Draco blinked against the blinding light of the morning sun streaking through gaps in the curtains. He was still in the small drawing room, where he had been all night since he had arrived at the Manor, but now he was alone. Had been for a few hours.

It was the room where his father died. As a child, Draco had watched night after night as his father would excuse himself from the silent dinner table and skulk off down the corridors, robes billowing behind him, to sit in this room by the fire. Draco had never been permitted to enter, and on one occasion in his first year at Hogwarts when he arrived home for Christmas, his father barked for his son to leave him in peace when Draco had knocked on the door to greet him. He had never set foot in the room again, until now.

The whole room reeked of Luscious Malfoy: the shelves were lined with leather-bound books that could have been anywhere between ten or five hundred years old; gold and silver magical trinkets sat perfectly spaced like shining trophies on the higher shelves, interspersed with more sinister looking gadgets including what looked like a shrivelled, dried heart encased in a glass box; a compact but regal fireplace sat in the far corner and in front of it, an object that Draco found it hard to look at without feeling a strange irritation in the pit of his stomach: a high-backed olive-green armchair, mimicking its deceased occupier by sitting unflinchingly tall and proud, as if the chair itself was sneering down disapprovingly at Draco the way his father often would.

Bellatrix and the Death Eaters had brought him in here instead of the dungeons for a reason: they knew it would torment him to be in the room his father had died. A room where they were apparently still convinced that Draco had been the one to kill him. Perhaps Bellatrix thought that if Draco were left alone in this room, haunted by the memory of his father, he would gasp out a desperate confession.

Draco rubbed his ankle against his knee, just to feel the bulk of the wand and other things still stuffed into his sock underneath his trousers. It gave very little comfort, but it was something.

He'd been left here, strung up to the ceiling by metal shackles that cuffed painfully around his wrists, digging into his skin whenever he tried to move. He couldn't see where the shackles attached in the ceiling – possibly to nothing – but they made his arms feel as if they were about to detach from his sockets as they were forced to hang limply from the binds above his head as his feet shuffled aimlessly on the cold floor. His shoulders ached terribly from the weight of his own tired body and he could see small slices in his skin like thin red bracelets from where he'd tried to pull his wrists free of the cuffs around his wrists.

As predicted, he had not been a well-treated guest upon his arrival to the Manor the previous night. The snatchers spared no time in telling Bellatrix that Draco had offered up Malfoy family money and information on the resistance in exchange for his life, to which Bellatrix just gasped out a high-pitched cackle that bounded around the small room.

"You think you'll be seeing even a Knut of that money, boy?" She spat at Draco, sauntering close to him and twisting her lips in disgust at the sight of her defected nephew.

Still held by the two snatchers at this point, Draco stayed silent, his jaw tight and his teeth clenched.

"But don't worry, Draco, you'll get the opportunity to spill all your secrets about that little gang you've joined." She snarled in the way a hungry animal might. Draco struggled to hold her gaze, her beetle-like eyes burning into his. He fought against the two men holding him as Bellatrix lifted his chin with the tip of her wand, making sure it dug painfully into his skin.

"I'll tell you what you need to know," Draco said in a low grunt.

Bellatrix laughed at his apparent betrayal to the resistance. "A Slytherin 'til the very end – anything to save your own skin, eh?"

He was about to retort, wounded by the comment, but remembered that this was all a necessary part of the act so that when the resistance attacked, it would be completely unsuspected by the Death Eaters. He needed them to believe that he was indeed unwillingly captured and wasn't just bait for Voldemort.

Draco breathed in, nerves suddenly pumping through him at what he knew he had to say next.
"Tell him – tell the Dark Lord. I'll tell him anything he needs to know. In exchange for my life."

The smile slowly faded from Bellatrix's face at this; he was opening up a negotiation. She took a step back to consider him, twirling her wand playfully between her fingers.

"What makes you think that he'd be willing to listen to you at all?"

"Because – I can help wipe out the resistance. Secure his victory. Just… not Amelia Collins… I won't say anything unless I have his word to keep her safe."

He hated having to bring her name into it at all, but it was Harry who had said that they surely wouldn't believe that Draco would suddenly turn his back on the woman he loved after all these years of shielding her.

"Aw, young love. So touching," Bellatrix said, her voice dripping with sickly malice. Again, the masked men behind her laughed as if on cue.

"Tell him!" Draco repeated, louder this time. "I'll give all the information I have – but at the end of it Amelia and me, we get to go free. We'll disappear – another country – no one will ever hear from us again."

Boris - the snatcher - piped up from the corner with a wide sneer on his face. "Nice try, Malfoy. Death Eaters don't do bargains."

"Quiet, you!" Bellatrix barked and Boris fell silent, his shoulders slumping. "And may I remind you, Boris, that you are not a Death Eater."

Draco couldn't help but smirk at the expression on Boris's face at this remark, like a wounded dog.

Bellatrix flicked her eyes back to Draco. "You seem to be confused, Draco, as you clearly believe that you are in a position to negotiate. Let me be very clear: you can offer us nothing that we can't forcibly take from you." She spoke in a low voice now and her dark eyes flashed eagerly, dangerously. "You are correct: you will give us all the information you have on the resistance, because I will crack open your pretty little head and extract every last miserable thought you've ever had!" Her voice grew into a loud growl as she once again pointed her wand straight in between Draco's eyes.

Draco's heart plummeted to his stomach and he inwardly swore. He needed her to call Voldemort – all of this would be for nothing and he'd surely die in vain if he couldn't get Voldemort here.

As if on cue, Bellatrix continued: "However, I do admit, dear nephew, that the Dark Lord is certainly interested in being the one to finally kill you. And I am a gracious servant; I would not deny him the honour, though I'd like to."

She looked back at the two masked Death Eaters behind her and back to Draco, fire in her eyes. "But that doesn't mean we can't have a bit of fun first."

"Madame LeStrange, I thought that I –

Bellatrix cut Greyback off, thrusting her wand towards where he stood in the corner behind Draco. "You were promised meat, Greyback. The privilege of murder still lies with the Death Eaters." At this, Greyback bowed his head slightly, though his lip twisted over his sharp teeth in irritation.

Draco felt his chest tighten as genuine fear flashed before his eyes and he realised just how flimsy this plan was. He could well be dead by sunrise.

"Where were we? Ah yes," Bellatrix turned her attention back to Draco, not bothering to look around at the masked men behind her as she ordered, "summon the Dark Lord!"

She smiled as she raised her wand to her nephew. "And as your beloved auntie I should tell you Draco, he's very cross with you." The sadistic playfulness had crept back into her voice, and her lip curled into a snarl as she kept her wand carefully trained on Draco, who could only gulp and prepare himself for whatever came next.

She ordered the snatchers to leave and finish their patrol so that only she, Greyback and the two unidentified hooded figures remained.

Almost as soon as the two snatchers holding Draco released him and left, Bellatrix hit him with the cruciatus curse. He collapsed immediately to the ground. He could hear his own screams bouncing off the walls, far away from the pain that twisted through his body as if barbed wire were being dragged slowly, excruciatingly through his veins. It was the longest he'd been tortured for and he was almost certain that Bellatrix was going to let him die or else go mad, writhing and shrieking on the floor of his childhood home, when she lifted the curse at the last moment.

There were no need for restraints anymore: Draco spluttered and gasped for air on the ground, barely able to lift his head from the cold stone floor. His whole body ached and throbbed. His bones felt like they had turned to dust inside his limbs as he tried desperately to lift himself up, but couldn't. He could hear laughter above him but didn't care. In that moment, he almost wished for the release of death but the warmth of the ring against his chest made him blink away this thought as he remembered his mission.

Turning to flop onto his back, he looked up towards the ceiling and gasped for air as he felt his chest tighten as if a heavy weight pressed down onto him. His vision was blurry and with the inky images of his aunt coming to stand over him, he could see the resemblance to Andromeda in Bellatrix. They shared enough similarities in their face – their nose, their brow - but even with skewed vision there was a dark halo around Bellatrix's features that Andromeda did not have. The two sisters were worlds apart and it was difficult to believe, as Bellatrix stood before him rejoicing in his agony with loud giggles and cackles, that they were indeed moulded from the same blood.

"Now, let's see what's swimming around that lovely little brain of yours, shall we?" His aunt's voice said from above him.

Draco knew what was coming as Bellatrix raised her wand to him again.

He'd always been naturally gifted at hiding his thoughts the few times someone had tried to dive into his mind. He wasn't sure why; perhaps it was a Slytherin trait he was born with, or perhaps he had learnt the art of keeping his thoughts hidden for so long as he grew up that it was easy for him.

Now though, he felt so weak: his mind was drifting in and out of the room even now and he didn't know if he had the strength to fight off Bellatrix's legilimency.

In a fleeting moment as she silently twisted her wand, he felt her trying to penetrate his mind: a blinding pain soared from behind his eyes to the back of his head and all sound from the room evaporated completely so that only a ringing silence remained. All that existed was Bellatrix fighting to get inside his thoughts, and him trying desperately to stop her. He clenched his fists by his sides, kicking his legs out at the pain he felt in his head as it grew heavier, as though his skull was sinking into the stone floor beneath him.

Draco could feel her edging closer towards his thoughts, like a door that was ever so slightly ajar. He couldn't let her in.

He imagined walls being put up around his mind like a fortress; impenetrable. He summoned energy from anywhere in his body where it might be hiding, to keep Bellatrix out of his head. He had to. The plan would be ruined otherwise and all the resistance killed. Amelia, Henry, Andromeda, Potter. All gone…
It was working: he was keeping her out. He could hear her frustrated yells above him and the knowledge that it was working – that the plan was working – gave him just enough strength to keep her at bay in his mind.

Finally, he felt her release him and the pressure lifted from around his head, but a nauseating headache remained. He clamped his hands over his eyes, groaning at the searing white-hot pain throbbing through his brain. Above him, he heard Bellatrix say something about veritaserum.

"If you think you're being clever, little nephew, all you are doing is ensuring that your death will be more painful than you could even imagine. I won't stop until you are completely destroyed." Her voice was icy and acidic, any of her usual demented childlike tone completely wiped from her tongue.

Draco turned his head to her. He was still panting to catch his breath from the effort of keeping her out of his head and he could feel beads of cold sweat dripping into his hair. He mustered the strength to talk, and it came out in a raspy whisper. "I already told you: I'll speak to the Dark Lord. Only Him. In exchange for my life."

She grunted; guttural and frustrated: "We will extract every ounce of information you have in you, and then let the werewolves rip you limb from limb so that your blood will drip from the ceiling for weeks!"

He turned his head away, still splayed out on the floor.

Eventually, when Bellatrix received word from a Death Eater that some veritaserum was being sourced, she wiped her brow and turned back to Draco, who still lay on the floor. He could feel a thick, warm trickle of blood weeping from his nose, and his spine throbbed painfully from where he had thrashed on the floor and grazed it against the hard stone.

With this news, Bellatrix waved her wand above her head in a grand gesture as two sleek live black snakes erupted out of the tip of her wand, gliding through the air down below to Draco.

Seeing these come towards him, he flinched in alarm and sprung to a sitting position, pushing himself backwards across the floor to try and get away from the two enchanted snakes as they continued to twist and uncoil their long bodies towards him. There was nowhere to escape though, and his body felt heavy as lead and too tired to fight them off as the snakes came before him and hovered briefly at his eye level, hissing menacingly as their yellow slitted eyes bore into his.

The snakes didn't bite though. Instead they coiled themselves around his wrists and then entwined themselves together, slamming Draco's wrists together. Their bodies looped around and around each other so that they were like one long rope extending up to the sky. The snakes had a tight and strong hold around Draco's wrists and though he struggled considerably against them, he couldn't resist as their entwining bodies forced his wrists together and up over his head. Another wave from Bellatrix's wand and Draco struggled harder than ever as he was raised to his feet by the snakes lifting him by their bind on his wrists, their course scales scratching painfully against his skin.

Bellatrix gave one final flick of her wand and the sensation changed: Draco looked up and saw that the two snakes had been transformed into metal shackles and a long chain, securing him in place as a prisoner in this room. Already, he could feel the metal of the cuffs digging into his wrists and as he struggled against the bondage he grimaced loudly as he felt the metal dig through his skin.

"Keep still, Draco," Bellatrix said, a fiery amusement blazing on her features. She tapped his nose with a pale, bony finger – the way an aunt might to a child – and cackled loudly, before leading the other Death Eaters from the room.

And he'd been here ever since: his arms bound above his head by thick and painful shackles, and his body more tired and aching than he could ever remember. He hung there limply, unable to summon the energy to try and keep himself upright to salvage some of his weight from his shoulders. His feet shuffled on the floor, his back hunched so that if it weren't for the shackles, he'd be instantly collapsed on the ground. Even breathing seemed to rattle his ribs with an agonising vibration.

He needed to use the two-way parchment in his sock to communicate with the resistance, tell them that he was in, but while he was restrained like this, it would remain impossible. He ran through the plan in his head and what needed to fall into place for success: he needed to ingest any veritaserum while the antidote still coursed through his body; he needed to locate Nagini within the Manor; he needed to disarm the wards protecting Malfoy Manor to let the resistance in. And if Voldemort didn't come to the Manor, lured by the hopes of finishing Draco off, it would all be for nothing and he would surely die…

He struggled once more against the shackles but they were far stronger than he, especially in his weakened state. His vision was blurring at the corners and there was the scratchy tickle of dried blood above his lip from his nose and down his neck where he must've hit his head during the torture of the night before.

Suddenly, success looked about a million miles away.

.

.

It was late in the morning at the resistance and there had been no word from Draco yet. It had now been two whole days since he'd left and Amelia's mind flicked through the hundreds of possibilities as to where he might've spent these nights. She shook her head as frantic, dark thoughts of him being hurt or worse threatened to poison her mind and quickened her pace towards her destination.

The duelling tent had become the new busy hub of the resistance, occupied at any time of the day or night. Amelia assumed that no one was managing regular sleep as a battle loomed ever closer, and so they did as she did: prepare.

She weaved past all of the other people practicing: some in pairs, some by themselves, some reading spell books and some simply exercising. There was a small corner of space by the back wall and Amelia threw her coat on the ground beside her to claim the spot, tied her hair back and stretched her arms.

She spent the next few hours duelling against a charmed dummy made from pillow cases and tree branches alongside Hermione, who joined not long after Amelia arrived, desperate to forget about the purple potion and her lost lover.

Just as Amelia glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost midday, George came in. He was never seen without the radio these days, and sure enough, he propped it onto the bench on the side of the room, took a charms book from the shelf next to him and flicked his wand towards the speaker.

He kept the channel open for any possible communication with other witches and wizards in hiding around the country, but would change to the official Ministry station every hour to hear their news broadcast. Those were the parts that Amelia hated listening to; the news was always incredibly grim, often proudly announcing increasing numbers of attacks and arrests by the Death Eaters around the country.

The familiar sound of the Ministry's news opening music wafted through the duelling tent – a pompous and upbeat brass musical interlude – and most of the people in the tent came to a standstill around the large room: the midday news was often the most harrowing of the day, reporting on goings-on from the night before. Amelia wiped her brow and rested her hands on her hips as she and Hermione turned their attention to the broadcast.

A nasally male voice filled the now silent room: "… and this morning's top story – a cause for celebration: notorious disgraced Death Eater and blood traitor Draco Malfoy has been captured by snatchers in the midlands of England late yesterday afternoon. He is being kept captive and held for questioning over his involvement with illegal resistance movements intent on bringing down the Ministry of Magic and our leader, the Dark Lord. It is expected that he will face death by Dementor's Kiss or execution by the Killing Curse in the next few hours."

Amelia blinked once, twice. Her breath caught in her chest.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder and she heard Hermione's voice say, "they want us to be afraid – Draco was prepared for this," but it did little to comfort her.

People around her were talking but she didn't hear them. Without a second thought, she turned and made towards the exit, Hermione right on her heels as she started sprinting towards the meeting tent she knew her brother would be in.

Sure enough, when she whipped open the door Henry, Harry, Bill and Kingsley all sat at the table. Their heads all shot up at once, alarm on their faces at the sudden intrusion.

"Mills – what's up?" Henry asked, getting to his feet and beckoning Amelia and Hermione into the room.

She swallowed but couldn't seem to find the words. Her mouth was completely dry; her heart thumped against her ribs. She was grateful when Hermione came to stand next to her and spoke for her. "The Ministry have just reported that they've captured Draco."

The men all exchanged glances and Amelia tried desperately to somehow understand what they were all thinking.

"Have you heard anything from him?" Harry asked Hermione, who shook her head. She took out her piece of two way parchment – slightly bigger than the piece given to Draco – and lay it flat on the table in the middle of the small room.

It was blank. Amelia's heart deflated. Her eyes swept over the men all sitting down but it was impossible to read the looks on their faces.

Finally, Henry spoke up. "This could mean a number of things. We already knew that he wouldn't necessarily be able to contact us as soon as he was captured," he said, shooting a reassuring look in Amelia's direction.

Amelia managed to summon her voice. "The report said that he'll be killed – later today, it said."

Again, she scanned the reaction of those in the room. Kingsley's brows were knitted in deep consideration. Bill was biting his lower lip and rubbing his chin. How were they keeping so calm?

"Okay," Henry said slowly clearly gathering his thoughts. "That confirms he's still alive. Which means, they are most probably playing into our plan and are going to question him. So far everything has gone as we wanted. We planned for Draco to get captured and taken to Malfoy Manor. He has the veritaserum antidote and we know that he can use Occlumency well. Just because he hasn't made contact, does not mean all hope is lost. He might be waiting until it's completely safe to do so. Or until You Know Who arrives…"

The others nodded around the table, some looking more convinced by this than others. Amelia absently tugged at a loose thread in her jumper.

"We should start preparing," Harry spoke up. "When Draco does make contact, it could be almost instantly that we need to make our way to Malfoy Manor."

Amelia swallowed down the rising feeling of acid in her throat and wasn't sure if it was her morning sickness or anxiety.

"And if he doesn't make contact?" Amelia asked, the panic shaking her voice. "If we don't hear from him? What then?"

Again, glances were exchanged. She felt Hermione shift next to her.

"I will go into that place by myself if I have to!" Amelia said, baffled at their silence.

"If he doesn't make contact by the end of the night, then we'll organise a rescue mission to try and extract him from the Manor," Harry finally said. Amelia tried not to dwell on the word 'try' he had used…

"I'll put the word out for everyone to start assembling for our attack," Bill said, his voice plain and grave.

This was it: the final frontier.

With that, discussion erupted around the table with people pulling parchments full of notes and diagrams out from the shelf. Amelia backed out of the room, pushing aside her worry for Draco and instead trying to think only about preparing for battle.

She made towards her tent, her heartbeat thumping in time with her quick and heavy strides.

"Mills – wait up!"

She turned to see Henry jogging towards her.

"Wanted to make sure you're alright," he said as he came to stop in front of her.

A million worries tumbled through her mind, but all that left her lips was, "I'm okay."

"Please don't worry. You know what the Ministry and the news are like these days – bloody fearmongering bastards," he said with a small lopsided smile. "We gotta trust him, Mills. He knows what he's doing."
She gave a stiff nod and tried to arrange her face into a smile but it came out as more of a grimace. Her insides lurched and she touched her hand lightly to her stomach.

"He'll make contact soon, and I'll let you know as soon as he does," Henry said, preserving with the optimism.

"I'm pregnant, Henry."

The words just spilled out of her without warning. Hearing them surprised even her.

Henry's jaw slackened and hung half-open. The gentle wind around them seemed to stop. Amelia felt something shift as she admitted this out loud for the first time. It was real now, inescapable. It didn't exist for just her.

"Wha – how long – does Draco know?" Henry stammered, his eyes widening as the realisation started to creep over him.

"I did a test yesterday. I've been feeling off for a few days but I just put it down to the sense of impending doom everyone around here is feeling lately," she said in a dry, half-joke. "It must be very early days," she added, once again letting her hand brush over her stomach which indeed did not yet show any sign of growth within it.

"So Draco…"

"… has no idea," Amelia finished the thought for her brother with a grave nod.

He nodded slowly and scratched his head. "What are you thinking?" He asked, clearly unsure whether to be concerned or celebrating at this news. There was no judgement in his voice or on his face though and for the thousandth time since she joined the resistance, Amelia was overwhelmed with gratitude that he was here with her.

"Is it selfish that I want to keep it?" Amelia asked finally, her voice barely a whisper. It wasn't something she had even realised she'd come to a conclusion about, but now that she was confronted with it, the answer appeared in front of her clearer than anything.

She watched as Henry's face slowly broke out into a wide smile and he swept her up off her feet, chuckling and swinging her around in his embrace. Amelia laughed despite herself – a moment of happiness in this bleak day, like a brief parting of clouds.

He suddenly put her down. "Oh Merlin – sorry – that's not squishing it, is it?"

Amelia laughed harder at this, the angst leaving her chest for the quickest moment. "Henry, it's barely the size of a bean right now!"

"Oh right, obviously…" he said, composing himself before they both broke into a fresh fit of laughter. "Of course it's not selfish, Mills! You'll be a brilliant mother – and Draco would make a fine dad, I'll bet."

"But we're in the middle of a war…" The laughter faded as quickly as it had begun.

"Well, we're doing our best to end that."

A thought sprung to Amelia's mind and she frowned again, her face set. "I still want to fight. I'm not letting anyone step in and fight my battles because of this," she said, squaring her shoulders as her voice became briefly stern.

Henry nodded. "I understand; this is your war just as much as anyone else's here." She could tell that the thought worried him though, and guilt swelled inside of her as she unwittingly added to the many burdens her brother was laden with.

She hugged him again, tossing her arms tightly around his neck. She blinked back tears as an image of what this moment should look like flashed before her eyes: Draco present alongside them, sharing in the excitement; living in a small town or a village, safe and secure without the wizarding world falling to pieces all around them.

What kind of world was this child of hers going to be born into…

"I wish things were different," she said quietly into her brother's shoulder.

He squeezed her tighter. "I know, me too. But they will be. This is all the more reason to fight and believe in Draco's mission. So we can give little Malfoy Junior here the world they deserve," Henry said with sincerity, winking with a small laugh as he introduced this nickname. Amelia couldn't help but let out a small snort at this as well.

"You're right."

Henry put his arm around her shoulders. "I am – just you wait. I'm gonna be uncle of the year, just right after we win this war."
It all seemed so unfair. Her two men fighting in this war. And with Draco right on the frontline as they spoke...

"I know none of this is ideal, Mills – she chuckled humourlessly – but Draco's plan will work. He knows the Manor, he can get his mum on our side; she won't trust anybody else. We can kill this damn snake and take Him down. And then your baby can grow up in a much better world."

Amelia batted away a stray tear that she hadn't realised appeared. "I want my kid to grow up with both their parents. You and me always had each other, we were okay. But me, Draco… you, we'll be all this baby has."

"Well, I will argue that actually. Look around: we're all family here, right? We'll all look out for each other, now more than ever."

Amelia gazed around the rows and rows of tents, standing tall like pointed trees in a forest, different colours of canvas like autumn leaves. It was strange to think that in a matter of days – hours maybe, if they really did pull this off, that this place – this home - would be no more.