June

Draco selected his book for the evening, a half-fiction retelling of a wizard traveling through the Amazon in search of undiscovered potions ingredients. He had read it once before, but all the books in the family library were familiar to him. The element of fiction made it more bearable than any study materials, and after two months of researching what ingredients and equipment he would need for the renovated potions lab, he needed a night off. Voldemort had been traveling; networking, Draco assumed. It had made the Manor more bearable, since the dark lord's presence carried a heavy fog weighing down on them all.

Nagini refused to leave him alone in Voldemort's absence. Getting used to her underfoot would take longer than the two months he had been back from Hogwarts. Most days, since Voldemort was gone often, she followed him through his meager attempt at routine; breakfast, a walk through the garden, working on the potions lab, a few bites for lunch to help assure his mother he was recovering, ordering for the lab, supper, and then wandering the library. He did his best not to deviate. Voldemort's absence didn't keep the death eaters from dropping in. They held meetings in various rooms, used Malfoy resources, and overall proved a menace to the household.

They were better avoided, even if seeing Nagini snap at them had been amusing. For the most part, none of the death eaters paid him attention. Because he was expected to always dress formally, he did end up getting some comments—who was he trying to impress, was he hoping the dark lord would come by, did he think he was better than the rest of them—and there were more than a few under-the-breath comments about the rumors.

He ignored those. Acknowledging them in any form would only give them power.

He wasn't a pet and he wasn't a paramour. Snape's words from that day in hospital gave him the best possible explanation. Draco's name, money, and blood made him a valuable pawn. While Voldemort lived in Malfoy Manor, Draco served as insurance of Lucius's obedience.

He held open the door to his bedroom so Nagini could enter first, but froze when he walked inside.

His father stood in front of the corner desk Voldemort had overtaken, and Voldemort himself sat on the other side. Draco inclined his head, ready to back out and leave them to their discussion, but Voldemort waved him in, almost dismissive.

Lucius stared until Draco sat on the sofa in front of the cold fireplace, book open and Nagini coiled beside him. Once Draco settled, Lucius cleared his throat and said, "Should none of these suffice, I would be glad to source other properties."

Draco didn't dare look to the other side of the room. He heard papers shuffling, cutting through the thick silence dragging on. Draco tried to read the book, but the power crackling from across the room left his shoulders tight.

"Several are on the mainland," Voldemort said.

"I wanted to ensure you had a complete set of options."

"Remove those. I will need to remain within apparition distance of London."

More shuffling followed. Draco read the opening sentence for the fifth time. Outside, rain tapped against the window. Draco didn't recall when it started to rain.

"Take those and go. I will have a decision by morning."

"My lord, you know the Manor is fully at your disposal."

Voldemort's silence indicated the question had been pointless. Anything the dark lord wanted was his property.

Lucius went on, "Narcissa and I would gladly hand over the master suite for your use. Or we could move Draco elsewhere."

Being discussed gave Draco the confidence needed to angle his gaze towards that side of the room, although, not fully. A fingernail played with the corner of the unread page.

"Have I given indication I am discontent with my accommodations?"

"My lord, a ruler of your standing shouldn't feel obligated to share a room with a child."

"Have I suggested this arrangement has been an obligation?"

Lucius fidgeted, fingers opening and closing around the snake head on his cane, and although Draco was desperate for space of his own again, he wished his father would stop. Voldemort wouldn't give up any weapons, and Lucius was proving Draco could be used against him.

"I only desire to serve you better," Lucius insisted.

"Should I find fault with Draco, I will resolve it. Go."

Lucius's jaw tensed, but he bowed. Draco caught his gaze drift towards the shelf that had once held Draco's prized photographs and awards. Voldemort had claimed it much for the same purpose. Now, there were three items on the lowest shelf: Draco's ring, Dumbledore's wand, and Fudge's Ministry Identification.

Lucius did not look at Draco when he left. With the door closed, the tension mounted. Draco doubled his efforts to read in anticipation of a long night ahead. If he had known Voldemort had returned to the Manor, he would have stayed in the library.

"Come here."

Draco set down his book, no need to mark the first page, and did as he was bade. He kept his head down, which meant Nagini remained in his vision.

"Your father has offered me the choice of land and properties for my future estate. How many have you visited?"

Some of the tension faded. If Voldemort wanted an estate of his own, that entailed leaving the Manor. A powerful lord couldn't stay in someone else's home forever.

"Several," Draco said. "Is there something specific you're looking for?"

"Location."

Nagini left Draco to take her place beside Voldemort. Draco took the spot his father had left, feeling safer with the desk between them, although logically, he knew that wasn't the case.

"Culbone is the best location," Draco said. "Near the sea, but nothing built on the land. If you want somewhere ready to move in, Sheffield or Hadleigh would be better."

The shuffling Draco had heard before came from maps and deeds on what used to be his desk. Voldemort flipped through them until he found the locations Draco listed. Draco folded his hands while awaiting dismissal.

"How close is Culbone to the nearest muggle settlement?"

"It's mostly farmland surrounding."

Voldemort ran fingers over Nagini's head, idly as he surveyed the land map.

"Your father proposed Knockholt."

"It's certainly closer, but mostly wooded."

"Would you lie to me?"

Not having expected the question, Draco glanced up, meeting the dark lord's red eyes. He felt a pressure, a request for access into his thoughts, not forceful, but perhaps a warning. Draco looked down without lowering his head, answering, "No, my lord."

The pressure of his mounting lies lay on the back of his tongue, and Draco felt that familiar ache down the scar on his throat. Lies by omission or avoidance were easier to swallow.

Accepting Harry's offer had been a mistake. He had spent the last year at Hogwarts pretending not to notice Harry's intentions and refusing to acknowledge his own reaction to them. Months removed from the situation, Draco easily told himself he hadn't really given in to Harry's ridiculous fancy. He'd been pretending, playing along to watch Harry make a fool of himself.

Draco pressed his lips together. The offer to leave hadn't been all he'd said yes to. That had been a moment of weakness, borne out of relief that he no longer had to hide.

Draco was marked. He was a death eater. He had made his choice.

"Even at the expense of your family's status? Even to keep hoarding property and lands you would rather not give away?"

The question about lying hadn't referred to Hogwarts. Draco pushed down those errant daydreams.

"I can't imagine there is anything the Malfoy family owns that wouldn't be willingly offered to you."

"Is Culbone the best choice for an estate?"

"To the best of my knowledge," Draco said truthfully. "There are better, but not near enough to London to apparate."

"Summon your house-elf."

Draco only gave himself the length of a breath to ask himself why Voldemort would need Neesy, but called out for her. She appeared beside him, then cowered, bowing deeply enough her round nose touched the floor.

"Bring Lucius back to me," Voldemort commanded her.

Neesy couldn't even answer him for trembling. She nodded, tried to bow more deeply, and disappeared.

Nagini came over to examine the spot she vanished from.

"Collect all the other papers for Lucius to take with him."

Draco did as he was tasked, and when Lucius swept back into the room—although, now that he was so reliant on his cane, sweeping gracefully didn't come so easily to him—Draco had the documents stacked and ready for him.

"I will be taking Culbone," Voldemort said. "Until the ownership can be transferred to my name, you will carry out the oversight and building."

"An honor," Lucius said.

Draco handed him the unwanted property sheets, only meeting his father's gaze long enough to see the trace of desperation there. Draco refused to show any emotion in return. His performance needed to be exemplary to account for all the unspoken failures.

His father left again and Draco intended to return to his feeble attempt at reading. But Nagini tripped him, causing a stumble he thankfully recovered from before falling, and after, he heard an exchange of parseltongue.

"She wants you to read aloud," Voldemort said.

"Oh."

Nagini hissed again.

"Would that disturb you?" Draco asked Voldemort, who still had the Culbone property map to review. Aside from examining the map, Voldemort tended to spend his time researching.

"Humor her. She has her mind too infrequently."

"I don't understand."

Voldemort glanced up. "Nagini is a Maledictus, too far gone to return to her natural form, but too young to have entirely lost herself."

A Maledictus. Draco knew all about them from childhood horror stories. All of his friends had wanted to learn to shapeshift, which inevitably led to stories about people with no choice. It was a slow death of the mind and a slower death of the body. Once, Theo said he would be glad for transformation of any sort, even if involuntary. It was one of the few times Draco had seen Narcissa truly angry.

"Does she understand when I speak to her?"

"Very little. You remind her of someone she knew before, someone she found comfort in, despite his troubled life."

Nagini pushed her head against Draco's leg, so he took the prompt to return to the bobbled the book when he picked it up, lost in thoughts of a forced transformation, of being out of control of his own body. Nagini had once been human, but now, there was no trace of that life remaining. She consumed Voldemort's enemies whole. How could anyone once human give into such inhuman desires?

Her mind only rarely was her own.

Draco attempted and then immediately failed to grasp that level of confinement. Without his mind, what was the purpose of existence? Occlumency gave him incredible comfort, offering full control and protection of his true self. There had been times last year where his mind had been his only place of retreat.

Draco read, voice quiet so he didn't cause more disturbance than necessary. Nagini lay coiled, maybe listening.

If the noise bothered Voldemort, he said nothing of it.

Draco shelved the last of the large jars, all labeled with the ingredient they contained, all in alphabetical order. Even Snape's storeroom had never been this well stocked, and when Draco stepped back, a flush of pride filled him. With all the ingredients delivered, it checked off the second-to-last item on his list. Now all he needed to do was fill out the bookshelves with recipe tomes and brewing guides.

Even those were solely for his benefit. He imagined any seasoned potions master would scarcely look at them, but Draco was not a master, and also, he needed something to fill the back wall. He had covered the windows since sunlight could affect some brews, and the empty wall had mocked him for the last month.

"How often do you all need to dust?" Draco asked Neesy, who had been helping him with the seemingly endless deliveries.

"We dust every week," Neesy said, puffing up, always proud of her work.

Draco nodded and turned to look back at the wall opposite the ingredients, where every sort of cauldron, stirring rod, scales, mortar and pestle, mixing solution, and cutting utensil were either hung or shelved. He ordered everything out of an abundance of caution (and little else to occupy his time), but that meant most of the supplies would sit to gather dust.

"I'd like you to be responsible for keeping the shelves clean. You've learned enough about everything to see it properly done."

Neesy's eyes grew impossibly large. "Neesy is being honored at the task!"

A year ago, Draco would have spat on the idea of being friendly with a house-elf. Even Neesy, who had been assigned to look after him his entire life, he'd considered little more than a servant the last seventeen years.

Seventeen.

It had taken multiple rounds of prompting to keep Neesy from mentioning it. Today was Tuesday, and nothing had changed.

"You'll need to keep up with restocking the solvent for cleaning the work tables," Draco went on. "Depending on the usage, we'll have to create a schedule for weekly cleaning, and a monthly deep clean."

Neesy nodded fervently. "Neesy will be helping with anything Master Draco is needing."

Every time she called him that, something panged in his chest. He understood it was customary. He knew that technically, the Malfoys were still masters of the Manor.

But that was just a formality. The Malfoys were masters of nothing but money.

Voldemort was somewhere in the Manor. As long as he stayed, the title shouldn't have applied.

"Let's get these crates out then," Draco said. "Will Derry and Pip use them in the garden?"

"They is always stealing things," Neesy said with a huff that left Draco curious about the dynamics between the family elves. He shouldn't have cared about their personal drama, but at this point, what else was there to do?

"For what purpose?" Draco asked, taking out his wand to levitate a stack of empty crates.

"Us elves do not even be knowing," Neesy said, and snapped her fingers to float the remaining crates. "Pocky followed Pip to see, and Pip took her round and round the garden."

Draco bit the corner of his lip to keep from giving a reaction. "And them stealing hasn't been cause for concern?"

Neesy gave a little squeak. "Neesy is not meaning they's be stealing from Master Malfoy! Only what is being vanished away."

House-elf drama might have been trivial, but it had him curious enough that he might just ask Dippy and Pip himself. But if he did ask them and they weren't causing any harm, he might stop them from something they took amusement in. That was hard to come by these days.

Draco let out a breath. What had gotten into him? They were house-elves.

"We is all just being curious," Neesy said at Draco's silence.

"I am as well, but I can't see what trouble it could cause."

They wove their way around the busts and statues in the hall, more careful not to bump the crates into a portrait that might hold a grudge. Once, Draco had drawn on a portrait of his great uncle Jeremiah, and he still couldn't walk by without being lectured about decorum and propriety, as if he hadn't been three.

Draco heard voices too late to stop. The crates were halfway into the parlor when he realized he didn't immediately recognize the voices on the other side of the wall and couldn't very well back away now. This was his home.

"Look who's off leash."

Draco set his sights on the glass doors leading to the back garden. Macnair, Yaxley, and Crabbe Sr stood together near the foot of the stairs, likely waiting on an audience with the dark lord. Their boredom couldn't lead to anything positive, and Draco's gaze barely grazed them before carrying on with his task.

He had intended to continue, until a spell stuck his shoes to the marble floor. The sudden jolt broke his concentration. The crates banged to the floor, some pieces splintering with the collision. Draco exhaled his frustration.

"Take this with you," he ordered Neesy. She didn't linger, even though he felt confident she disliked the idea of leaving him alone. But if Draco couldn't even control a house-elf, he was truly no one.

"Did you hear that yipping?" Macnair said. "A few hours of free reign and the crup starts giving commands."

Draco cast a quick spell to free his feet before compelling himself to face the group. He caught himself clenching his teeth and forced his jaw to relax. They were visitors in his home. They had gall to mock him here, especially since they appeared to be uninvited.

"Certainly you weren't ordered to loiter about my entryway," Draco said.

Macnair's smile twisted wickedly. He idly surveyed the room as he began crossing it. His refusal to keep his attention on Draco almost drove him back a few steps. The meaning behind that expression needed no explanation.

"Your entryway?" Macnair said, finally deigning to meet Draco's gaze. "Tell me more about what you own."

The trap was apparent. Draco held Macnair's gaze as he continued walking forwards, grateful to be taller so he could look down his nose.

"How exactly are you progressing the dark lord's mission while standing here?" Draco clarified.

"I'm keeping his possessions from acting out. Did he tell you that you could pretend to own anything? Did he buy your pretty clothes too, or just pick them out?"

Draco's cheeks heated. The order to constantly dress in his finest robes had stripped his wardrobe of anything casual. Today was especially terrible as he hadn't expected to run into anyone, and wore a deep green robe set that had enchanted golden roses on it. Even now, the roses would be drifting as if blown in the wind, and Draco couldn't look down to acknowledge how absurd it was to be wearing this around the house.

"Step away from me."

"You've no authority to give orders. In fact, let me help you learn to take them."

Macnair gestured for Crabbe Sr and Yaxley to join him. Draco met Crabbe's gaze, trying to convey the need for interference. He had been friends with Vincent since his birth. How could he stand by?

"Your mark is no different than mine."

"Your call to obedience is."

Crabbe and Yaxley stood over Macnair's shoulder, fully cornering Draco. He considered raising his wand, but being outnumbered, he didn't need to be a Seer to predict the outcome. They pressed forwards until Draco's back hit the wall.

"A bit mouthy, isn't he?" Yaxley said. "Aren't crups meant to be better trained?"

"I'm not a—"

Macnair's hand shot out, grabbing Draco's jaw, bringing him down to eye level. Instinct brought Draco's wand into position to cast him back, but Macnair's thumb entered his mouth, holding down his tongue. They had no reason to take his wand when they could prevent him from speaking.

"Our lord is simply too occupied for proper training," Macnair said while Draco clawed at his hand. "Decoration or pet, you're meant to be silent. Or I suppose, we could tolerate a bit of barking."

Draco bit down. Macnair withdrew his hand, but then raised it as though about to hit Draco. Draco flinched.

"What is this?"

Everyone turned to the stairs, where Voldemort stood at the top. He took his time with his descent, which gave Draco time to catch his breath.

"My lord," Macnair said, bowing slightly. "We came to give up an update on the workings at the Ministry."

"I gave you no orders regarding Draco."

Crabbe Sr and Yaxley had the sense to step back. Over Draco's shoulder, heavy rain began to hit the window, a rhythmic thrumming that overwhelmed his senses. He felt the thrumming in his ears and felt it in his hands where they clutched his wand and the fabric at his chest.

"My lord, the Malfoys—"

"I find myself curious," Voldemort said, demanding silence from Macnair. "How is your mark different than Draco's?"

Draco caught the first indication of Macnair's unease. He wrung his hands, briefly, and glanced out the window before bowing again.

"I live to serve you, my lord."

"As does he. Yet you claim his mark made him a pet?"

Voldemort finished his approach, attention fully on Macnair. Draco didn't think he could handle even the briefest glance in his direction. The room had fallen into dim light as the summer rainstorm outside intensified, and Draco pressed back to the wall for a modicum of further space.

"My lord, he has yet to learn his standing. I merely sought to help."

Draco could still taste bitterness.

"Kneel."

Macnair did without delay, palms to the marble tile and head prostrate. "My lord—"

"Tell me, Walden. How is your mark different?"

"It isn't, my lord."

"You claim Draco's mark designates him differently than you."

"I misspoke. They are the same."

The air crackled, not from the thunder outside. Draco kept his eyes downturned, convinced looking up would cause them to burn.

"Well? Go on then," Voldemort said. "Bark."

Rain pelted against the window. Draco's heart beat too quickly, causing a bout of lightheadedness. A hand to the wall behind him steadied him, although he nearly lost grip on his wand.

Macnair had the audacity to look up. "I was wrong. Forgive me."

"You disobey your lord?"

Macnair's throat bobbed, and he searched behind him for any support, but Crabbe and Yaxley refused to meet his stare. Macnair even dared to look to Draco for backing. Draco angled his head away.

"You dare keep me waiting?"

Draco closed his eyes, unable to watch Macnair bury his pride enough to offer a weak bark. His fingers tightened around his wand, the urge to apparate away from this too strong to ignore. Risking being splinched was preferable over remaining to witness the rest of this display.

"Do not dare speak for your lord again."

Draco jumped when a hand brought his chin up. He opened his eyes to see Voldemort's red gaze, and cast his own aside.

"Continue with your work, Draco."

Draco bowed, his head and then his body, and slid down the wall until he had the space to walk out, quickly, as quickly as he could without actually running.

The adjacent hall didn't give him the privacy for a full reaction. He stumbled into a wall, ignoring a portrait's worry over the state of his health, and used the wall to support his continued path away from Voldemort and Macnair.

He had been commanded to continue working, but Neesy had taken care of the end of it. He might find her in the kitchen. They could scrounge up additional work to keep them occupied and obedient.

Even this deep into the Manor's hallways, Draco heard the echo of the storm outside. He breathed through his mouth while doddering down the hall. His panic led his mind in a dozen different directions and forced him to replay the memory of being pinned against the wall, labeled an object, and of Macnair's desperation and eventual obedience. He had made his choice and it had been wrong.

Wrong.

WRONG

He didn't expect to find his mother in the kitchen, but fell into her arms. She stroked his hair without question and his breathing slowed with every pass of her fingers. Draco tried to compose himself. He was a man now and shouldn't have needed his mother's comfort.

When he eventually opened his eyes, he saw the reason she was in the kitchen. A chocolate cake was halfway iced on the counter.

"It's alright, love," Narcissa whispered without needing an explanation. "You'll be alright."