Draco stared at the Dark Mark on his forearm, watched the undulating serpent twisting into a knot as though it were a brand on another's arm and not his own. He tried to focus on pride, the only emotion that could make him stomach the black mark on his skin, or else what was it all for? Lamenting his fate, despising the Dark Lord, being afraid that he would fail his mission—this would only lead him to misery that he could not escape from. Instead, if he said he was proud of this brand, proud to be chosen…then, perhaps, one day it would be true.

Draco snapped his sleeve down, buttoned the cuff, and slipped into his suit jacket. He wandered out of the training room where he had spent most of his summer with Aunt Bellatrix, learning occlumency and honing other magical talents. He had a knack for mind magic. He was learning quickly, but his aunt's pace was brutal, her methods cruel. He had to be ready, she would say. He was going up against fully trained witches and wizards. They would not be fair so neither would she! He understood. But it left him a husk most days…

Draco headed toward the drawing room where the Death Eaters were gathering for a meeting. It was the only reason Aunt Bellatrix had called a break in their training. The Dark Lord himself was said to be arriving with news. Like the others, he was expected to attend. As he traversed the hallways, he noted how dark they had become. Just last summer, they had been full of light and laughter, what with those parties his mother had thrown…

All of that was gone now. The Malfoy name had been stripped of respect. "Fallen from grace", as the headlines had read after his father's trial. They were pariahs in magical society. None of their old friends would associate with them. And, of course, Mr. Selwyn had revoked the match offer with Amaris Grey. Though it had never been real to begin with, it still chafed to have it taken away. His mother, at least, was too devastated by everything else happening to her family to truly grieve that loss, though he could tell it was salt in an already gaping wound. He should have been at least a little relieved that he did not have to be the one to break the match, but he didn't feel relief at all.

Pain pricked his chest as he thought of Grey and her pile of letters locked inside his desk. There had been one a day that first week of summer, then twice a week, then once, and finally, she had stopped sending them. He did not respond to a single one. He read only the first few, all filled with sympathy for what had happened and queries as to how he and his mother were holding up, wondering if they needed anything.

He stopped reading them once Aunt Bellatrix began training him. He didn't want to think of Grey. He was afraid to expose her. So, he did everything in his power to excise her from his mind. He knew he should have burned the letters, just to be sure. Just in case he ever let something slip when he was exhausted. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not yet. Because her letters had made him feel…something other than fear. Something he couldn't risk showing anyone else.

Draco entered the drawing room to find most of the guests had already arrived and were sitting, talking quietly amongst themselves. His mother intercepted him before he could take his seat.

"You must go to the front gate immediately," she said quietly. To anyone else, it would have seemed like a simple request, but Draco recognized the tightness in her voice. She was afraid. "Now, Draco."

He nodded and, without asking questions, turned and briskly walked through the foyer, out the front door, and down the driveway toward the gate. The magic that secured Malfoy Manor attuned to the manor's owners, alerting them whenever a welcomed guest arrived or a visitor was seeking entry. Whoever was at the gate had rattled her.

Nervousness vibrated his chest, wondering whose face he would see coming up the path. A school mate's? A teacher's? The headmaster himself? What would he do then? The house was full of Death Eaters. The Dark Lord would be arriving any minute. How was he supposed—

A head of white-blond hair and a pale blue sundress appeared. Grey's light-colored eyes immediately found his. Panic seized him.

"Draco!" she exclaimed, hurrying toward him.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped. "You have to leave. Now."

"I was worried," she admitted, stopping just a foot away from him. She was beautiful. It twisted him up to look at her, like it had been months since they had seen each other instead of weeks. "How…how are you?"

"How did you even get here?"

"I snuck out," she admitted in a small voice. "They wouldn't let me come otherwise. How is your mother?"

"She's fine," he lied. "We're fine. You—"

Grey suddenly hugged him and Drago went rigid.

"I'm so sorry about your father, Draco," she whispered. "It's awful what happened…"

Draco swallowed the lump in his throat. His hand hovered at her back, fingertips itching to touch her skin and press her against him, but he couldn't indulge this for even a moment. It would be hard enough hiding it from his aunt even now. If she saw, if she knew… Worse, if the Dark Lord arrived when—

Draco grabbed her shoulders and forced her back. "Enough," he snarled, showing his anger instead of the terror that he felt. "You don't have to pretend anymore. The match is revoked. We have nothing more to do with each other."

"It isn't right, what they're saying about your family." She shook her head. "It isn't fair. You don't deserve—"

"Merlin's sake, Grey, it was one kiss," he said, grasping for any hurtful thing he could say to make her leave. "It didn't mean anything. You don't have to stalk me."

For a moment, she looked too stunned to speak. "I…I didn't…" She shook her head. "You never responded to my letters. I had to know that you were—I mean, of course you aren't okay, how could you be? I just—"

"I'm fine, Grey—"

She held out a small, golden-wrapped box and quickly blurted, "I came because I wanted to give you this. For your birth—"

Draco snatched the present out of her hands and threw it across the yard, panic overwhelming him. "I don't want your gifts," he sneered. "Go away."

Hurt warped her expression. A year ago, it would have given him immense joy to evoke that deep a reaction. Now, it made him sick to his stomach.

"I thought we were friends—"

"Friends?" The word slapped him across the face. After everything that had happened between them, she had assumed it was nothing more than friendship? "I can't believe you'd draw that conclusion," he spat. "We're not friends. I never intended to be your friend."

She flinched as though he had struck her. Her chin wrinkled as her mouth turned down, tears filled her eyes, and she looked like a wounded child trying her best to put on a brave face. She nodded and stepped back, breath coming in jerky puffs, then she turned and rushed away. Draco watched her go, vibrating from the adrenaline. He wanted to vomit.

It took Draco a full minute to snap his mental shields in place and don a calm façade. When he was able to return to the house, his mother met him in the foyer.

"Did you send her away?" she asked. He gave a single, sharp nod. The relief that she revealed was brief, but he saw it. "Good. You must keep her away from here, Draco."

He knew that. If the Death Eaters ever found out she was a blood traitor, they would hurt her. If the Dark Lord knew, he would do worse than hurt her.

"She won't be coming back," he assured his mother. Not after that look on her face…

"Good."

His mother gave him a small, rare smile and proceeded into the drawing room. Draco took a deep breath and followed her in to take his place at the table of Death Eaters.


Author's Note: I'm kind of sad we're done with house parties now...