Chapter Two
Draco eased gingerly into his bed, an ice pack against his ribs. He could have used a cooling charm on the area, but he found that he liked the muggle way better. The fight had been a brutal, unarmed brawl that had left Draco with bruised ribs, and another win under his belt.
"Will you let me call for the Mistress, sir?" said the small house elf standing by his bedside as she twisted her hands in anxiety. Her big green eyes matching the tea towel she wore.
"Have I ever let you call Mother, Jujube?" Draco asked sarcastically, but then gentled his tone at the elf's flinch. "Please, just get me some feverfew tea. It will help," he said watching as her face lit up.
"Right away sir!" She popped from the room.
Draco used her absence to retrieve a bottle of Tylenol from his duffel, grimacing at the stab of pain that moving gave him. Popping the cap, he downed two of the pills dry. He'd have preferred a good pain potion, but his mother monitored the stores. He really didn't want to explain why he needed it.
He could just see himself explaining, "Well, Mum, I need the rest of the pain potion because I took a hard side kick in the ribs. Where you say? Oh, in the underground fighting circuit I've been involved in for, I dunno, about three years. Don't worry though, Damek got his after that knee bar I gave him. They pretty much dragged the guy off of the mats. Aren't you proud?"
Narcissa would faint in horror at the statement. He thought, that sometimes when his mother looked at him, that she still saw him as only her child and not the man that he'd became. And, since Draco didn't have brothers or sisters to take away at least some of her attention, he had to be very covert about his activities. She actually believed the stories he spun about playing rugby with Crabble and Goyle, or at least she never questioned his excuses for the many bruises and busted lips he often sported during breaks from school.
Lucius, if he were ever home, wouldn't believe any of lies. Fortunately, Lucius traveled often to inspect many of the properties owned by the Malfoy family and was unable to monitor Draco's outings. Now that he was in Azkaban, well, it was easier than ever to escape the manor. Not that Draco actually wanted Lucius in prison. He loved his father but he deeply resented the decisions that the man had made. Those decisions defined both his and his mother's lives. His father had received certain rewards, but those rewards came with a heavy toll. One that both Draco and his mother had to pay as well. Lucius' choice was one that couldn't be withdrawn and his decision had even forced Draco's own hand, requiring him to take the Dark Mark.
Draco had taken the Dark Mark for one reason, and one reason only. To protect his mother. Lucius was so enamored with the thought of the glory that he would receive once Voldemort was in power, that he'd put is family in danger time and time again. Draco didn't understand Lucius' blind devotion to Voldemort. Fear of the man – oh yes, he understood that – but belief in his vision? Voldemort's ideology, like the man himself, was corrupt. If Draco thought he could get away with it he would stab Voldemort in the back in a second. His fear for himself and to a greater extent, his mother, his dislike of a number of people that were on the so called "light" side, and the uncertainty of success were the only things that kept him from turning his coat.
"I has the tea, sir!" Jujube said, popping back into the room. She handed Draco a steaming mug, beaming at completing a task.
Draco sipped the hot, amber liquid, making a face at the bitterness of the brew that even the honey mixed in couldn't hide.
Draco woke abruptly when his mother entered his room. He had fallen asleep, and he wiped a bit a very undignified drool from the corner of his mouth with a grimace.
He blinked blearily at her. Rubbing his eyes he sat up, trying his best not to show the pain that ripped through his torso.
"You haven't forgotten have you?" Narcissa asked crisply. She was dressed in royal blue robes, her blonde hair drawn into a low chignon.
"Of course I haven't," Draco said, easing from the bed. He frowned looking down at his clothes. The black trousers and gray button down shirt were crinkled from his nap. He waved his wand over the clothes, returning them to their former pressed perfection.
"Good. We don't have a lot of time to spend in Madame Malkin's, so we had best get a move on," Narcissa said.
Draco wanted to be anywhere else, preferably in bed sleeping off the affects of the Tylenol and feverfew tea.
"Mother, you don't need to be here. I'm quite capable of doing my shopping alone," Draco said in irritation. He pulled the set of dark blue dress robes up his arms and glanced in the mirror to admire the fit.
"It isn't a good idea to go wandering about alone," Madame Malkin said. "If it makes your mother feel better to be here, why not allow it?"
He frowned at the woman. He wanted to tell her to mind her business, and opened his mouth to say just that when the bell over the door of the tiny shop rang. Draco turned from the mirror to see Harry Potter and Ron Weasley entering the shop.
He was slightly shocked at the appearance of both of the boys. Both were obviously thinner, but Ron looked positively cadaverous. His eyes had dark bags beneath them, and his usual carroty red hair looked limp and unwashed. Clearly the death of Hermione Granger had hit them both harshly.
The Prophet had been splashed with the story for months. Many couldn't wrap their minds around the fact that one third of the "Golden Trio" was dead. People came out of the woodwork, telling their own Hermione stories, and there was an "exclusive" insider interview in the paper every week. He doubted that even half of the people that had claimed to know the witch actually had, let alone had any personal stories to impart.
Draco had been shocked himself at the news. He told himself that it was just one less mudblood to deal with, but the news had shaken him, bringing to the forefront the reality of what the Voldemort situation was doing to their society.
"What the fuck are you looking at Malfoy?" Ron said, noticing Draco's gaze.
Draco sneered, all of the slight sympathy that he'd had for the bloke draining away in the face of the hostile tone.. "Nothing at all? Where's the Mudblood? Ah yes, that's right...how tragic...just tragic," Draco said, knowing exactly what to say to cut the deepest.
Harry and Ron whipped out their wands, pointing them directly at Draco.
"Take it back you fucking asshole!" Ron screamed, spittle flinging from his mouth.
"Put those wands away this instant! I don't need trouble like this in my shop!" Madame Malkin shrieked.
"Lower your wands," Narcissa said coldly, her eyes narrowed on Harry and Ron. "If you ever again raise your wand against my son, I will make sure its the last thing you do," she said evenly.
"Need your Mum to save you, Malfoy?" Harry said to Draco, taking a step forward. "Gonna send some of your Death Eater friends after me?"
"Wands down, I say," said Madam Malkin, her eyes wide, and hand clutching her collar as she glanced anxiously between the two groups.
"Feeling a bit brave under Dumbledore's protection, eh?," said Narcissa venomously.
"He isn't here now," said Harry, lowly. "Why don't you try it? Maybe then we can find you a cell next to your shitface husband in Azkaban? Should I call him Voldemort's bitch? Or is that your title?"
Narcissa flinched, taking an involuntary step back from the boy.
Rage ripped through Draco, and he drew his wand, ignoring the wash of pain that went through him at the movement. He pointed the wand directly at Harry. " Never speak to my mother like that again, Potter!"
"Its okay Draco," Narcissa said resting a trembling hand on Draco's shoulder.
Draco managed to reign in his anger, before ripping the robes over his head. "I don't want these any longer Mother. Let's just leave."
"Of course. I think Twillfits and Tatting's would be a better choice," Narcissa said, and with one last contemptuous look at the teenage boys, they left the shop.
Draco glanced at his mother in concern. Her proud shoulders had a slight stoop, and though he could see that she was trying, she couldn't quite hide the upset on her face. Narcissa was a strong woman, but the months without Lucius had taken their toll. Her mouth was pinched with tension.
Draco stopped her with one hand on her arm. "Why don't we head over for tea after we go to Twillfits and Tatting's, Mother?"
Narcissa's face smoothed, and she smiled at her son. "That would be nice. I can't remember the last time that just you and I had an outing."
Narcissa ran into a few of her friends inside of the other robe shop, and Draco used the distraction to slip away, knowing that she would be occupied for awhile.
She was unaware of exactly what the Dark Lord had asked of him, and he wanted to keep it that way. Narcissa had been running on sheer nerve and willpower since Lucius had been taken to Azkaban and Draco didn't want to add to her strain.
He wasn't happy in the least to have the task he'd been assigned, but after Lucius' failure in the Department of Mysteries, Draco knew that he would have to do as he was asked.
He remembered the night he received the Dark Mark vividly.
o-o-o
"The Dark Lord will see you now," Bellatrix said solemnly, entering the room quietly.
Draco and his mother sat in their informal drawing room. The room was a richly decorated, painted in a soft pink. Big cabbage roses decorated the fabric of the spindly chairs arranged in a semi-circle before the fireplace. Draco hated the room, he found it far too feminine, but it was the one place in their home where his mother was most comfortable and he did not want to leave her side.
They had just watched his father being forcibly taken to Azkaban. Lucius had gone with a stoic face, more afraid of the Dark Lord than the Dementors within the prison. He had kissed his wife on the cheek, and turning to Draco said, "Take care of your Mother," before letting the Aurors pull him into a side-long Apparation.
"He...He is here?" Narcissa said, her face wet with tears.
"Of course, dear sister. You didn't think that he would allow the failure in the Department of Mysteries to go unaddressed?" Bellatrix said lazily, twirling a curl around her finger.
"No, I wouldn't have assumed that butl, I didn't think that it would be this soon," Narcissa said standing. She nervously smoothed the wrinkles in her black skirt. "I'm ready to see him now. Draco, please go to your room and don't come out until I send for you."
Draco stood firm. "No, Mother. Father asked me to look after you, and I will."
Bellatrix smiled. "Aw, my nephew is growing into a man. Good. You will have need of that courage soon enough." Turning to Narcissa she said, "Sister, it is Draco that the Dark Lord would like to speak with. You will remain here."
"But...Bellatrix, he is just a child! I can't allow my child to go in front of..."
"Surely you do not believe that the Dark Lord means Draco any harm?" Bellatrix said, warning clear in her voice.
Narcissa flinched. "No, of course not," she said, cowed.
"It will be fine Mother, please don't let this upset you. I am not a child, and you can't send me to the nursery any longer," Draco said gently, patting his mother's arm. Turning to Bellatrix he said, "I am ready Aunt."
Bellatrix led him down the hallway to the formal dining room. The room was dim, curtains drawn tight. Light from the huge fireplace illuminated the room in all places but the shadowed corners. The large dining table that usually dominated the room was missing. In its place was a raised platform made of a black marble. Upon the platform was a large throne-like chair which sat behind a heavy, dark polished desk.
Draco noticed the hands first. Those thin inhuman hands, steepled together, elbows on the table. Voldemort leaned forward, the flickering firelight revealing his hideous snake-like features, and disturbing red eyes.
"Sssit down," Voldemort said, his hissing voice sounding merely bored. With a wave of his wand, a dull wooden chair appeared.
Draco sat in the chair, his eyes carefully lowered to the floor.
"Your face is bruisssed boy. Why?"
Draco swallowed before answering. "I belong to a boxing club, sir." That much was true, he did belong to a boxing club, both a legitimate wizard one and an underground muggle counterpart. The legit one was just not where he had gotten his bruised cheekbone. No, that had come from a deadly accurate spinning hook kick from his sparring partner while he had been distracted.
"Pugilism isss a dirty Muggle sssport. Why ssspend your time on nonsssense? A real man dominatesss with wizardry. Are you a real man Draco Malfoy?" Voldemort asked. He raised his hand, and Draco noticed the light bouncing off of a thick silvery chain in his grasp. Voldemort began to slowly reel in the chain, and Draco heard footsteps coming from the back of the room.
What was revealed made him swallow hard against the sour bile that rose to his throat.
The chain was made of thick, heavy links and was connected to a matching metal collar. The collar was around the neck of a slender girl. The girl was naked and filthy, her blonde hair dull and limp. She was covered in bruises and bite marks, the skin around her collar purple and black with crusted over scars. Her face was puffy and swollen. Her eyes were vacant.
Draco was so horrified at the sight that it took him a moment to recognize the her. Her name was Ingrid Merman, and she was a Slytherin that had been a few years ahead of him. Her father, Oliver Merman, had fallen out of favor with the Dark Lord six months ago. He had been subjected to the Cruciatus curse until he went mad, and apparently the Dark Lord had decided that the punishment was not enough. It seemed the Ingrid would bear the rest of the Dark Lord's fury.
"I am competent with my wand, sir," was all Draco said in reply to the Dark Lord's question. It had taken much to push past his revulsion, but he would not allow his emotions to rule him.
Voldemort chuckled at the evasion. "I have decided not to punish the Malfoy family for your father'sss failure. Instead, I believe that I will give you a ssspecific task. Will you agree to help your Lord?"
Draco knew that he really didn't have a choice. "Of course, my Lord. Whatever you ask, I will do my utmost to complete."
"Come to me, Draco," Voldemort said.
Draco stood, making his way to the desk. Just before he reached Voldemort, he sank to his knees and bowed his head. He'd known, by the time he was a toddler, the proper etiquette hat one had to follow while in Voldemort's presence.
"Roll up your sleeve for me," Voldemort said, pushing from the desk, and moving to stand at the edge of the platform.
Draco's head rose in shock at the request, his Aunt's gasp from behind him barely registered.
"Oh, Lord, you do my family much honor!" Bellatrix called out happily.
Draco ignored her outburst, unbuttoning his cuff and rolling the material back from his left forearm. Voldemort grasped the limb, his hand firmly around the wrist. The chill of his skin was unnerving and Draco wanted to rip his arm away. Voldemort pressed his wand against Draco's skin. The Dark Mark began to appear, burning like acid splashed against his skin. Draco bore the pain quietly.
"You have more courage than your father did, boy," Voldemort said pleased. "You may thank me for the honor bestowed upon you."
Draco leaned down to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes, fighting against the urge to vomit.
"Return to your seat. You have yet to learn the task I wish to give you," Voldemort said, returning behind the desk to sit once again in the high backed chair.
Draco quietly found his seat, his form outwardly calm as he waited for the Dark Lord to begin.
"I want you to kill Albus Dumbledore."
Draco's head snapped back to Voldemort, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Kill Dumbledore?"
"I believe that I spoke clearly," Voldemort said. "Ah Nagini, did you enjoy your supper?" he said, caressing the head of the large snake when her long triangular head came to rest on the arm of the chair.
Draco shivered. He hadn't even heard the creature enter the room. "Forgive me Lord, but how do you expect me to kill Dumbledore. He is one of the strongest wizards alive...Though not as strong as yourself," he hastily added, noting the look of ire upon Voldemort's face.
"Do you question me, child?"
"No, Lord, I merely..." Draco sputtered, before recovering his composure. "I thank you, sir for the chance to regain my family's dignity," he said quietly.
Voldemort smiled, the expression repulsive on his alien countenance. "The how of it matters not. I just want Dumbledore dead as soon as possible, and it pleases me that you be the one to do the job. Come here pet," Voldemort said, turning to speak to the the naked girl kneeling on the floor.
Ingrid rose and walked forward without hesitation.
Draco watched in disgust as Voldemort 's hand cupped her right breast, weighing the flesh before pinching the nipple harshly, smiling at her gasp of pain.
"Draco, if you fail in this task...I could always use another pet. This one is beginning to bore me. She doesn't have an ounce of spirit left. You know...I have always found your mother to be quite beautiful. You are dismissed," Voldemort said with a wave of his thin hand, his eyes never straying from the now screaming girl.
Draco stood abruptly, almost upending his chair. He walked from the room without a glance back, trying his best to ignore the screams of a girl he couldn't help. If a few tears fell down his face, well they'd dried by the time he was back beside his mother.
o-o-o
Draco snapped from his reverie. He hadn't been gone long, but if he knew his mother, she would be going crazy once she noted his absence. She had began to watch him like a hawk since he'd received his assignment. Even in the face of her anger – and eventual tears – Draco had refused to give her any details, conscious of the unspoken threat Voldemort had issued against her. After his refusals she had grown quiet, but he knew that it bothered her. He would have to make this unavoidable errand a quick one.
He ducked down the dark cobbled street, looking around him, his keen eyes noting every detail. It wasn't wise to be off of your guard whilst in Knockturn Alley.
A heavy eyed witch sidled up to him, boldly running a hand down his chest. She pushing a hank of dark hair from her face, and a waft of cloying, musky perfume assaulted Draco's nose. "I can take that frown from your face, honey," she said in a smoke roughened voice.
Draco pushed back from her. "Not today," he said simply. He had never taken a prostitute before, and he wouldn't start today.
"Your loss," she said, lip curling. She walked over to what she thought were greener pastures, eventually ducking into a dark alcove with an eager wizard.
Draco strode purposefully down down the street, his fierce scowl warning off anyone else. He spied his destination.
Borgin and Burkes was a hovel. With its dusty shelves and cobweb ridden ceiling, it managed to give off a both a sinister and nearly neglected air. Draco disliked the place immensely, but had deemed the visit as vital.
Mr. Borgin was a stooped man, with an oily face riddled with pockmarks. His equally oily hair was pushed back from his tall forehead. He had empty blue eyes that only filled with emotion when he was accepting money.
Draco didn't waste any time on pleasantries. "Do you have it?"
Borgin sneered. "What would a snot nose child like you be needing with such an item? I must confess that I found it very intriguing when you owled me about The Opal Necklace. I think that it would be a piece of information that would be very valuable to certain individuals, though I could be persuaded to keep my silence... I'd take money, or some other beneficial arrangement," his eyes slid down Draco's form.
Draco reached over the scarred wooden counter and grabbed the man by the collar. In one smooth move Borgin's face was slammed against the hard surface, Draco's wand jammed into the skin of his throat.
"Don't fuck with me Borgin. I don't have time for your shit, you mean less to me than a speck of lint on my robes. Now, do you have the fucking necklace or not?" Draco snarled.
"Let's not get hasty, my boy. Of course I have it," Borgin said, his voice half muffled, his breath fogging the spotty glass that topped the counter.
Draco reluctantly let the man loose, watching as Borgin straightened his clothing in affront. "You don't need to be so violent," Borgin said in a whine, playing the victim, seemingly forgetting that he had just tried to blackmail Draco for money or sex.
Draco pushed his robe from his forearm, exposing the Dark Mark. "If it was up to me, I'd just end you you piece of shit, but I am not working for myself. Now you can deal with me, or I can make a report about your shit costing me time..."
Borgin felt the trickle of warm urine run down his trouser leg as pure terror raced through him. "No, sir. Please wait here, I will be back momentarily with the requested item," he said, his voice shaky, but with much more deference than before.
He returned swiftly, a dark maroon velvet box clasped in his hands. "Here it is. I trust that I not need to tell you to handle it with care."
Draco opened the box and stared down at the antique necklace. The mostly blue stones glimmered with a plethora of rainbow shimmers, set into ornate silvery settings.
"Every thing seems to be in order, however if it is not..." Draco began.
"It will be sir. I guarantee it," Borgin said hastily.
Draco opened his robe, placing the box in an inside pocket. He tossed a heavy bag of coins on the counter. "Its all there. If you need to count it..."
"That will not be necessary sir. I trust that it will all be there," Borgin said, his voice had taken on a weary tone.
"Excellent. Good day to you sir," Draco said sarcastically, heading toward the door.
He didn't see Borgin slump into a chair as soon as the door swung back close.