"My lord?"
Voldemort removed his hand, turning in a smooth motion to Lucius. His demeanor lorded over the moment, fully in control and aware of the power he held over every aspect of their conversation. He let the moment linger, enjoying having them all so tightly wound.
"You have a question, Lucius?"
Although Voldemort spoke in a level tone, Lucius cowered, retreating back on himself. To his credit, he answered without stumbling.
"I admit I don't understand your meaning."
"Draco has pledged himself to me in the same way you have," Voldemort said. "Do you need to see the mark?"
Lucius reacted as though tethered by puppet strings. He lifted his palms nearly in surrender, seemed to realize the absurdity of the response, and then relaxed his shoulders on an exhale. As far as Lucius knew, Voldemort had truly been referring to the mark. But Draco felt the truth in that stare.
The fireplace flickered unsteadily. Nagini moved around in the room in winding paths. Draco forced himself to keep his gaze level rather than return to the safety of staring at the floor. A desperate feeling in his chest demanded an end to Lucius's misunderstanding, but he set his jaw and remained otherwise still. The death eaters were about to join them, and Draco couldn't display any weakness when public understanding was their family was being punished.
"Our main room is prepared for the gathering," Lucius said, gesturing with an open hand. It was where they always had met for any large event, although, the events of Draco's childhood—charity galas, political fundraisers, holiday parties—were long past.
Voldemort knew their home well, and walked out ahead of Lucius. Draco and Narcissa paused to stay a few paces behind, daring a moment's appraisal of each other. Like Draco, she had caught on to the true nature of Voldemort's claim. And like Draco, she knew nothing could be said in protest.
The mark they both agreed to take had been a pledge of loyalty. Though not as binding as an unbreakable vow, when it came to service of the dark lord, a broken promise had the same outcome. That promise didn't depend on the nature of their individual orders. Draco had promised his life. Actually being called upon to follow through shouldn't have come as a surprise.
Still, he counted his breaths as his heart raced and his feet were slow to lead him to the next room. As the walls of the manor creaked around him, he tried to recall the last time he felt confident in the decision to follow the dark lord. His entire childhood had built trust in his father's promises and beliefs. He molded his worldviews around Lucius's assurances. Taking the mark had been promised to be an honor.
It was an honor.
It was an honor.
Draco repeated the mantra in hopes of branding them in his mind. If the words remained in his thoughts, perhaps he could learn to believe them again.
He startled when Nagini brushed against an ankle. He hadn't thought it was noticeable, but Voldemort looked back.
"Draco, you will not be needed tonight. Sit in the back with Nagini and keep her company."
Draco nodded once to cover his silence. Even if he had thought up a proper response, he didn't have breath to form the words. Nagini brushed against him. If he lingered too long, he would lose his composure. Composure was his last true asset.
He spun the Malfoy ring while he made his way to the far end of the room, opposite the marble fireplace that was for show and for warmth, not connected to the floo. Voldemort sat in his father's armchair, angled to face the empty room that would soon be filled with Death Eaters, eager to learn where their lord had been for four months.
Nagini kept pace with him and wove around the legs of his chair, and then began the climb up the back. She looked at him and Draco could see intelligence in her eyes, but far overshadowed by the size of her mouth. He'd seen her swallow a man whole. Now she slowly tightened around him.
Voldemort couldn't lose Draco this close to the cabinet being repaired. As a parselmouth, he would have told Nagini not to kill Draco.
He hoped.
"My lord, surely Draco can be allowed—"
"He is still in the room, Lucius. Would you have Nagini remain alone?"
Draco didn't know where she had been while Voldemort was at Hogwarts. As far as he knew, Voldemort didn't have a home of his own. He must have trusted someone to look after her, or had a home somewhere secret.
"If I could only help Draco with his task, he wouldn't displease you so."
"Of the two of you, he is the one yet to fail me."
Draco gave little attention to his father's failed arguments. He watched Nagini with caution, checking again and again that he had quick access to his wand. He didn't know how he might fend off an attack should she turn on him, but he had to cling to whatever reassurance he could. If she tightened much more, she could cut off access to his wand.
She was all he could look at. When people began to arrive, Nagini held his gaze. Draco couldn't bear to be grateful for something else to focus on, especially when he envisioned what the others must have seen when they looked in his direction. The other Death Eaters—because he was a Death Eater too—could think what they wanted about him for now. A child assigned a suicide mission, being forced to sit through a meeting while Voldemort's pet threatened to strangle him.
Once Dumbledore was dead, they would know the truth.
He promised himself it would make this all worthwhile.
And he kept reassuring himself of that same promise as more people came in, and the mocking stares aimed at him piled on. Draco kept his jaw stiff, unwilling to waiver even in light of the apparent humiliation being leveled at him and his family. His only role tonight was to sit in silence. Nagini complicated matters, but only relating to his personal comfort.
As Voldemort's followers arrived, they knelt before him and offered trite greetings and well-wishes Draco stopped listening to. They had all remained faithful while he was away, they had all served him according to their orders, they had all longed for his return and leadership. Draco didn't need to hear the repetitions.
Most arrived early, or at least promptly, and after they all gave their respects, they took their places.
After everyone arrived, Voldemort remained silent for a full minute, surveying the room from his seat on Lucius's armchair. The silence, especially after a long absence, captivated the room. Draco could hardly hear so much as a breath from the crowd. Even seated, Voldemort's presence loomed.
After a time, Voldemort said, "Were there casualties in the Azkaban breakout?"
Yaxley stepped forwards, bowing. "Several of the guards and prisoners, but none who bore your mark."
"Were there any deviations from the orders I left you?"
"Only one, my lord. Several of their wards had been altered after the breakout last year, and required adjustments on the spot to account for."
"Nothing so severe to prevent a second escape."
Yaxley bowed deeper. "No, my lord. We were sufficiently prepared for the changes."
"Talk me through it," Voldemort said. He sounded uninterested, and Yaxley overcompensated in his retelling of the events of the night of the breakout. He made it out as a grand adventure in the name of the dark lord, but in reality, it sounded much the same as the breakout last year.
"Azkaban must be under our control," Voldemort said, cutting off Yaxley's mid-tale. "How many resources are wasted in recovering forces from the prison?"
Draco could pick out those in attendance who had been arrested at the end of last year. They looked much the same as his father, sunken features, grayed skin, a haunted and distant expression. They all had essentially just been called a waste of resources, and were all staring anywhere but the front of the room.
Nagini tightened again. She twisted through the motion, lifting her head up to rest over Draco's lap. It gave her the vantage point to survey the room, while also checking on Draco.
There was nowhere safe to give his attention.
"We will need the dementors," Voldemort said. "Who is willing to see it done?"
Those who had been in Azkaban the most recently refused to meet his gaze, and none of the others offered up their immediate obedience. Draco knew no one who could produce the patronus necessary to keep them at bay. Seeing the change in his father reaffirmed their fears. They all could see the outcome of time spent around the dementors.
"No one is willing?" Voldemort asked, and did a slow stare around the room, taking in all the downturned heads.
After the prolonged silence, Selwyn stepped forwards, dropping to a knee. "My lord, I will deliver your message to the dementors, and will bring them over into your service."
"They are not beings destined to serve," Voldemort said. "But they have their purpose in our upcoming efforts."
Selwyn nodded deeply, and then stepped back to join the crowd. Those around him murmured, whether praises or sympathies, Draco couldn't make out. He doubted anyone in the room was so bold as to speak anything foreboding in the dark lord's presence.
The meeting went on, men and women stepping forwards to give an overview of their actions. Draco had never sat in a meeting of this nature before, and hadn't expected just how much had been happening in the last four months. There were dozens of death eaters now working in the Ministry, many of them in positions of authority. Safe houses were being established for quick escapes. Resources were being stockpiled. Messages were sent to adjacent countries, and with them, their ministries. Support had spread through communities.
People followed power. Even in his absence, Voldemort exuded it.
Lucius promised his support any time funding was mentioned. He pledged any resources necessary to see the dark lord's will carried out. His desperation oozed from every pledge, and Draco wanted to scream. His eagerness to prove himself after failing came across as weakness. For the first time, Draco thought his father looked pathetic.
But looking down, he didn't see how he fared any better. The dark lord had given him to a snake.
The meeting dragged on, and Draco lost interest after the fourteenth declaration of undying service. In his boredom, he'd taken to watching Nagini. The patterns on her back shifted every time she moved, tightening and relaxing. At one point, her head nudged its way under his hand, then rested there. Draco didn't dare to attempt moving.
With his new fixation on Nagini, Draco only noticed people leaving when the room had half cleared. Those who Draco didn't know were the first to leave, and those who remained were the ones who wanted to be in the presence of the dark lord the most. But even they thinned out over time, until only his parents, his aunt and uncle, and Yaxley.
"My lord," Bellatrix said, on her knees beside him. "Please let me aid you in your efforts. I can help."
"I have all I need, Bella. You are better served to continue building forces."
"I hate to think of you working alone," she said. Her hands were on his arm rests, edging nearer and nearer to touching him.
"Do you believe I am unfit to handle my own affairs?"
"Never," she said, shuffling forwards on her knees. "I only desire to serve you."
"As you have been."
Lucius stood by the fireplace, staring at his shoes. For all of Draco's life, Lucius had been strict about personal presentation and posture, but after his time in Azkaban, he now slouched in on himself, as though making himself as small as possible would compensate for his failures. As if Draco wasn't doing that exact thing.
With a few more orders to Yaxley and Rodolphus, Voldemort came to the end of his orders. He stood, dismissing them with a gesture. Yaxley left through the floo, but Bellatrix and Rodolphus were able to apparate out of the manor.
"My lord, can I prepare a room for you?" Narcissa asked.
"There is no need," Voldemort said, and then turned to Draco. "Nagini, Draco, come."
Nagini unfurled from around Draco and the chair. The order hadn't been in parseltongue, and left Draco to wonder how much she understood. Could snakes learn commands in the same way cats and owls did? Was that a question he would be permitted to think?
Draco refused to look at either of his parents as he made his way to the stairs. From the corner of his eye, he saw his mother take a step forwards, but then retreat. They would both come to learn the same thing that had been spelled into Draco. There was no arguing the dark lord's orders, not even questioning.
Walking up the stairs took concentration Draco hadn't anticipated. Nagini moved upwards in a back and forth slide, occasionally crossing paths with Draco and threatening to trip him at the ankles. Face-planting would be a fitting end to the night.
But he made it upstairs, and after checking with Voldemort, carried on to his room. He held the door open for Nagini, and Voldemort came in after.
Draco's room had once been two, but the wall dividing them had been torn down before his birth. The side nearest the door held his sitting area, angled around a large fireplace and a window seat. His double bed filled the center of the room, a large nightstand on either side, and the wall and surfaces around it covered with pictures taken over the years. The far end of the room held his study, cornered in floor to ceiling bookshelves, a desk and chair tucked in for his personal studies. And his wardrobe, mirror, and personal bath were on that side as well.
He surveyed it as Voldemort did, wondering how it appeared through his eyes. Draco had never been one to decorate, and the room was the same forest green it had been since his childhood. As long as he could remember, the ceiling had been enchanted to reflect the night sky, always cloudless.
"Tomorrow, you will remove all of your personal effects," Voldemort said.
"Yes, my lord."
Nagini circled the room, passing close to the walls where possible. Giving up his bedroom didn't bother him as he once thought it might have.
"Throughout the break, you will remain in sight of either myself or Nagini."
Draco knew better, but couldn't hold in the question. "My lord?"
Voldemort stepped up to him, and Draco lowered his gaze. He shouldn't have asked. But he had been waiting for this break for weeks, and felt it slipping away from him.
"You are the flaw in my endeavors this year. The one weak point. I will not have you speaking to anyone without my knowledge."
"I would never," Draco said.
"And I will ensure it."
It had been like his first night of term again, unmoving in bed, terrified of even the slight motion breathing caused. Sleeping with Voldemort looking over him had become commonplace, but Nagini brought in a new terror. She slept on the bed with him, draped over him, head beside his own.
Once darkness had fully fallen, Voldemort ended the enchantment on his ceiling, canceling out the stars.
Nagini's every exhale caused his hair to flutter.
The dawn brought him relief, but it was another hour before Nagini stirred, moving enough to allow him to slip out of the bed. He snatched his day robe and wrapped it around him, only to realize Voldemort was staring from his position at Draco's desk.
"You will spend the morning clearing your room," Voldemort said. "At dusk, you and I will go to Borgin and Burkes."
"Yes, my lord."
Several of Draco's books were stacked on his desk, and one book was open in front of Voldemort. He didn't try to see which one it was. Instead, he went to the bathroom before Nagini could trap him again, and rushed through preparations for the day.
When he had finished and was dressed, he returned to his room to begin pulling down the pictures.
"Do you always dress so poorly?"
Draco looked down as though he might have accidentally grabbed something stained or ripped. He had chosen his outfit anticipating a day of manual labor, as well as taking into account that very little in his wardrobe would fit him well. He wore his brown riding trousers, with a tunic designed to be loose fitting tucked in.
"I am dressed to work, my lord," Draco said.
"With so little remaining to you, I would think you would want to always remain presentable."
"Most of my clothing no longer fits me," Draco had to say.
"Tell Narcissa to see to that challenge."
It wasn't an option, so Draco stopped protesting it. He went back to the wardrobe to find something more presentable, and changed into a set of black robes he had once worn to a holiday gala at the Ministry. The robes were heavy, a deep navy with silver vines trailing all over, and given the layers, hid the weight loss.
Voldemort didn't question his clothing this time.
"You will eat regularly over the next two weeks," Voldemort said.
"I will, my lord," Draco said. "May I go now?"
Voldemort nodded, and spoke to Nagini in a low hiss. Draco felt the words in the back of his neck, and waited until Nagini came down from the bed to follow him downstairs.
Going to breakfast dressed in a nicer pair of robes felt ridiculous, but he carried on. Like giving up his bedroom, what he wore felt like something so trivial, he shouldn't have questioned it.
But his parents' expressions still threw him.
"Draco? What are—" Lucius began, but Narcissa stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"I will need my clothing sent out to be tailored," Draco said. "As quickly as it can be done."
"Of course," she said. "Is there anything else?"
"I'll require an elf to help me today. As well as storage space for some of my personal belongings."
"Which of them?" Narcissa asked.
"Everything," Draco made himself say, and then took a seat at the table. The moment he sat, Nagini wound her way around his feet.
"What should I be told?" Lucius said. "It is unacceptable for the two of you to hide something from me."
Narcissa patted his arm. "The dark lord has given Draco an assignment. How he chooses to carry it out is none of our concern."
She spoke well, but her mouth gave her away. Her lips always twitched downwards when she had cause for anger, and thankfully, only Draco was in a position to see it. Which part angered her, he wondered. Nagini following him, or Draco being made to dress up.
Draco made himself a small portion, worried that any more might refuse to stay down. He started small, tea and fruit, and once that seemed to settle, spread jam over a piece of toast. Draco watched his plate. If he looked up, he suspected he would find Lucius staring at him, and that would prompt questions which couldn't be answered. Draco himself didn't have many of the answers.
He had almost finished the minimal food he plated for himself when his mother spoke.
"Will I be able to assist you in clearing out the room?"
"I will need to handle it myself. Having an elf assist with the moving of the boxes will be enough."
Draco didn't foresee Voldemort taking well to having anyone else in the same room, not without his express approval. Draco could handle packing. Seeing his wall bare for the first time would be more difficult than levitating a few heavy boxes.
Thinking of the night before had stripped the flavor from his food, but Draco continued eating until he couldn't any longer. Three small meals a day could get him back into shape before returning to school. Given how distant his mind had been of late, he knew without significant change, he wouldn't be any use to Voldemort if he deteriorated any further.
Tomorrow you might.
Draco set down his cup a little too forcefully. He thought he had buried the reminder of that conversation far enough it would remain hidden, even to him. What part of him clung to it and refused to let it go? Could he bury it as well?
If he could take the last night as indication, Voldemort wouldn't be searching his mind nightly while away from Hogwarts. That didn't mean he would stop permanently. Draco had to be prepared for the invasion at any moment. And he had to stop considering it an invasion, when he was certain it was meant to be an assurance of loyalty.
And here he was, hiding Potter's offer to defect.
Draco reburied the memory, and got to his feet when finished. He nearly stepped on Nagini, and startled away when she snapped at his foot. He met his mother's gaze, although he wasn't sure what he hoped to gain from it, before carrying on. Despite Nagini's evident annoyance that he nearly stepped on her, she hung close to him as he made his way back upstairs.
Voldemort was gone when Draco returned, and Draco's posture relaxed when he realized. He called for Neesy to help him with the packing, and she reveled in being chosen for the task. Together, they removed all the pictures from his walls. They took down the trophies from Draco's shelves, which now seemed childish in the wake of Voldemort's moving in. Trophies for summer flying classes and potion competitions were so petty. Draco had even spello-taped up a copy of his OWLs from the year before.
It all came down.
Narcissa arrived to take his clothing for rush tailoring, and Draco only kept his pyjamas and the outfit he had worn the night before. The black robes would draw less attention when they went to Knockturn Alley later on that day.
Clothing handled, Draco and Neesy tackled his bookshelves. The manor had a separate library, but Draco had been collecting books as long as he could remember. He switched interests so often that his books ranged from Quidditch to history to a record of entertainers over the last two centuries. The stack on his desk remained untouched. Voldemort had taken down four books: two on the history of magic in France, and two on obscure charms. If he didn't want them later, Draco could have them sent off with the rest.
By lunch, his room was bare. The only sign of any personality came from the bedding and the green walls. The room felt hollow when it was so empty. Even as a lord, he couldn't imagine wanting to live somewhere devoid of life.
"Can Neesy help Master Draco more?" she asked.
"That should be all, Neesy."
"Neesy will ensure good care of all Master Draco's belongings."
Draco hadn't considered it, but he didn't know where most of his possessions would be stored. He looked down at Neesy and nodded.
"You've done excellent work today."
Her expression opened, all adoration and happiness plain, and then, perhaps overcome with emotions, she disappeared. He could hardly blame her. The last time he gave any true praise to an elf, they broke a hand trying to process it. He knew better, but also had been so tired of not hearing any praise for the efforts he had put in.
With his task of the day completed, and nothing left for him to do during the day, Draco attempted napping. He had the same difficulties as the night before with Nagini in the bed beside him, but exhaustion won out. Draco slept and dreamt he was being suffocated.
When he woke, Nagini was draped over him, and Voldemort was sitting in front of his fireplace.
"You are afraid of Nagini," he said.
"Am I not meant to be?" Draco asked.
"Nagini is soft for boys in your position. She will only lash out if given reason."
Draco wanted to, but didn't ask what Voldemort meant by that. He took the comment at face value, that Nagini wouldn't hurt him without reason. Though, after her snapping at him at breakfast, it seemed like an oversight might count as a reason.
"Get ready," Voldemort said. "We have much to see to today."
"For Knockturn, my lord?" Draco asked.
He worked his way out of the bed, easing around Nagini, and put as much space between them as he was able to.
"In time."
Draco didn't question further, and used his best judgment to prepare for the afternoon. He changed into the outfit from the night before, went downstairs for something quick to eat, and then returned ready. Voldemort didn't linger a moment longer than necessary, and led Draco back downstairs, although, not to the exit or even the floo.
Rather, Voldemort opened the door to the hidden room, and led Draco down into the cellar that used to store Lucius's dark artifacts. After the ministry had raided them years before, the space had remained empty. Now, hidden in the dim lighting, Draco spotted someone chained to a stone pillar.
Voldemort raised his wand. Draco flinched on reflex, but he only used it to light the room.
In front of them, Thomas McGruder winced at the sudden influx of light. Seeing him in this position, Draco froze, processing the sight of the boy who had been controlling him all year, filthy and chained, half his hair longer than the rest.
Voldemort reached into his robes and withdrew a knife, and then a narrow jar.
"Cut his hair," he ordered Draco, and passed over the objects.
Draco took them, knowing better than to stall in a direct order, but then slowed as he stepped forwards, kneeling in front of Thomas. The light from Voldemort's wand showed the true extent of Thomas's time in chains, showed the severity of the weight loss in his face, the near translucence of his skin, the heavy purple bags under his eyes. He met Draco's gaze, desperation dripping, and reached out, chains rattling.
"Please," he said. His voice broke despite the whisper. "I swear I'll obey."
"Then hold still," Draco said, willing his voice to remain steady.
Draco took a clump of dirty hair, the natural grease having collected dirt from the cellar, and began sawing through. He expected to struggle, but the knife cut through with ease. Draco worked without meeting Thomas's gaze again, cutting off sections of hair until the jar was filled. It would need to be washed thoroughly before being added to any polyjuice.
"My lord, please allow me to leave," Thomas said.
Voldemort said nothing to him. He only held the light for Draco to work by, and when Draco finished, put away his wand.
"Come, Draco."
Thomas's pleas carried on behind them as they ascended the stairs, and Draco nearly cut open his palm on the knife in his efforts to tune them out. After all this time, he hadn't once pondered over where the real Thomas McGruder was. Knowing the truth made sense, albeit in a sickening way. Voldemort couldn't risk anyone stumbling upon the real Thomas while he claimed to be him.
How easily it could have been Draco in that cellar. Voldemort could have chosen to pose as Draco. Draco would have been more convenient, rather than calling the McGruders back into the country. Posing as Draco wouldn't have required a private dorm room, which had brought questions. Posing as Draco would have made him a prefect, and given him free reign to wander the halls after hours.
If Draco couldn't remain useful, he could very well end up chained on the pillar beside Thomas.
Draco kept silent, following Voldemort through the entry hall and to the floo. He felt he had just glimpsed himself in a parallel life, and knew he would do anything to avoid ending up as the next Thomas McGruder.
"Go to Knockturn," Voldemort said. "Leave the knife and hair."
Draco set both on the mantle, and then took a pinch of floo powder from the bowl. He loathed traveling by floo, and was eager for the day he could begin apparating. The apparition lessons would begin in a couple months, and then it would only be a matter of waiting until his birthday in June. But until then, Draco threw down the powder and clearly stated, "Knockturn Alley."
And then he was pulled through space, bending through the world as magic drew him from Wiltshire and into London. He stumbled forwards when the pull on him faded, and stepped into the White Wyvern.
The pub was crowded, but Draco stepped aside so as not to be in the way of the next person through the floo. Given the hour, along with the holiday season, Draco suspected the crowd would only grow.
No one gave him a second glance. Although he was underage, the pub served as the only floo location in Knockturn, which meant anyone not wanting to be seen coming through Diagon would use it. Draco had come through enough times with his father, occasionally with his mother, to know the procedure. He remained near to a wall, out of the way of the patrons, and waited.
One witch came through before Voldemort. Seeing Thomas McGruder outside of the cellar now felt wrong. The contrast was too stark, too sudden, for Draco to easily ignore.
But he had to. If he broke down now, he would be worthless.
It took Voldemort a moment to spot Draco. If anyone had been paying them attention, they might have noticed it as being off. Everyone here had likely gone through this process dozens of times over. They knew where people waited on the other members of their party to follow.
Draco followed Voldemort down through the side exit.
"Are you familiar with Borgin and Burkes?"
"I have been many times," Draco said.
"Borgin will recognize you?"
"I believe he will."
"You will need to lead the conversation. I cannot let on to knowing him."
"Do you intend on him keeping the cabinet, or should I purchase it?"
"If you can have it moved with no one seeing. If not, Borgin has a basement. Keeping it off his shop floor will be sufficient."
"I wasn't aware he had a basement."
Voldemort nodded. "It is where he stores what he wishes to keep. Borgin has always been a collector."
Draco supposed that running a shop of the like of Borgin and Burkes must have come from a desire to collect antiquities and artifacts. The objects sold had to come from somewhere. And the curator required an eye for what would sell. It was a position Draco thought he might enjoy, as a hobby, given money would never be an issue for him.
Although instinct told him not to, Draco took a step forwards to walk in front of Voldemort, leading the way into the shop. It was his first time without his father, but he knew the layout of the store. He remembered where the cabinet had been, vaguely. He hadn't seen it in years, and the only reason he had thought of it again was Montague's run in.
"Thought you were your father for a moment there."
Draco turned to Borgin. "An odd conclusion, given my father's recent imprisonment."
"Very true. I never would have expected his first stop to have been my humble shop."
"You undersell yourself."
"Has Hogwarts already let out for the holidays?"
"A couple days now," Draco said. "I imagine the term schedule isn't so important to anyone not in attendance."
"And of no importance to a businessman. What are you here in search of, Mr. Malfoy?"
Being used to his father's cane rapping his knuckles any time he dared to touch anything, Draco walked through the aisles with his hands behind his back, wary of bumping into anything. He once left a fingerprint on a glass phoenix and his father had berated him in front of everyone because of it.
"I recall you once owning one half of a pair of vanishing cabinets."
"And still do. It's just over here."
Draco followed Borgin's gesture to the other end of the shop, past a crinkled hand, a vase with vapor rising from it, a low table carved with intricate runes, and dozens of other things Draco had no interest in. He recognized the cabinet after all their time working on its twin, and knew he had no business with anything else stocked here. Once this cabinet was completed, he would move on to the next mission. The next would be simpler, in a way. The next wouldn't involve living with the dark lord. The next wouldn't put him at risk of being the next Thomas McGruder.
He had to see this through. There wasn't a choice.
Obey or end up chained in the cellar.
"It has been here for several years," Draco said. "Is it damaged?"
"There are some slight defects, but overall, it is in good shape. It only remains because no one wants to buy one half of a set."
Voldemort came around and opened the cabinet door. It opened smoothly, and Draco glanced inside.
A wrapped sweet sat on the bottom, beside a quill.
Voldemort closed the door, then opened it again. The items remained.
"I won't be able to bring it with me until the summer," Draco said to Borgin, "But I do intend to buy it. Is there somewhere off the floor you can keep it?"
"I could have it moved into storage. Is there a reason you are unable to take it now?"
"I'll pay well for your aid," Draco said. "Do we have an agreement?"
"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. I'll have it moved down by tomorrow, if that works?"
"And I'll send word to Gringotts to have them send over payment. While it is in storage, will I be able to come in? I'd like to gauge the extent of the necessary repairs."
"Well, I keep very…significant merchandise in my storage space," Borgin said. "I can't simply allow anyone to enter that area."
"Do you believe I'll steal from you?" Draco asked, letting himself sound amused. "I am here for a broken cabinet."
"Even so, the risks—"
"Name your rate," Draco said.
And from there, the deal was struck.