The healer said the same thing as all the others who came before. Curse scars were embedded too deeply to heal. Dittany applied daily would smooth the texture and appearance, but there were no other means to remove them.

Draco sat topless in the conservatory, staring out at the blooming meadow clary and dripping wisteria in the back garden. They discussed his scarring as though Draco were elsewhere, because the scars weren't about him, but the dark lord's approval.

Draco contented himself to let his parents fuss over the prognosis while he distracted himself with the garden, with Nagini's constant attention, or with the dark lord's imminent arrival, slated for suppertime that evening. He had accepted the permanence of the scars from first seeing them.

"Naturally, I will continue researching," the healer said. Draco had sworn to himself only to learn the name of a healer should they show any indication of remedy.

"You have just insisted there was no use in continuing," Lucius said. "I am not funding your useless endeavors."

"We'll search elsewhere," Narcissa said, a hand on Lucius's arm to prevent him from shouting, grip subtle, but firm. "Thank you for your insight."

Her dismissal left no room for debate, despite the apparent grace of her words. The healer collected his supplies before bowing out, and Draco dressed silently. Six healers in a month, and his scars were no closer to being healed. Draco refused to cover them with a glamor. Everyone had already seen them, and hiding them wouldn't change what he had done.

"The best money can buy," Lucius ranted. "We'll have to source someone from out of the country, or find someone willing to attempt new methods."

"No one will be experimenting on our son."

"The dark lord has insisted. We will do whatever is required."

Draco slid from the table he had been seated on. He adjusted his robes, smoothing out absent wrinkles since the fabric was charmed to lie straight. He gave his parents none of his attention. They discussed his future treatment plan without glancing his way, and he saw no reason not to return the sentiment.

Draco led Nagini out to the gardens where the afternoon sunlight glowed golden. Draco lifted his face. Outside, he didn't feel the need to hide or mask the scarring. Inside, people congratulated him for putting himself on the line for the sake of the dark lord, for squaring up against Harry. Out here, he acknowledged the truth.

He had tried to force Harry to end things. Draco had done this to himself, even if he hadn't cast the curse.

Nagini wove side-to-side down the stone walkway, occasionally drifting into the shrubbery. Draco knew she went into the wooded area west of their property to hunt, but occasionally came across the remains of a peacock or rabbit she had killed. He watched her go out ahead, and then chose to focus on the landscaping and not the awareness of skeletons hidden behind the flowers.

Nagini looked back and Draco started walking. The garden was livelier than Draco recalled it ever having been during his childhood. He attributed it to the elves choosing to spend their time outside, much in the same way Draco did. In the last month, he spent a majority of his time wandering the Manor grounds and the various houses and buildings on it. Being outside helped to distract him from wondering after Hogwarts.

Pansy sent him several letters. She recounted everything that had happened in his absence, from Snape being named the Headmaster, to the muggleborns leaving the school, and to the faculty changes. Hagrid had left and been replaced with a member of the Selwyn family, who taught Care of Magical Creatures from a classroom and with photographs, not creatures. A groundskeeper had been brought in by the board of governors. Alecto Carrow taught Muggle Studies, which none of the Slytherins ever took if they could avoid it. But Pansy wrote that it was going to be a requirement for the following year.

Draco stopped under an ivy-covered arch. He hadn't written back. When he did, he would need to tell her he wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts. If his father hadn't been arrested, if he hadn't taken the Mark, maybe he would have been allowed.

At least going back to school would have given him something to do. Roaming the grounds, gardens, and library was only slightly more interesting than the countless visits with ever-changing healers.

Two elves squealed and vanished when Nagini came into their view. A pair of shears and a watering can clattered onto the path as they disappeared. Draco ran his tongue over his teeth. He would not be jealous of elves, even if they could apparate and he could not.

Definitely destination.

Draco tore a flower from a trellis as he walked by. He ripped petals off, alternating counting each falling petal and each step. He also wouldn't allow himself to envy a choice he might've made.

He squared his shoulders and continued walking. His mother was alive. Giving up his education and freedom of movement had been the price.

Draco knew that when the sun began to set, he should head back towards the house. People would be arriving and he would be expected to greet them. But small talk with anyone outside of his family inevitably turned to the scars and talks of Harry. He lost count of how often he'd been prompted to curse the Potter name or swear vengeance for scarring Draco himself had caused.

Lingering in the gardens, Draco walked three laps of the rose garden, not yet in bloom, before Neesy apparated in front of him.

"Master Malfoy is saying you must come inside," she said.

Draco nodded to her, and still didn't immediately start back. He took a roundabout path to stall for time, and entered through the conservatory door just as night fell.

Narcissa caught up to him before Lucius. She fussed over his hair and straightened his robes before letting out a breath of approval.

"He isn't here yet."

Then Draco wasn't technically late, no matter what lecture awaited him. Tomorrow, he might spend time in the library rather than leaving the house, simply to prevent this sort of issue. And ever since Voldemort claimed Draco's bedroom as his personal workspace, all of Draco's books had been replaced with ancient tomes Draco would never dare to touch. He had to sleep in that room, but he couldn't be faulted for reading in the library.

Narcissa sidestepped to let Nagini enter. Nagini made her way to the front room, where the fireplace connected to the floo. Voldemort had complete access to the Manor, and would likely come via floo, not through the front entrance like the others.

"Being aimless won't suit," Narcissa said under her breath, although they were alone in the room. "He won't stand for it."

"I've been tasked to get the scars healed. If there is something more I should be doing to speed along that process, I'm open to suggestions."

Narcissa knew as well as he did that the scars were permanent. If Voldemort didn't want to look at them, eventually, he would order Draco to use a glamor.

"Don't become careless," she said, and then led Draco into the ballroom they converted for these meetings. The dark lord's ranks had grown rapidly since Dumbledore's death, and space became a greater coordination issue. It was just one more room tainted by Voldemort's presence in Draco's home, another room he couldn't enter without being reminded of everything lost over the last two years.

Narcissa and Draco slipped in almost unnoticed as the bulk of expected guests had already arrived. A few had taken seats at the long table at the center of the room, but the majority milled about, making conversation. Lucius stood with Macnair and Thicknesse. Lucius leaned heavily on his walking stick, but his face remained unbothered. He was tonight's host, and still had to work on rebuilding his name.

Draco had done more for the Malfoy name by assisting Voldemort than Lucius had done in decades. Word spread quickly about Draco's involvement last year, although, it only seemed to matter to a few of them. If Draco judged correctly, most were hoping to watch the Malfoy family's downfall.

Draco followed his mother to the chairs lining the walls, technically there for overflow seating, but more discrete seating than any others in the room. She should have been seated at the main table. Sitting beside her, Draco crossed his legs, angling in to ask her privately about the change. But Narcissa shook her head and Draco knew not to ask.

Bellatrix found Narcissa almost instantly.

"Cissy, this is hardly the place for you both."

"Extra seats are needed at the table tonight," Narcissa said. "I suspect our lord won't appreciate sitting through a debate over who moves."

Draco hadn't heard anything about anyone new coming, particularly anyone new who merited a seat nearer to the dark lord. From Bellatrix's angered flush, she hadn't been made aware either.

"Who?" she demanded.

"He wishes to honor people tonight. It isn't my place to begin that for him."

Narcissa put a hand on Draco's knee, but her intention was lost on him. If Draco was giving up his seat at the main table, then whatever the dark lord had planned couldn't involve him.

"Cissy, if our lord intends to give honor to anyone, I should know. Tell me."

"As I said, it isn't my place."

Bellatrix looked over her shoulder to scan the room, and when she found Lucius, stormed off in his direction. Draco checked with his mother.

"I suspect he will watch for your reaction," she said. "Do your best not to give one."

If Narcissa refused Bellatrix's questions, she would do the same to Draco. He gently removed her hand from his knee, and then faced forwards. He racked his mind for anyone that might merit a response from him, but the most he could figure, it would be honoring someone who had been spying for the opposition, or maybe someone who switched sides.

For the dark lord to honor someone, it must have been something significant.

Voldemort's entrance brought a chill to the room. Silence swept from the double doors back to the windows. His cloak trailed behind him, for some reason, still a plain, dull gray, as though he refused to take part in vain appearances. Voldemort dressed plainly, but his presence radiated power.

He took the wingback chair at the head of the table, and others took their seats without needing to be told. Draco and Narcissa's absence left two empty seats about halfway down, and only Lucius didn't look at them in question.

"We have much to discuss," Voldemort began. "Tell me, Walden, the status of our workings at the Ministry."

Macnair inclined his head. "My lord, we believe we have secured the votes to establish Pius as the Minister of Magic, once Scrimgeour is dealt with. I am meeting with two of the families tomorrow to confirm their vote."

"I expect you will refrain from acting until you are entirely confident."

"Of course, my lord."

"And Corban, has contact been made with the other Ministries?"

"Two have replied to my request for a meeting," Yaxley said. "I am afraid to say France and Spain are yet to respond."

"There is little reason in controlling one Ministry only to have others start a conflict. If war can be prevented, that is our avenue."

Nagini coiled beside Voldemort's seat, but her attention drifted around the room. Draco still hadn't determined if she understood what happened around her, only that she watched everything, and was easily angered.

"Lucius, perhaps you can ease their concerns?" Voldemort said.

It wasn't a suggestion, and it further confirmed Draco's assumption that the Malfoys were only kept around for their finances. If stripping one of the most established and ancient families of their wealth wouldn't have been met with abundant questioning and resistance, Voldemort could have taken it all. But then he would have been left to manage the finances, which nearly consumed most of Lucius's free time.

"My lord, anything to aid you."

Voldemort didn't acknowledge Lucius's clear attempt to buy his way back into good graces. He merely switched his attention to the discussion of winning over foreign ministries. Draco listened while keeping his attention unfocused on the floor out ahead of him.

The meeting carried on. Others suggested methods of convincing foreign ministries to work with them, or at least not take action. Some suggested boosting public image by supporting worse-off pureblood families. Some wanted to work via force, an idea Voldemort himself shut down.

If they could manage this transition without causing too much of a stir, it would go more smoothly. Any violence would have to be confined to shadow and left to rumor.

It sounded like how he operated during his first rise. Fear was their biggest enemy now that Dumbledore was dead. The longer they could convince people there was no reason for fear, the more ground they could gain.

One topic that never arose during these meetings was one constantly on Draco's mind. Harry, Weasley, and Granger had disappeared during the overtaking of Hogwarts. If there were efforts underway to locate them, Draco hadn't heard of it.

He didn't know if he wanted to be a part of those discussions. Without Hogwarts, where could Harry possibly hide?

A discussion of recruitment and how to trust new followers had been going on for the better part of an hour when an unfamiliar man entered the room. Voldemort stood to greet him, and while Draco tried to recognize him, someone else came inside.

That face Draco would never forget. He woke from nightmares of it looming over him. He caught himself in daydreams of being led around Hogwarts with a forceful grip under that hand.

Thomas McGruder came in, gaze as uninterested as Draco had assumed his own to previously be. But when they saw each other, Thomas recognized him.

Of course he did. They had seen each other only once since Thomas transferred to Durmstrang, that one time Draco went to the cellar and cut Thomas's hair for the polyjuice potion. How many people had gone to the cellar? How many had ignored his pleas and simply cut his hair before leaving him in the darkness?

He was wearing the face that haunted Draco both asleep and awake. Draco hadn't been scarred when they last met, but Thomas skimmed over them, only glaring a brief moment before facing his father and the dark lord. His father stood proudly before Voldemort, exchanging a greeting as if he had performed a valiant act.

He had offered his son to the dark lord, allowed his son to be imprisoned alone in the dark for almost a year. It had been a month since Dumbledore's death and Voldemort's abandonment of Thomas's identity. Thomas had hardly recovered in that time. He stood thinner than Draco had been at his worst, still too pale. His hair had been cut close to his head.

"Sit," Voldemort said, gesturing to the two open seats. "You have done a great service to the cause, and that must be repaid."

The open seats unfortunately meant Thomas faced Draco. Draco couldn't bring himself to look away. It was the first time he had seen Voldemort and Thomas together, and his heart rate picked up, anticipating pain. Voldemort didn't look Draco's direction, but Thomas did.

"My lord, it is an honor to serve you," McGruder Senior said.

"I understand this last year was difficult for you. As promised, your rewards will repay the sacrifice."

Thomas held Draco's gaze. How could anything possibly make up for almost a year of lost time? Of an existence confined to a frigid and crumbling cellar?

"The McGruder family will be granted a seat on the Wizengamot," Voldemort began. "With the recent restructuring, a seat will be made available. In addition, you will have your choice of land, anywhere unclaimed by a pureblood family."

Neither of those made up for what Draco had witnessed in the cellar. He had nearly been in Thomas's place.

Maybe he would have preferred it.

"And to further establish the McGruder name, a marriage will be arranged with a family from the Sacred 28."

Murmurs went through the room, and Thomas lowered his gaze. Coming out of imprisonment and into an arranged marriage, particularly with a family no one thought he deserved? It wasn't the reward McGruder Senior seemed to believe it was, given his reaction.

"My lord, you are too generous. We will gladly accept these rewards."

Thomas kept his gaze on the edge of the table.

"I have had opportunity to meet several of the potential options," Voldemort said. "Pansy Parkinson, perhaps. Draco, you would know best if the match would be amiable."

It was a test for Draco, one that drew the gazes of everyone in the room. But it was Voldemort's attention that burned. Voldemort knew how close Draco and Pansy were, and now he was threatening to marry her off.

"She would be honored to be considered by you, my lord." Draco felt a brief flare of pride that his voice didn't shake.

Even from a distance, holding eye contact with Voldemort meant a probe of his mind. Voldemort hadn't searched Draco's thoughts since Hogwarts. Now it came as a surface-level scrape, testing for Draco's true reaction. Draco blinked, and looked away.

Voldemort didn't need to read Draco's mind to know he loathed the concept of Pansy being given away as a prize.

"The family can be contacted. Regardless, Thomas will have his future secured."

At the cost of his mind.

The meeting carried on. The people at the table congratulated the McGruders on their efforts, although Draco doubted most of them knew the extent or the details. The heft of the praise went to McGruder Senior, who had done nothing more than sacrifice his son.

Draco supposed that his own parents weren't any more innocent. They were in a war, even if it was one of their own making, and war made people expendable.

Nagini ended up slithering over to Draco while the conversation dragged on. A few people sitting nearby startled, but over the last month, Draco had gotten used to her being underfoot. While Voldemort left for days and weeks, he left Nagini behind, with instruction for Draco to keep an eye on her. She didn't need monitoring, given that no one could stop her if she set sight on something, but she followed Draco and even slept in his bed.

For now, she put her head on his lap, the rest of her wrapped at his feet. Voldemort glanced to them, and then returned his attention to those seated at the table.

But Thomas stared, a question clear in his eyes.

When the meeting disbanded, with new plans in place to schedule meetings, bribe officials, and take over several muggle settlements, Draco eased Nagini off his lap to make a quick escape. He forced himself to walk, even as he passed by Carrow and Rookwood snickering at him with a pointed, "Bratty pet."

He rolled his eyes back and clenched his teeth. It wasn't the first he'd heard people make those sort of comments. Nagini was considered a pet, although Draco knew she was far from it. And now that he and Nagini spent most of their time together, people taunted.

He slipped into the dim conservatory, half hidden behind the potted wiggentrees. He dropped his head in his hands, trying to catch his breath. If he'd only had a warning that Thomas would be present, he could have prepared.

A month separated from the events of last year, Draco had been transported back. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing out the memories of being confined in that private dorm, where if he wasn't leaning over the humid cauldrons, he was being held under the cruciatus. Failure had been constant. He'd never been good enough, never wanted it enough. Draco had been offered escape and rejected it.

Harry had pursued his redemption and Draco turned his back on it. Wherever Harry had gone, it had to be better than being here, constantly caught up in the pain of the past.

Footsteps approached. Draco sat up sharply, fearing the worst. Voldemort stood over him–

No. That wasn't Voldemort's face anymore.

Thomas sat beside Draco, between the two of them, taking up the entire bench. Thomas kept his gaze ahead, hands folded in front of him.

"I didn't want to come back here," Thomas said.

They weren't meeting in the cellar, but being brought back to the place he was held captive couldn't have been easy.

A year ago, Draco wouldn't have cared. A year ago, he thought taking the Mark was an honor.

Draco clutched his hands together, desperate to hide the tremors when they began. He didn't want to give the impression of being afraid and didn't want to own up to the lingering effects of the cruciatus. The tremors weren't just a sign of weakness, but proof of his failure.

"I would have stayed at Durmstrang," Thomas went on. "I'm going back this autumn. A year behind."

"It would have been a risk," Draco said. Sometimes when he spoke, he felt the scar running down his throat.

"Do you know why it had to be me?"

From the corner of his vision, Draco saw Thomas turn to look at him. Doing the same would have been the respectable option. But even having Thomas staring at him put Draco on alert. The person sitting beside him was a stranger, he knew that, but he couldn't shake the memories. Thomas McGruder controlled his life for the last half year. Thomas staring, anticipating his response, never led to anything good.

Draco closed his eyes to try to get his emotions in check. The person sitting beside him had Voldemort's face, but that didn't make him the dark lord.

"You were the most believable," Draco guessed. A random transfer during the mounting tensions might have drawn suspicions, but Thomas had once attended Hogwarts.

"He could have used you," Thomas said sharply.

"He would've had to do homework."

"Homework."

Thomas said the word flatly, disbelieving. A heavy moment of silence settled over the conservatory, without even a rustle of wind outside the glass windows to break it. The one word lingered weightily, building the tension between them until Thomas got to his feet, but gratefully, with his back to Draco.

"I went through all of that because he didn't want to do homework."

Draco dared a sideways glance over, and found Thomas doubled over, hands on his knees and panting. Thomas's hands whitened where they gripped his knees, a slight shaking visible.

Draco let Thomas process without saying anything. Saying it out loud did add absurdity to the horrible situation. Homework had been the deciding factor in who ended up in that cellar.

When Thomas finally righted himself, he ran both hands over his head and faced Draco.

"Dad's happy with the outcome. He gets land and position, and I'm forcibly married off." He shook his head. "What should I actually think about Pansy Parkinson?"

"She'll eat you alive."

Thomas nodded. "Of course. Of course."

Maybe for Pansy's sake, or maybe because Draco easily could have been in Thomas's position, he offered, "Suggest a Greengrass instead."

The Greengrass family only had the two daughters and had already come to terms with their family name ending. Daphne didn't care for politics, and Astoria was outspoken and personable enough to take attention and responsibility off Thomas. Either could work for him. Either would be better than living with Pansy's bitterness and passive aggressive slights at being married to a nobody.

Thomas bobbed his head a few times, jaw tensing as he processed the minimal, but new information given over the last several minutes.

"I'll do that," Thomas said. "Here's hoping we don't cross paths again."

Draco wholeheartedly agreed. He didn't offer any sort of farewell, and Thomas left after a long glare out the window, although with the darkness outside, he only could have seen his own reflection.

Once he'd gone, Draco lowered his head again. He breathed through parted lips, trying to calm his racing heart. How might he have held up if he had been the one in the cellar? Could Draco have attended a meeting with the person who had him imprisoned? After a month, could Draco have even left his bed? He was barely functional now, and he'd spent the last eight months at Hogwarts and his own home.

Voldemort might have been right about him. What was Draco worth?

When Draco sat up, breathing somewhat evenly again, Voldemort stood in the entrance, staring.

Bile rose up Draco's throat, and he desperately swallowed it down as he stood, bowing to the dark lord.

"You have nothing to say to the others?"

"No, my lord."

Voldemort stepped forwards, guiding Draco to stand from the bow. He summoned a light and angled Draco's face towards it. The brightness forced Draco to close his eyes as Voldemort examined the scarring. He forced himself to relax so Voldemort could maneuver him and take in all the visible scarring, from the base of his throat up to his temple.

When the light faded, Draco opened his eyes to angry red ones staring down at him. He cast his gaze down. The shame he'd been suppressing bubbled up although he kept the shame secret. Everyone could see what Draco had done to himself, even if they carried false assumptions.

"Is your absence indication you have no desire to join my Death Eaters?"

Draco stumbled a moment over what he could say to that accusation, but before he could say anything in his defense, Voldemort's wand dug into Draco's throat. He lifted his face until their gazes met, and knives drug across Draco's mind, carving through to get access. To save himself, Draco desperately opened his mind, although he was out of practice since Hogwarts.

His most prominent thoughts centered around Thomas and their conversation. There was fear and regret, flashes of Thomas staring at him from across the table mixing in with memories of Thomas's face at Hogwarts, standing over him after having cast the cruciatus.

Voldemort pressed deeper, digging into the meeting from before the McGruders arrived. Draco's attention had drifted in and out, not invested in the topics for more than informational purposes. Everyone else had come to serve Voldemort's mission; Draco was there for obligation.

Withdrawing, Voldemort lowered his wand.

"I suspected as much. Come with me."

Draco followed without argument, trying not to ruminate on what all might be at the end of this trip. He folded his hand in front of him, gaze cast downwards, wondering if he should have gone with a glamor despite the scars being well-known.

He had wanted to leave with Harry and only returned for his parents' safety. He knew returning would lead to him being made to participate and had hoped his participation wasn't relegated to raiding. His father handled finances. Draco could learn to deal with that portion of matters.

But it wasn't his decision. He was meant to be like Thomas's father, willing to give up anything to serve the dark lord, even at the expense of his family or well-being. It was another failure. He couldn't even muster interest for an informational meeting. A war spun around him and Draco's biggest concern was remaining invisible, not stepping up to progress the dark lord's ideals.

Maybe that was because of the time spent with Voldemort. Draco hadn't gotten the impression that Voldemort cared as much as he claimed about destroying muggles or lifting up pureblood ideology. Voldemort cared about power, knowledge, and control. If Voldemort had all the resources he desired and no opposition, would he continue humoring the purebloods?

He wasn't their champion; they were his pawns.

Draco looked up when Voldemort stopped. They were out of the common area and standing across from the library. Draco had been spending a lot of time reading through the library, but Voldemort's attention was on the opposite door.

"Has anyone used this room since Abraxas?" Voldemort asked.

He opened the door to the potions laboratory Draco's grandfather had built. They went inside, the musty scent overwhelming any lingering trace of potions that once had been brewed in this room. The work benches were clean, but Draco suspected the elves didn't spend much time cleaning a room the Malfoys never entered.

"I don't believe so."

"You are now tasked to refurbish and fill this laboratory," Voldemort said. "By summer, I expect to find it fully operational."

Draco exhaled, taking the thick pressure in his chest with his breath. He had been convinced his disinterest in the meetings would lead to a punishment, but this? He could do this, and do it well.

"Of course, my lord."

His relief must have shown through his words, because Voldemort's expression almost read as amused.

"When Severus visits over the summer, he will show you what potions will need to be brewed. You will keep up with the necessary demands."

Draco nodded, too many times, but too relieved to keep himself in check. None of the Death Eaters came to this part of the house when they visited, and brewing was an assignment Draco knew he could handle. It was busy work, behind the scenes, out of the way.

"I'll have it done."

Voldemort's gaze skimmed over the scars once before leaving Draco to the lab.