The reunion of the Malfoys had been a grim one. Draco's hands still slightly shook from the Cruciatus Curse he'd been subjected to for failing to kill Dumbledore. His father still reeked of Azkaban, all his features ashen and protruding. And his mother, ever-so-composed, crumbled completely once the three of them were alone. Draco held her hand as she sobbed into his father's chest. He had never seen her weep before. He'd spent the whole year worrying about her, praying she wouldn't be harmed. It must have been a nightmare—living in a house swarming with these disgusting creatures, not to mention the Dark Lord himself. His soul ached for her.
Father, he pitied much less. He'd brought this upon himself. Upon all of them.
No, it was not pity Draco felt. It was anger. With each passing day since his father's return, Draco grew more and more furious. And, as he took in the man's trembling, shrunken shape, Draco's unwavering devotion, for the first time in his life, was beginning to give way to contempt. Malfoys were supposed to be cunning and powerful, feared and respected, and always on top. It was in their nature to be masters. Instead, they were mere servants, and of lower rank at that. Reduced to a joke. Shunned by everyone, foes and allies alike.
Their house, their money, their very lives were no longer their own. His father had squandered it all away.
If Draco wasn't so consumed by anger, he would have been consumed by fear. Between the two, he much preferred the former. He was careful, though, to banish any hints of displeasure with the Dark Lord himself. His Occlumency shields notwithstanding, harbouring such thoughts seemed dangerous.
This instinct wasn't born out of paranoia either. Draco knew he was being watched. Each time he found himself in the same room as Bellatrix, she would stare at him, studying his expressions. Once, at the end of a regular Death Eater meeting, he could swear he felt her presence in his mind, replaying the memory of that night at the Astronomy Tower, searching... Thankfully, she was interrupted by a question from the Dark Lord. She didn't get to the moment Draco Malfoy had lowered his wand. She didn't get to read his thoughts pertaining to that moment. The experience left Draco terrified, and from then on, he made sure to keep his shields up whenever he was around people, never letting his guard down, not even for a single moment.
Aunt Bella already knew he didn't have the stomach for murder. What she didn't know was that, for a second, Draco almost believed Dumbledore—the old fool—could help him, and that he actually considered his offer. If that bit of information were revealed, Draco wouldn't have gotten away with just an hour or two of torture.
As it was, he was disregarded as weak and useless, finally left alone. Or so he thought for a while.
Draco sat alone in his chambers. The July night was quiet and clear. A warm summer breeze drifted through the open window, playing with his hair. A Potions book rested in his hands, but he couldn't bring himself to focus on the words. His mind was wandering, his eyes watching distant stars, when she entered. Bellatrix never knocked.
"Draco," she cooed.
He put the book down on a coffee table and made a move to rise from the armchair, but she stopped him with a lifted hand.
"Good evening, Bella." He kept his voice neutral and his expression schooled, immediately occluding his thoughts. "What brings you here at this hour?"
Viper-like, she began circling him in silence. Draco couldn't help but tense.
"Draco, Draco... You are the spitting image of your father, do you know that?" she finally spoke, coming to a halt behind his armchair. "Of course, you do. You've heard that line ever since you were a baby. And yet, I had hoped the resemblance stopped at the surface."
She dug her long, dirty fingernails into his shoulders and whispered in his ear, "You've disappointed me, Draco. You've disappointed our Lord."
Draco tried to swallow, but his body seemed to have frozen.
"Luckily for you, the Dark Lord is merciful," she continued. "He's willing to give you another chance to prove yourself."
"What..." His voice sounded hoarse when he spoke. "What do you mean?"
"Potter," Bellatrix all but spat, her nails digging deeper. "That filthy half-breed. They're going to move him in a few days."
"The Order of the Phoenix?"
"Blood traitors and Mudbloods, the whole lot of them. We're going to incinerate them all."
She withdrew her nails and stepped out from behind the chair. Her manic smile turned into a deep frown as she fixed his gaze on him.
"The Dark Lord will graciously allow you to come along," she said.
Draco's expression remained stoic, even as his heart skipped a beat.
"I will do my best to serve our Lord."
"That is not good enough," she hissed. "Don't you understand, boy? You cannot afford another failure."
His mother's sad face flashed before his eyes. He had thought that once Dumbledore died, it would all be over. Draco Malfoy was a fool. Of course, it wouldn't be over. It would never be over. A sudden weariness descended upon his shoulders.
"I know," he said quietly.
Perhaps a quick death in battle would not constitute a failure. Or at least wouldn't be considered a punishable offence. Surely, the Dark Lord would spare his grieving parents. Surely... Oh, Draco Malfoy was a fool. His death wouldn't save them. Nothing would.
"For the sake of my sister," Bellatrix continued, "I will help you."
Despite the kind words, his aunt's eyes glinted with a menacing sparkle.
"Get dressed," she ordered. "It's time you overcame your irrational fear of the Unforgivables."
He was already dressed—black shirt and trousers, as always—but any objections he might have had died in his throat under her icy stare.
"Where are we going?" Draco tried his best not to sound panicked. There were several prisoners in the dungeons—the wand-maker, for one—but a cloak was hardly needed down there. No, they weren't going to the dungeons. They were leaving Malfoy Manor.
"You'll see."
As Draco threw on a robe and followed Bellatrix out of his chambers, his mind raced. Why didn't the prisoners suit her needs? Torturing or Imperiusing them wouldn't raise any objections. But killing them? That was a different matter. They must have held important information to warrant a kidnapping. They weren't Draco's to kill. That's why they were heading out—to find subjects suitable for his training in the Killing Curse. His heart sank.
Draco, you are no assassin, Dumbledore had told him.
Well, tonight Bellatrix certainly was going to make him one.
They descended the stairs to the ground floor and entered the empty Grand Hall. Bellatrix strode toward a fireplace, casting an impatient look at Draco. He close the distance between them in several strides. Taking a handful of powder, she snarled, "Lestrange Manor!"
"Wait!" came a voice behind them.
As green flames flared up, Narcissa Malfoy hurried toward them, placing herself between Draco and his aunt. Warm gratitude filled his chest, though he didn't dare hope she might save him.
"Where are you taking my son?" Narcissa demanded.
"Oh, Cissy." Bellatrix sneered. "You need to stop coddling him and start treating him like a man grown."
"Where are you taking my son?" Narcissa repeated, her voice slow and measured.
"Out to train!" Bellatrix threw her hands up as if it were obvious. " I intend to make him worthy of the Death Eater name."
The women stared each other down for a long moment.
"I only wish to help," Bellatrix lowered her voice. "He is weak, Cissy. He will not last a day out there. And you know you can't hide him behind these walls, you know that."
His mother's shoulders slumped slightly in defeat, a sigh escaping her lips.
"At least give me a moment. A moment alone with him," she pleaded.
With an exasperated huff, Bellatrix retreated to the window.
Narcissa turned to Draco and took his hands in hers.
"Promise me you'll be careful," she whispered. "Promise me you won't let any harm come to you."
Before he could tell her it wasn't exactly up to him, she slipped a hand inside her robe pocket and produced a piece of jewellery—a golden bracelet with tiny runes inscribed on it. There was no time to read them.
"I didn't mean to give it to you just yet," she said. "It is almost finished, but there are a few reinforcements I wanted to place upon it. No matter. Once you return, I'll—"
"You made this?" He looked at her in surprise.
She only nodded, fastening the bracelet on his right wrist and concealing it under his shirt sleeve. Both her hands lingered on his wrist as she closed her eyes and leaned into him. He inhaled the familiar flowery scent of her hair—home.
"Be careful, Draco," she whispered. "Be safe."
"Enough with the mollying," Bellatrix's voice rang out across the room.
The next moment she was beside them, pulling Draco's arm and side-stepping Narcissa.
"Lestrange Manor," she cried out once more.
As the flames swallowed them, Draco cast one last look at his mother's sad face, wondering why it felt like a farewell.