A/N: it's 3am and i've lost control of my life

2 more chapters after this one! We're finally on the home stretch. Favs and reviews are immensely appreciated! Happy reading :)

Chapter 14

Draco left his Mark bare as he made his way to Harry's flat. The sight of it still threatened to send him spiraling into anxiety, but it hadn't yet. Maybe seeing Draco's bare arm would convince Harry that Draco's apology was sincere, and that he was willing to put in the effort to come to terms with his past.

Before Harry could accept or deny anything, though, Draco needed to actually apologize first. He began planning his words as he walked, letting the process distract himself from thinking about his Mark.

He knew he needed to apologize for how vicious he had been yesterday, though he didn't regret the words he had used. He would admit that shutting Harry out had only hurt them both, rather than protecting either of them as Draco had hoped, and he would promise to work on expressing vulnerability. And he would tell Harry the truth—about the Death Eaters, about Lucius and Yaxley and all of it. If Draco wanted to try to wipe his slate clean, Harry needed to know exactly what he was getting into.

He almost walked past Harry's flat, lost in thought as he was, and had to do a quick about face to turn down the right path. He texted Harry as he went, letting him know Draco was outside, and knocked sharply on the door when he reached it.

The door opened scant few moments later, but Harry wasn't the one standing on the other side.

"Looking for someone?" Yaxley asked, his thin lips stretched into a smug smirk.

Draco couldn't help his sharp intake of breath, nor the way he twisted his left arm to jam his Mark into his hip, but he managed to square his shoulders and draw himself to his full height. "What have you done with him?" he asked coldly, his mind racing to determine the most likely scenario.

"Nothing permanent," Yaxley replied, "though I can't guarantee things will stay that way. Perhaps things would be different if you had come by this morning when I'd asked you to."

A chill ran down Draco's spine. So Yaxley had had access to Harry's phone—and presumably Harry himself—since at least this morning. He couldn't have taken Harry any earlier than the night before, though; Harry had made no mention of Yaxley during their breakup. However long Harry had been in Yaxley's clutches, he was probably still nearby, close enough to be used as leverage.

Instead of answering Yaxley's question, Draco asked one of his own: "Are you alone this time as well, or has my father finally dismounted from his high horse and come to see me in person?"

Yaxley's smirk transformed into a scowl, his displeasure at being ignored abundantly evident. Just as during their past confrontation, though, he had no leg to stand on. Disgrace or not, runaway or not, Draco remained the son of Lucius Malfoy. "You'll find out soon enough," Yaxley said. He finally stepped forward, pulling the door shut behind him, and stalked past Draco while typing something on his mobile. "Come on, then," he snarled when he noticed Draco hadn't moved. "You should know better than to keep him waiting."

"Who, my father?" Draco drawled, keeping his tone purposefully nonchalant, but Yaxley was grinning again before Draco had even finished.

"Potter, of course," Yaxley purred. He turned his back on Draco once more and strode away. This time, Draco followed without a word.

Yaxley led Draco to a car idling in the street, where he opened the passenger door and motioned for Draco to enter. Draco saw no choice but to step inside. The door slammed shut behind him before he'd even sat down, pitching Draco off balance. Yaxley settled into the backseat soon after.

Behind the wheel was Dolohov, another Death Eater and a close friend of Yaxley's. Lucius had been fond of him; he was a quick shot and deadly accurate, earning him his position as Lucius' guard when Lucius met with suppliers or other gang leaders. Draco knew he would find no sympathy, much less assistance, on this front.

"Dolohov," he acknowledged, gazing out the windshield to avoid making eye contact.

Dolohov gave no response other than to start driving.

The drive was quiet. Draco spent some time pondering the implications of not being blindfolded. In his experience, Death Eaters only forwent the blindfold for victims who were expected to lose possession of either their eyes or their lives. Although Draco didn't think he was going to his death—Narcissa's subsequent grief would surely prevent that—his continued access to vision didn't bode well.

Gradually, the crowded buildings and cramped streets gave way to sprawling warehouses. The crowds that had populated the city center thinned out to virtually nothing, and the incessant hustle and bustle that characterized the city traded places with relative silence. It unsettled Draco; he was reminded of the many encounters he had carried out in out-of-the-way buildings and alleyways, where bodies and bloodstains would go unnoticed until long after Draco had washed his hands clean.

Sure enough, Dolohov pulled up to another drab warehouse, its façade nearly identical to the others that lined the block. Draco climbed out as soon as the car came to a standstill, taking a brief moment to orient himself and take stock of his surroundings. Then he moved toward the entrance, not waiting for Yaxley and Dolohov to catch up. They may have brought him here, but he didn't have to be delivered inside by them.

The metal doors opened onto a dark, empty space illuminated periodically by shafts of sunlight filtering through small windows near the ceiling. Draco paused just past the threshold to let his eyes adjust. He stood his ground as Yaxley and Dolohov pushed roughly past, their shoulders slamming into his and leaving his muscles tingling with discomfort.

His father drew his eye first. Lucius stood regally as always, his left hand placed behind his back, his right resting on a cane adorned with an elaborately carved snake's head, his shoulders drawn back and his spine ramrod straight. It was a familiar posture; Draco had spent a year learning to emulate it. A bulky shape interrupted Lucius' silhouette at the right hip, and though Draco was too far away to distinguish any details, he knew he was looking at a pistol.

A handful of Death Eaters milled about behind Lucius like bodyguards, all of whom had their Dark Marks exposed. The visual reminder of Draco's shared connection with these criminals and murderers sent a shiver down his spine. He assumed they were similarly armed. After all, Draco was a hostile force as far as Lucius was concerned, a renegade who may need to be subdued at any moment. Draco was painfully exposed in comparison, and goosebumps prickled along his arms.

A whimper sounded then, drawing Draco's gaze to a figure he hadn't noticed before. Off to the side, in the shadows between the small patches of sunlight painting the floor, was a man tied to a chair, with Montague, a Death Eater near Draco's age, standing alert beside him.

"Harry," Draco cried out before he could stop himself. His mind had gone blank at the sight of his boyfriend—well, his ex-boyfriend now—trussed up like any other Death Eater target. He wanted to rush forward and make sure the other man was alright, to cut him loose and reassure him that everything would be okay. But before he could take a single step, Lucius cleared his throat, and in a rush, Draco remembered that a single false move could spell the end for both of them.

Reluctantly, Draco turned to face Lucius, rearranging his own features into a more neutral expression. Lucius had the upper hand in this confrontation. Draco would have to manipulate the situation carefully if he wanted to escape with his and Harry's lives intact. He met Lucius' gaze evenly, ignoring Harry as he tried to speak around the gag in his mouth, and waited for Lucius to break the impasse.

"You've given me a lot of grief, Draco," Lucius said finally, disdain dripping from every word. "Throwing tantrums, running away without a word. Do you have any idea how frantically I worked to mitigate the fallout of your sudden disappearance? And now, this fantasy you're entertaining of studying law… I won't abide this insolence anymore. You've had enough time to work this rebellion out of your system. I'm bringing you home, Draco."

Draco scoffed. "Home? London isn't my home anymore, Father. I'm done! With the Death Eaters, with the bloodshed and violence, with you. Do you honestly think you're making a case for yourself by bringing me out here, by kidnapping my—" Draco swallowed past the lump in his throat. "By kidnapping Harry as leverage? He doesn't pose a threat. You only involved him to justify your own power trip. Because you couldn't stand letting me pave my own way. All of this"—Draco swept his hand across the tableau, from Harry to Lucius to the Death Eaters lurking in the back—"has only convinced me I made the right decision." He paused, breathing heavily and trying to rein in the anger and panic sweeping through him. "I'm leaving now—"

"Leaving?" thundered Lucius. "Remember your place, boy! Rebellion has made you arrogant, and it is time you were put in your place. You cannot possibly believe you would be happy here, rubbing shoulders with commoners and groveling to those who are beneath you. I've built you an empire, and I will not see you squander it for some naïve, misguided sense of superiority!"

He had stormed toward Draco as he spoke, his steps even and purposeful, his cane nothing more than an accessory. A façade. Draco was so sick of facades, had spent his whole life crafting one for himself only for it to turn to rubble anyway. Lucius traded in facades, in masks and caged hearts and secrets and lies, and in him Draco saw everything he would rather die than become.

"I never asked you to!" Draco shouted back, matching Lucius' intensity with his own. He strode deliberately forward, too, meeting Lucius halfway. "I don't want an empire built on the backs of innocents, an empire that only exists because the people within it fear you. I won't spill more blood than I have already. If I spend my whole life making amends, it won't be enough!"

Lucius sneered. "Amends? How can you make amends for who you are? Ruling is in your blood, Draco. It is your birthright. Do you truly intend to leave your legacy behind? You cannot escape your calling. You cannot run from the bloodlust that runs through your veins."

"I have to try."

"You will fail," Lucius spat. "If you imagine wiping your slate clean to be as easy as running away, you are a bigger fool than I ever imagined you to be. Do you think you can simply drop a curtain between your past and future and separate yourself from the things you've done? Do you think your future clients, your future colleagues, will see your Mark without knowing exactly who you are? Who you were, who you could have been?"

Shakily, but no less determined for it, Draco said, "I rather hope they'll see who I've become instead."

"And who have you become?"

"Someone who knows his worth," Draco replied. "Someone who is confident, who can be vulnerable and honest and have relationships with others that aren't founded on fear and violence."

It was only when Lucius glanced aside, his lips curling in contempt, that Draco realized he had made a mistake.

"Relationships with others?" Lucius repeated. "Others such as this boy, perhaps?"