Amelia rose with the sun after a restless night of staring at the ceiling. She threw on a cardigan and took off for the nearby forest. There was a soft mist weaving delicately through the tall trees, glittering in the early morning sunlight, and the fresh dewy air immediately calmed her.

She stifled a yawn as she absently kicked twigs along her aimless path, completely exhausted but unable to switch off her whirring thoughts. Her night had been plagued by images of Draco. She had always dreamt of seeing him again, had fantasised against her will about the moment they might see each other again, but never did she think it would be like this. Never could she have imagined that he would be imprisoned by her peers.

Since this reunion with Draco Malfoy, she'd been tossing his words in her head, silently poring over every syllable he'd spoken. He had looked so aged: his eyes – silver as ever – looked as if they'd endured a thousand tormented years. She could see the ghosts of unspeakable horrors he'd witnessed over the years since she'd last seen him veiled behind his smoky gaze. Even in those brief moments they were in the tent together she could see it in the deepened lines of his face, the hanging of his hair, his tensed arms and his hands and the broadening of his shoulders. It was the war. Like everyone else she knew, it had forced him to grow past his years. There was no part of him anymore that looked youthful, and yet looking at him brought back a childlike giddiness in the pit of her stomach; a flurry of excitement at hearing his voice – albeit now cracked and worn.

She closed her eyes – stop it, she told herself sternly. He is a Death Eater. It's not normal to feel a 'giddiness', or a sense of relief that he is okay and still alive in this war, or to fantasise about what it would've been like if it weren't all a lie… He was dangerous; toxic.

As she walked her thoughts turned to panic: what if he told everyone? She'd have to deny it all, or live with the embarrassment that she was monumentally conned by someone who had openly been a Death Eater for the latter part of their schooling. What would Henry think? Death Eaters had made them orphans and forced them into hiding.

Or, could it be possible that he was here to eliminate her – to stop her from speaking about the secrets of himself he'd told her? Was she his target? Come to finish a job he may have started all those years ago? A flash of him touching her face in the moonlight came across her mind like lightning. Kindness in his eyes. A smile on his face. Warmth in his touch. Could this person now be here to kill Amelia? Surely not. But this same person, these same hands and mouth and eyes, had deceived her – had made her love him, trust him, need him, before leaving her alone in a war-torn country. Anything was possible.

The only thing she knew for sure, the one thing she had to remind herself of now more than ever: he was not who she thought he was. She'd spent years silently chanting this as her mind would bargain with itself, wanting and needing his love to have been genuine. But it wasn't – of this, she had damning proof. No matter why he was here, or what he might say, she was at least certain that he was just a Death Eater who had managed to put her under his spell.

As she continued to toss the last 24 hours around in her mind, she saw something move in her periphery.

Her reflexes were fast – living in hiding required this. Her eyes scanned the thicket of towering trees. Her wand was securely outstretched and her body poised and ready. She waited for almost a minute before deciding it was just a change in the wind, and continued on her way.

But as she walked, she felt eyes on her. She tried to shake the feeling, and put it down to a side effect of the bizarre night she'd had, but as she weaved through the trees she had the distinct feeling of being watched. Reluctantly giving in to herself, she stopped in a small clearing with a sigh and looked around, appeasing the small paranoid part of her mind. Again, there was a shadow darting in the corner of her eye, but as she tried to focus on it, it was gone. Amelia didn't wait this time; she was definitely not alone in the forest. She fumbled in the small bag she had slung over her shoulder and pulled out a small, bent fork. As soon as she squeezed it she felt a familiar sensation as the portkey took her back to the secure confines of the resistance.


"Pretty crazy about that Malfoy guy, right?"
It was lunch time and Amelia was sitting with her brother as they ate the modest pasta being served. The large tent in the very centre of the resistance hideaway served as a makeshift dining area, with a rotation of cooks which every member was a part of. Amelia knew to be excited when someone like Ginny was on rotation, and very apprehensive if it were the likes of Seamus or Ron.

"Yeah, crazy," Amelia echoed her brother, trying her best to avoid eye contact.

"Tell me – what was he like in school?"

Amelia looked up and frowned. "Why does it matter?"
Henry shrugged as he shovelled pasta into his mouth. "Well, we need to try and suss out why he's here. I've never met the guy before – though he seems fairly unpleasant. Figure it would be good to get an insight into this elusive Death Eater guest."

"He was in Slytherin. I didn't have much to do with him, to be honest."
"He was in your year though, right? Harry had a lot to say about him."
"Him and Harry were always rivals; Malfoy was always winding Harry and the other Gryffindor's up. I never really got that involved… but, like you say, he seemed unpleasant." She could feel her brother's eyes on her as she ate, and flashed him an unconvincing smile. "We were Potions partners for a bit in seventh year," she finally offered as Henry clearly wasn't ready to finish the conversation.

"Hmm… maybe that's why he was mentioning you…"

Amelia's head shot up as Henry muttered this under his breath. "Mentioned me?"
"Yeah, when me and Harry went to speak to him yesterday. He was predictably pretty hostile, but as soon as I said who I was, he started demanding to see you." He was looking at her quizzically.

"How strange. Quite sad, if having me as a Potions partner was the most positive interaction that he can monopolise," Amelia said with a small laugh, cocking an eyebrow.

Henry joined in her laughter, and she watched the look of curiosity wash from his face.

"I thought it'd be something like that. He said he'd come all this way for you, or some nonsense. Maybe he's trying to play us for a fool – must think we're idiots."
She breathed a silent sigh of relief; she'd convinced him. For now, at least. She wanted desperately to tell him the truth – but how could she? Casually mentioning that she was in love and on the run with a notorious Death Eater recently captured by the resistance didn't exactly have a positive ring to it.

Just as Henry was getting up, Amelia was reminded of earlier that morning. "Oh Henry – before you go… this morning, when I was walking in the forest… I had the strangest feeling someone was there."
He frowned and paused, his bowl in his hands. "What happened?" His voice was suddenly alert and clipped.

"Nothing, nothing… just a feeling I had. I swear I saw something… It was probably nothing though, right?"

Henry nodded absently. "We're due to check the protective charms holding this place together anyway… I'll do it now. Maybe just stay within the charms for the time being, yeah? This Malfoy guy's unnerving me…"
He flashed a small smile, though Amelia could tell that what she'd revealed would result in several sleepless nights for Henry.


A week passed with no progress, save for Draco's singular chair receiving an upgrade to a small bed in the tent he occupied. Harry or Henry had not come back, nor had Amelia, and the only company Draco had was the occasional silent and unfamiliar face of a resistance member who would come and give him food a couple of times a day. At first he would try and speak to them and ask them to get Harry Potter, but they were clearly instructed not to interact with him. Now when they entered, Draco often didn't even make eye contact, instead accepting the food silently and watching as they rushed from the tent.

It was an embarrassing existence and gave Draco far too much time to reflect. He thought back to when he was a child, in his formative years at Hogwarts, feeling as if he ruled the school. His fifth year, when he was so drunk on power under the reign of Umbridge and thrived off the fear he invoked from his fellow students. He thought he was happy then – he had everything: a bright future full of success and wealth, security in his family's name, a fortune ready for him to inherit, and a strong belief in how the wizarding world should be, and his rightful place at the top of that. He wondered if, in a strange way, he would've been happier if he had continued to believe in the Dark Lord's ways. Blissfully ignorant to the devastation they caused, safe within the top ranks of the Death Eaters as they ruled the wizarding world with an iron fist, and without the knowledge that a more moral and fulfilling life existed. Although, to call his life fulfilling for having been enlightened all those years ago, was hardly accurate.

He looked around the tent: completely bare save for one chair, a small camp bed, and a tiny closed-off bathroom in the corner. Not even a book to read, or a window to see out of. His fall from grace was almost comical. The people he had bullied and invoked fear in for so many years, now his captors. Still though, he knew deep down that he would never trade blissful ignorance for his life now – humiliating and demoralising as it may be. What he had believed in so strongly, had been questioned so much over the years that it now made him ill to think that it used to be what he once trusted and wanted. The one thing that he had done right, in his entire life, was trust his feelings for Amelia. But the Death Eaters had taken that away from him as well. And now it seemed she couldn't even stand the sight of him. Before he'd been captured, as he trudged hopelessly around the country in search of the resistance, he'd had grand ideas of her rushing towards him as he was brought to the resistance, telling him that she had never given up hope, as others around them cheered for their successful reunion. Idiot, Draco berated himself. Of course she would've somehow caught wind that he was apparently a high-ranking Death Eater. From the moment he was captured in that forest, his father had ensure that Draco's name would be synonymous with the Death Eaters, perhaps in a desperate attempt to manifest something within Draco once more, or perhaps to just torture his son even further as he ensured that the knowledge would drive Amelia away. He thought back to her words the other night: 'I saw your engagement announcement…'. The accusation made him physically ill – if only she knew one ounce of the truth; if only she had been witness to one moment of that miserable marriage.

From the moment Draco was born, his father had committed him to a life where he was a slave to a cause he didn't even know was possible to question. He remembered in his fifth year, when his father introduced the idea of becoming a Death Eater to him.


Christmas, 1995

The house elves had laid the table for Christmas, but the decorations and lavish spread of food on the long table did little to penetrate the iciness which sat firmly around the Malfoy family. Draco had expected the day to be as it always had been: presents in the morning with his mother, Christmas lunch with his mother and father, before an evening with Luscious' closest confidants. This year though, Draco had gone downstairs to the lounge where the Christmas tree was, but underneath was bare. Beside it though, his father stood tall, proud and eager, and told Draco that this year would be different and that he would receive his present after lunch.

Christmas lunch was as it always was – Draco and his mother would attempt to make pleasant conversation and both desperately try and include Luscious, who would occasionally give a small nod in acknowledgement.

"Weren't you saying, Draco, that you had finished the term top of your Charms class?" His mother prompted, looking to see if her husband was listening.

"Second," Draco mumbled as he helped himself to more turkey.

"Who was first?" Luscious enquired in his unnerving, silky tone.

"Hermione Granger – a Gryffindor," Draco said with distaste.

"The mudblood?"
Draco nodded, glancing at his father who looked disapprovingly back at his son.

"That is no reason to celebrate, Narcissa," Luscious directed to his wife, whose shoulders wilted slightly. He glared at Draco. "I expect you to be in front by Easter. Second to a mudblood – you may as well be failing."
"Yes, father," Draco muttered, a warm flushing shame washing over him as he concentrated very hard on his plate.

"For what there is planned for you, you will certainly not be able to do successfully if you cannot even out-perform a mudblood girl in school," Luscious hissed.

"Planned?" Draco echoed with confusion, looking from his father to mother. Narcissa averted her eyes as she dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin, while Luscious took a large gulp of red wine as he stared silently back at Draco.

"Tonight," Luscious offered ambiguously, and Draco knew not to push this any further.

That night Draco sat dumbfounded in the lounge room, facing his father and aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange. His mother stood behind her husband, her hands resting delicately on the top of his leather chesterfield armchair, her eyes looking solemnly into the fire beside her.

"Draco – some exciting news," Luscious started as he poured himself his third firewhiskey. Draco saw that Bellatrix was overcome with giddiness beside him. "The Dark Lord has agreed that it is time you became a man."
Draco tried to ignore the tightening of his stomach muscles at the sound of You Know Who's name.

"He has seen great potential in you, he says you have a lot of promise as a Death Eater. He has tasks for you, ones that he believes only you could do. If you succeed in these, you will be leading the next generation of Death Eaters and purebloods into a new dawn of the wizarding world." Draco had never seen his father's face so animated.
"Tasks?" Draco asked, trying to sound confident and swallow the fear bubbling in his throat.

"Now is not the time to get into that," Luscious brushed aside. Draco saw his mother shift her feet at this, looking as if she wanted to interject.

"He wants to invite you into his ranks, Draco," Bellatrix said – sounding drunk with lust at the Dark Lord's mention.

"As in – become a Death Eater?" He made sure this time that his voice was void of any fear or apprehension.

His father gave a curt nod.

"N – now? Tonight?"
Bellatrix gave a short cackle; "look at him Cissy, so eager!"

"Not tonight, Draco, no. On your 16th birthday."

Draco did the maths in his head – six months.

That night, Draco didn't sleep. His left arm felt irritated and he kept absentmindedly scratching at it.

Was it anticipation he felt, to prove himself to the Dark Lord, his family and most importantly, his father? He felt excited about it – he kept telling himself this as he stared at the ceiling with wide eyes. Why did it feel muddled with fear? A sense of unnerve at the commitment he would be making?

I wasn't asked, I was told, he said to himself. This thought opened up to a series of memories of his father telling him what his future would be. Never asking, never encouraging, always simply demanding of his son. And now he was being demanded to join the ranks of something he'd never given much thought to. It was true that he had always fantasised about eventually being invited to join the ranks of the Death Eaters, but the crux of these scenarios often began and ended with the seal of approval from Draco's father, and the power it would give him over his peers (who, in this fantasies, were not invited as he had been). Further than this though, he hadn't analysed his feelings on it all.

He believed in it all though, he reassured himself. He hated muggles and those from muggle families. He agreed that the Dark Lord and his ideas should pave the way for the future of the wizarding word. His father had instilled this in him from an early age. Any violence was necessary – it was for the greater good, to make the world better. And now he had the opportunity to be a part of that…

As he finally tried to sleep, he felt the thoughts of doubts, of questioning his beliefs before taking on this commitment to Voldemort all itching to get to the surface of his mind, but he stamped them down, instead fantasising about flashing his Dark Mark on the train to Hogwarts in his sixth year. He settled in to sleep thinking only of the looks on the faces of his peers when they realised that he – out of everyone – had been chosen and trusted to join the Death Eaters.

And he didn't have any more feelings of doubt until he sat alone in his bedroom on his sixteenth birthday that summer. He stared at the large black mark in his skin, still raw and aching from when he was given it by the Dark Lord himself.

He was to kill Albus Dumbledore – that was his task; his focus for his sixth year at Hogwarts. He wasn't to worry about silly classes or homework or schoolyard drama anymore – the Dark Lord had assured him that if he were to be successful in his task, that his future would be bright and prosperous.

He could hear muffled yelling from somewhere nearby and opened the door, poking his head outside. His parents never fought but he could hear the acid tones drifting through the corridors of the Malfoy Manor.

"… only a boy, Luscious!..." he heard his mother say.

"He is old enough." His father replied coolly.

"He is sixteen! And he's your son – how could you agree to this?"
"You think I had a choice?" Luscious shot back. Draco frowned and leaned further out into the corridor.

"The Dark Lord – he doesn't actually intend Draco to succeed. Surely you realise this…"

"I know, but he must. Draco must succeed in this. The Dark Lord is testing our loyalty, Narcissa – he worries that I denied him all those years he was no longer here."

"And you're willing to put your son at risk to prove yourself worthy?"
There was a pause and Draco edged further still into the corridor and strained his ears.

"Narcissa. If Draco doesn't succeed – it is not only him that will be killed. It will be all of us. And if he hadn't agreed tonight… we'd all be dead right now," Luscious said, his voice dark and desperate.

Draco didn't stay to hear anymore.