Warning: panic attack later in the chapter, don't read if you think it'll upset you

Draco was at a long, dark table with a dozen darkly hooded figures. At the head of the table was something not quite human, a grotesque figure with pale skin stretched across its sharp features and chilling red eyes: Voldemort. The sight made Draco shiver involuntarily. Forcing himself to keep his eyes moving, Draco noticed his father directly to the Dark Lord's left. Draco felt like he had been here before although he couldn't fathom why.

"Draco," Voldemort's shrill voice rang out, "your father believes it is time for you to make your allegiance…official."

Draco inhaled sharply as all in attendance began to whisper excitedly. He went to open his mouth without thinking, to object, but he found it sealed shut. Ironically, his father also disapproved of his silence, but for an entirely different reason.

"Draco, tell the Dark Lord how thankful you are for this opportunity."

Still unable to speak, Draco remained silent.

"Now," Lucius said, a smirk lighting his features, "or you will regret it."

"Itty bitty Draco afraid to speak in our master's presence!" Bellatrix shrieked.

Draco wanted to scream back, anything at this point; anything would be better than the silence. He realized, however, that things had long spiraled out of his control.

"Lucius, normally I like to discipline my own followers, but I feel given the circumstances I have taught you enough to handle this."

"Of course, my Lord, thank you," Lucius bowed his head before fixing Draco with his hardest glare.

Suddenly, the rest of the room dropped away. They were in the Malfoys' dungeons, with no one to witness what was about to happen; no one to save him. Draco's anxiety consumed him as his hands shook uncontrollably and he could hear blood rushing through his ears.

"You're a puppet," Lucius sneered, "and your performance has been less than satisfactory. Now, bow."

Draco felt himself bend over unwillingly, eyes never leaving his father.

"Much better," Lucius praised, "now, kill the mudblood."

Draco had thought they were alone, but looked to the right where Skyler lay. She was staring at him intently, refusing to back down.

"Surely, puppet, you heard me."

Draco's eyes widened in shock as his wand raised to point at Skyler.

"Weak," she spat out, and he heard Lucius chuckle darkly.

"I am not weak," he growled, "avada kedavra!"

She crumpled to the ground, and Draco turned to face his father.

Skyler stood in his place, as alive as Draco was.

"Sure you are," Skyler answered his earlier statement, "you just committed murder to prove a point! That seems like someone with confidence issues, don't you think?"

He raised his wand and shouted the killing curse again, and again, she crumpled.

"Now, now, Draco, didn't father dearest teach you a politer way to disagree?"

Draco spun in every direction, but couldn't find where her voice was coming from.

"Then again, I bet he wouldn't encourage you to disagree at all. Puppets work better when they don't talk back."

Draco began to run around the room desperately needing her to stop talking. She began to laugh, the noise echoing in the large space and magnified to an ear-splitting volume. It was then Draco realized he wouldn't be able to find her no matter how hard he searched; it was hopeless. He was hopeless.

Draco awoke in a cold sweat, his mind struggling to catch up to the present. I'm in my room, in my bed. I didn't attend a Death Eater meeting nor was I just in the dungeons. Skyler does not have powers of invisibility.

Feeling a little calmer, Draco rolled over to reach into his nightstand and grab his journal. He had to write all his nightmares out, otherwise, they would replay in his head uninhibited. He opened to the next page, took out his quill that glowed so that one could write in the dark, and focused on the facts of the dream instead of how he had felt. Facts were easier to process. Draco wrote until he was sure he had covered every detail, then placed the quill and journal back into the drawer he had taken them from and then closed it. He had long ago charmed it to only open at his touch, just in case. It was still dark out, Draco had long stopped checking the time when he woke up in the middle of the night, so he rolled over in an attempt to sleep more. He knew there were several dreamless sleep in the second drawer of his nightstand, but he didn't want to become reliant on them. Although less sleep usually made him that much less pleasant, people didn't notice a difference from his normal attitude, so it worked out alright. Draco tossed and turned for a long while before giving up for the time being.

He sat up and whispered Tiki's name, patiently waiting for her to appear. It took a little longer than usual, but she was there without fail.

"Little master are you alright?"

Draco nodded, "just a touch of insomnia, Tiki, don't worry. If you could bring me some chamomile tea, though?"

Tiki nodded, not entirely convinced, but came back with a piping hot cup. Draco nodded his thanks, but the timid elf didn't leave right away.

"Sir? Tiki doesn't know if you've been keeping track of the days, sir, but…Tiki just wanted to wish sir a Happy Christmas."

Draco looked up from his cup of tea in shock. This is only my third day back? I feel as if I've been here for weeks.

Tiki kept her eyes trained on him apprehensively and Draco realized she was waiting for a response of some sort. At a loss for anything else to say, Draco simply responded "Happy Christmas, Tiki."

She smiled at him, looking truly happy, before popping away to leave him alone with his tea and his thoughts. That means I have seven days left in this hell hole; seven days for father to get creative. Draco shuddered. No, I'm not thinking of such things right now. I'll never fall back asleep that way. Draco shifted so that he was propped up against all the pillows in his bed and stared at the steaming mug in his hands. He sipped it slowly, assuming he still had two or three hours until the sun came up. It's Christmas; that means father's annual Holiday Gala will be this evening. It would not do well to be tired. The Holiday Gala entailed hours of empty talk to keep up appearances; something Draco looked forward to when he was younger. Now it was just exhausting to laugh at the right times in an effort to make his father look good. Not that anyone would dare to say a bad word against his father with the amount of power he held. Although, it will be a welcome distraction. Sufficiently sidetracked from his earlier nightmare, Draco finished the last of his tea and set the empty cup on the nightstand. Rolling over, he drifted to sleep to treasure the last few hours he had in his bed.

xXx

Draco popped awake at 7:30 knowing it would be time for breakfast soon. He got up to brush his teeth and heal any residual injuries, to look presentable for the gala, then dressed in his signature dress shirt and slacks. He went downstairs with no hesitations, his father was bound to be pleasant due to the upcoming dance, and entered the kitchen to find his mother eating a bowl of oatmeal. He grabbed a plate of toast and eggs off the table, stasis charms are a lifesaver, and sat next to his mother. The silence pressed on for a few minutes, slightly uncomfortable, before Narcissa raised her eyes to face her son.

"Draco, I trust you remember today's plans?"

"Yes, mother."
"I'll see to it that a house elf brings up your dress robes. Guests will arrive at five, please be ready for 4:30."

Draco nodded again, recognizing the end of the conversation, and finished his food quickly. Finishing by 8, that left him several hours to brew before he had to get ready. Draco left the room before his mom could continue the conversation and made his way to the potions lab. He wanted to brew some draught of peace while he had some time. Both the trip to the lab and his time brewing were uneventful; he managed to brew 6 draught of peace uninterrupted. Casting a quick tempus charm told him it was 3pm, so he finished the potion he was working on then headed to shower. Stepping into the shower, Draco sighed as the hot water hit him. Nothing feels better than breathing in steam as hot water hits your skin. He just stood in the shower for a few minutes, soaking up the calm, before actually washing his hair and body. Upon exiting the shower, he noticed his dress robes had been set out for him. He dried his hair, and shaved his face, with a flick of his wand and put on the dress clothes he had been wearing earlier to go under his robes. Checking the time, Draco realized he was due downstairs any minute, so he summoned all his courage and strode out the door, taking extra care to make sure his icy façade was firmly in place.

He strode into the entry hall to take his place by his mother, with his father on her other side. Draco and his mother made polite small talk while waiting for their guests to arrive, but the entire time, Draco could feel Lucius' eyes boring into him. Draco could practically hear him screaming don't embarrass me tonight.

As the guests began to fill the hall, all thoughts of Lucius were temporarily wiped from Draco's mind. Numerous prestigious families filtered past as the Malfoys welcomed each to their home one by one. After many fake smiles, the group made their way to the dining room, which had transformed from the usual awkward 3-chair set up to a spectacular Christmas scene. Mistletoe hung from the ceiling above a splendid red tablecloth topped with bright, blooming poinsettas and dozens of dining chairs. Additionally, the table was decked out with brilliant silver and gold plates and utensils while outside snow could be seen falling; the house elves had charmed the windows. The extravagance of the dining room was lost on Draco, who had grown up in this setting; the only indication he noticed anything different was the slight raise of one eyebrow. Gracefully, he took his seat, and as those around him followed suit he found himself sitting in between his mother and Pansy. As salad appeared in front of all the dinner guests, the sounds of small talk and clinking silverware filled the room.

"Anyways, so then Parvati told Padma who told Isobel who told Millicent who told Tracey who told Daphne who told me and now I'm telling you…"

She's like a miniature of my mother; forever the gossip. How dreadfully boring.

"and so she threw up all over him! Can you BELIEVE it?"

Taking it as a cute to laugh, Draco chuckled briefly while raising an eyebrow in what he hoped to be an amused expression. It's a wonder we're considered friends after 5 years of this.

Pansy smirked, satisfied her story had amused him, and continued on filling him in on the drama he had missed over break thus far. His friends were aware his father was particular about the mail Draco sent in and out of the house; demanding Draco spend his time in productive ways instead of meaningless exchanges with his so-called friends. They did not know the extent to which he paid for disobeying this rule, but he didn't enjoy the meaningless chatter anyways. Pansy was the only one of his friends that did not take a hint well, Crabbe and Goyle were on a whole other level of stupid.

Amazingly they were already on the main course, lamb or steak depending on the guests' preference. Draco was in the process of cutting his steak when Lucius tapped his glass with his knife to get everyone's attention.

"I wanted to take this time to thank all of you for joining us this evening. It's families like ours that continue to keep the wizarding world pure and strong. I know that, someday, our morals will shine through the darkness we find ourselves in currently. Take courage in knowing that, soon, sooner than you think, pureblood families will reign supreme once more. A movement will begin."

Draco froze. He heard the threat in those words. Voldemort is planning something big that he has only entrusted father with so far, which is why he feels the need to flaunt it.

Lucius smiled at his guests, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, before concluding his speech, "let us raise our glasses… to a brighter future. The sooner the better."

It's ironic he's using all these metaphors for light and dark when we all know full and well we are on the dark side.

Nevertheless, Lucius' speech was met with resounding cheers and smiles as the present company raised their glasses, both alcoholic and nonalcoholic (Draco's was alcoholic; no one dared question him on it), to the sentiment they all believed so wholeheartedly. Draco went through the movements robotically, but his mind was a million miles away—no matter what plan Voldemort had entrusted Lucius with, it would not be good news for many. Disgusted, Draco sneered to himself since when do I care about what happens to anyone besides myself? He, unfortunately, also had the answer: since I also now seem to play a direct role in their torture. So it's self-preservation. He somehow knew that wasn't the entire truth, though.

The rest of the meal flew by in a flurry of excitement; the room had seemingly become charged by Lucius' speech. As the last of dessert was scraped from people's plates, Lucius encouraged his guests to move into the ballroom for more refreshments and the chance to socialize further. Chairs were pushed back as the mass of guests moved their way to the next room, Draco telling Pansy he would join her in a second. He wasn't sure if it was the firewhiskey coursing through his veins, but he stood up and approached his father, braver due to the many witnesses around.

"So, father, it seems you are directly involved with something…revolutionary?" He might as well stroke his ego.

"Ah, Draco, I should've known you would pick up on subtext; intelligence is genetic, after all. Yes, it appears I have been entrusted with a plan so important, so essential to the uprising of our," he glanced around to make sure no one unwelcome was eavesdropping, "Dark Lord that there was no one else to possibly be trusted save for myself."

Well, father's clearly drunk. Off power or alcohol, I'm not entirely sure.

Draco merely smiled in response while a feeling of dread settled in his stomach, growing by the second.

"I only hope that one day you'll see fit to join me, Draco. The kind of advantages a position like mine can get you in life should not be considered lightly."

Draco nodded again, which seemed to satisfy his father, who threw an arm around Draco's shoulder in what most would see as a fatherly display of affection. Draco knew better and saw the act for what it was: possessive. A chill went down his spine as Draco looked around and noticed the room was now entirely empty. He had not meant for this to happen.

"After all, if you don't join his legions, people might talk; the Malfoy name is not to be sullied by your cowardice."

Draco felt like he was on a train hurtling down the tracks towards a cliff that ended in a 50 foot drop into darkness.

"Did you hear me, Draco," his father purred into his ear, "or should I make myself clear?"

Draco was paralyzed by fear. This cannot be happening. Not here, with my peers and their families one room away. Everyone will know; will think less of me. They'll think I'm not worthy of the last name Malfoy.

Draco's silence earned him a slap across the face.

"Answer. Me."

Draco swallowed thickly before nodding, "I heard you, sir."

Lucius snarled, "that's wonderful, Draco, I'm glad to know you're simply dumb and not dumb and deaf. However, I believe I asked you a question pertaining to your future allegiance to the Dark Lord, did I not?"

Draco pondered how to handle this situation. I could tell him I have full intentions of joining him and avoid punishment now, but be crucified later if I go back on my word. Or, I could say no and be crucified now and later…or I could be ambiguous.

"Of course, father, I realize the importance of establishing the right connections. Neither of us want to see the Malfoy name, or loyalty, questioned."

Lucius' face remained impassive for several long seconds as he considered Draco's words. Soon enough, however, a smile broke out onto his face and he eerily resembled the Cheshire cat. The expected relief Draco expected to hit him didn't come; anxiety continued to claw its way up his throat.

"Excellent, Draco, I knew you'd see things my way. Now, I've been away from our guests for far too long, if you'll excuse me."

With one last squeeze of Draco's shoulders, which are sure to be bruised he thought bitterly, Lucius swept from the room, dress robes billowing behind him.

With Lucius gone, Draco couldn't stop the anxiety that had been threatening to swallow him whole. He darted from the dining room, and finding it hard to breathe, rushed straight outside. He ran from the Manor and wasn't aware his feet had carried him to an old bench in the garden until he was sitting on it. The air was freezing, and had felt good for a millisecond, but it had done nothing to help his breathing. This was worse than the Cruciatus and he willed whatever was sucking the oxygen out of the air to stop. It was no use; the flowers, silhouetted by moonlight, began to spin and Draco audibly moaned as he held his head in his hands. He was trembling violently now, although he didn't think it was due to the temperature, and he felt like he was literally going to shake apart. His skin would split apart at his joints and his organs and bones would come pouring out of him as if he were the victim of a particularly nasty dark spell. His ragged breathing turned to desperate choking and he was quite certain he was about to die, when a quiet voice cut through the chaos.

"Shh, Draco. You need to breathe."

If Draco had had oxygen to spare, he would have laughed at its absurdity: don't you think I'm trying? But he didn't have the oxygen to laugh, or to snap at the mystery voice, or to think at all.

So, he choked out, "I can't."

"Yes, I promise, you can," it continued, as he felt someone sit down on the bench next to him, "just follow me, alright?"

At this point, Draco would have sold his soul for this feeling to stop, so he nodded his headed slightly and the voice began to direct him.

"In…out…in…out…"

They continued like this for a while, Draco's first attempts unsuccessful, but the voice never complained and never lost patience. The mystery person also kept a hand on Draco's back, rubbing calming circles. Normally Draco hated physical contact, but appreciated the anchor while everything else swirled around him. When Draco's breathing finally returned to normal, he felt tears begin to burn in his eyes, so he didn't look up at the person next to him even though he could feel eyes on him. He couldn't bear it the humiliation of looking up.

So, continuing to look down, Draco stated "you shouldn't be out here."

He meant for it to be a sneer, to scare whoever it was away, but the statement was void of any emotion whatsoever.

"Neither should you."

Draco rubbed at his eyes, willing his emotions back into the tiny box he locked them in.

"I mean it. You could get in serious trouble."

"Mhmm."

Out of protests, which showed just how exhausted he was, Draco continued to keep his head in his hands while the hand rubbed his back. They stayed this way for a while, the witch or wizard next to him having cast warming charms on both their clothes some time ago. But it was okay, because for the first time in a long time, Draco's mind was numb to all his worries, and he wasn't eager for this feeling to go away.

A/N: Hi all! I know this chapter is a tad late, but it's longer than usual! Also, let me know who you think helped Draco! Your reviews really mean a lot. (I also want to make clear that I will continue to keep Draco in character to the best of my ability, so there won't be any lifechanging relationships any time soon!)