Draco Malfoy lies underneath the covers of his bed, chest bare, mind racing, and unable to sleep. He briefly glances at the still red mane belonging to the girl who lies beside him. A brief and quiet sigh escapes his lips as he looks upon her visage, the very sight of her beauty calming his nerves some, yet causing certain thoughts to be more prevalent.

He grimaces. How can he protect her, if he can barely protect himself? A throbbing, needling, almost burrowing, yet burning pain in his side, near his liver, reminds him of such a fact; the dark magic still attacking him 'til this day, trying it's damnedest to spread, to infect his magic, infect his body, and infect very being as only the darkest magics are wont to do. It is only through his great magical knowhow, his great magical talents that he holds it at bay…for now, and yet those same talents did not help him when it mattered most. Despite all of his power, despite him defeating a Dragon in 1 on 1 combat, despite his best efforts, he has failed to protect not only himself, but his family. The self-proclaimed Dark Lord had waltzed into his home, on his turf, through his wards…and it was all because of his friend.

Nott. He practically spits out the name in his mind, vitriol and anger attached. His best mate, his brother, the very boy he elevated and spent time nurturing had turned his back on him, and all for something as silly as recognition and pride in his work. Dark thoughts race through his mind, before he dismisses them. No, he can't kill and torture Nott, not yet. He's still useful and given what Voldemort is demanding, he may be needed. He…they could never have a proper relationship again, not after the staunch betrayal, but perhaps… He grins widely and evilly as he begins formulating plans for the future. For now, though? He stops and mentally checks the time with a spell and sighs once more, but this time in frustration.

He has a meeting to attend.

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Sitting in a surprisingly comfortable chair, the Slytherin King stares impassively at the elder before him. The arch wizard, the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore has called him to his office for a meeting, a meeting he scheduled in advance, despite Draco merely being his charge, and that in itself is strange.

Stranger is the resigned, yet contemplative look on the Supreme Mugwump's face, and the very subtle tells of weakness, of a dark magic plaguing his very being, very much so like Draco himself. He continues to study the man, probing for any holes, foe any sign of what's to come, and all he can garner from his observation, is that Dumbledore is here to sue for peace in some way, and it's in a way he does not like. A small grin threatens to make its way to Draco's face, but he suppresses it, not wanting to give away the game.

"Welcome young Draco." He greets with a kindly voice. "I hope your summer was both eventful and uneventful, a happy time without the stress of what is to come." He wishes sincerely. This causes the Malfoy heir's eyebrow to rise.

"And what exactly is to come?" He questions, though the headmaster remains silent, with an expectant look on his face. Draco rolls his eyes at the old man's petulance. "My summer was bollocks if that's what you want to know." Dumbledore's expression drops, a tint of sadness marring his usual jovialness.

"I'm sorry to hear that." The Dragon King has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes once more.

"Just get to it, if you will." He all but demands, causing the arch wizard before him to close his eyes and exhale. Said eyes snap open only moments later.

"Mr. Malfoy, I have…observed you in my school for five long years, your actions, your demeanor, the power you wield, the order you demand, and the evil you bring." This time, Draco can't help but to grin his wide, evil grin. "But that is not all I see." The grin lessens. "I see, through your interactions with Mr. Zabini, Mr. Nott," Draco tenses at the mention of the traitor, though Dumbledore doesn't seem to notice, "and Miss Weasley, a small flame inside you, one that prevents the darkness from subsuming you, from taking full control." Draco grins widely once more, but this time for a different reason, this one holds a tinge of amusement.

"So, you see the good in me? Is that it?" The headmaster nods hesitantly.

"If not exactly how I would describe it, it is close enough." The Malfoy heir shuffles back into his chair, getting comfortable.

"OK, and what? You wish for me to join you in your hunt against Voldemort?" The last word elicits an expression of shock in the arch wizard's face, clearly not expecting such a thing. He quickly recovers, though it's clear he's still taken aback.

"I do, but not how you think." He confirms, as Draco motions for him to continue. "I wish to offer you a deal Mr. Malfoy, more accurately, a bet; one that can benefit you greatly, should you emerge victorious." The evil grin returns to the Demon of Slytherin's face, as he begins to piece things together.

"And what would this…bet entail?" He leans back, hands met, feet crossed, and fingers entwined. Dumbledore inhales deeply, before responding.

"A duel." Draco's eyebrow rises at this.

"A duel? With who? And for what prize?"

"Me." He answers and instantly, Draco's mind begins racing as he assesses the situation, the danger, the escape routes, and of course, the kill shots. "The prize will be twofold." The elder wizard states, eyes tired but resolute in what he's saying. "Should you win, Draco Malfoy, I will present you with this." He places a wand on the table, and immediately, Draco can see, he can tell, he can sense that it's not an ordinary wand. It calls to him, its power, its allure, its—

"The Elder wand, Mr. Malfoy, a wand said to be unbeatable, and proven to be able to do the impossible." He pauses, a small smile on his face. "It is only right for a wizard of your stature to have a matching wand." Draco nods, grin gone, a contemplative look on his face, a look of focus and deep thought.

"And if I lose?" He inquires quietly, clearly not wanting to even voice the option, even if it is a fairly likely outcome.

"If you lose, you must join me in my fight against Voldemort, as you said." Eyes closed and exhaling, Draco leans back in his chair, this time not in a relaxed state.

"And that's all?" The headmaster nods.

"That's all." He confirms. Draco nods his head repeatedly, thinking it over.

"If I accept, how would we do this?" At the raised eyebrow of the arch wizard before him, he begins to clarify. "How do I make sure you give me the wand? How do you ensure that I fight the cheeky half-blood? When do we duel? Will there be a referee? And so on."

Dumbledore raises a surprised eyebrow at the 'cheeky half-blood' dig, but he quickly glosses over it.

"An Unbreakable Vow." He answers definitely. "I'm sure you've heard of it." The Malfoy heir nods.

"I have."

"Great, then you know the consequences of breaking it." He essentially states, eyes serious and almost cold.

"Death." The smile returns to the old wizard's face.

"Quite so. A bit extreme, but…" Draco waves his words off.

"It's perfect for something like this." Silence reigns between the two for a long minute before the younger of the two breaks it.

"I get to choose the time and the place?" He questions.

"If that is what you want, Mr. Malfoy." The headmaster answers, before pausing, thinking of something. "As long as it falls within the school year, it is entirely up to you." With those words, the widest grin yet adorns Draco's face.

"Well then, I think we have a deal."