At once, his legs snapped together and Draco had to throw out his hands to keep from falling flat on his face. "Oh, great."

"Draco?" He saw his mother furrow her eyebrows. Then she snapped the book shut and strode over to him. "You! Playing a prank like that … you're half invisible, aren't you? What if I'd blasted you into pieces?"

"Well, I thought it was funny," Draco's voice came from near the carpet.

"It wasn't," she snapped. "You deserve to be punished for scaring me like that. I thought someone had gone and splinched themselves." Then she turned and went back to the sofa.

"Wait. Aren't you going to perform to counter-curse?" Draco said as Mrs. Malfoy picked up her book.

She smiled. Draco decided this was not a good thing and he was right. "I think I'll leave the curse on you for a while."

"What?"

"I think you deserve it, don't you?" And she began reading again.

"Well – are you going to help me up, at least?" Draco asked, though he could guess the answer.

He guessed right, too. His mother amused herself by watching and listening as Draco tried to stand upright while his legs were bound by the Leg-Locker Curse. In the end, he managed it by grabbing onto the windowsill and pulling himself upright.

And then he tried to hop to the sofa before tripping and falling flat on his face.

Ten minutes later he had made it to the sofa, feeling all hot and bothered. Wishing he was of age to use magic outside school, he grabbed a magazine from the coffee table (and almost fell off the sofa) before beginning to fan himself with it.

Draco glared at his mother, but as his head was invisible it hardly had an effect on her. "I'm glaring at you right now."

"All right, darling," she smiled, and then turned the page of her book.

Draco gave an annoyed sort of grunt and fanned himself harder.

"You might want to go upstairs and change for dinner," Mrs. Malfoy said presently.

"Are you going to –"

"No."

Draco sighed and got up from the sofa with difficulty. This was going to be a long process. Maybe Arra could help bring his robes to him …

"And don't ask Arra for help, either."

Draco was not looking at all dignified when he met Aunt Sarah at the door of the Manor, something his mother had made him do. The Invisibility potion had worn off by then and his flushed cheeks and messy hair could now be seen.

"Draco!" Aunt Sarah gave him a light hug and the boy almost fell, managing to catch onto the door just in time. "What in Merlin –?"

"Long story," Draco apologised. "Would you mind unlocking me?"

She did and Draco led her to the drawing room. Aunt Sarah was, like Lucius, fair, with a pointed face and silvery blond hair that ran down past her shoulders. She had a bit more colour in her cheeks, though, and was quite a bit shorter than her brother (and now, Draco – for he had grown much over the holidays).

Draco's mother and her sister-in-law bumped cheeks together and then settled down for a bit of small talk, as was usual while they waited for dinner to be served.

"I would like to see more of your paintings, Narcissa," Aunt Sarah said, after the 'how are you's had been done. "They really are quite wonderful."

Mrs. Malfoy nodded a little. "Thank you. I'm sure we'll have time after dinner … and perhaps you could sell a few, as well?" Aunt Sarah was owner of the Galleria's English branch in Diagon Alley, an art gallery with its origins in Nice, France. As a result she also helped Voldemort smuggle items into the country.

"Of course. I don't suppose you've taken up painting, Draco?" Aunt Sarah asked.

Draco shook his head rather vehemently. "Can't paint. I can do potions, though."

"Oh, yes, we've actually got quite a supply of Pepper-Up Potion and healing Ointment," Draco's mother said. "I'll have the house elf bring them before you leave."

Conversation went along in this same vein for a while before Arra came in. She was wearing a tea cosy with an elaborate 'M' on it and had artfully bandaged her right hand. She also winced a bit as she came in. It gave the impression that she was mistreated, as Dobby had done before her.

"Mistress," she squeaked. "Mistress, Arra has served dinner. Arra hopes that –"

"You're late, as usual. Our guest arrived fifteen minutes ago," Narcissa Malfoy said coldly.

Arra bowed her head. "Arra is most sorry, Mistress –"

"Just get out of here," Narcissa said impatiently. The house elf bowed and left, wincing again as she disappeared. Draco's mother turned back to her guest, shaking her head. "So difficult to find good elves nowadays. Well, shall we start dinner, then?"

Dinner, Draco though, was very good. He also appreciated that his aunt mentioned nothing of Voldemort or his Dark Mark. Draco didn't fancy talking about it, especially over dinner. After dinner they retreated to the drawing room again and Draco challenged his aunt to a game of chess; like his father, she was very good at it and Draco had yet to beat her. There was no mention of seeing Lucius Malfoy in the secret room, as they didn't know if they were being watched.

"Draco," his aunt said presently. "When do you come of age?"

"October," Draco replied, not looking up from the chess board, where he was trying to formulate a plan to checkmate Aunt Sarah's king. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," she smiled, "There's one thing the Malfoys have prided themselves upon doing illegally without the Ministry of Magic finding out."

"What's that?" Draco asked curiously, looking up.

"You'll find out when you turn seventeen," she said mysteriously. "I do hope you mange it without getting caught. You'll be the first Malfoy to get caught if you do and believe me, that's not an honour."

"But what is it?" Draco asked. He saw that his mother was beginning to smile. "You know, don't you, mum?"

"Of course she does," Draco's aunt said. "And you'll find out when you're of age."

No matter how hard Draco tried to persuade his aunt ad mother to tell him, they kept their mouths firmly shut. And when Draco questioned his father the next day, and the days after that, he just smiled and told him to wait.

"Patience is a virtue, you know." And Lucius Malfoy laughed as Draco flung himself onto the sofa in frustration.

A/N: Argh. My left hand has cramped out from all the typing. See, look, I spent two hours doing this, and I'm still halfway through HBP… :P and loving it. Ahh, Draco…

I've not time to do my usual thank you's, I'm afraid…

But a big THANK YOU to everyone's who reviewed, and I'll be waiting for some more :P heh. Even though I should be slapped for not updating for so long :P