Lightning rages in the sky as the very heavens are in turmoil. Magic permeates the air, and death makes its claim, causing the hairs on the back of the neck to stand at attention. For reasons unknown to themselves, every member of the Malfoy Manor feels uneasy, and for the first time in both lives, Draco Malfoy feels a chill up his spine, and goosebumps on his skin.

CRACK! BOOM! The Dragon Slayer reels from the powerful spell that tears a hole in his newly erected wards. He remains alert, eyes darting back and forth, head on a swivel, magic reaching out to the far ends of the Malfoy land, searching for the intruder. His eyes see it before his magic feels it, the serpentine wraith of a man, the self-proclaimed Dark Lord, standing before him, wand made of Yew, with three rings on the end of it, handiwork that Draco recognizes with a heavy heart and a clouded mind.

He can barely raise his wand before he is bombarded, swarmed by spell after spell from the most dangerous wizard in current times. The first spell is batted away, but the effort it takes to do so is monumental, far more than Draco expected, and far more than he can maintain for a prolonged period of time.

CRACK! WHAP! BOOM! Spell after spell is blocked, deflected, and dodged as the Dragon King is kept on the back foot. There is no banter, no exchange of words, no parley before or during said assault, both men deadly silent and deadly serious. In the midst of said barrage, Draco launches a counterattack, using his other wands in an attempt to strike back, to throw the Dark Lord off his game and create an opening, but his heart sinks as he sees a familiar shield of magical energy erupt and protect his foe.

Whether it's another minute or another six hours, Draco cannot tell, because it's all so frantic, so hurried, so…foreign to him, being on the defense, being on the run, just barely surviving. It reminds him of his very last memory in his last life, and that…bothers him. It's not fury, it's not resignation, nor is it fear. It is an uncomfortable feeling, close to that of reminiscence, but when combined with the raw feelings of the last moments of his life…trauma is the word.

Breath caught in his throat, the Malfoy heir is finally overwhelmed, a rather dark piece of magic breaking his defenses and piercing him in the side, near his liver. He leaves his feet from the blow, not due to the force, nor the impact, but due to the sheer darkness he feels from his wound, from the pain.

And so he finds himself seated on the Malfoy Manor floor, the dining room in a state of disrepair, akin to the residue of a particularly violent riot, the Dark Lord's wand at his throat.

"Return my men." Voldemort demands with an indignant hiss. "Luciusss and Bellatrix are very important to my efortsss young Draco, and I will sssee them returned to me."

"Fuck off!" The Slytherin King retorts, and in that moment, he is forced to block yet another spell, one that gets through his defenses if only slightly. Draco cannot help but to glare at the rings, the trinkets attached to Voldemort's wand. "Nott." He spits out, causing his serpentine foe to smile.

"Indeed. Now will you comply, or will you beg?" Assessing the situation he's in, the betrayal he's feeling, his own haggard breathing, and the persistent pain in his side, the Malfoy heir can only shake his head.

"I…will bargain."

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Blaise and Nott look between each other, unsure of what to do. It's the start of the school year feast, the sorting feast as many call it, and their best mate is just…sitting there, in his seat, not touching his food nor his drink, a perpetual glower on his face with not a sound coming from person. They both look to one another, wondering what has made their friend so uncharacteristically quiet and broody, and though it's noticeable for only a moment, Blaise does see a spot of realization in Nott's eyes. He doesn't like that one bit.

Clearing his throat, he addresses the basilisk in the room. Or at least he attempts to, but as he is wont to do, Draco cuts him off, speaking his first words of the school year.

"Why?" He questions, looking at Nott with eyes of anger and of…is that sadness? Blaise has to suppress a gasp, not wanting to antagonize his best mate, especially in his current state. Did someone hurt Draco Malfoy? How? With what army? He glances at his other mate, Nott, and sees the quiet boy look down in shame.

"Why what?" He mumbles out almost under his breath. Draco doesn't divert his stare, nor does he blink even once.

"Why are you with him?" The Slytherin King accuses, and it's all Blaise can do to swallow his feelings. He wants to jump to Theo's defense, but he can see it. He sees a semblance of guilt in his other friend, and…and he doesn't know what to think. There's no way, right?

"I'm not." The quiet inventor responds, causing relief to flow through Blaise's body. "I gave him my terms, and he agreed." And like a boomerang, the anxiety and disbelief return.

"And he used you against me!" Draco hisses in anger. "How could you—?" Surprisingly the quiet boy interrupts him, holding up his hand as he does.

"I don't inquire what my customers use my wares for." He mumbles a little louder. The Malfoy heir's eyes narrow,

"But you knew!" He hisses. Nott hesitates, fidgeting in his seat before nodding slightly.

"I could guess. But—"

"But nothing! There was no hesitation! No warning! Nothing!" Blaise finds his breath caught in his throat, the air almost suffocating as his best mate flexes his magic. The room seems to shake slightly, as the weather changes abruptly, with powerful winds and more powerful thunderstorms, when moments ago it was a dry, gloomy day in Scotland. He notes the Weasley girl peering over from her table, concerned, but he can't help but to be more concerned for his own well-being. That and the health of his second closest friend.

"Congratulations, Theo." The Demon of Slytherin breaks the tense silence. "Your wares worked and they worked well!" Both the Blaise and Theo's eyes widen as they realize what he's implying. Shamefully, a bit of pride makes its way to Theo's eyes as well, and Blaise can't help but to let his incredulity show on his visage.

"What?" He chokes out, shocked that something Theo made could hurt Draco. Even if it was used by the Dark Lord.

"I—" Theo licks his lips as he tries to explain, but he's cut off quickly.

"No!" The blond answers sharply. "No, you've made it clear where your loyalties lie, and where they don't." The stormy grey eyes do everything but water as they continue to focus on the quiet boy in front of him. The owner of said eyes begins breathing harshly, in anger Blaise supposes, as he continues his diatribe. "I loved you Nott." He says quietly, shocking both of his mates. "As a friend, and as a brother, and it's the only reason you still breathe."

Nott opens his mouth, trying to plea for his life probably, but no sound comes, courtesy of a silencing spell.

"Don't!" The Slytherin King commands. "If…if…" He furrows his brow, before standing up in a blur of motion and stalking away with fury in his steps.