Draco's boots landed softly against the wooden floors of the Manor war room. At one point in time, his mother used this space to hold gatherings with the other highborn ladies of pureblood society. He could still remember the smell of the various bite-size cakes, sandwiches, and tea the elves would serve. His mother was none the wiser, but his favorite elf, Dobby, would turn a blind eye when Draco sneaked into the room and snagged a cake or two for himself. His parents and been incredibly strict about all things pertaining to his health, education, public image and extracurricular activities. His happiness was not amongst those concerns as it wasn't essential for survival in the Malfoy household. Now, the room only smelled of rotting corpses and filth, reminding Draco why he had chosen to keep his house elsewhere.
Draco's every step was met with envy and hatred, eyes following him with scowls of disdain as he strode towards the imposing table that dominated the war room. This was the place where the Dark Lord's wartime strategies were discussed, his presence a rare occurrence, leaving the task of battle plans to his most trusted generals, Draco and Bellatrix, the highest-ranking among his followers.
There was no honor amongst the Death Eaters; every man and woman clambered to slither their way into the Dark Lord's favor, and Draco was no exception. He had to lie, maim, and kill to fight his way to the top, to secure the illusion of safety the Dark Lord promised to his most devoted. It was a desperate climb, a game of survival where the stakes were high and the consequences severe.
Draco had quickly learned that planning attacks was a challenge when your soldiers were constantly stabbing each other in the back. The Dark Lord's ranks would have been decimated if not for the abundance of bigoted witches and wizards. But Draco had a skill that kept him afloat in this treacherous sea of deceit-he was a master of the game.
"Where will the all-mighty Malfoy be leading us today?" a particularly nasty low-ranking Death Eater asked as he rested his weight against the grime-covered wall.
Unlike his aunt Bellatrix, Draco rarely chose to exclusively select mid to high-ranking Death Eaters for his missions. Finding that the newer recruits were more desperate to prove themselves and more likely to make mistakes.
In the game of high stakes, Draco had learned the importance of manipulating his chess pieces in an assortment of carefully placed maneuvers. The occasional missed shot on a high-ranking order member, information regarding the Dark Lord's plans leaking, supply stores being raided in transport. All pieces Draco had carefully leaked in a way as not to take the blame himself. He'd, of course, had to pin someone each time this happened, and the entry-level initiates proved more useful in this manner than they did as actual Death Eaters.
Draco had, of course, received punishment for every failing, but it was lessened when it was not perceived to be directly his fault. He'd been forced to eliminate many of his foot soldiers, but he defended his actions by reasoning that he was weeding out the weaker followers. This had seemed reasonable enough to the Dark Lord.
Draco barely glanced at the grunt as his eyes flicked over the new information. "It is not your job to question where the location of the mission will be. It is your job to follow orders and kill anyone in the opposition that gets in your way. Is that understood?" Draco asked with a lazy drawl.
His eyes finally flicked towards the man as he mumbled a response to Draco's question. He assessed the short, plump figure for a moment before dropping the forms he'd been reviewing and walking towards the wizard.
Draco's boots ate up the distance between the two and his long fingers shot out and curled around the meaty neck of his subordinate. The coarse stubble on his gelatinous neck pressed against Draco's hand as he clenched his fingers nearly into a fist, the skin of the Death Eaters face morphing from pink to red as his air flow was constricted. The black leather gloves he wore clawed at the fist, robbing him of life, but Draco's hold was unbreakable.
"Now that I have your attention—you filthy piece of shit—let me tell you something you don't seem to grasp. You are nothing to me. You are nothing to the Dark Lord, and if I wasn't leaving for this mission in a matter of minutes, I'd slit your fucking throat right now. As it stands, your overfed body will prove more useful to me as a human shield than it will as yet another rotting corpse on this floor. This is your only warning. When I ask if you understand, I expect you to respond with 'yes sir', or 'I understand'. Any other response and you will not live to take another breath. Is. That. Understood?" Draco asked as he released his hold and stepped away.
The Death Eater fell heavily to the floor as he fought between coughing and sucking in greedy lungful's of air. After a moment, Draco lost his patience and let his booted foot glide forward with a swift kick to the man's ribs.
"I-I understand," he finally responded before expelling the contents of his stomach, adding to the grime that clung in a thick layer over the boards beneath them.
The last House Elf his family owned was killed a few years ago, and they'd not been able to obtain any replacements, considering the House Elf shortage. Their population had drastically dropped under the Dark Lord's reign due to an unwillingness to procreate and an unprecedented number of murders of the species. So, the Manor rotted, and Draco couldn't care less. Let the fucker burn.
"I'm glad we have an understanding. Clean yourself up. We're leaving," Draco snapped as his gray eyes shifted from the man to the rest of the room's occupants who would serve as his team for the evening. "Does anybody else have 'questions' regarding their role in tonight's mission?" he asked.
Draco's eyes shot to the heavy double doors of the war room as a sickly sweet smell emanated from behind the barrier, his alpha responding to the scent but releasing a huff and retreating further into Draco's psyche. Not many things shocked him anymore, but as the double doors flew open and he took in the sight of Ginerva Weasley striding through the room with all the confidence of a battle-hardened general, it left him slightly reeling.
Draco looked her over from her dragon-hide combat boots, black pants so tight they showcased her muscular thighs, and a black turtleneck that clung to her curves. The trademark Weasley ginger locks were tied back in a severe braid, but none of this was as striking as the jagged scar that cut from her hairline down to her jaw. Objectively, she was a beautiful woman, but she did nothing for his alpha. Once he'd finally found the elusive scent that had haunted him for years, there was no other woman who could even hope to steal his attention. It was Granger, or it was nothing; his alpha would ensure that.
"Weasley. I knew idiocy was a gene that ran strong in your family, but this is an entirely new level of stupidity that I couldn't have predicted, especially from you. Isn't your next eldest brother supposed to hold the title of the Wizarding World's Most Brainless?" Draco taunted as he circled slowly around her smaller frame. Her scent teasing at something he couldn't quite name. She didn't smell like an omega, but it was definitely a stronger scent than those of a beta.
Draco could admit he was impressed when Weasley let out a dark chuckle and her azure blue eyes followed his movement, assessing him just as he was her.
"I assume you mean Ron? I can assure you that many things have changed. However, that isn't one of them. He's just as much of a thoughtless ogre as he was at Hogwarts. Don't you worry your pretty little head Malfoy.I'mthe only Weasley you need to concern yourself with these days."
"Is that so? And how, pray tell, have you found yourself on the right side of history? Doesn't your lot believe in equal rights for all, love of the filthy Mudbloods and blood traitors alike?" Draco asked.
A look of deep distaste crossed over girl Weasley's face as she squared her shoulders. "Let's get one thing straight, Malfoy. I come from a long line of Pureblooded witches and wizards. Iwillbring honor back to my family name. Even if I have to kill every last blood traitor and Mudblood to do it. I am not my family, so I'd greatly appreciate if you refrained from associating me with their kind."
"That's a lot of talk coming from someone who has been known as Harry Potter's love interest, friend to Hermione Granger and other Mudbloods alike."
Those crimson lips turned up in another playful smirk. "Do all of your Death Eater recruits not have to go through extensive training? Are they not exposed to hours upon hours of torture to confirm their loyalty to the Dark Lord's cause? Do you think that I was an exception to this rule? I've proven my loyalty, so the way I see it, we have two options. You can either shut up about it, or I can kick your ass, followed by a meeting with our leader. I am sure he would just love to hear how you think the time I spent under his wand isn't sufficient evidence for you. You know exactly what goes on in those last few days of initiation. There isn't a part of my mind that he hasn't flayed open for his observation. I especially love how he rips your mind apart while using the Cruciatus. Much more efficient way to gather information. So, which will it be, Malfoy?"
Trusting a Weasley was far from the top of his list of things to do in his life. He didn't have to trust her though. He just had to lead her and figure out what was really happening. He'd be a fool to believe Ginerva Weasley was here out of a desire to follow the Dark Lord's cause. Draco would need to keep an eye on her to figure out what her motive really was.
"Fine, but I refuse to call you Weasley. It reminds me too much of your dim-witted brother. What shall your new name be? Or will you be just another face like the rest of this scum?" Draco asked.
"I made a bit of a name for myself in training. You may use the name I've earned for myself. Krasnaya Zmeya."
"Red snake? Are you certain you've earned that title?" Draco asked.
The room's occupants had formed a loose circle around the pair, obviously enjoying the evening's entertainment.
Weasley moved with a swiftness Draco hadn't expected. Her smaller frame flowed with a liquid grace as her hand left her hip and shot towards his face. Draco's alpha reflexes kicked in as a flash of silver flew towards him. A sliver of pain sliced through his cheek as he turned his head in the nick of time. His fingers swiped over the warm liquid that had gathered high on his cheekbone from the cut of her blade. He would give it to the witch; she was better than he'd expected.
"Krasnaya it is. The rest is a mouthful, and I don't have time for it," Draco said before turning to the rest of the Death Eaters. "What do you say, boys? Should we show little Krasnaya how we like to have fun?"