Chapter 49: Mistrust

Sunday, 16th July 1995.

Kreacher scowled as he felt the residue of the dirty ones beneath his skin.

A deep taint that he could not remove. Nor could he talk to his mistress about the filth. The two had a power over him that he despised. Their words held sway, even over those of the mistress.

He had even felt them watching him from afar since the gathering. An intense swelling of the taint. It had nearly made him sick to his stomach. It had felt so wrong to have them watching him. Kreacher had immediately fled in an attempt to shake the feeling, but it had no effect. No matter where he went or how far away he roamed, the taint remained.

He had taken to staying away from his mistress. Although he had only felt the focus once so far, it felt as if they were searching for something. And they were using Kreacher to do it. He would not allow them to steal from his mistress. Kreacher would protect the secrets of the Black family. Especially those of the young master.

To do so, he had no choice but to temporarily serve another.

He scowled again as he felt the summons. While it lacked the taint of the Two, it still felt wrong to serve others while still tied to his true family.

Kreacher appeared in the teen's bedroom, noting the absence of anything indicative of true personality in the brat. While its blood was pure, the Malfoy boy was far inferior to those Kreacher had served in the past.

"About time. I'm thirsty. Fetch me something strong to drink." The boy demanded.

Kreacher would not have tolerated him at all if it were not for the modicum of Black blood in the boy. Narcissa was far more tolerable, however she was busy elsewhere, serving the Dark One. Wherever she was spending her time was beyond Kreacher's ability to trace unless she called for him directly, forcing him to remain in this place instead.

"Now." Draco reiterated, glaring down at Kreacher.

"Yes, young master," Kreacher replied.

He tried to ignore the wide smirk that grew over the boy's features. The child had taken Kreacher's presence in the house as confirmation that he was the true Black heir. That he would have mastery over the house of Black as soon as he reached his majority in a few short years.

Whenever the child thought itself alone, Kreacher could hear it mumbling about how it would repair the family. Cast out the filth and have them in chains so they could receive what they truly deserved. Plans for the wealth that had built up over the generations. Dreams of control that Kreacher knew would never come to light.

Kreacher felt another even darker taint on his magic as he popped away to the kitchen. The connection to his mistress's great disappointment.

Mistress had been so distraught at the betrayal. And now Kreacher was bound by his bond to serve the traitorous one. The only bright spot in the situation was that He had not called for Kreacher. Not in the years since he had taken over the family.

Kreacher sighed and resigned himself to continuing this charade. It was vital that he protect the family secrets. Master Regulus had trusted him with a precious secret. While Kreacher's failure haunted him every day, he was sworn not to tell anyone.

Master Regulus had ensured that.

ϟ

Tuesday, 18th July 1995.

Harry stepped inside the home and immediately felt strange.

There was odd magic here.

Despite the feeling, it was a very nice home. Opulent furniture was tastefully placed around the rooms he had seen thus far. Large photographs of assorted people looked down from every side as they continued deeper. And there were shelves with nick-nacks from all over the world interspersed amongst them all.

Several of the faces were familiar to Harry, even though he had not met most in person. Every single one was famous in one way or another. A politician here. A sports star there. The owner of Honeydukes. The editor of the Daily Prophet. Well-known authors in all kinds of fields. Experts in esoteric and complex magics. People of note. People that most would love to mingle with and speak to. As some of the photographs showed those very individuals doing.

The most familiar faces though were a mixed bag for Harry. The first that required a double take was a pompous teen with extremely striking long blonde hair and an air of superiority that came through even from the subtly shifting movements of the photograph. A face that he had recently seen coughing blood all over itself as the owner died after having tried to kill Harry and Hermione: Lucius Malfoy.

The second he had expected, Sirius had warned him that it would be there once Albus had confessed where they were headed, and yet it still shocked him to see her.

Lily Jasmine Evans looked down at him with a smile Harry had seen a million times before. Love and regret tinged together that still didn't manage to spoil her sweet face. Being that these were photographs rather than portraits, the colour of her hair and eyes was even more precise, he assumed. She seemed so young and carefree, which slightly annoyed Harry as it would be only a few short years after this that the portrait he knew so well would be painted.

Only a few short years before the man standing directly behind her in the picture would lead to her demise.

Even as a teen, there was no mistaking Severus Snape. He had always worn that dour expression on his miserable face.

Harry stepped closer and looked at the label underneath claiming it as a photo from 1976. Meaning that, while the smile on his mother's youthful face was genuine, Snape's most likely was not. This was after their falling out. Which made their positioning all the creepier, and left Harry feeling a little bit dirty.

But that was the thing about photographs. They lied.

They showed the people within posing and posturing. People changed when cameras came out. Acting as if everything was ok for those few fragmentary moments before reality reasserted itself. So they could hang the lie on the wall and pretend it was always like that. Folks rarely hung the truly candid photos on the wall.

Harry knew that when this photograph was taken, the people within were at war. For the bigotry of the Death Eaters had penetrated even the powerful walls of the school.

While Riddle himself never successfully entered the school as Lord Voldemort, his short attempt at being hired still attempted as Tom Riddle, his sycophants did. They spread their ideology through their children, via mail and at Hogsmeade visits. Insidiously corrupting the youth in the halls. A spread that his father and mother had both fought against in their own individual ways. Before they eventually came together and continued to do the same as the official leaders of the school. Being Head Boy and Girl together in their final school year.

It led to them often clashing with many of the faces in some of these pictures.

Harry sighed and turned away from the picture. They had a purpose here today and it was not for him to wonder about Riddle's last attempt to steal power. It was to thwart his new attempt.

He closed his eyes and let his magic wander. It immediately twinged when it rolled over the closest figure in the room, the only one ahead of him in the space so far. A habit it had still not fully gotten over since that first touch as he stormed angrily around his bedroom so long ago. It steadied as it washed over Sirius and Harry could feel that his godfather was also sickened by the sight of the pictures around them.

When he had finally learned their destination, Sirius had taken Harry aside and warned him to be wary of the man they now sought. The man coveted people and their value to him. Despite hating the truth of it, there were few people on earth more worthy of such behaviour than Harry Potter. Despite his claims that Harry was present to help keep the man from running away, it was now clear why Dumbledore had actually brought him along. The hope that Harry's fame would be impossible for the target to resist.

Harry's magic stretched behind him and out the door where it sensed Remus patiently standing guard. He had chosen to remain outside, though had not elaborated on why. Harry didn't mind. He trusted Remus completely on matters like these. However, he would not let either Sirus or Remus prepare a meal for him anymore. Some things were not a matter of trust but simple common sense.

Finally, his magic settled over the odd feeling in the space, slowly pushing down through the obscuring conjurations and illusions to the heart of the spells. It was all centred around a table in the middle of the wide room. When Harry focused his eyes on it, he noted how odd it was in the room full of fancy things.

It was a plain timber table, round on top with a single three-foot-thick leg leading down to a wide, plain round base. Seemingly ordinary in every way. Completely unadorned.

And that was what triggered Harry's awareness most of all.

In this room, nothing was ordinary and plain. This table, once you got past the charms keeping it from being noticed, was entirely normal and empty. It had no purpose.

And, upon closer inspection, it also exuded emotion.

Harry turned to Sirius and caught the man's attention. Under normal circumstances, Harry could have addressed the situation himself, but he was still under orders not to use his magic unless absolutely necessary. Even this long after the patronus lightning incident. Plus, he had to admit, he was also slightly curious to see how Dumbledore's plan played out for now. Sirius on the other hand, did not lack for reasons to cause mischief at the best of times.

Harry pointed to the table and he noticed the surprise on Sirius's face when he finally saw it sitting there. Which quickly gave way to a cheeky smirk as the man brought up his wand and cast.

The table squeaked, though not against the floor. It was a human sound given off by the man that the table reverted into almost immediately as it twitched and giggled on the floor.

It was a large old man in a pair of silk pyjamas. He was bald but seemed to make up for that deficiency with an enormous walrus moustache. He fumbled inside of the dark velvet jacket he wore over the pyjamas, fingers failing to grip whatever he was searching for as Sirius's tickling charm spread further over the man's body. For the Marauder had not released the spell either and was advancing on the laughing man on the floor.

"Horace, there you are," Dumbledore said, stepping back over to the man and waving his own wand at the figure, breaking the spell that Sirius was having such fun casting.

Harry was sure that there were a lot of stories about this man that he would be hearing soon, judging by the sad face that Sirius bore now that his fun had been cut short.

"Albus," Horace replied shortly, accepting the hand-up that Dumbledore was offering. He then turned to face Sirius and his eyes narrowed firmly. "Black. The one that got away, eh? Still playing pranks wherever you can I see."

"Entertainment was hard to come by in Azkaban," Sirius replied, his voice decidedly level.

Horace's smile fell away and he at least seemed somewhat genuine in his words. "Ah, of course. Terrible business."

That was when the man's eyes finally fell on Harry and his voice faltered. A deep sound of shock left him, fluttering his mighty moustache and the man's eyes widened.

"Harry Potter, meet Horace Slughorn. An old friend and colleague of mine." Dumbledore said, finally providing a proper introduction. Though Harry was seemingly the only one present who had not met before.

"Sluggy here was our potions professor back in the day," Sirius added. "And the Head of Slytherin House."

"You still hold that against me? It was my job." Slughorn finally said with a smirk, tearing his eyes away from Harry and glancing back up at Sirius. "You'd have done well there lad. Like the rest of the Black's did. Cost me the full set you did, going off to Gryffindor like that. Though I doubt you'd have met as fine a friend as you had back then if you hadn't." Slughorn's eyes returned to Harry once more. "He does look so terribly like him, doesn't he? Except for the eyes. Lily's eyes."

Harry was surprised at the melancholy tone those final words held. As if the man had truly mourned for his mother.

"You knew her well?" Harry asked, finally speaking.

He was unsure how aware the large man would have been as a table. Had he noticed Harry staring at the picture before?

"Well, we're not supposed to have favourites, of course." Slughorn glanced at Dumbledore who bore a smile visible even through his mighty beard. "But she was one of mine. Vivacious, charming girl." He moved across the room and began to stare at the very picture Harry had as he spoke. "One of the brightest I've ever taught. You should have seen some of the things she could do with a potion. Always told her she'd have done well in my House. Such cheeky replies she would give too."

The rotund man paused for a moment, lost in a melancholy thought before he continued. "Muggle-born, of course. Couldn't believe it when I found out. Thought that she must have been a pureblood, she was so talented. Even before she walked through the doors of Hogwarts."

Harry's opinion of the man immediately soured at that statement. His mother had endured endless mockery for her parentage. Even from a man she had once considered a friend. Given that Harry's best friend was also a muggle-born, he did not like anyone who felt blood made one better. The Grangers were some of the finest people he had ever met. As good as parents to Harry as his own were in their painting. A lack of magic didn't make them any lesser in his eyes. And he certainly thought them better people than the gaggle of purebloods who had tried to kill him only a few weeks ago. Many of whom featured in the photographs hung on the walls around him.

"Funny how that happens…" Slughorn said, completely unaware of how his words had affected Harry until he turned from the picture and saw his face. "You mustn't think I'm prejudiced! Your mother was one of my all-time favourite students. And there was Cresswell too, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office. Another very gifted student. Keeps me appraised of the goings-on."

He smiled at Harry as if his words should have swayed the boy instantly back to his good graces. Harry was not moved. If anything, his opinion of the man had lessened even further. He sounded like a collector talking about his favourite acquisitions. Only in this case, those acquisitions were people.

The large man turned back to the photographs and began pointing out other faces as well.

"Barny Cuffe is always interested in my take on the day's news. Flume, he runs Honeydukes and sends me a hamper every birthday as thanks for me getting him his first job in the business. I tell him every year that all I did was make the required introduction. And you'll surely recognize this lovely lady. Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies. People are always astonished to hear I'm on a first-name basis with the Harpies. Free tickets whenever I want them."

He turned back to Harry with a joyous smile on his face. As if Harry ought to have been impressed by the bragging. Instead, he was disgusted at how the man seemed to peddle fame. If there was one thing Harry could do without, it was the attention he got for something his parents had done to save his life, losing their own in the process.

"Course, there are few here that could hold a candle to you, lad," Slughorn said and Harry felt his stomach turn at the hungry glint in the man's eyes.

It was with a modicum of recrimination that Harry spoke up. "I do recognize one especially famous face among them."

Harry lifted his arm and swung slowly to the left, coming to rest on a picture that he knew to be about fifty years old. A set of young Slytherin lads surrounding a far younger Slughorn. All smiling at the camera. But two figures stood out the most in the image, taking pride of place in the centre, one with his arm around the younger's shoulders. Horace Slughorn and Tom Riddle.

Slughorn immediately went white and finally loosed a wand from within his jacket. The picture vanished in an instant, but it left both a physical hole in the wall of pictures and a glaring figurative one. As if the empty space had become some sort of black hole pulling the attention of everyone in the room.

"You know what brings us here tonight, Horace," Dumbledore said softly, breaking the tense silence but not dispelling the weight now filling the room. "I need to know the truth, so that we might end this for good."

Only once they had been but a few metres from the house had Dumbledore told them that they were there to gather a memory from the man inside. A memory that would hopefully help them to ensure how large of a mission remained ahead of them.

"Get out." Slughorn said with finality. No humour or pride in his voice now.

"Horace…" Dumbledore tried to reason, but he was cut off.

"You bloody well bugger off now, Dumbledore." The large man said, turning on his former colleague. "I knew when I felt you all trip my proximity spells. Should have done a better job of hiding."

"You don't like to brag about that one?" Harry asked, Horace spinning to face him as he stepped forward. "Guess that means you did keep track of his career as well. Not as impressed with the gifts he sends you?"

Harry knew he was being slightly unfair. The man in front of him had not murdered his parents. He was a bottom-feeder, sure. Surviving on the ability to make and break careers and grant people their greatest dreams. But only if they could prove useful to him in return. He did nothing out of any sort of love or respect for these people.

But he was defending the monster that had taken so much from Harry. Even if it was only to protect his own reputation rather than out of any level of support for what Riddle did.

"Now see here…"

"He liked to collect things too." Harry continued, advancing slowly on the man as he retreated deeper into the room. "Trinkets and memories that he stole from others. A trait you seem to have encouraged in him. I can see why he would come to you. You were surely his favourite teacher."

Slughorn continued backwards and Harry could feel the man was trying to apparate away from the confrontation. Something Harry was actively preventing him from achieving. Which he had been doing since he located the man in the form of a table.

"Do you want to know what he achieved? 'Give your take' on the actions you enabled." Harry added, echoing the bragging from earlier. "How he murdered my father first. Dad fought him, hard. He didn't have his wand you see, so he hit him with anything and everything he could. Trying to keep mum and me safe." Harry could feel his eyes burning with unshed tears of both grief at recalling that night and anger at the man who did it. "It wasn't enough, obviously. He died right there in the living room. Not that his death stopped Riddle.

"Up the stairs, he came." Harry's fingers made a walking gesture, slowly climbing a staircase as Slughorn continued to retreat. "Mum had tucked me into my cot and she stood there, facing the door. Waiting. Watching. Knowing what was coming for her. For me." Harry could see tears on Slughorn's face now as well. But the blood was thrumming through his veins, filling his ears. "The door vanished, ripped out of its place. And there he was, the monster that wanted me dead."

"Please, no." Slughorn whimpered, cowering under Harry's presence now.

"He told her to get out of the way. She could have run, could have survived. But we both know that she truly belonged where the Sorting Hat put her. She defied him. Refused to stand aside and let me die in her place. She was a hero. A 'lowly muggle-born' that didn't cower before the monster, unlike the purebloods who stood aside and let him conquer them. Or worse, stood behind him."

"Oh dear, no… please…"

"She tried to plead with him," Harry told the trembling man, staring into his wet eyes. "Dad was already dead, and she was heartbroken by that. The man she loved was lying downstairs but she still fought. Even unarmed she fought to turn the monster away. To save me against all odds. But he just laughed. He told her that her once best friend was the reason he was here, holding her at the end of his wand. Another member of your collection, I see. Riddle tried to break her, but it failed. Lily Potter stood there, resolute. Unbending before evil. She gave everything she had so that it might be defeated."

"Harry," Sirius whispered from behind him, the man's hand reaching out for him.

In his anger, Harry had forgotten that he'd never told Sirius what had truly happened that night. He knew that his godfather had arrived afterwards and found a house full of death. He'd been there even before Hagrid had arrived. But Harry knew his parents refused to tell Sirius what had happened. They knew he would feel guilty, and it would impede his recovery.

"You say you liked her, and yet, you aid Riddle even now," Harry said acidly, almost hoping to burn the man before him with those words.

"I couldn't have known." Slughorn whimpered. "He was so charming, so… no purpose can be served…"

"You don't want to help get rid of the wizard who killed Lily Evans?" Harry asked, the words slicing at Slughorn as he fell backwards onto a chair.

Slughorn squeaked again as he fell, before looking back up into Harry's fiery gaze. "Of course I do, but…"

"I'm going to kill him." Harry said, ignoring the shudder that statement drew out of Sirius. "But you know why I can't just go and do that right now. Don't you?"

Slughorn now tried to look away, but Harry held the man trapped in his unblinking gaze. Lily's gaze. The burning green eyes that tore through to the soul when they were used like this.

"Please…"

"The memory." Harry said firmly, unmoving. "For once, be brave like she was."

The man slowly brought up his wand and Harry felt Sirius tensing behind him. The hand now on his shoulder gripped him firmly, ready to pull him away if Slughorn tried to cast anything, but Harry could see in the man's eyes what he was about to do.

The tip of the wand continued past Harry and up to Slughorn's head.

"Don't think less of me." Slughorn sobbed. "I did so much damage that day."

"Then fix it now," Harry said, finally relenting on the pressure he knew he was unintentionally exerting on the large man through his anger. Though still ensuring that he was unable to flee.

Slughorn gave a sniffle before he began pulling the wand away from his temple. A single strand of silvery memory came away with it. Longer and longer it stretched until it broke and swung, silvery bright, from the end of the wand.

Harry raised his fingers and a conjured vial appeared between the upstretched digits. Slughorn slowly lowered the strand into the glass and it came away from the wand, swirling and misting as it filled the tiny bottle. With his other hand, Harry corked the bottle and stepped back from the chair in which Slughorn still cowered.

"Thank you." Harry said firmly. "I'm sure she will forgive you after this."

Slughorn began to cry and Harry turned away. He noticed that Sirius too was crying and looking at him with both pride and regret. Harry knew that the man was blaming himself for what he had heard.

Without a word, Harry stepped into his godfather and pulled him into a firm hug. There would be a lot of talking later. He would need to convince Sirius that what happened all those years ago was not his fault. Only three people bore the blame for that night. Snape for sharing the prophecy, Pettigrew for snitching the secret, and Riddle for the acts carried out.

"Cheer up, Padfoot. Not your fault." Harry said softly into the man's ear.

It seemed to penetrate as Sirius gave a soft chuckle in reply. He would still need to drill that reality deeper into his stubborn godfather's brain, but for now, it would do.

"I am sorry, Horace," Dumbledore said softly behind him, and Harry allowed his attention to switch back to the other men. "I had hoped this would be kinder than that. We truly need this information."

Dumbledore handed Slughorn a tumbler full of water and Horace drank it with shaky hands. His eyes were looking anywhere but Harry, and yet the boy did not feel overly guilty for what he had done. Preventing Slughorn from escaping had been his original purpose for attending. Dumbledore clearly remembered how Harry had pinned him in place in his own office and hoped he could keep Slughorn pinned down long enough to talk. Or that the man's innate need to collect powerful students would kick in and keep him here of his own accord.

Evidently, he had not considered that Harry would become angry at the git in the process.

And sitting on this memory for fifty years had allowed Riddle to become a monster without challenge for decades. Slughorn could have shared it at any time during the bastard's first rise to power and the anchors could have already been destroyed. Anyone could have dealt with them while Tom was disembodied and helpless. Now people were dying again and still, Slughorn hadn't come forward.

Instead, he had worried more about his own reputation and allowed death and destruction to occur. He had allowed countless people to die to protect his own hide.

"Come on, Sirius. We should go."

Dumbledore looked up at them and seemed as if he wished to argue. Harry knew that he would want to view the memory himself. Probably try to partition the information as usual. But Harry had a tight grip on it and had a lock on the magic inside. If the old man tried to take it, he would know.

"We'll see you at the DMLE on Friday." Harry offered.

There was no way he was going to trust Dumbledore for the viewing. They would use the Ministry pensieve during the coming meeting with Bones. As had been agreed before they entered the house tonight, after learning what it was they sought.

Dumbledore remained silent, simply nodding in reply before he turned back to Horace. Harry shook his head and turned away, guiding Sirius to the door. Outside, Remus still stood watch, eyes sweeping over the street searching for any signs of movement.

"We got it," Harry said, reaching out his hand and showing Remus the wispy memory within the glass vial there.

"Never doubted you," Moony replied with a smile, gently grasping Harry's wrist.

The werewolf flicked his wand upwards and the light on the porch flickered a few times, covering their disappearance. Just in case anyone had been watching.

ϟ

Thursday, 20th July 1995.

Draco knelt before the empty throne, feeling stupid doing so, but he knew from the fact he had been summoned that the Dark Lord was somewhere nearby and he would not be so foolish as to ignore the requirements.

Something was holding back his promised entry into the ranks of the Inner Circle. He had his Mark, but he was not being included in the more important activities as he had expected. Draco was sure it had something to do with his housemates being brought before the Dark Lord. They were hoping to steal his place.

So far, none of them had been chosen to bear the Mark.

At least Draco still had them all beaten there. But he wondered why so many had been called forth. Surely the Dark Lord could get whatever information he needed from Draco alone.

He had done all that the Dark Lord had asked of him. Tortured his mother, though he had not needed much motivation to do so there. The woman showed no remorse for abandoning Father and leaving him to die. Nor has she done anything to help cure the curse that still afflicted him. The Dark Lord had suppressed the symptoms so that Draco may better serve him, but the pain was still there. A constant reminder that Loony Lovegood needed to suffer in return. Perhaps he would torture her father in front of her, rid the world of both of them in one move. The idea certainly had merit, and he was somewhat practised in such skills now.

Draco had happily captured the muggle child, as requested. The memory of what he had done to him in front of the Dark Lord never failed to make him smile with joy. Finally, he was allowed to show the filth its true place. And that night would forever remain one of his most treasured memories. A dry run for when he was unleashed against their enemies. It would be joyous.

The burning pain of the Mark searing itself into his arm was cleansing in a way. It signalled his passage into adulthood and the beginning of the bright future he had been promised all his life.

"Draco." The high whisper of the Dark Lord sounded from the darkness around the throne.

The boy was broken from his wandering thoughts and focused on the legs of the chair before him. It would not do to be distracted when in the Dark Lord's presence.

"You disappoint me." The voice continued and Draco's eyes lifted, seeking the speaker out.

Disappointed?

"I asked you for intelligence and you provided distorted half-truths and misinformed propaganda."

Draco caught the movement as the Dark Lord's face moved into the light, seeming to hover in the air without support. The piercing red eyes met his own and a shock of fear penetrated right to the depth of Draco's soul. He averted his gaze and tried to understand what had gone wrong.

"However, you may still prove your worth to me." The Dark Lord whispered, his voice still clear and crisp in the quiet room. "I have a task for you."

Draco's heart rate steadied. If there was a task, he would dedicate himself to it fully. He would prove himself.

"Anything, my Lord," Draco replied, his voice cracking and he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the shame that he felt at his body's reaction.

Even with his gaze fixed downwards, Draco could feel the Dark Lord's smile.

"Good." The Dark Lord finally stepped fully into the light and sat atop the throne. "You will seek information, accurate this time, on the mudblood girl that Potter spends so much time with."

Draco was both excited and disappointed. As much as he wanted to kill Potter's mudblood pet in front of his eyes, he had hoped his task would be something more important. Something more involved than research.

"What information, my Lord?"

"You will find the location of her home. Where her parents work. Where she spends her time during the summer break. You will then ensure that this information is correct by using it to lead an assault on that home." Draco's eyes bulged. This was something he had dearly dreamed of for days now, ever since the train ride home from Hogwarts had revealed the truth to him. "During this assault, you will kill not only the mudblood, but her parents as well. And anyone else inside. You may torture and mutilate them all however you see fit, with one exception. I want the girl's untarnished head brought to me as proof. I will have further use for it, and it will not be so if it is befouled. Not so much as a scratch."

Draco's heart began to race as he considered the many different ways he could torture the bitch that had killed his father. Making her watch as he slowly butchered her parents alive right in front of her. Boiling her skinned father alive before her very eyes as payback for what she had taken from him. The pleasure he could have with…

"But know this," the Dark Lord continued interrupting his short reverie, "if you should fail, not only will your death at my hand provide payment for your failure at providing me with useful intelligence, but your mother shall die for your failure as well."

Draco no longer cared what happened to his mother. She had proven herself unworthy and was now no better than a house-elf, serving the Dark Lord's more dedicated servants. But he did care about his own life. The threat left an ominous pall over the entire moment.

"Succeed and you shall finally prove yourself worthy of your father's place in my Inner Circle."

Draco weighed the outcomes in his mind and within moments his fear of death had subsided. All he had to do to be welcomed to his rightful place, at only fifteen years old, was to kill a mudblood he already longed to kill? He bowed deeply, resting his arm on his knee as he smiled inwardly. This was going to be easy.

"Yes, my Lord." He replied, the inner smile no longer contained as it broke across his face.

This was going to be fun.