It's exactly midnight as I post this chapter. Sorry for the lateness, but I hope the Chapter makes up for it!

Bu the way, I'm just gonna go ahead and remind everyone of the father-son abuse in this fanfiction. It comes into play in this chapter, and I really don't want this to hit too close to home for anybody. If you decide to continue reading, I thank you for your views.

Copyright: I own nothing, and no infringement is intended. But there is a House Elf OC in this chapter that was in a chapter way close to the beginning. However, I do not own the concept of House Elves.

Chapter Twenty

About three days later, the door to my room was finally unlocked. "You're free to roam about the house, Malfoy Junior," an unfamiliar Death Eater announced. "Just don't leave the estate." The Death Eater turned on his heel and marched away.

Eventually, I was able to push myself into a sitting position on my bed, my stomach sending waves of dull pain throughout my torso. The only thing I was able to put into my body these past three days was water. No one came with food, one of the Death Eaters stole my wand when they threw me in here, preventing me from Apparating out. The lack of food made me hurt and shake and left me exhausted. I had to get some food, but I didn't know if I had the energy to.

I forced myself up and stumbled out of my room, using the wall for support. I finally got to the kitchen and found a few of our House Elves conversing, though they froze and turned away when I entered the room.

"Hello, young Master Malfoy," a small voice greeted. I glanced down and discovered Loft awkwardly holding his own hands and staring up at me. "What can Loft do for you, sir?"

"Just need some food," I answered.

"What would you-"

"I don't care what it is. Just make it fast. I'm starving," I interrupted. Loft gave a small nod and walked off to do as I asked when another pang from my stomach forced me to take up a chair at the nearby kitchen table.

I sat in silence for the few minutes it took for Loft to make the food and return to me. "Sir," the Elf called, holding a plate with a tall sandwich on it out to me in offering. I quickly took it from him and scarfed it down, my screaming hunger making me forget to be cautious about eating too fast.

"What?" I demanded through a full mouth, noticing that the House Elf was still at my side.

"May Loft ask if you are alright, sir?"

"I'm fine," I spat. "Why do you ask?"

"Loft heard you return from school three days ago and has not seen you since. Loft was wondering if you are alright because he heard you screaming," the House Elf answered, fixing his gaze on the ground.

I swallowed the last bite of the sandwich. "I'm fine. I just did something wrong."

"What did you do wrong, sir?" Loft asked glancing up at me.

"Nothing you should be concerned about!" I snapped. I wasn't afraid that Loft would reveal what I would say to anybody. He's a House Elf. They're programmed not to tell anyone anything if ordered to, but I couldn't talk about it. Not yet.

I thrust the crumb-covered plate towards Loft and ordered, "Go put this away."

"Y-yes, sir," the Elf stuttered before carefully taking the plate away from the table and silently walking away.

My hand twitched of its own accord, and I glanced down to find my right hand shaking worse than it ever had before. I didn't try to stop it this time. If they saw my hand shake, they would probably torture me again. If they tortured me enough, I would end up like Longbottom's parents, but that would be better than being forced to kill and torture others for them.

"Draco," a soft voice called. I looked up from my shaking hand and found my father standing in the doorway of the kitchen with a bronze-coloured drink in his hand and a few days' worth of scruff on his jaw. "Glad to see that they finally let you out."

"They let you out before me," I commented as Father approached the table and took a chair across from me.

"They didn't lock me up at all," he corrected, taking a sip of his drink. "Just you. You were the one that failed. Not me."

I tensed at his words and withdrew my trembling hand from the table, placing it in my lap.

My father took another sip of his drink, finishing the glass and placed it on the table. "Why is your hand shaking?" he slurred, pointing at me.

"I don't know," I answered. "It started the beginning of this year."

A scream came from below us, making me jump and glance towards the floor. It was a man's voice, but what was he doing in the old wine cellar?

"Who's in the cellar?" I asked, looking back up at Father.

Father seemed to freeze and nervously glanced down at the floor. "No one."

The same voice screamed again, but it was louder this time.

"Someone is," I pressed. "Who's in the cellar?"

Snape appeared in the doorway, a small amount of blood spattered across the hem of his robe. "Young Mister Malfoy," he slowly called, "get your House Elves to make some food and take it to the cellar. Quickly." He walked briskly away.

I looked to the Elves, who were pretending to be busy, and ordered, "One of you make a sandwich or something. As fast as you can."

As the Elves got busy, I turned back to my father. "Thought you said that there was no one in the cellar."

"I didn't know that they wanted you to bring him food," he answered forcefully, looking at me sternly.

"Who's down there?" I asked.

"Ollivander."

"From the wand shop?" I received a confirming nod.

"Your food, sir," a high voice said at my elbow.

Not bothering to see which Elf gave me the food, I grabbed the plate from her and left the kitchen, leaving my father with a disappointed scoff.

How could he not tell me?

I knew how being a Death Eater worked. There were certain levels of confidence that you had to be in to learn certain things, but I still thought that my father would tell me if there was someone being...stored in our cellar.

It didn't take long for me to reach the steps that lead to barred cellar door. At the base of those stairs, I discovered Wormtail guarding the door, gripping his wand hard with his silver hand.

"Now you're a serving boy?" he mocked as I descended. I didn't answer. "Can't believe you didn't kill him," Wormtail muttered as he unlocked the door.

I ignored him as I entered, glancing around the cellar-turned-cell for the prisoner. "Mister Ollivander?"

"Mister Malfoy?" a cracking voice wondered.

"Yes," I answered, squinting in the low light as I searched. "I've brought you some food. Where are you?"

"Back here."

I unsurely followed his voice and eventually found Ollivander curled up in a corner, various bruises and cuts littering his face and a mixture of old and fresh blood dying his clothes. I quickly walked up to him and put the plate on the floor in front of him.

"Are you with them?" Ollivander asked before I could turn to leave.

"Yes," I sighed. "But I didn't know they had you down here."

The older man opened his mouth to say something else, but I quickly turned and left the cellar.

"Should have killed Dumbledore, you rat," Wormtail hissed as he locked the door behind me. "Would have made things a lot easier for you."

"You're one to call me rat," I returned, brushing off his comment.

The tip of Wormtail's wand jabbed itself into my neck, making me wince in pain and freeze.

"Now, you listen here, Malfoy-"

"Wormtail!" a man shouted from the top of the stairs. We both looked up and found my father standing at the top stair with a refilled drink in hand. "Let him go," he ordered.

Wormtail grumbled quietly in protest and tore his wand away from my throat before roughly shoving me towards the stairs.

I straightened my wrinkled suit and climbed up towards my father. "I came to give you this," he spat, slapping my wand into my chest.

I grunted in surprise and took my wand from him. Father turned his back to me and walked away, taking another sip of his drink.

"Why is he down there?" I questioned, pocketing my wand.

My father paused and looked back to me, spilling a few drops of his drink. "What?"

I let out an exasperated breath and walked a few steps closer to him. "Why is Ollivander in the cellar?"

"The Dark Lord needs him."

"For?"

Father narrowed his eyes a little at me and reminded, "You will not question the Dark Lord's needs."

"I'm not questioning him. I'm questioning you," I retorted.

"And why would you question me?" He tapped one of his rings on the metal snake head of his walking stick.

I swallowed a lump that suddenly formed in my throat. "I-I was just wondering."

"Oh. So you are questioning me."

He took a step towards me, and I took a step back, suddenly uncomfortable with having my father any closer.

"Don't walk away from me," he spat, reaching out and taking hold of my collar and pulling me closer to him as his walking stick clattered to the floor.

I wrinkled my nose at the stench of alcohol radiating from his clothes and breath. "Father," I gently spoke, cautiously reaching up and grasping his wrist, "you're drunk, and you need to let go of me."

My father would drink from time to time, but as far as I knew, he never drank so much that it would make him do this.

"Don't talk back to me," he hissed sternly, quickly moving his hand from my collar to my throat.

I tensed and removed my hand from his wrist as he grasped my neck. His grip was firm, but it wasn't painful. I took several deep breaths to try to calm my thudding heart, but it was of no use. I had no idea what my father would do. He could choke me or let me go. I pleaded that he would let me go, but the anger in his eyes and his hardened expression said that he would probably choke me.

I swallowed down my nerves, carefully placed my hand on top of his and quietly and slowly voiced, "Father, you need to let me go. You're-"

"I know I'm drunk!" he shouted, making me wince at his volume as he gripped my throat tighter. "The only reason I am this way is because of you!"

I gasped and instinctively gripped his wrist as his hand tightened even more around my neck. I forced myself to calm down and loosen my grip on his wrist. I didn't want to fight my father. He was better at magic than I was and physically stronger than me. He would win against me-even drunk-and he was still my father. He wouldn't do this normally. This would never happen again. He just had to get sober, and this entire problem will be resolved. I had to talk my way out of his grip. If I could convince him to let me go, neither of us would get hurt. Emotionally or physically.

"What did I do to make you like this?" I strained, his grip restricting my ability to breath.

"You didn't kill Dumbledore." His grip tightened even more, almost entirely cutting off my air. "If you had, we would be in the Dark Lord's good graces. And when we win this Second Wizarding War, we would be praised as heroes. But you were weak."

I gasped for air in and attempt to apologize and get him to let go of me. "I-I'm s-s-"

"Don't speak, now!" my father shouted doubling his grip on my throat.

I groaned and was unable to stop myself from grasping my father's wrist this time. Both of my hands flew to his wrist and instinctively tried to pry my father's hand off of my throat, but it only made him grip me tighter.

"This is your fault," he hissed. "Everything that happened three days ago, and everything that will happen now is and will be your fault."

My legs began to shake from the lack of air as I clawed at his hand. He had to let go of me. Dark spots were already filling my vision, and I didn't know if he would let go after I passed out. His expression held nothing but drunken fury. There was no trace of the father who got tortured with me a few days ago.

My knees finally gave out, and I fell to the ground. Father held lowered his hand to keep his grip on my neck in tact. I would have fallen to the floor entirely, but my father's hand wrapped around my throat kept me upright.

"F-f-father," I gasped, trying to use my expression more than my words to plead with him, "p-please."

He scoffed sardonically and smirked at me heartlessly. "You're pleading now? No wonder you couldn't kill him."

My vision had almost entirely disappeared as I gripped his wrist as hard as I could, pushing against him.

Without warning, my father used his grip on my throat to shove me to the floor. I instantly gasped as my head slammed into the floorboards. I didn't move from the spot where I fell as I desperately fought for air. Occasionally, a cough would worm its way through my damaged throat which only made my windpipe burn even more.

"Get off the floor, Malfoy," Wormtail's voice ordered.

I glanced over to find him leaning against the top stair, a barely concealed smirk on his face. It was obvious that he had watched the whole event and was clearly entertained by it, but he was still right. If another Death Eater caught me on the floor in pain, they would undoubtedly take advantage of my vulnerable position.

I managed to roll onto my side so I could push myself to my feet. I glanced around and found that my father had gone, and he took his drink and walking stick with him. I was relieved to see him go. I didn't want to see him again until he was sober.

I winced at each breath as I found my way to my room, each intake of air raking across my throat. I gently rubbed the skin of my neck to try to soothe it, but nothing worked.

I finally made it through the door to my room, and I closed the door behind me. I thought that after being locked up in here for three days would make me never want to see my room again, but now, it was the only place I had left to go. I had no idea where my mother was, and I didn't want to see my father or any of the other Death Eaters. I just wanted to be alone.

I moved to my private bathroom and grabbed the cup that rested on the sink. I filled it up halfway with water and took a cautious sip of it. I winced, the water burning like fire as I swallowed.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and noticed how terrible I looked. The dark circles under my eyes had worsened, and my cheekbones and jawline protruded out of my skin so much that they looked ready to tear through, but the worst part was my neck.

A reddened, hand-shaped mark had formed on my skin, wrapping its way around my throat. The imprint of my father's hand.

He didn't mean to do it. He couldn't have. He was just drunk. He'll be sober by tomorrow.

I took the water cup and went back to the main part of my room. I placed the cup on my bedside table and fell into bed, wincing as another breath burned my throat, and it didn't take long for me to fall asleep.

The group rounded the sculptures and moved to me. Bellatrix leaned towards me and put her cold lips to my ear. "Well done, Draco," she whispered as she gently kissed my ear, making my skin crawl.

Normally, I would flinch at her uncomfortable display of affection, but I had nowhere to go if I did.

My aunt backed away from me as Dumbledore pleasantly greeted her like nothing was wrong. "Good evening, Bellatrix. I think introductions are in order, don't you?"

"Love to, Albus, but I'm afraid we're all on a bit of a tight schedule," the black-haired Death Eater rejected. She turned to me and hissed, "Do it."

I glanced at her commanding expression and then back at Dumbledore's calm and accepting one. I tried to keep my keep my wand up, but I couldn't. It automatically lowered, my guilt overcoming my resolve.

"He doesn't have the stomach. Just like his father," Greyback commented behind me.

What did he mean "like my father"? My father was strong enough. He could do this, but Greyback was right. I didn't have the stomach for it, but I didn't have a choice either.

I forced my wand back up as Greyback harshly finished, "Let me finish him my own way."

"No!" Bellatrix shouted in a breathy tone. "The Dark Lord was clear. The boy has to do it." She turned to me with what could be considered an encouraging expression. "This is your moment. Do it."

My moment. I mentally scoffed. This is one heck of a moment. If killing Dumbledore is the only thing I will be famous for, I really am a monster.

"Go on, Draco! Now!" Bellatrix shouted when I still hadn't cast the Curse.

I couldn't let my family die.

With a wave of my wand, I shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"

I woke with a start, a dull thudding sounding in my ears. That wasn't how it happened. I didn't cast the Curse that killed him, but which was worse: ensuring a man's death or committing it yourself?

"Draco?" a distant voice called. It sounded like my mother.

I gulped down my nerves from my dream and rose from my bed. I crossed the room to the door and opened it a crack.

"Yeah?" I shouted back.

"Mister Crabbe and Mister Goyle are here, and they've brought their sons with them! Are you in your room?"

"Yeah!" I received no reply, but after a minute or two, the door was shoved open, and I narrowly avoided getting hit in the stomach with the doorknob.

My two friends burst through the doorway and both hit me lightly on the shoulder in greeting.

"You had a job from You-Know-Who himself and you didn't tell us?" Crabbe exclaimed.

"I was told not to tell anyone," I responded quietly.

"What was it?" Crabbe demanded.

I hesitated. I wasn't sure if I could tell them, and what would they think if I did? I knew that their parents firmly believe in what Voldemort said, but I wasn't sure if my friends did.

"Oh, come on, Malfoy," Goyle encouraged.

I refused to tell them all of it, but I would talk about some of it. "You know that old story about the Vanishing Cabinet in the school?" I asked.

"Yeah. Didn't some kid break it and get stuck in a toilet?" Crabbe laughed, getting Goyle to snicker.

"Yeah," I confirmed. "I found it and mended it. I formed a passage between it and its sort of twin at Borgin and Burkes. That allowed the Death Eaters to come into the school and avoid the barriers they staff put in."

"Then they took the school and killed Dumbledore!" Crabbe finished.

"Y-yeah," I agreed, glad that their curiosity seemed to be satisfied.

"Did you hear who the new Headmaster's gonna be?" Goyle wondered.

"I didn't even know they found a replacement so quickly."

"McGonagall said that they wanted to get it done quickly so that everyone can have time to grieve," Goyle informed.

I nodded. "Who'd they get?"

"Snape," Crabbe answered, disbelief ringing in his voice. "He volunteered instantly. Said that Dumbledore asked him to be his successor."

"You mean the Dark Lord asked him to be Dumbledore's successor," I corrected.

"How would you know?"

"I don't. Not for sure, anyways," I clarified. "But Snape is a Death Eater, and you said it yourself. They took the school, and they want complete control over it. The best way to do that is to have a Death Eater be Headmaster."

"Snape's a Death Eater?" Crabbe breathed.

I gave him an incredulous look. "You know I'm a Death Eater, so I assumed you knew about Snape."

The two stared at me with disbelieving wide eyes.

"You're a Death Eater?" Goyle shouted at the same time Crabbe yelled, "Can I see the Mark."

"We knew you had a job from You-Know-Who, but we didn't know you were an actual Death Eater!" Goyle continued.

"Okay," I voiced slowly, trying to decide how to answer the both of them. "I started Death Eater training Fifth Year. Snape trained me, and my Mark fully formed a few months ago, so yes. I'm official."

It was strange to say that fact aloud, but it was true, nonetheless. I'm a Death Eater.

"Can I see the Mark?" Crabbe pleaded, excitement in his voice.

I rolled my eyes at my friend's actions. Why was he looking forward to seeing something that meant death?

I hesitantly unbuttoned the cuff covering my left wrist and rolled up my sleeve, holding my bare wrist out for my friends to see.

"That's so cool!" Crabbe exclaimed.

"Wicked!" Goyle agreed.

Crabbe reached out to take hold of my wrist, but I quickly pulled my hand away. "Don't."

"Why not?" Crabbe whined.

"Because touching it summons You-Know-Who, and we're not supposed to do that unless we've captured Potter."

"So you've got a plan to get him, then?" Goyle asked.

"Not that I've been told," I answered, "but someone somewhere is coming up with one."

"Good!" Crabbe yelled.

"That Potter's the only thing standing in the way of us winning this New Wizarding War," Goyle agreed.

None of us spoke for a moment, but Goyle eventually broke the silence. "We're staying for dinner, you know."

"Really?" I half-heartedly wondered.

"Yeah," Crabbe confirmed. "Our fathers are staying later, but they're sending us home at the end of the night."

"So, what was training like?" Goyle interjected.

"Yeah! Tell us!" Crabbe insisted. "Death Eaters are, like, superheroes, so I've always wanted to be one like my dad. You're lucky."

I scoffed. "Not as lucky as you'd think."

"What do you mean?" Crabbe wondered.

"I practiced during the summers, and they put up some kind of shield so that the Trace wouldn't detect my use of magic while underage," I explained, wandering back to my bed.

The other two followed me and took a seat on either side of me on the mattress as I told them everything about my Death Eater training with Snape. My hand shook uncontrollably as I spoke, so I slipped my hand underneath my leg to hide it from them. It was clear by now that the tremor in my hand was linked to fear somehow. Whether I was actually afraid or thinking about times when I was, my hand would shake, and the more afraid I was or the more I thought about it, the worse the tremor would become.

"Guess my father was right," Crabbe said once I concluded.

"Right about what?" I asked, trying desperately to maneuver the conversation away from my being a Death Eater.

"He said I wouldn't be able to handle training," Crabbe answered.

"Well, of course you wouldn't," Goyle laughed. "You can't go five minutes without food."

"Neither can you, Goyle," I reminded, forcing a small laugh.

"True," my friend agreed with a real chuckle.

"Draco! Dinner!" my mother called from downstairs. "And bring your friends with you!"

"You heard her," I said, playfully slapping my two friends on the shoulder.

The two laughed as Crabbe shouted, "Race ya to the bottom of the stairs!"

Goyle smirked confidently, tearing out of my room and down the hall.

I laughed quietly at their antics and followed them out. I moved fast enough to keep up with them and make it look like I was enjoying the race, but I was still stuck in the training. Flashes of green light and the echoing screeches of animals replayed in my mind the entire way to the doors of the dining hall.

"You lose, Malfoy!" Crabbe mocked, and Goyle laughed in agreement.

"Quiet down, you guys," I warned. "A lot of Death Eaters are staying here, so we're probably all having dinner together."

"Right," Goyle whispered and slapped Crabbe in the stomach to get him to agree.

With an intense nod from Crabbe, I opened the doors to our dining hall and walked through with my friends following close behind me.

My friends' parents had saved seats beside them, and there was an empty seat between my parents. The three of us separated, and I took the seat between my parents.

"Where have you been?" my father hissed in my ear.

"With my friends," I carefully answered, glancing at the drink in his hand.

He still wasn't sober. How was that possible? Has he been drinking all day?

I glanced nervously at my father all through dinner, attempting to use my left hand as I ate so that no one would see my right hand tremble as my mind kept making me feel like my father was still gripping my neck. Each time I swallowed, my throat turned to fire.

I hope you guys enjoyed, and I'll see you next week!