Chapter Two: Faction and Intrigue
9:27 p.m, June 5, 1997
Draco Malfoy stood awkwardly outside the library door. Inside, his mother was crying. She had fainted when her father had returned home late on the evening of the first of June, though perhaps because he had brought with him nearly the entirety of the Death Eaters. At the moment, a good thirty still resided in his father's house, now turned fortress for the Dark Lord, including Fenrir Greyback – who made a habit of leering at him whenever they passed in the hallways. Draco did not like this, but he did not know how to do anything but tolerate it. And his father was back, now; that was something. Lucius Malfoy still radiated power, and Draco still had faith in his father's ability to make things right.
His mother's sobs rather eroded that faith, however. Draco didn't know how they'd happened to have a falling-out, but he suspected that it had somehow or another been about him. They had been tense after the first tearful reunion, when Lucius had learned of whatever pact it was Narcissa Malfoy had made with Severus Snape. Draco had managed to overhear just enough of their conversation to glean that piece of information, which did make sense of the Potions Master's behavior that year. Part of Draco wanted to be stung by her lack of faith in him, but the wiser, if smaller, part of Draco knew that he could thank his mother for the fact that he was still alive.
Finally willing himself to do something, Draco knocked twice on the doorframe before walking into the library. "Mother," he said awkwardly, as gently as he could.
Narcissa raised her head from the arm of the sofa, whisps of hair fallen from her elaborate knot curling about her tear-stained face. "You're leaving?" she whispered. "Of course, of course you are – the rest of them have their cloaks on, of course. You're to be summoned." Her voice was bitter.
"Yes," Draco replied, still feeling awkward. "The summonses should come any moment now. I just wanted to say goodbye before I left."
"Do you know what you're being summoned for? Your father won't tell me." The bitterness in her voice was stronger than ever.
Draco hesitated, unsure whether he should speak. But his mother's glittering eyes, that eerily piercing grey of the Black family, seemed to compel him. Feeling weak, and angry at that feeling, Draco muttered, "Just to discuss the Azkaban breakout, I suppose. And Dumbledore's death. It's the first full meeting of the Death Eaters since before last year."
"And I'm to be alone in the house again," Narcissa replied.
Draco said nothing.
"Go, go," Narcissa said, her voice breaking. "Get out!"
Draco left.
The Malfoy Manor was a stately house, with little of the original medieval architecture intact. It had been built almost anew in the late seventeenth century after devastating fires, and its long, airy galleries were in clear imitation of French palaces at the time. The house, and its various courtyards, chapels, and carriage houses, extended over eleven square miles of unplottable, Muggle-repelling grounds, the remnants of what had once been an even larger estate when the Malfoys had ruled as feudal lords over much of Wiltshire, holding great influence both in the Muggle and Wizarding world. Shortly after the original Malfoy Manor was destroyed by fire, however, the International Statute of Secrecy put an end to what remained of the Malfoys' feudal pretensions, and by the late eighteenth century, the Malfoy grounds had shrunken, and the villages once within its dominions were emptied, the people gone to seek work in factories and mills.
A heavy mist clung to the grounds that evening, lending everything a silver, vaguely sinister glow; the candles in their brackets did little to dispel the darkness. Draco shivered, and drew his cloak closer to him. It was the thick and silent black of a Death Eater, and it had been his for nearly a year. His mask formed a reassuring weight in his pockets. Soon. Soon.
When the call came, it was sudden and painful; Draco was still not used to it, and wondered whether he ever would be. Wasting no time, he Apparated.
He was one of the first to arrive; his father was there shortly before him, but the rest of those staying at the Malfoy Manor took somewhat longer. Long ago a suspicious ancestor had spelled the house to allow the Apparition and Disapparition only of the Master of the House, and of his family: a precaution that had served Lucius Malfoy well over the years. Falling into step behind his father, Draco set out for the entrance into the Dark Lord's fortress.
The air was somewhat colder in Wales, Draco thought as he affixed his mask to his face. Perhaps it was simply the elevation; the Skirrid Fawr, onto which summit they had Apparated, loomed three thousand feet above the city below. Draco did not know the path well, certainly not by night, and was glad of his father before him to show the way.
The entrance to the Dark Lord's fortress lay inside a ruined chapel to St. Michael, a little way down from the summit; hidden behind layer upon layer of enchantment was the mouth of a tunnel, a tunnel which led into the center of the mountain, sloping down into the damp, dank limestone.
As Lucius did not light his wand upon entering the tunnel, neither did Draco. The boy found what comfort he could in the sound of his father's footfalls in front of him.
The Dark Lord held his court in a great, natural cavern, wide enough and wider to hold the full circle of the Death Eaters' assembled ranks; the Dark Lord himself sat enthroned upon a great, serpent-carved chair upon a high stone dais. Behind his dais stood the doorways into the fourth circle. Draco had never yet been permitted to enter that far into the Skirrid Fawr, being still too junior; he reflected that that might change this night, were the Dark Lord to acknowledge his service. As he was not yet dead for his partial failure, Draco concluded that the Dark Lord was in the mood to reward his successes rather than punish his shortcomings.
The circle filled quickly, some hurrying forward first to do their obeisance at the foot of the dais, others simply moving to their place in the circle. Bellatrix Lestrange was obvious on her entrance, both as one of only two female Death Eaters, and for her prolonged bow, before taking her place at the direct right of the dais. Draco watched, feeling tension mount in his body. Something was about to change.
The Dark Lord stood suddenly from the richly-engraved wooden chair which served as his throne, and strode to the edge of the dais, surveying his Death Eaters for a long moment.
"Death Eaters," he began. "You stand complete for the first time in nearly sixteen years. Your Master has returned. Your compatriots have been freed from Azkaban. And Albus Dumbledore is dead at the hands of one of your fellows." He paused again, his red eyes clearly visible in the dim light of the throne room. He sniffed he air, as if he, like a snake, could smell fear or uncertainty.
"The Dark Lord shall soon usher in a new era of Wizarding History. Change is at hand, and the Dark Lord's Death Eaters are the instrument of that change. Yet they too must change to face this new world. They too must alter their very structure as the Dark rises." His voice was not loud, but it carried, perhaps due to the silence of all others present; it echoed in the large stone room, his sibilants lingering the longest.
"New heroes must be recognized alongside the fallen martyrs. They are living embodiments of the Dark Lord's cause, and of true service. They are those servants who went to Azkaban rather than betray their Lord. And they are Severus Snape, at whose hand Albus Dumbledore at last fell. Step forward, Severus Snape, and receive the Dark Lord's honor."
From the left of the dais, a tall, gaunt figure approached the dais, throwing himself into a deep bow before rising and slowly climbing at a signal from his Master. Slowly, and very gravely, the Dark Lord inclined his head to Severus Snape.
Shock surged silently and palpably through the assembled ranks. Draco knew he couldn't remember the Dark Lord giving any such honor in the past, but even those who had served for decades – his father, for one; his Aunt Bellatrix, for another – held themselves with such rigid self-control that Draco knew they could not believe what they had seen.
This, then, Draco concluded, was unprecedented.
Severus Snape bowed very low again to his Master, but now despite the depths to which he stooped, it seemed respect given to an equal, and not to a lord.
Draco shivered. The balance of power had changed.
"The time has come to name new leaders to the cause, to replace old blood with new," the Dark Lord said, his voice now carrying the bark of command. "At this moment, all Death Eaters are equal in the eyes of the Dark Lord. All ranks are abolished, and new ones shall be created shortly."
Again, the crowds stirred uneasily, and Draco felt a knife prick at his heart. His father – his father, Lucius – had been one of three lieutenants nearly from the year he had entered service as a Death Eater…
Draco surveyed the other masked and cloaked figures. He was sharply aware of how junior he was: only two Death Eaters had been initiated since the Dark Lord's return to power, and he did not know who they were, simply that they existed; yet they had joined before he had been forced to take the Mark, and they were certainly not teenaged boys. He was the youngest by decades, the weakest, and the least in the Dark Lord's service. He had done his part to serve his Master, yes, and had helped in the killing of Albus Dumbledore, but he had not been honored by the Dark Lord for his part, and somehow he did not think that this new equality would advance him very far.
"First," Lord Voldemort said, turning his eyes toward the far left in the circle, "I name Antonin Dolohov, eldest of the Dark Lord's servants. Antonin Dolohov, you are to attend the Dark Lord as one of his trusted lieutenants." This was no great change: Dolohov had been such a leader since the late 1960s.
"Under this lieutenant's command I place Rookwood, to aid him in his service," Lord Voldemort said, and now there was a change: previously that position had belonged to Severus Snape. "And under these servants I place Yaxley, Mulciber, the Averies, and Pettigrew."
"Second," Lord Voldemort said, turning toward the middle, "I name Lucius Malfoy, recently freed from Azkaban Prison. Lucius Malfoy, you are to attend the Dark Lord as one of his trusted lieutenants. Under this lieutenant's command I place Nott, to aid him in his service." No change here. "And under these servants I place the Carrows, Jugson, Goyle, Crabbe, and Draco Malfoy, youngest of the Dark Lord's servants."
Draco winced, though the expression was hidden under his mask.
"Third," Lord Voldemort said, his eyes straying toward Bellatrix Lestrange momentarily before moving to focus on Severus Snape, still a step below him, "I name Severus Snape, triumphant among the Dark Lord's servants. Severus Snape, you are to attend the Dark Lord as one of his trusted lieutenants." Lord Voldemort did not pause despite the momentousness of this announcement. Bellatrix Lestrange had served as a lieutenant since before the Dark Lord's fall.
"Under this lieutenant's command I place Bellatrix Lestrange, to aid him in his service. And under these servants I place the brothers Lestrange, Travers, Macnair, Greyback…" This last faction, Draco noticed, was by far the largest, as the Dark Lord continued to name servants, many of whom he had not known bore the Dark Lord's mark. He supposed it was because Bellatrix Lestrange's command had historically been concerned mostly with battles and drill, and the training of new recruits – certainly, his aunt had taken him in hand when first he became a Death Eater.
Bellatrix Lestrange stood quivering and rigid, and Draco was not the only Death Eater to stare at her. The Dark Lord's favor toward her was renowned – that she had been stripped of her status as a lieutenant, that she had been placed under Severus Snape… when everyone knew she loathed the man… Draco shuddered. They were both currently resident in his father's house, and he feared to imagine any meeting between them.
Once the factions were reassigned, the Dark Lord issued further commands, but Draco could not keep his mind on them. He was vaguely aware that these new orders concerned him – certainly, he would be a part of the raids and battles described – but his mind was on the shifts in power. He'd never known what to make of his former professor. Certainly, the man was a genius. He'd shown considerable favor to Draco over the years – though, given the friendship between his father and the professor, that had hardly been unexpected. Yet his insistence in interfering in Draco's plans the previous year had angered Draco at the time, and even now it annoyed him. Grudgingly Draco could admit to himself that if Snape hadn't come along just then, he would have failed – but it rubbed him raw to see Snape get all the acknowledgment, and him none.
And by the looks of it, his Aunt Bellatrix was fuming, too. For whatever reason she'd been excluded from the raid on Hogwarts, and that, Draco thought, couldn't sit well with her. An angry Bellatrix Lestrange, he'd learned to his cost, was a dangerous thing, but she'd coached him in occlumency and in the Unforgivables, and he thought she loved him. Things would be very taught at home after this meeting, Draco reflected. Very taught indeed.