Chapter 2: Bound

The moment Draco stepped into the dark, blue-lit room filled with the press of bodies, men and women, some masked, some not, some chattering animatedly, some whispering in hushed tones, he was reminded of his first meeting here, that night nearly a year ago, when he had gone with them to Orkney to punish the traitor Karkaroff. Back then, with his father newly in Azkaban and the Death Eaters' ranks reshuffling, his position had been so precarious, and he'd barely even realized it. And back then, Snape had been his teacher, his godfather, his protector, and he'd taken it for granted.

But now he was acutely aware that the collar around his neck not only bound him to Snape, but also Snape to him, and whatever it was, this strange magic that had begun already to work on him, he knew Snape must know it, too, and would protect him still, and he was grateful.

He kept his eyes averted, shuffled carefully behind his Master, and bit his lip to contain the annoyance that slowly built to a rage as people around him recognized him and began to snicker, then openly jeer at him. How fickle they are, he thought to himself. But then, they had never wanted him among their ranks, had always seen him as an upstart. Too young, too immature, too untested. Too much the mere, spoiled son of a disgraced father, and not a man in his own right.

Well… they would see.

A fall from grace of this magnitude might be impossible to surpass but if anyone at all could manage it, it would be a Malfoy, that Draco knew for certain.

The hair on his neck prickled as he watched the newest member of the ranks, simpering boys, waifish women, dark-eyed bitter men who had only come to the Dark after the Great Dumbledore had fallen. Weak, self-interested, and opportunistic in a crass, nuevo-riche sort of way.

They jeered the loudest.

They were, of course, the most insecure.

Draco took a deep breath and tried to let the rage pass out of him. Composure. Calm. Submission…. He could feel the words floating in his head, calming him, before he realized they were not in his own voice. That startled him enough to drown the sound out, as he followed Snape to the large banquet table where he stood dutifully behind his Master, who stood dutifully awaiting his, and everyone's Master, the Dark Lord, who stood in conference with a man Draco did not recognize, over by the haunting blue light of the fire. Snape stood, presumably scowling, though Draco couldn't see his face from behind him, - yet he was sure he could feel the scowl.

Had it been Snape's voice in his head just now? Was his occlumency so poor after only a few days of cold and hunger? Surely he'd survived worse than this. No, it was only memory, or imagination, or hallucination, that is all, he decided.

Presently, a hush fell upon the crowd, and Draco dared to look up and find the pale white face of the Dark Lord where he stood mere feet away, at the head of the table, beckoning his guests to be seated.

Snape was positioned just one chair away from the Dark Lord himself, and seated between them was an empty chair, awaiting, presumably, another guest.

The table itself stood lengthwise in the middle of the room, which felt smaller now, than it usually did. There were about thirty or forty chairs, and each one moved aside to make room when its intended occupant approached. If there was some systematic way the attendants were to be arranged, Draco couldn't discern it.

On one long end of the room, positioned to face the middle of the long table, was a raised dais of some kind, that one might expect it to house a throne, but it stood empty.

For now…

The words came from somewhere else, and Draco shuddered when we recognized Snape's warning tones.

But before he could really process anything, the Dark Lord began to speak.

"Friends and Fellow Wizards: We mark tonight the beginning of a new Era! Dumbledore is dead! The Ministry is Falling! Our victory is imminent! So tonight, we celebrate. And tomorrow, we go to war!"

Cheers echoed in the large, crowded room. Chairs lined the walls where lesser guests had come to sit, or stand, to join the festivities and pay tribute to the Dark Lord.

As Snape stepped forward to his chair and it slipped aside to let him sit, it occurred to Draco he had no idea what was expected of him now. Should he stand behind the chair like a page?

You haven't earned that yet… Came the words into his head. He glanced aside and saw a girl three chairs down, wearing little more than her collar and a garter belt. Her red glowed a strange purple in the blue light of the room, and lit her skin a ghostly white against the black of her garter and stockings. But before his eyes could drift any further down his bare body, he watched her kneel beside the chair in which her Master was now sitting.

Draco took a deep breath. Really? He thought. I'm a bloody Malfoy.

Yes, but you're my Malfoy, he heard Snape say (because there was no doubt, now, that Snape was someone talking to him through whatever link they'd forged three days again).

Draco steeled himself and bent down onto his knees beside Snape's chair, grateful that he at least had clothes on and wasn't being subjected to the cold stone floor on bare knees like the girl.

From under the table, Draco could see dozens cloth-covered knees in robes and trousers where the most loyal (or most useful) of Death Eaters sat. And he could see a few of the other slaves from this vantage point, too. Other than the red-haired girl, he'd not noticed any of the others, had not seen any at all since the night Snape had brought him back from the castle.

There were two other boys, and a girl. One of the boys could not have been more than 10 or 12 years old. His eyes looked sunken in, and he his feet were filthy. He sat huddled between the thick calves of his owner, whose fat, meaty hand was resting heavily on the little boy's head, stroking his sandy brown hair. Draco caught a glimpse of the insignia on the ring as it flashes in the dim light and was unsurprised to recognize it as the Goyle family crest.

The other boy was probably older than Draco. He sat two chairs over and across from him, and when their eyes met Draco could see he had dark brown eyes, framed by shoulder-length dark hair. His long legs were folded underneath him, and his long tanned arms were stretched out in front of him, where he was meticulously picking the scraps of meat off of a discarded chicken leg. The other girl, a brunette of maybe 14 with short hair and pale eyes encircled by faint freckles, was next to him, nibbling what morsels he handed her. She was seated beside a pair of ladies shoes, and Draco suspected they were owned together, by a couple. Draco wondered faintly if the two were sibling. Or lovers. Or… both.

Draco's stomach rumbled, but before he could even think about finding something to eat, he felt a tap on his head, and looked up to see a drum-stick, two large white bread rolls, and a small bunch of grapes.

Draco immediately began to eat, and only halfway through his roll did he realize that the other children were staring at him – or rather, at his food – longingly.

May I… share? He thought as clearly as he could, hoping Snape was listening.

He felt a sigh whooshing through his mind, and then, If you must… in a disapproving tone only Snape could manage to convey through a mind-link.

So he split the other roll and tossed a half to the red head and one to the little boy. Then he did the same with the chicken, but he sent some of the grapes to the brother and sister across from him.

Snape would feed him later, hopefully. And anyway, he was too nervous about this what was to come next.

Dinner seemed to drag on for hours.

Severus stared down the dish in front of him and sneered to mask the nausea he already felt. He could feel Draco's warm body pressed against his left leg, and felt the irrational urge to kick him.

And it probably wouldn't hurt either of them. Clearly allowing the boy any inkling of his true loyalties would jeopardize everything. His mind was too frail, the Dark Lord would see everything. Better to leave him in doubt, for now. And better to keep him enslaved: at least in that state, he couldn't get into trouble. There was too much, much too much, at stake.

And now… and now Severus would have to find a way to put on the kind of spectacle the Dark Lord no doubt would expect from him… without so permanently scarring Draco that there was no hope for repair.

He snorted inwardly. Repair. It was laughable. As if, after being taken as a slave, Draco would ever see Severus as anything other than a tyrant who betrayed him. Let alone… let alone what Severus knew must be done.

There was little hope.

And so it ought to be, he reminded himself, shaking his head inwardly for caring one iota about the boy's feelings, and about their… what was it they had had? Mentorship? No… the boy was not to be trusted, and therefore, it didn't matter whether he, Severus, was trusted either. Better to allow the resentment to fester than give into the boy's misplaced sense of loyalty to whatever he apparently thought Severus stood for.

Gods, and now the boy was down there befriending the other slaves and taking pity on them? Oh how the mighty have fallen. More likely, the boy was angling for supporters in order to mount a rebellion. That seemed outrageously stupid but at least not as pathetic as trying to help them.

A few handfuls of your leftovers is hardly going to help anyone… he heard the boy mutter in his mind. Besides, the loyalty of others is always worth the investment. Especially when you haven't fear to fall back on.

Severus chuckled in spite of himself.

Well at least he's more like himself now.

Presently, the Dark Lord raised a hand, and everyone at the table fell silent.

Draco heard the table above him grow quiet and tense with anticipation. His eyes met the dark brown eyes of the boy across from him, and saw his own fear reflected in them.

"Wilkes, why don't you let your new pet start the show?" He heard the Dark Lord say, and the red-haired girl shift and stood. Where Draco sat, he could only see the raw red knees that had been pressed to the rough stone floor for hours through thin black stockings.

Apparently, she danced. It was hard to tell, but from the sound of jingling and way they cheered when the footsteps leapt from the stage onto the table itself, making the whole thing shake and shudder underneath her.

Her face and breast were flushed when she finally knelt back down beside her Master.

The room was quiet again.

"Goyle, I believe you have a new toy you'd like to share? Why don't you bring it out to play?"

The little boy whimpered and Draco closed his eyes. His could feel his stomach churning and he didn't need to see to know what they would do to him.

The screaming stopped surprisingly early, and faded into a muffled thud, until he heard someone throwing a revivalo at him… and then it started again.

Draco felt his own breathing getting shallow as the sobbing continued, on and on.

But then, to his surprise, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and the quiet sounds in his mind, don't worry. It will all be over soon.

And then, it was Draco's turn.