Draco is supposed to be with Potter right now, underneath the whispering eaves and waning moon, his hands on the other boy's skin, his toes curling, the grass cushioning them as they fall into each other. He should be there, convincing him to wade into the lake naked as they had only once before, the water cool and slick between their hot bodies.
Instead, he's here, next to his father, waiting for the arrival of their Dark Lord. The Death Eaters had been coming in for the past half hour, sometimes individually, sometimes in twos and threes. They're all gathered in the parlor now, but he's sitting here in the study, across from his Father and his thin, regal Mother. His face softens as he looks into her eyes, which are a warmer gray than his Father's and more closely resemble his own. He feels a fondness towards her. She's always been the one to protect him.
He can tell that she's fought this battle for him as long as she could, but that she couldn't hold it off any longer.
"Draco." His Father's voice is clear and steady. "You know what you're here for, yes? You know that this has been coming for some time now."
He nods, working the muscles in his jaw, clenching his fists until his knuckles are bone white.
"And you know that this is necessary, so that you may have his Lord's trust and protection."
So that he won't kill us all, you mean, and it's what Draco wants to say, but instead remains quiet, nodding again, avoiding his Father's gaze.
" Draco ," the older Malfoy's voice is as sharp as a blade, "look at me." Draco's head snaps up, an icy fear running through his body.
"It's vital that you don't muss this up, boy," Draco recognizes the panic in the man's eyes. He sees it every day in his own. "Use your Occlumency, if you must. But you are, in every way, to appear as his loyal subject."
Draco's voice is a dull breath, "Yes, Father. I understand." His parents look at each other and touch hands for a moment before standing to leave. His Father pauses for a moment, looks as if he has something more he needs to say, but instead leans down to encapsulate Draco in an awkward, bony hug. Before Draco can realize what's happening, that, for the first time since he was perhaps a small child, his Father has hugged him, the embrace is gone.
His Mother stops too, sheltering the bones of his gaunt cheeks with her palms, "He means well, darling. You- you're his future, our future. He's doing this because it's what he believes is best for all of us."
Draco gazes up at her, leaning into her touch, "And you, Mother? What do you believe?"
A dark shadow passes over her face, and she drops her hands, turning away from him. He hears the caution in her next words.
"I believe, Draco, that I've taught you how to survive . And that's the most precious thing I've given you." She turns her head a little, her gaze calculating and concerned, "So live, my son, even if it means living in these shadows until the day comes in which you can touch the light."
As the door to the study closes, Draco briefly wonders if his Mother somehow knows about him and Harry Potter, if she meant something more by telling him to wait to touch the light.
If she's saying that Potter will get him killed if he's not careful.
He dismisses the thought. There's no way for her to have known. Yet, a queasy uneasiness nests in Draco's stomach.
He makes his way to the parlor. He hears voices inside-Antonin Dolohov's unmistakable accent, Fenrir Greyback's rumbling growl, the Carrow's crooning, sickening laughter.
His home is a place full of monsters.
Nails grip into his shoulder as he reaches for the door, and he turns, fearing red eyes and a snake-like visage. Instead he in confronted by his Aunt Bella's wild gaze and gnarls of hair. He relaxes, but only slightly. Aunt Bella is a crazy bitch if he's ever met one, but he'd prefer her to You-Know-Who any day.
Her lips twist into a smile, her teeth chipped and yellow, "Draco, my favorite nephew. Tonight is the night, child." Her fingers dig deeper, and he resists wincing.
"Hello, Aunt Bellatrix."
She barks out a laugh, "So formal, so polite. Your parents have raised you a bit too posh for my liking, I'm afraid." Her hair falls into her face, giving her a harrowed, mad look, "Well, we'll give it a few years a few hundred Unforgivables. I'm sure you'll find it within yourself to let your more…" she licks her cracked lips, grinning, " beastly side shine through."
The queasiness he'd felt earlier has turned into a ghastly sickness burning at the back of his throat. Still, he keeps his face stony and pertinent to her words, quirking a brow, "We'll see, Aunt Bella." Her eyes search his face, and he's afraid that she, a gifted Legilimens, will see past his barriers.
His fears seem unwarranted.
"Well, no sense dillying out here all day, letting them have all the fun," she laughs as she grabs hold of his arm and opens the door.
The room falls quiet as he enters. His Mother and Father are pale in the corner, and slowly, the Death Eaters begin to bow. Bellatrix looks behind them, her face pale, and she, too throws herself to the ground in worship. Tendrils of cold fill the room, and Draco feels hot, sticky breath at his neck. He turns stiffly, his whole body screaming for him to run.
Eyes as red as blood find his, and he wishes he could find it in himself to look away.
He drops to his knees next to his aunt, blood running cold in the Dark Lord's piercing gaze. Nagini slithers into the room, her tongue flicking into Draco's ear as she hisses.
"There's no need to resemble a corpse, child," the Lord's smile is something between a snarl and a grin, and nervous laughter fills the room. His arm sweeps out over their heads.
"After all, are we not friends here, gathered for this momentous occasion?" Rushed murmurs of agreement resound in Draco's ringing ears. Nagini circles back to him, her cold body brushing up against his.
It's all he can to to remain still and quiet.
Suddenly, he feels his body being levitation, pulled quickly towards the Dark Lord. "I said," the man growls, " Are we not friends? " Draco nods vehemently, eyes wide. He hears his Mother behind him, "Pardon him, M'Lord. He is young, and will learn with time spent under your benevolent command."
You-Know-Who looks at him for a moment, much in the same way Aunt Bella had earlier, before dropping the spell.
"Yes," he muses, "Benevolent indeed, Narcissa."
The Dark Lord indicates for them to rise, and Draco stumbles to his feet. A light hand steadies him, and Draco turns to see his godfather, Snape, lingering in the shadows behind him. Snape nods to him, and Draco faces away, oddly comforted by the man's presence.
"We are here," the Dark Lord declares, "To give a long overdue welcome to a new member within our ranks. Many of your children," he pauses to nod at the Notts, the Crabbes, and the Goyles, "Have already officially joined our ranks. And now we welcome young Draco, who has been honorably tasked already with the infiltration of Hogwarts and the eventual murder of one Albus Dumbledore." The room is tense, some eyes downcast, some boring into him.
"But first, one small task, Draco."
A hand seems to clamp over his heart, as Draco's chest constricts and he struggles to maintain composure.
"Bring the boy," the Dark Lord commands, and Pettigrew, who Draco hadn't even noticed before, scurries off.
"I had heard that a certain , " snarls You-Know-Who, "cast a dark spell at you hardly a month ago. That you were covered in deep, scarring wounds, marks that only dark magic could cause."
There's the sound of a struggle in the hallway, and then a prisoner is tossed into the room, his head down, and Draco's breath catches.
Potter .
The boy looks up at him, glasses broken and nose bleeding and- oh . Draco feels a sick, twisted relief calm him as he realizes that the person in front of him isn't his lover. Just someone who resembles him remarkably, except that his forehead isn't marred by any scar, and his eyes are a deep, warm brown, instead of Potter's kind, piercing green.
"For your initiation, Draco," the Dark Lord settles into a seat in the crowd of Death Eaters, "I thought you could take out your revenge on this Muggle look alike."
"You want me to kill him?" The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them, and the room roars with laughter. The Dark Lord holds out a hand to command silence, raising his chin, "I want you to Crucio him to death, Draco. Release years of contempt towards the righteous Harry Potter. " The name is spit out as if it's a vile, unnecessary thing, and Draco turns towards the body in front of him.
But oh, even if it's not Potter, the boy does bloody look like him.
Draco pales as he looks closer. They've got the same mouth, he realizes, same strong jaw, lean body. Same mass of dark hair. He gulps and raises him wand, determined to get it over with. Look into his eyes, he tells himself, but You-Know-Who stops him, waving his wand and casting a light glamour on the Muggle. The spell takes form in a veil of green eyes and a scar, and Draco shakes, sure that if he stands here much longer he might fucking piss himself.
It's not Potter, He tells himself as he raises his wand, and he pushes away the memories of them laying together under the stars, puts a wall between him and every stolen touch or glance that they'd shared, It's not Potter.
He knows that you have to mean these curses, that there has to be a certain kind of hate behind them, so he thinks of the Dark Lord- fucking Voldemort , he allows, and of this war, and how his own house has become just that: a house, a shell that once held the home he had loved as a small child.
"CRUCIO," He screams, and hears bones pop, sees limbs bend unnaturally as this Muggle who looks just like his Potter, soft, witty, sly, sexy Potter, convulses on the marble floors of the Manor. An odor fills the air and Draco realizes that the boy has shit himself, is gargling on his own vomit, and Draco casts the spell again and again until the body ceases to give even the smallest twitch or sound.
Draco isn't able to sleep when he slips back into his dorm that night, the mark on his arm aching like a fresh burn. Nott watches him all morning, tells him that he should eat something, but when Draco does try to choke down a piece of toast, he rushes to the restroom, barely able to keep the vomit in his throat long enough to make it to the toilet.
He hears footsteps on the cold tile. "Bugger off," he gasps, and his stall door clicks open. Theo is standing there, his features gentle and full of pity. He locks the door behind them and sits next to Draco. They're silent for a moment, a faucet dripping somewhere in the room. Finally, Theo shifts, pulling a phial full of clear liquid out of his pocket.
"Dittany solution," he explains. "It should take some of the sting out." Draco nods, grateful, taking it from him. A pause, a heartbeat or two of more silence.
"It's the screams that are the worst, yeah?" Theo closes his eyes, swallowing, "Those muggles- they're not used to magic. It affects them even worse, maybe, I think. Their screams sound like," he looks at Draco now,th "Like the sound was ripped from somewhere unholy, deep within."
Draco swallows the Dittany, nodding in agreement. He could still hear those throaty, animalistic shrieks. He thinks that maybe he always will.
After his last class of the day, Draco is on his way to the library to find some kind of solace, when something unseen yanks the back of his cloak and pulls him into a classroom. Draco looks around, panicking when he sees no one, but then Potter's head appears, floating, and then his whole body is revealed as a shimmering cloak falls to the floor.
Draco curses, "What the bloody hell-"
Potter crosses his arms. "Where were you last night?"
Draco looks away, his voice cold. "I got caught up. Zabini needed help with-"
"Bollocks, Malfoy, don't fucking lie to me-" Potter grabs Draco's arm and he hisses in pain, pulling away. Potter's brow creases, confusion clouding his face before realization dawns. Before Draco can stop him, Potter jerks up his cloak sleeve, revealing the red, raw mark on his forearm.
Draco feels a surge of sorrow and guilt, reaching for him, "Potter-"
"Don't bloody touch me-"
"You don't understand, Potter, there are factors at play-"
" Factors at play, Malfoy?" Potter sneers, and Draco's heart lurches, and right then, he wonders why Potter wasn't put into Slytherin- he's got the venom for it, that's for sure. "The only fucking factor at play is that you're a Death Eater, you chose to be a Death Eater, you left me to join the people-" Potter's voice cracks, and Draco wants to hold him close, "the ones who killed my godfather, the only real family I had left."
Draco opens his mouth, but Potter cuts him off.
"Now I wish that you'd been doing what I thought you were doing, cheating on me, whoring yourself out to Zabini-"
" Zabini!?"
"Getting on your bloody knees for him, because don't think for a minute I haven't seen the way he looks at you-"
Something inside of Draco snaps. He presses Potter up against a desk, lifts him up and pins him there by standing in between Potter's knees.
"I couldn't cheat on you, Potter, because we're not together. You're the one balls deep in that sodding redhead-" Potter opens his mouth, and Draco kisses him hard, biting and sucking at his lips viciously.
"The only whore, here, Potter is you. You're my Gryffindor whore, and that's all you are, my dirty little fucking secret -"
He rips Potter's shirt open, his hands craving the warmth of his body, and Draco could never tell him that he needs to touch him because he needs to know that he's alive.
Potter tugs at Draco's clothes desperately, and Draco pulls off his shirt, capturing Potter in a kiss, softer this time, full of all the things left unsaid. Potter pulls back and cradles Malfoy's arm in his, stroking him thumbs around the edge of the Mark, "Malfoy," he whispers, and there's so much fear there, so much concern, that Draco can't help but gather him to his chest and smooth his hair back, "I know. It'll be okay. Merlin, I don't know how, but-"
Potter wraps his legs around his waist, leaning up and kissing him, a sweet press of his lips that tastes like a prayer. He leans his head against Draco's bare chest, drawing circles into his skin, and Draco closes his eyes, feeling tears well up. He holds them at bay, but just barely, and pulls Potter closer to him. This boy, this beautiful boy, is his only salvation.
"Well, well," a familiar voice drawls, "This is a bloody surprise." A smirk that Draco knows too well appears, a toss of hair that he's seen since childhood-
Blaise fucking Zabini.