Glassy were his eyes as they followed the direction of the body that fell on the floor, great with pain. Though he wasn't the one to supposedly feel it, Draco could feel the magic sting his veins as if a hundred spears went right through him. He could feel the guilt building up inside of him, crushing his soul; tearing him apart.

"Fuck," he swore, dropping his wand like he had touched fire. The mark on his arm burned as he regarded the dark-skinned boy who was unconscious on the floor. "Fuck!"

He is summoning you.

Draco took in a sharp breath. It felt like he had needles in his lungs. Picking his wand up from the floor, he glanced at Blaise, watched as the Mark on his arm also burned. He looked away, turning his back from his friend then apparated to the gloomy garden of Malfoy Manor.

Immediately, he was on his knees, ignoring his messy platinum blond hair from the abrupt gush of wind from apparating as the Dark Lord stepped down from his cold, icy throne.

"My lord," said Draco monotonously once the Dark Lord was near him. At the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of blond hair and identified the person as his mother. She was standing with his father, along with the Death Eaters who were in the Dark Lord's inner circle. There was a frown on her face, making it easy for anyone to spot her.

He wanted to scream.

"Ah, the Malfoy Heir! Lovely!" said the Dark Lord with fraud enthusiasm. He motioned Draco to stand. An evil glint shined on the Dark Lord's bloodshot eyes. He smirked, leaning towards Draco's ear. "Now, where might Blaise Zabini be?"

He cackled violently, head thrown back and shaken. Beatrix Lestrange's maniacal laughter accompanied his, smirking at Draco as if it would give him the boost of confidence he desperately needed.

Draco ignored his Aunt. Ever since Voldemort designated his headquarters at Malfoy Manor, Draco did his best to avoid his fellow comrades. Constantly apparating or using invisibility cloaks as his instruments, he manuevered himself in the hallways and corridors of his home like a thief in the night.

He bowed his head. "I apologize my Lord," said Draco, eyeing his dragon skin boots that were nearly hidden beneath his robes. "Zabini and I had a small misunderstanding."

Voldemort cocked his head to the side, a slow grin appearing on his pale face. Teeth glistening from the light of the moon, he placed a hand on Draco's shoulder, leaning towards his ear.

Too close. His voice vicious and dripping with venom. Even as he uttered two syllables it came out as a hiss like of a snake's.

"I see," said Voldemort, pulling away from the boy. His hand, which clutched the collar of Draco's robes, moved away from the fabric and interlaced with the other, clasping them together as if the time he already won the fucking war. His glare was fixed on the blond haired boy in front him, then immediately it was gone, replaced once more with the same sadistic smile he always wore when he was pleased.

Beatrix Lestrange noticed this and without hesitation she asked, "What is it, my lord?"

Voldemort turned to the witch and his grin grew wider. "A new prophecy has been announced," said he, whose grin is becoming darker and more sinister. "A guest, Lestrange; the child of the night and darkness, a relative of Death. He will arrive, mighty and unbeatable. He will be our ally to win this war and take back the world that belongs to us."

Bellatrix didn't know how to shut up. "Where is he, my lord?"

Voldemort, whose face crinkled with disgust, eyed the freed Azkaban prisoner. He had helped her escape. To break away from the chains that held her back from being at his side. As his servant.

She flinched as a devious smile appeared on her master's face. The Dark Lord, glanced at Draco. "He, my dearest Bella, will be the task of the Malfoy heir to find."

Narcissa Malfoy let out a gasp. It was small, except it was still audible enough for the Dark Lord to hear.

Draco eyed his mother warily. Once, she stood among the minions of the Dark Lord with a facade of obedience and honour, unmarked and innocent. Her once hard eyes now trembled at the sight of Draco. She hadn't been able to see him for a month. Yesterday's arrival of her son and husband at the manor had left her grim instead of relieved.

He couldn't blame her. With all the things that has happened ever since the War began, he has become used to the insurmountable fear he wakes up to every day. The tremble in his hands as he clutches his white sheets, seeing red on them and gone when he blinks.

He has grown accustomed to the screams in the basement of his house, the flashes of green light outside his window, his own screams. His eyes would be red from merlin knows what and he would wash himself, relishing the ice cold splash of water on his skin.

He got used to the flashes of the great Albus Dumbledore's fall, the sight of tortured mudbloods, and red marks on skin. He sees them and reminisces the pain and frustration every damn night.

Voldemort sharply turned to Narcissa, who stood her ground even as the vilest wizard towered over her. He had his wand out of his robes and it connected easily to Narcissa's throat. She gritted her teeth, words escaping her mouth in a hiss. "He is merely a child."

"No." Lifting his head, Draco regarded the expression his mother was giving him. It was of pure horror and terribly hidden concern. "I will do it, my lord."

Viciously, the Dark Lord abruptly let go of Narcissa, putting his wand back to the pocket of his robes. He gave her a withering glare before he glanced at Draco.

"Given the circumstances, the Nott heir will accompany you in your search." Theo? "If the both of you will return here empty handed—" he grinned "—consider yourselves dead. Do you understand?"

Theo had joined Draco in front. He can see his friend grip his robes, his knuckles white and shaking. They bowed.

"Yes, my lord."