Draco stood in the drawing room with his parents as Death Eaters slowly arrived for the important gathering. He stared at the floor as he had done all summer long in hopes to avoid seeing the horrible things that took place in his house. He wished he could say he had been successful…

The war had begun the moment Dumbledore had died and the summer had been a blur of Death Eaters coming and going on special assignments and meetings to plot and plan every move, chief among them finding Harry Potter.

Draco and his family were not assigned any special tasks. In spite of the Dark Lord's satisfaction with Draco's completed task, freeing his father was the only boon he granted. The Malfoy family had fallen so far out of his favor that they remained at the Manor, sitting in on meetings, holding their silence. Watching witches and wizards tortured for information. Murdered as penance for thinking differently.

Do what had to be done. That was the unspoken rule that had helped them survive this long. So Draco stood there rigidly, his hands in his pockets, and stared, trying not to think of all the awful things he had witnessed. And just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, that's when Sagun Selwyn walked through the door with Amaris Grey in tow. Draco thought his heart would stop beating.

"Mother," he whispered in horror.

Beside him, his mother turned and sharply inhaled. It was the only reaction she would show. She had been a rock for him and his father, unflappable in the face of all heinous acts and unfair treatment, but that sharp intake told him enough of her fear.

Draco stared, frozen to the spot, afraid to meet Amaris's eyes, afraid to look away, afraid of who would see her. She's here. Why is she here? The Dark Lord would see through her. He would hurt her, kill her. She's here! She would see him, would know for sure what he was. Why, why, why was she there?

Mr. Selwyn stood rigid as stone, face drawn and forehead wet with sweat. He was nervous. Afraid. Served him right. Amaris stood behind him, her long, white-blond hair falling straight down her back and around her face, as though trying to hide behind it. She wore a plain, black dress that covered her neck to knee, the sleeves stopping at her knuckles. It was neither form-fitting nor shapeless, designed to avoid drawing attention to the wearer. They hoped she would be overlooked.

Mr. Goyle approached them and struck up a conversation. From where Draco stood, he could not hear what was said. All he could see was Mr. Selwyn's nervous nodding and wayward glances. Draco wanted to go to her, to protect her somehow, but he couldn't move. His feet were rooted to the spot. He was afraid… He was a coward and he hated himself for it, but he couldn't make his feet move.

Draco swallowed the lump in his throat, silence roaring in his ears, his eyes fixed on her as he waited for the Dark Lord to enter the room, waited for something devastating to happen. But when the Dark Lord entered with Snape at his side and bodies began shuffling toward the table, Draco lost sight of her. Panicked, he looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of her as he moved toward his chair, but she was nowhere.

"How could you?" he hissed to Mr. Selwyn as he passed by.

"I had no choice," the man bit back in a harsh whisper.

And then he had moved on, taking his seat further down the table. Draco sat beside his mother and risked a glance around at the others. Amaris was not there. Draco's frown deepened. Where was she? Mr. Selwyn had said he had no choice to bring her…but was he still trying to hide her by keeping her out of the meeting? But there were other Death Eaters in the house, patrolling, guarding… Where had she gone?

The hour ticked by agonizingly slow, his anxiety drawing out the time. He barely had any idea what had been discussed, too distracted wondering where Amaris was and if she was all right. He kept thinking back to the beginning of the summer. She had sent three letters before they stopped coming. Draco couldn't bear to open them. He was afraid of the contents. Is it true? He was certain that was the crux of each letter, her delicate scrawl begging for an explanation, but that she had to even ask—that was what he was afraid of. Never mind that it was true, that he deserved her suspicion. He just didn't want to see it branded in ink. And now she was in his home where she could see the truth, and any denial he might offer was moot.

When the meeting finally ended, Draco immediately went looking for her, racing through his house as quietly as possible. Nowhere. She was nowhere! Not in any of the rooms. He— Outside. He hadn't checked outside. Draco immediately went to the veranda, sneaking into the backyard cast mostly in shadow. That's when he heard hushed voices.

"I'm so sorry, Tippy," Amaris whispered. "It's cruel…"

"Miss shouldn't worry about Tippy," the house elf rasped.

"Can't I do anything for you?"

"No, Miss!" Tippy answered as Draco inched around the porch, gaze searching for the pair. "It is a punishment, Miss. Healing it would only make things worse for Tippy."

"I understand," Amaris murmured.

"Ah, goodness," Tippy exclaimed in horror. "Miss is bleeding!"

Draco rounded the corner to spy Amaris sitting on the steps in a shaft of moonlight, Tippy wringing her hands beside her. Amaris had removed one of her shoes, her foot bruised purple and yellow on the heel and along her toes, fresh blood sparkling around her toenails. Draco felt bile crawling up his throat.

"Wait a moment, just a moment," the house elf urged. "Tippy can—"

"I'm afraid this is my punishment," Amaris told her. "There's nothing that can be done for me, either."

The house elf's ears drooped in sadness, her tiny hand reaching out to touch Amaris on the arm. As Draco drew near, her eyes widened and her head snapped up in alarm.

"Master!" she cried.

Amaris looked up in shock. "Draco!" she gasped.

Draco tried not to look at her, focusing instead on his house elf. "You're dismissed," he told the creature. Tippy nodded and immediately vanished. Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets, silence settling between them. When he finally looked at her, she was staring at the ground. Fear riled him to anger—fear of her rejection, fear for her life. He wanted to explain that he had no choice, to take her away from there. Instead, he growled, "What are you doing here?" When she didn't answer, he continued bitterly, "Ignoring me, then? Because I turned out like my father?"

The corners of her mouth turned down and she finally lifted her head. "It's not true, right?"

"Which part?"

"All of them," she whispered.

Draco grimaced and looked away. How could he explain anything to her? The walls had ears. They weren't safe. "Why are you here?" he asked again.

She drew in a shaky breath. "Uncle told me. Everything. He said I had to come here and," her voice dropped to a whisper, "and show my future father-in-law my support of…of…" Her mouth wrinkled around the words, "Pureblood supremacy."

"He accepted the match," Draco surmised. She nodded and he felt sick. Anger and hurt and loss rushed over him. "I guess Theo will be disappointed."

"What are you talking about?"

"You think I don't know?" he asked quietly. "How the two of you carried on?"

"Carried on?" she asked, flabbergasted. "Carried on?" There was hurt and anger in her voice. She suddenly stood up and Draco tried not to flinch as his gaze landed on her bruised feet. "Do you mean when he came to me just before Easter to tell me how depressed you'd been?" She took a step toward him, her toes oozing blood. "Or when he told me that you'd been sent to the hospital having almost died?" Her swollen feet looked black in the shadow of her dress, toes trembling with every step. "By carried on, do you mean the way he worried so much about your suffering that he came to me time after time because he foolishly thought I could help you?"

Draco held his breath, trying to process what she was saying, trying not to vomit at the sight of her feet. It had been Theo who had told her where to find him before Easter? Theo had run to tell her about his duel with Harry because he knew he would want to see her more than anyone else? Draco had suspected Theo's cavalier attitude had been bluster, his innuendos all talk, but to know his friend had been secretly going through such lengths for him…

"He cares about you, Draco. They all do. They're worried sick about you."

"Was he the reason you—"

"Of course not," she whispered. "I care about you, too."

Draco swallowed hard and stared at the ground. He didn't know what to say. All that came out was, "Your feet—"

"I know."

"You're bleeding!"

"I know."

"Why?"

"Because I won't marry Gregory," she whispered, "and my Uncle knows it." Her shoulders drooped. "It's my punishment," she said, "for being a—"

Draco cleared the distance between them and slapped his hand over her mouth so suddenly that she shrieked into his palm. He grasped the back of her neck, holding her head between his hands so she couldn't get way. Their faces were so close that, when he spoke, his lips brushed against the back of his knuckles.

"Don't say it," he growled between clenched teeth, gazing at her wide eyes filled with alarm. "Don't even think it. Not here. Do you understand?" When she jerked a nod, he let the hand covering her mouth fall away, but he kept her head held close to his. As they breathed the same air and he stared into her eyes, he found himself answering her earlier question. "It's not true," he said so quietly that he barely heard himself speak. Hope lit up her eyes. Draco linked his hand with hers. "Come on."

He drew her down the steps. She tugged on his arm to stop him, bending to put on her shoes. He reached out to stop her but she shot him a look.

"Don't," she rasped.

"Then let me heal—"

"You can't," she told him. "Please. It will only make it worse."

"You can't seriously wear them," Draco said.

"I don't have a choice. If he knew I took them off, I—" She winced. "Just leave it alone."

At the desperation in her expression, Draco could only nod in concession. She whimpered as she slipped her pumps back on, crying out as her bloody toes squeezed into the too small shoe, the hard back scraping over her raw heel. Draco immediately held out his arm to her and she came to him, letting him take her waist. Draco ushered them down the steps and into the dark garden, walking her to the same alcove they had shared one Christmas when he hadn't realized how happy he was, how lucky he'd been.

"Draco—" she started but he silenced her by pulling her flush against him.

"Like this," he whispered against her mouth. They were close enough to conspire, but if anyone saw them, they would think they were just two teenagers stealing away for a snog in the bushes, hiding from their parents who had promised them to other people. "No one will hear," he started to explain. "They'll think we—"

Amaris nodded in understanding before he could finish. Her palms flattened on his back, sliding up to his shoulder blades. Draco angled his head, gazing at her mouth. His cheek scraped hers as he planted his mouth next to her ear and whispered.

"I didn't have a choice."

It was the only truth he dared confess.

She drew back to look at him, brow furrowed. "It's true?" she murmured. He nodded ever so slightly. Her lower lip quivered. "Dumbl—"

He slapped his hand over her mouth again. "It wasn't me," he hissed. "It was Snape." He felt her sob against his palm. "Sh!"

He felt her fluttering breaths, heard her swallow hard, and then she nodded. His thumb stroked down her chin and traced a path along her jaw before gripping the back of her neck.

"That's why you were… All year long…" She trailed off. He nodded. She drew in a shaky breath. "You aren't… You're not…" She couldn't get her question out. Instead, one hand left his back to wrap around his left forearm. She was asking if he was a Death Eater. Draco grimaced and nodded. Her lower lip quivered. "Draco," she blubbered in disbelief, shaking her head.

Draco gripped her jaw tightly, opening his mouth to warn her, to silence her, to explain, to beg her understanding, but nothing came out. He just stared at her eyes and her mouth. Two years ago, he would have considered their predicament blissfully arousing, but in the present moment, he couldn't even rummage up the desire to kiss her. He was so petrified—for her, for him, for his family—that he could barely explain himself to her.

"That isn't you," she murmured against his mouth. "This isn't what you wanted. You had no choice."

"Amaris—"

"I know you said the words, but you don't believe them. You don't, not in your heart. I know you don't."

Did he? He had spouted the Pureblood rhetoric his entire life, but what had it cost him? Everything he had done had been to protect his family, but where had it led them? They had been drawing lines in the sand his entire life, but if this was the cost, was it worth it? What future was awaiting them? One of endless fear? Was tolerating Muggle-borns really so bad? Were they really such a plague on the magical community? How could that be true when Granger—insufferable a girl as she was—was such a talented witch? His parents had told him that Purebloods were superior and he had believed them, but were they wrong after all?

Was all of this death for nothing?

Draco stared at her, at a loss for words. His world was cracking open, his foundations crumbling. For nothing or not, it didn't matter. The Dark Lord had won. Because the only wizard powerful enough to stop him was dead, and it was Draco's fault.

Amaris suddenly touched his cheek. "Draco—"

"My, my," a high-pitched voice purred. "What have we here?"

Heart thundering in his chest, Draco whirled around as his Aunt Bellatrix emerged from the shadows, a grin on her pale lips. Her dark eyes took in Amaris behind him. Draco immediately slammed his emotions down deep, letting a cold expression settle on his face—his Slytherin armor, he thought with a hint of irony.

"Goyle's girl?" she tutted. "It isn't nice to play with other people's things, Draco."

"She's not his anything. She's mine," he sneered possessively, trying to hide his fear behind arrogance. He took Amaris's hand and felt her squeeze his fingers. "She was my match first."

"Was she?" Aunt Bellatrix mused, walking a slow circle around them. The playful lilt in her tone suggested she thought he was making excuses.

"Her uncle broke it off when father was discovered at the ministry," he explained, turning to always keep his aunt in his sights. "Didn't want to be tied to our disgrace."

Her eyebrows pinned back in curiosity. "Oh?" she asked, but her tone lacked flippancy. She was giving his words some thought.

"He's selling her off to the Goyles," he told her, "but our feelings haven't changed."

Her gaze dropped to where Draco was holding Amaris's hand. "Yours was a happy match, was it? Like Cissy's to Lucius?"

"Yes," Draco answered. Aunt Bellatrix pouted at him. "But it didn't matter how we feel. Goyle won the auction, but she doesn't love him."

Aunt Bellatrix stopped moving. Her eyes cut to his, all amusement instantly vanished. She had personal experience with the Pureblood custom of match-making and their unhappy results.

"Is that so?" she whispered dangerously, a frightening clarity in her eyes.

"Yes," Amaris answered. Aunt Bellatrix's eyes pounced on Amaris. Draco stiffened. Slowly, Aunt Bellatrix came closer. Beside him, Amaris was barely breathing. She clutched his hand so tightly that it hurt.

"We don't get to choose, do we?" Aunt Bellatrix hissed as she stopped in front of them. Amaris shook her head. "But if you could," her eyes slid to Draco, "would you choose him?"

"Yes," Amaris replied.

It was the cruelest lie she had ever told, and Draco wished it was true with all of his heart.

For agonizing seconds, Aunt Bellatrix stared at them with her hollow gaze. And then suddenly she hopped back, smiled wickedly, and then she vanished. Draco cursed under his breath, racing out from the alcove back toward the house, tugging Amaris along with him. He forgot her feet, ignored her gasps, could only feel the dread pooling in his stomach.

When they came through the French doors into the foyer, he found Aunt Bellatrix grinning like a cat between his father, his mother, and Mr. Selwyn. Draco stopped dead in his tracks as they all turned to look at him and Amaris, at their linked hands. Aunt Bellatrix whispered something to Mr. Selwyn. He paled and nodded stiffly. She giggled in vicious glee.

His mother smiled and opened her arms. "Amaris, my dear," she said gently. Amaris went to her and hugged her tightly. His father just watched, a new layer of agony on his weathered face. Mr. Selwyn approached Draco, his mouth set in a grim line.

"Congratulations, Draco," Mr. Selwyn rasped. "You've won my niece's heart." He held out his hand. Draco cautiously took it. "And you've probably killed her."

Mr. Selwyn pumped his fist once in a firm shake, his mouth wobbling as he struggled to contain his ire and remorse, and then he abruptly turned away. "Amaris, it's time to go," he said in a voice that brooked no argument.

She barely had time to look back at him before her uncle called her name again. Draco followed them out of the house and watched them walk down the driveway. He held his breath until he saw them pass through the front gate.


Author's Note: In the eighth film, Voldemort seems to portray this kind of inclusivity act, such as when he offers to let people join them. He feigns affections, like when he hugs Draco for returning. In the fourth film, he implies the Death Eaters are his old friends. There's a hint of humanity that accompanies him in spite of his monstrous appearance, though his actions ultimately belie that humanity. All that to say, I think when Voldemort found out Selwyn had a niece, he told Selwyn to bring her with him, to bring her "into the family". But when Selwyn brought her, Voldemort was too distracted with his plans to actually remember anything about her. Granted, I think she would have survived that meeting. After all, Voldemort is used to seeing fear on his followers' faces.