Hello all! First and foremost, I'd like to apologize for the long hiatus I took unintentionally. My school work has kept me incredibly busy, along with personal issues. I appreciate every review and every message of support. You all are amazing. Thank you so much. Unfortunately, not much happens in this chapter, which is a little disappointing considering the long wait you've endured, but just know, midterms are over, and I will have more free time to write! I've already started on Chapter Eleven! Please let me know what you think! -Lillie

Chapter Ten

Being on the receiving end of a wand was never an enjoyable experience. Draco stared at the wooden tip merely inches from his face; it was of a dark color, smooth and glistening under the light of the reassembled chandelier. It was a wand Draco knew well. He knew that the silver snakehead handle had been custom made to fit his father's hand; the emerald eyes were Malfoy family heirlooms. The wand was a familiar sight from his childhood; he had often admired his father's wand for its simple elegance. However, much to Draco's chagrin, the ashen, spiderlike fingers grasping the wand did not belong to his father. Draco's hands were shaking, yet his face remained stoic as he stared impassively at the person holding him at wand point. With seething scarlet orbs, the Dark Lord glared at his youngest Death Eater as waves of fury slithered across his skin at the sight of the young man before him. Though his demeanor was cool, Lord Voldemort could sense the fear emitting from the sallow schoolboy. Bearing his teeth in a wicked grin, a curse echoed throughout the room before Draco dropped to the ground screaming in pain, writhing in agony. The Dark Lord gripped the wand more firmly pressing the curse deeper into Draco's veins.

What was less than a minute seem to last forever to Draco. Though Bellatrix had used the Cruciatus on him many times, all of her curses combined would never reach Lord Voldemort's caliber. Where Bellatrix's curses were excruciating, the Dark Lord's were all consuming, mind numbing, burning, pulsing agony; death was preferable than receiving the Dark Lord's fury. Through his melting mind, Draco considered begging for death; he thought of screaming for mercy, yet his body was not his own. He could feel nothing other than the ripping of his skin, the peeling of his arteries cell by cell; forming words was not an option. Draco hardly registered when it stopped; the Cruciatus curse did not cause the recipient any physical, visible pain, but Draco had pulled at his skin and crumbled into a remaining pile of shattered glass from the prisoner break. Draco felt his body being hauled up by strong, forceful hands; through dulled senses he smelt filth and dried blood with a hit of Firewhiskey: Fenrir Greyback.

Opening his eyes, Draco's vision was blurred; the figure before him with nothing but a blob of black robes with a white oval at the top. With a few lazy blinks, Draco realized he was staring at the Dark Lord once more; his stomach filled with dread at the thought of enduring such pain again. Unable to control his body fully, Draco's head lolled to the side, blood from his pierced skin dripped onto the floor. Voldemort looked at him with such disgust and fury, the youngest Malfoy thought surely he was going to be killed. However, the Dark Lord turned away and gestured to the doors of the drawing room. With the flick of his wrist, the doors slammed shut; Draco flinched at the sound. The Dark Lord turned his attention back to the bloodied Malfoy before him; with a look of disdain, he shook his head slowly.

"Draco, Draco," the Dark Lord said in an eerily calm, high voice. "I had such high expectations for you. How severely you disappoint me. I thought maybe you could keep a few prisoners from escaping, but as before, such a task evades you."

"My Lord," Draco rasped out; his throat felt as if it were filled with dust. "I did everything in my power to—"

"It was not enough," Lord Voldemort interrupted. "Once again, you have disgraced your family's once highly esteemed name; how pathetic your pure blood has turned. I fear I have no use for you any longer. The mere sight of you repulses me."

"My Lord, please," Narcissa erupted from the corner where she had remained silent until that moment. "Please don't," she begged scurrying over to kneel before the snakelike man threatening her child. "I beg of you, please, spare Draco."

"Your love makes you weak, Narcissa," the Dark Lord mocked at the woman before him. "How different you are from your sister; it's a wonder really. What would you have me do with the boy then?"

"Send him back to Hogwarts," Narcissa said looking up at the Dark Lord though her onyx lashes, her blue eyes cold and unfeeling though her voice broke with a strained cry. "Draco is most influential over his Slytherin peers; he can recruit for you, My Lord. He can listen in on places where the Carrows and Severus cannot."

"Ah, interesting," Voldemort said with a mocking gleam in his eye. "And what are you willing to trade for your son's life?"

"Anything, My Lord," she responded without hesitation.

"Weak," the Dark Lord seethed turning away from her, his black robes billowing into her face. Narcissa Malfoy did not flinch. "Be as it may, your mother does propose a valid point. I do think there is use for you yet, Draco. Though you are weak like your mother and father, you are loyal; of this I am sure, unlike that sniveling Wormtail," he spat.

"Thank you, My Lord," Narcissa said in a whisper, her shoulders hunched in relief.

"Drop him here, Greyback," the Dark Lord said ignoring Narcissa completely. "Report to Bellatrix immediately," he addressed the werewolf. "I will be leaving at once. I do not find pleasure in my time being wasted."

Fenrir Greyback dropped Draco to the ground unceremoniously and followed Lord Voldemort out of the room nearly panting like a puppy at the Dark Lord using his name. Because of his half-breed status, Voldemort deemed him unworthy of the Dark Mark; this suited Greyback just fine, yet he couldn't deny the delight he felt in being acknowledged by such a wizard. He nearly felt giddy as he left Narcissa and Draco alone in the drawing room. Narcissa looked back at Draco as she gracefully rose from the ground to walk over to her son lying on the floor. Sinking back to her knees beside her only child, Narcissa stroked Draco's hair gently, her cool fingers pressing lightly to his scalp; a small sigh escaped her.

"Draco, darling, you must come up to your room; you are bleeding all over the floor. Come now, I'll grab some dittany and heal those wounds," she said in a calm voice as she pressed into his shoulder gently encouraging him to move.

Though it took a great deal of effort, Draco heaved himself off of the ground; his entire body protested with each step. Once in the safe confines of his bedroom, Draco slouched down in the plush chair before the lit fireplace. He leaned foreword, his head cradled in his hands, fingertips pressing into his scalp. He struggled to control his breathing; it had all happened so quickly. The escape, Voldemort's arrival… it all seemed surreal; within minutes he had nearly sealed his fate as a traitor and as a dead man. Despite his living status, he was no way in the clear. Though Voldemort thought him to be loyal, Draco wasn't so sure. He didn't know where he stood in it all. He was torn between all he had ever known and what he was being shown, the truths he was discovering; it was all so overwhelming his temples began pounding under the weight of his racing mind.

"Dammit!" Draco lashed out throwing the first thing his hand touched, a crystal bowl filled with luscious green apples.

Draco's hands were pulsing, his heart racing. He nearly lost his life, and for what? What would have been the great pay off? He didn't know what he was thinking letting Potter go like that, allowing him to escape with his beloved wand. As one of the flying apples rolled into his foot, he remembered. Luna, he had done it all for Luna. For her safety and protection, Draco had risked his life; he felt not an ounce of regret for it either.

"Draco, what hap—Never mind," Narcissa said walking into her son's room with a jar of dittany in her hand. Seeing the shattered crystal and scattered apples, she didn't need much of an explanation; Draco certainly inherited the Malfoy temper. "Do sit down, Draco."

Sitting down once more in the chair before the fireplace, Draco obeyed as his mother instructed him to roll up his shirtsleeve so that she could heal his wounds; she didn't flinch at the sight of the Dark Mark on her child's skin. Draco allowed his mother to heal the cuts inflicted from writhing upon the floor littered with crystal and glass shards. She carefully cited the incantation to seal the cuts, fusing his skin together before applying a small amount of dittany to the thin line of imperfection so that a scar would not form. Once she had healed all that were visible, she motioned for Draco to roll his other shirtsleeve; he hesitated knowing what would be there, but only for a moment. Hesitantly, he pushed the rumpled white fabric up his arms revealing the long, puckered scar on his forearm. Though the Dark Mark was no shock to her, this was enough to produce a loud gasp.

Narcissa reached out grabbing her son's arm in both of her hands; she brushed her fingers over the raised scar as she looked at Draco for explanation. Though his skin was the color of ivory, the scar was a pale pink, the edges tinged a shade darker. The scar seemed out of place on his otherwise flawless skin; it didn't look as if it belonged on his body. Draco knew in a way it didn't; he wasn't meant to be the person to save another, to purposely harm himself so that he could heal a broken girl. But he did, and now he had an unsightly scar to show for it.

"Draco, what happened?" Narcissa said after a minute of silence; Draco had not offered any information, so she did the only thing she could: ask. "Who did this to you?"

"Mother, I—I did this," he sighed looking down at the jagged scar remembering the piercing pain of splitting his skin with magic. "I had to."

"What would possess you to do this to yourself? Why would you ever harm yourself? Draco, please, let me help you, my son. Please," she begged gripping his arm tighter losing the cold façade she had perfected before he was born. In that moment, his mother was nearly unrecognizable to him. She was frantic, wide eyed, and desperate; Draco couldn't help but to stare at her in shock.

"I had to save her," he said eventually in a quiet whisper; he didn't feel like a seventeen year old boy but a child being realized in a situation he was warned against. "I couldn't let her die there; I just couldn't, Mother," he said pulling his arm back from her grasp and pulling the sleeve down to cover the unsightly scar once more.

"You did that to yourself to save the girl? Draco, you could have bled out! It's not like you to be so reckless."

He had to agree; it wasn't like him at all. He was calculative and analytical, never acting unless he had gone over every possibly scenario in his head. He wasn't rash or thoughtless in tense situations like Potter or Weasley; Draco had to formulate a plan before taking action. It was the only way to be sure of success. However, where Luna was concerned, Draco threw devising a plan to the wind; there wasn't time, and Draco hadn't wanted to waste was little he had. It was heedless and dangerous, but it had been his only option; it just so happen to work.

"She couldn't die," he responded shortly.

"Why did you not use dittany? The scar is quite horrible, Draco," Narcissa stated bluntly staring at the spot through his shirt. "Do let me rid you of such a scar."

"No," Draco hesitated. "I wanted to keep it."

"Draco, don't be ridiculous," Narcissa sighed. "Why would you want to ruin your skin like that?"

"Don't you get it, Mother?" Draco shouted pushing himself away from the chair. "I'm already ruined. Do you see this?" he asked pushing his arm with the Dark Mark closer to her view. "This is an unsightly scar, this has ruined my skin, hell maybe even my life, this is disgusting. At least I chose to have the other, a decision that rested solely on me and not Father's reputation; at least I did—at least I helped her. It reminds me of the good I've done. It shows me there is something living left inside of me."

Draco's hands found their way to his hair tugging on the roots harshly; his head was pounding, there was a aching in his chest he couldn't place. With a groan of frustration, Draco turned away from his mother; he began pacing before the fireplace, his figure casting shadows on the wall. To her credit, Narcissa remained calm allowing her son to decipher whatever he was fighting himself over. She knew the look; he had worn it so often the past few years. It was a look of confusion and desperation, the look of a lost boy.

After a few minutes, Narcissa could watch him unfurl no longer. Standing up, she walked to his side placing a hand on his shoulder; she could feel him tense beneath her touch. With a push to his shoulder, Draco turned to face his mother's tender face. She looked so unlike herself in that moment, yet the expression suited her far better than any other. Narcissa Malfoy wore caring very well. Raising her hand to her son's face, she dusted her thumb across his cheekbone.

"Draco, every part of you is alive, my darling. You are not completely consumed by darkness. That mark on your arm, his mark, it does not define you if you do not allow it. You did the right thing by helping her; I just wish you would not have been so reckless about it."

"Recklessness seems to be a new hobby of mine," he sighed pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars. "I allowed them to escape, Mother. It was my plan," he sighed feeling his shoulders deflating.

"I know," she nodded. "You didn't do it alone."

"Mother?" Draco said with widened silver eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Seeing such a beautiful chandelier destroyed was tragedy, but it had to be done. I told the Dark Lord I would sacrifice anything for you; a chandelier is hardly irreplaceable."

"You did that?" Draco said with his jaw slightly hanging open in shock. "Why?"

He knew his mother was not deeply loyal to the Dark Lord; in fact, as of late, Draco wondered if she even supported his ideals. She had never taken the Dark Mark; a situation Draco had never given much thought. Despite her lack of official Death Eater status, it was unlike Narcissa to work against Voldemort, for she knew if she were to be caught, her family would be the ones to suffer. Though she headed the Dark Lord's commands, her true loyalties lied with her family, especially Draco.

"You are not the only one to be coerced into a life you did not fully understand. I was raised just as you were, with the ideas of muggles being filth along with muggle borns, the idea that those who defy the their ancestry should be removed from the family, and anyone who disagrees with such is nothing more than a blood traitor, a title as severe as a Mudblood. While I can say I do think we, as purebloods, are above them in terms of pedigree, I do not hold value in their eradication. When your father joined the Death Eaters, I was told that you would always be protected; I thought your father knew what he was getting into. I trusted his judgment, a fault on my part. You have to understand, Draco, I never wanted this to happen."

"Why have you never told me this before? All my life you have instilled the Dark Lord's values into my mind, values you don't even believe in. Why?" Draco asked in desperation. All this time, he assumed something was wrong with him for not always feeling passionate about the Dark Lord's teachings; he thought himself apathetic rather than disagreeing. However, Draco wondered if that was true.

"I did not want to put you in danger, Draco," Narcissa said stepping back from her son; she felt ashamed of herself for allowing her son's life to take the turn it had. "As your mother, I swore I would always protect you. I could not keep you from the Dark Lord, try as I might, but I could keep you away from my beliefs, beliefs that would have caused you a great deal of confusion and a world of danger.

"However, it seems as if you have come to the same conclusions yourself; I cannot say I am surprised. The Black blood has been known to produce a sense of rebellion, a streak of independence. You have always been such an intuitive, clever boy; I often wondered if you would end up in Ravenclaw."

Draco wondered what his life would have been like had he been placed in Ravenclaw. At his Sorting ceremony, the hat barely grazed a piece of hair before shouting out Slytherin; he had always assumed it was because of his nature. Now, however, Draco wondered if the hat had heard the frantic chorus of shouting for Slytherin within his mind. If he had been placed in Ravenclaw, he would have met Luna Lovegood sooner. She would have arrived at the start of his second year, the gangly girl with straggly blonde hair and radish earrings. He wondered if their lives would have crossed paths in such a monumental way as they had now; he wondered if he would have grown to care for her as he had.

"The last time we talked so freely, you stated you did not care for the girl," Narcissa prodded changing the subject away from such perilous topics. "I sense this may have changed."

"No, nothing has changed," Draco sighed. "I was too afraid to admit it in that moment. Yes, I care about her in that I don't want her to die."

"I think there is more to it than that, Draco," Narcissa said unable to deny the pull at the corner of her mouth.

"What else could there be?"

"You depended on her," Narcissa said. "I watched you with her, as terrible as it sounds. I would hide in the shadows to insure that no others would see you in such a vulnerable position. She saw me; Luna knew I was there," she admitted. Draco's eyes widened with shock. "You were so tender with her, so caring and gentle; I have never been more proud of you. You allowed her to comfort you, a gift you rarely bestow. As happy as it made me, I still wonder why her of all people."

"She saw me," Draco admitted hanging his head. "Luna has this way of seeing past every wall, every lie; she has an indescribable ability to read people and look beyond their mistakes. She saw me, not Malfoy or the Slytherin Prince, but Draco, just Draco."

"What a wonderful sight she must have seen," Narcissa sighed reaching out to grab her son's hands. "To look at you the way she did."

Draco said nothing more, for no words would have been able to encapsulate the burning he felt in his chest, the ache or flood of warmth at his mother's words. It was indescribable in that Draco had never felt such a thing before; it was foreign and dangerous, of this he was certain. Yet, a part of him wanted the feeling to consume him, to wrap him up in a burning passion so intense he would never want to escape. He wondered what it would be like, to give in to his desires, his emotions; he knew no such luxury was possible. But still, he wondered.

"Pack up, Draco," Narcissa sighed placing her palm on her son's pallid cheek. "You'll be heading back to Hogwarts tomorrow; I am certain of it.

Draco nodded his head as he began making a mental checklist of all the items he would need. Pulling away from his mother, Draco walked over to his enormous closet waving his wand as garments began to fly out and land within his opened trunk in meticulously precise stacks; no rumples or wrinkles were in sight. Narcissa watched her child in silence wondering if she had made the right choice in allowing him to be raised in such an environment, allowing him to be taught dangerous ideals. She knew she had done the best she could in such a situation, but a part of her wondered if she could have done more. Without saying a word, she slipped out of Draco's room leaving him to his packing and his thoughts.

The next morning, a quivering house elf was sent into Draco's bedchambers to wake him. As soon as the elf's leathery skin touched his arm, Draco bolted upright with a sharp gleam in his silver eyes. Throwing his silken comforter away from his body, Draco stretched out his long legs as they were stiff despite his feathery mattress; his entire body was tense with anticipation and nerves. As usual, his mother was correct; he would be returning to Hogwarts that morning according to the house elf's news. With lead feet, Draco dragged himself into the bathroom for a shower in hopes of relaxing his tense muscles so that his nonchalant disposition would seem natural once he was standing with the Slytherin common room. He didn't want his peers to know what he had done and the punishment he nearly received; he didn't want this failure broadcasted once more.

After emerging from the shower, Draco dressed in silken black robes with a thin lining of wool for the lingering winter chill. Once he was fastened within the dark layers of fabric with a silver and green tie around his neck, Draco descended the stairs into the dining room where a spread worthy of a king awaited him as his mother sat coolly in her seat, the Daily Prophet folded neatly beside her. As soon as his shoes sounded against the cold tiled floor, Narcissa's head snapped up as she looked for the newcomer; seeing it was her son, Narcissa unfolded a cloth napkin, settling it delicately in her lap after giving him a discreet nod. Beside her, Lucius sat at the head of the table, his face unreadable though a small twitch pulled at the corner of his eye once Draco came into view. Sitting next to his father, Draco's posture was rigid as he picked at the food residing on his place. He took meager bites, his nerves not allowing for anything more.

"Eat up, Draco," Lucius said with a clipped tone. "I hear the house elves at Hogwarts have been slacking on their duties, the filthy scum."

Draco said nothing but forced a fork full of eggs down his throat before gulping down a sip of hot tea in order to wash it down. His appetite had been waning for over a year now, and his figure was suffering for it. He still retained his sleek seeker built, toned with lean muscle, but he had lost quite a bit of weight leaving his pointed face sharper and the angles of his body more accentuated; there was nothing soft about Draco Malfoy, at least nothing visible. The rest of breakfast was spent in silence, for which Draco was immensely grateful. No talking was better than receiving a lecture about his wrongdoings and suggestions on what he could do in order to get back into the Dark Lord's good graces.

Once breakfast was over, Draco returned to his room to place the last few items into his school trunk before shrinking it into a pocketable size. A knock on his door sounded before his mother's voice spoke through the dark wood alerting him of her presence. Giving her permission to enter, Draco stood by his bed as his mother entered his bedchamber. She was as poised as ever, yet there was something soft in her eyes: love for her child. She walked over to Draco, her gait long and graceful as if she were floating across the floor. She stopped before him as she flicked a nonexistent piece of lint from his shoulder.

"This is for the best, Draco," Narcissa told him, her voice reassured and confident. "You'll be out of harms way, for the most part at least. Plus, you'll finish your final year."

"I can't imagine there is much learning going on at Hogwarts at the moment," he stated with a shrug.

"I suppose you are correct," his mother sighed as her hands found their way into her robe pockets. "I have a few items for you before you go."

"Oh?"

"Her possessions were confiscated upon her arrival; her jewelry, wand, and so forth. They left her only with the clothes on her back, minus her winter coat. I found these; I'm sure they belong to her, to Luna," Narcissa said quietly as she turned her palm over to place the small dangling ornaments into Draco's palm; the earrings were bright orange in color and resembled the shape of a radish. They were most certainly Luna's.

"And this as well," Narcissa added reaching into her robes to retrieve the collection of Butterbeer caps arranged on a thin rope with multicolored beads and small charms in the shape on animals and flowers; he couldn't hide the incredulous smile from his face. "There is no way for me to get her wand; the jewelry will not be noticed missing, but a wand certainly would. I am sorry, Draco."

"No, Mother," Draco said with a lump in his throat. "This is enough; she'll be happy to have these back."

"Perhaps you should keep them to yourself for a while, Draco," Narcissa suggested. "It might do you good to have a reminder on your person."

"I always do," Draco said as a tingling erupted on his arm where the jagged scar resided.

"Yes, this is true; however, it may be different to be able to hold it in your hands or feel the weight of them in your pocket. Do not give them to her right away, but rather when the time is necessary."

"When will it be necessary?" asked Draco as his fingers dusted over the jagged edges of the Butterbeer caps.

"You'll know, Draco," Narcissa replied with a confident gleam in her icy blue eyes. "Well, you must be getting off; Severus, well, Professor Snape is expecting you. Do you have your trunk?"

"Yes, Mother," Draco said patting his side pocket where the massive green trunk had been reduced to the size of his palm."

"Very well then. Let us go into the drawing room; the floo network has been connected to Severus' office for the next few minutes; I'll see you off."

Draco followed his mother into the room he had changed his fate merely a day before. It had been immaculately restored; the chandelier hanging securely from the ceiling as if it had never crashed into the floor below. The portraits were looking around with boredom as if they hadn't witnessed the excitement the day before. Everything was as it should have been, yet it was earth shatteringly different. Standing before the fireplace, Draco turned to his mother who seemed to be holding back tears. He placed a hand on her thin shoulder giving her a firm squeeze before walking into the hearth after grabbing a fist full of floo powder.

With a final look, Draco threw down the powder, green flames erupting at his feet as he stated "Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts," very clearly. Through swirling vision, Draco saw his mother's face bury into her hands.

"Ah, Draco," Professor Snape drawled with his languid tone. "How wonderful to have you back; I'm sure your arrival will be of keen interest," the new headmaster said condescendingly. "You may go to the Slytherin dungeons; I'll send your schedule over later on in the day. You are dismissed."

Draco nodded before leaving Professor Snape alone in the cold office with the portraits' muffled voices shouting out behind him. He could have sworn he heard Albus Dumbledore's quiet tone as a chill crept up his spine, but it was impossible. As soon as the door shut behind the young Slytherin, Snape turned to the hanging portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black who held a look of contempt on his face.

"So that's my great-great-great grandson, Narcissa's boy, is it?"

"It is," Snape said coolly.

"Well, perhaps he will bring pride back to the Black family tree," Phineas Nigellus Black said with a sharp jerk of his chin.

"I would not count on it," Snape deadpanned. "At least not in the way you hope."

The portrait of the old headmaster said nothing; however, Albus Dumbledore's portrait grinned as he looked around his old dwellings, his half-moon spectacles perched on his nose. He caught Snape's dark eyes and gave an encouraging nod.

"I think he'll do good," Dumbledore's portrait said with a content sigh. No one dared to contradict him. "Are you going to alert the Order of his return?"

"I am," Snape said as he stood up from the large desk. "Phones, do inform the Order of the returning student; I am certain they will be most interested, but be sure to tell them it was Dumbledore's portrait who sent you. They mustn't know it was me."

Grumbling to himself, Phineas Nigellus disappeared into the portrait to deliver the message to 12 Grimmauld Place. Once he was out of sight, Snape turned to Dumbledore's portrait, his mouth set in a grim line as his greasy hair laid limp on his cheeks.

"Did you see the dirigible plum earring in his hand?"

"It would be impossible to miss if one were looking for such oddities," Snape replied.

"A rather peculiar thing to carry around," Dumbledore's portrait mused with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Yes, rather peculiar indeed," Snape agreed as he folded his hands behind his back, his mind churning to try and connect the pieces his brain was not connecting. Dumbledore's portrait stayed silent, but the grin lingered on his face for the remainder of the day.