A/N: I've been thinking of abandoning this fic due to the lack of response... Please leave a review if you'd like to read this to the end; I would appreciate it more than I can say.

Chapter 9

Though he hadn't had much practice with it lately, Draco immediately schooled his expression into one of frosty disdain. "Yaxley," he said coolly, eyeing the other man with suspicion. The two regarded each other for a long moment as passersby continued to jostle past them, oblivious to the silent tension rising in their midst.

When it became clear Yaxley was going to neither break the silence nor release Draco from his grip, Draco sneered and did both himself. "If you want to talk, we certainly won't do it here," he said, injecting as much authority as he could muster into his voice. He turned sharply on his heel and stalked away.

He didn't bother looking back to see if Yaxley was following him. The man may have been two decades Draco's senior, but as Lucius Malfoy's son and heir, Draco enjoyed a position of authority second only to Lucius himself. Despite having left in the manner he had, Draco's command still held.

He led Yaxley to a park he had come to with Harry just a week ago, wincing as he noticed the easy familiarity with which Yaxley navigated through what should have been an unfamiliar location. This, combined with how easily Yaxley had found Draco in the crowd before, left no doubt in Draco's mind that Yaxley or one of his associates had been tailing Draco for days now. Aside from raising questions as to whether Harry was also being followed and why Draco hadn't noticed earlier, the knowledge left a bitter taste in Draco's mouth. How many intimate moments between him and Harry had Yaxley been a witness to?

Shaking the disquiet from his mind, Draco trudged through the snow until he reached a small copse of trees at the far end of the grassy field that made up most of the park. Bare though they were, the trees were deceptively secluded, serving Draco's purpose perfectly. Despite the lack of potential onlookers in the park, Draco wanted every ounce of privacy he could get.

Draco heard Yaxley shoulder through the trees and waited for the older man to stop moving before he spoke. "Why are you here?" he asked, his back to Yaxley. He squared his shoulders and drew himself to his full height, drawing on every lesson his father had given him on portraying authority to disguise his horror behind a stony facade.

"Master Lucius has sent me to bring you home," Yaxley drawled. Even without looking, Draco knew the man was smirking. Draco scowled reflexively in response. Thankfully, the irritation gave Draco an outlet for the emotional turmoil he was struggling with. Focusing entirely on the ire Yaxley inspired within him, Draco let his anger grow until he trembled with the effort of keeping his rage contained.

He turned to face Yaxley, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. "Even if Father was feeling uncharacteristically merciful, he would never have sent a subordinate to escort me home," Draco said dismissively. "He wouldn't have trusted anyone else enough. So tell me why you're really here, and don't lie to me." He bit the last phrase out through clenched teeth, not bothering to hide his contempt for Yaxley.

To his increasing annoyance, Yaxley simply shrugged. "I would not speak of trust if I were you, boy. Perhaps Master Lucius intends to remind you of your position - or lack of it, I should say. He did not deign to come collect you himself; surely you understand the implications of such an act?" A smug smirk continued twisting his features, and his expression made it clear that he thought he had the upper hand. An unspoken He doesn't care for you any longer hung in the air.

A knot of horror supplanted the anger Draco felt, growing more potent with each second. But Draco didn't let his uneasiness break through his facade, focusing instead on regaining control of the confrontation. "You grow bolder in the absence of my father," he noted coldly. "As though you forget that I, too, am a Malfoy." The reminder cowed Yaxley somewhat. At the very least, he stopped smirking, which Draco counted as a small victory. He let his words hang between them for another minute. "Tell me, then, why Father believes I will change my mind. Tell me why he cares so much to send anyone at all, or why I would come with you when I have made my feelings clear."

"Far be it from me to divine a Malfoy's intentions," Yaxley said primly, his sudden subservience a mocking contrast to his previous brazenness. His lip curled then as he made his scorn for Draco known, and Draco's anger returned tenfold. "Feel lucky that you are being offered another chance to begin with, instead of asking such insolent questions. Mistress Narcissa fought hard to grant you pardon, though Master Lucius asserted, rightly so, that you did not deserve it. Do not let her efforts go to waste."

Draco choked back a distressed cry at the thought that his mother had interfered on his behalf. He swallowed against the lump that had suddenly taken up residence in his throat, burning the back of his throat with each breath. Unlike Narcissa, Lucius was neither kind nor forgiving; Draco could not even imagine the lengths to which his mother must have gone in order to give him this second chance.

But he couldn't go back. Though he knew she would face harsh consequences for his disobedience, he would not allow Lucius to use Narcissa like a bargaining chip. It would only reveal that she was one of Draco's weaknesses, allowing her to be used again and again in the future.

Draco turned away dismissively. He was silent for a minute, more to make Yaxley squirm with discomfort than to organize his thoughts. "Such threats are ineffective," he said finally. He was being truthful. What should he have felt lucky for? For the chance to reenter a life of needless violence and pointless cruelty? He stopped that train of thought, bile rising in his throat and threatening to spill over. Memories rushed unbidden to the forefront of his mind, as they had been doing ever since he had seen Yaxley, and he pushed them away to the best of his ability.

Draco took a breath to calm himself, glad that he had positioned himself so that Yaxley couldn't see how shaken he was. He needed to convince Yaxley of his conviction if he wanted to keep the upper hand in this already-tenuous conversation. "I don't owe you any justifications, Yaxley," Draco said. "Tell Father to come collect me himself, if he truly desires me to return. He must be losing his touch if he thinks I'll view this treatment as anything but an insult."

When Yaxley spoke next, his voice was cold enough to send shivers racing down Draco's spine. "You have a duty to the Death Eaters," he said. "You took the Mark. Do not forget the commitment you made."

Instinctively, Draco wrapped his hand around the tattoo, clenching his fingers until his nails dug into his skin. He was certain he could feel a bruise already blossoming, but he welcomed it with a sick sort of pleasure. He deserved it. If he could take back every ounce of pain he had caused another person, he would do so without hesitation. "And I regret taking it every day." Draco glanced over his shoulder to look Yaxley in the eyes. "I'm finished, Yaxley. I'm not one of you anymore. I won't be coerced into doing this kind of dirty work again." He stalked away before Yaxley could reply, shoulders squared and strides long.

As he crunched through the snow, Draco felt his head droop with the weight of the thoughts buzzing through his mind. He had been so certain that he had left his past on the other side of a closing set of train doors, stranded on a platform in London while Draco fled in search of a clean start. He had managed to forget, somehow, that a life such as his was not so easily abandoned, and that the severing of those ties would leave behind a tangled web Draco would be unable to escape.

He put two underground transfers and several kilometers between himself and Yaxley before he felt safe enough to give release to the emotions warring within him. He hunched in on himself, holding his head in his hands as violent shudders ripped through his body. Though he felt his eyes water, he angrily rubbed at them until the tears disappeared, unwilling to express that much vulnerability in public.

Thankfully, he made it back to the flat without incident. He collapsed into bed without caring that daylight still filtered in through the windows, exhaustion claiming him within seconds.

That was the night the nightmares started.