Gentle light greeted Harry along with the faint scent of blueberries. A relieved breath escaped him as he turned his head to where he saw a shadowed figure through his blurred vision. Her cool hand rested on his forehead and he felt the light touch of her hair briefly touch his face. As he did each time he woke up, finding Narcissa Malfoy tending to him, he wondered if this was what having a mother was like. He had been too sick to do anything for himself, fighting his way through an assassination attempt.

The second he felt the poison take hold, he knew what had happened. He witnessed the effects of a poisoning only a few months ago in Slughorn's office. A bezoar had saved Ron's life, thanks to that damned Potions book, and Harry's own quick thinking. Harry's miracle cure hadn't arrived in the same fashion and he wished it had. Instead, each time he opened his eyes and found that he was still alive, he was reminded that Voldemort had saved his life. The same man that had attempted to kill him multiple times had ripped the poison out from his body. It hurt, unbelievably so, to have his tissues stripped of the poison, his insides burned. Yet, it was no more painful than a Cruciatus Curse.

Unlike the Curse, however, the poison had managed to do damage to his internal organs. He'd been told in a soft voice that he had to rest and let them care for him. So he had rested in comfort, sleeping often, waking up to gentle touches and assurances only to sleep again.

He had no idea how long it was until the same gentle hands helped him to sit upright. He was aware that he'd been under the influence of many potions. He felt the clearest and most alert in… days? Blinking slowly, the room around him started to grow back into focus. His glasses were perched on his nose, put there by the one caring for him. He looked over, finding her pale face, her fair hair fashionably twisted up in a knot atop her head. Her robes were elegant, lilac with pearls stitched in the sleeves. Her hand cupped his cheek, her pale eyes checking him over.

"How do you feel?" She asked. Harry had a feeling she had asked him such a question many times. His head was spaced from the drugged haze left by the copious number of potions he'd been given.

"Like I've been drinking a lot of potions," Harry said thickly, then started at the sound of his own voice. He lifted a hand, touching his neck. He recalled the searing, choking pain that sealed his throat shut as if his windpipe had melted. His eyes burned as he ran his hand down his neck. "I was… poisoned. Who…?"

"Lucius."

His eyes snapped upon hers, seeing the stress and the fatigue in her drawn face. She was without make-up, appearing pale and lined. The worry in her gaze was genuine as she lowered her hand from his cheek. He felt the absence of warmth, holding her gaze. His sluggish mind began to clear fully, understanding…

"Is he…?" Harry tried to finish the question, but he didn't need to.

"Dead? No. He ran."

Her gaze suddenly hardened and her hand tensed in a fist, the small bones popping quietly close to Harry's ear. He saw her jaw tense as she lowered her fist. Her chin then lifted and she held his gaze, mouth twitching with her barely constrained rage.

"He ordered Nocket to slip poison in your wine. Unknown to us, he was long gone by the time we met for dinner. I suspect he believed, with the Ministry now in the Dark Lord's hands, he had outlived his use… and I believe he wished to move against you before you could move against him."

Harry settled his head back against the plump pillows, shocked. He knew Lucius hated him, but to use such a cowardly method as poison?

"He just… left you and Draco?" Harry found himself asking, his voice faint with shock. "Just… saved himself?"

"Life before pride," she said bitterly, her eyes like ice. "He valued his own life above anything else… even ours."

"Do you have any idea where he fled to?" Harry asked quietly.

"It has been only two days. He will not be able to go far, not alone and barred from magical districts under Ministry governance."

Harry closed his eyes, ducking his head. Two more days added to the time he'd been missing. He'd been in captivity for over a week. He felt a wave of exhaustion at the thought, too overwhelmed to think what it meant. How many more weeks would he spend in the Manor? Who else was going to attempt to kill him? And why did Voldemort save him? He didn't understand. As he dwelled over his memories of the poisoning, he recalled how Narcissa had urgently instructed Draco to call Voldemort, even using his name. She knew that he would respond without hesitation. Why? Why did he suddenly matter so much to the man whom he was fated to kill?

"Here, drink some water," Narcissa urged him gently, causing him to open his eyes again. She helped him drink from a glass, the cool water soothing him. He quickly searched his surroundings, finding the suite to be just as it was before with its antique furniture and soft decorations. He sighed, settling back down into the pillows. He looked back at Narcissa, sympathy growing as he took in her wan appearance once again.

"I… I can't believe Lucius would endanger your lives like this," he said softly, "I shouldn't be surprised after he said all that stuff in front of Voldemort about me, but even so…"

Narcissa nodded slowly, her jaw tense with her barely contained fury. In that moment, Harry could see her resemblance to her sister. She was a witch who shouldn't be crossed.

"Lucius would sacrifice his family for his own life and he would expect Draco to do the same, if the time ever came for him to choose power over those who hold him back from his ambitions. He is a poor father… and a poor husband. Yet despite these qualities, he also had great wealth, a noble bloodline and a position of importance within our society. I… had no choice in marrying him as, you likely know, pureblood marriages are usually arranged."

Harry felt his face warm, feeling very much like this wasn't a conversation she should be having with him.

"I had to do my duty to my family," she said heavily, "and that was to maintain the bloodlines. Toujours pur."

"Bloodlines," Harry repeated the word bitterly, scoffing, "as if such a thing defines the makings of a person. Your husband might be able to boast a lineage dating back to, I don't know, the Dark Ages, but that doesn't stop him being a vile man."

Narcissa's lips thinned and Harry had the distinct feeling that he had gone too far. He blamed the potions. He swallowed, recalling how he had a similar conversation with Draco in that very room. Questioning Malfoys on their bigotry while a prisoner in their Manor was far from wise.

But then she sighed softly through her nose, meeting his gaze.

"No," she said quietly, "it doesn't."

He then caught a glimmer in her eyes, a faint shine of tears forming at the edges of her eyelids.

"I wonder… when you look at me, you see only a monster. Knowing who my husband is, who I serve in this very house… knowing that I was aware of what was being done to you and did nothing to help you. I have stood by and watched my own son being tortured…"

She blinked, a single crystal-like tear ran down her cheek. Harry looked away, uncertain how to respond to her visible guilt and remorse.

"I won't lie and say that I think you're a good person," he said after a few moments of awkward silence passed. "But I know that we're not split into good people and Death Eaters. That's… a black-and-white world view and not realistic at all. We… each of us… are born with a bit of bad in them and also a bit of good. At the end of the day, it's our choices that define who we are and not the family we're born to."

At her sharp inhalation of breath, he glanced back over. Her eyes were red-rimmed.

"That… was very wise, Harry," she said softly. Her lips curved in a gentle smile, her eyes having long since lost that icy edge.

"Trust me, I don't even know where that came from. I just… well… I had to do a lot of learning on my own. I never had anyone to teach me about the wider world so I just had to figure it out by myself. I suppose you could say that being alone for all my life made me a bit independent about making up my own mind. Maybe it's because I was raised in a muggle house. I just… I guess I'm naturally more open-minded than most people. Maybe I've always seen things in shades of grey."

Narcissa tilted her head to the side. "That does explain a lot about you."

"It does?" Harry asked, already blushing in embarrassment at having been so honest about something about himself.

"You don't lean on the opinions of those around you and you aren't afraid to speak your mind, even if you know the person across from you will not agree. You challenge the world around you, unafraid to stand up for what you believe in." She then smiled. "You remind me of Sirius. My family may have labeled him as a blood traitor and disowned him, but I knew him well when he was growing up. Gosh, the things he would come out with during family meals…"

Harry leaned forwards, enthused.

"I never thought you would have known him when he was little… but I guess, during Christmases and holidays…"

"Sirius and I were the closest in age," Narcissa said with a wistful gleam in her eye. "He preferred my older sister though. Andromeda. She encouraged his wild side."

At the mention of her estranged sister, Harry noticed her discomfort. She cleared her throat and then smiled again.

"He enjoyed being the rebel and it was no surprise that, when he went to Hogwarts, he was sorted into Gryffindor. The family were livid, as I expect you know. Blacks have always stayed true to their Slytherin roots. Sirius didn't care, just happy to break the mould. I was prefect during his first year and made a point to take as many points off him as I could."

Her smile faltered a little, "I'm sorry. If talking about him upsets you-."

"It's okay," Harry said, meaning it. "It's just nice to have a normal conversation. Even if, you know, your husband did try to kill me. Again."

Rather than turn cold and furious at the mention of Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa hummed thoughtfully instead. She then rose from her seat at the side of his bed, her elegant lilac robes rustling. They were far too fine to be worn while tending to an ailing patient. She turned from him, striding away towards the antique armoire that stood next to the bathroom door.

"If you are well enough to have a conversation, then you are well enough to get out of bed. You likely don't remember, as you were rather out of it at the time, but most of your new wardrobe arrived yesterday. I will select something for you to wear for today and run you a bath."

Harry flushed at the sight of her tending to his needs even though she'd been caring for him for days.

"Really, there's no need-."

"Please… it's the least I can do," Narcissa insisted, looking at him sharply over her shoulder. "The Dark Lord will be arriving later this evening and I expect he will want to see you."

Harry's stomach felt like a stone. For a few minutes, Voldemort hadn't been on his mind. He didn't know how he was supposed to handle another encounter, not since his family's murderer had so urgently saved his life. He wasn't sure what to even think of the whole ordeal. Why did he go to so much effort? It didn't make any sense. Harry couldn't be that valuable to him… could he?

Pushing his hands down, Harry put some work into getting out of bed. He was a little surprised at how well he felt considering he'd been so close to death. Sliding his legs from under the sheets, he pushed himself onto his feet. There were a pair of silken slippers waiting for him. He couldn't get used to the treatment, being fussed over like a prince. It made him think of muggle fairytales where there was a princess trapped in a tower. His pride rankled at the comparison, but he could see the distinctions. He was even the prisoner of a monstrous villain.

He really was a damsel in distress.

A chuckle passed his lips, surprising himself. Narcissa started at the sound, pausing at the door. She raised a fair brow at him questioningly.

"Sorry. I was just thinking. There are muggle stories of evil villains capturing princesses and locking them in towers… for general nefarious reasons. I feel a bit like one of those princesses…"

"This is no fairytale."

"No, it isn't," Harry agreed, sobering. "I don't even know why I'm still here… or why he… saved my life. He even told me that he rarely keeps prisoners so I just don't understand why he's going to all this trouble when it would have been easier to just let the poison do its work."

Narcissa sighed, pushing the bathroom door open.

"You are a hostage, Harry," she said carefully, "therefore you have no use while dead."

"Is that why you knew he would save me?" Harry asked, cautiously padding over to her in his silken slippers and pyjamas. "I remember how you told Draco to call him."

Her lips pursed a little, but then her brows drew closely together. He knew he pushed too close towards a question that she wasn't at liberty to answer.

"All I can say is that the Dark Lord is very possessive of his belongings. That refers to you now, as you well know."

Leaving him with that unpleasant truth to digest, she headed into the ensuite to run him a bath. Harry glumly took himself over to the window as he heard the loud splashing of water entering the marble tub. He glanced over to the mirror, then turned sharply from his reflection. He felt like an imposter, dressed in fine silk.

Listening to the running water, Narcissa's words kept ringing in his head. The way she said them was meaningful. He didn't need reminding that he was a trophy, but she had specifically referred to him as one of Voldemort's 'belongings'. Voldemort had made similar remarks, leaving Harry feeling like he was an object and not a person, which he gathered had been the point. Yet if he was an object, he'd be disposable, surely? Instead, Narcissa was implying the opposite. Voldemort had laid claim to him and so he held importance, so much so that he would rush to save his life.

He had the strong suspicion that he was missing something very important.

Narcissa soon left but not before laying out an outfit for him to wear on his bed. She picked out green robes similar to the ones he borrowed from Draco. He thanked her sincerely and she gave him a warm smile in response. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about her, but he definitely didn't hate the woman or see her as a monster.

He started to think dangerous thoughts. What if he could persuade her to value her and Draco's lives over their loyalty to Voldemort? What if… he could convince her to help him?

Dismissing the thoughts, he took himself into the bathroom, squinting through the steam. Whatever schemes he made, he would have to be very careful. Draco had been right about him being on a short leash. Voldemort would sniff out the merest hint of rebellion. Not only would Harry suffer, but he would drag down the Malfoys with him. Suddenly, the thought didn't appeal to him as much as it would have done a month or so ago.

Harry sighed self-deprecatingly, looking over to his reflection in the mirror.

"Bloody 'saving people thing'," he grumbled under his breath.

Also grumbling under his breath, Draco Malfoy kept himself two steps ahead of a guest he'd been ordered to show into the Manor at the Dark Lord's request. Receiving her like he was nothing more than a butler in his own home, he tried his utmost to keep a placid smile on his face as he spoke through clenched teeth. He endured her sickly sweet words as she poured out her condolences over how betrayed he must feel about his father's defection. He could feel her eager eyes searing through the collar of his robes as she stared at his back, her gushing over how excited she was to finally meet a 'visionary with the right views' setting his teeth on edge. It took all his willpower to not point out to Dolores Umbridge how she spent the better part of a year insisting that such a visionary was dead.

He pondered on what purposes Umbridge would serve in the new Ministry. Her views on Half Breeds were fairly well-known and her history with Potter even more so. Draco knew first hand that she had attempted to silence Potter permanently by sending dementors after him. During that particular episode, she almost used the Cruciatus Curse on him as well before Granger intervened. One thing was certain. Umbridge and Potter very much hated one another. There was no chance at all that Potter would be able to control his temper if made to share the same air as the woman.

Whether or not Potter would be even well enough for such a confrontation was another story. Draco hadn't seen him since his father made an attempt on his life. He'd been avoiding the Aquila suite, not entirely sure why he couldn't face a doped-up Potter. His mother took over his care, doing as much as she could to endear them to the Dark Lord. His fury after exposing the poison plot had been especially violent. Nocket soon joined Scrimgeour in the grave on the grounds.

As Draco led Umbridge into the sun room, she clapped her hands and expressed her praise towards their 'beautiful home'. He had a funny feeling that she had visited before on Ministry business. Desperate to have her taken off his hands, he found his act of being a gracious host falling apart.

"I'm to understand that Potter is among those due to be rehabilitated and that your family are overseeing his re-education," Umbridge soon pried once she had her fill of the wealth on display, losing interest. "An unenviable task. I made some attempt to discipline his defiance, but the rot goes deep. Incurable, I would even say."

Draco nearly yawned. He stiffly turned to look at Umbridge's viciously excited expression, her hands grasping together as she extruded something similar to Aunt Bella's dark enthusiasm.

"He is here if that is what you are asking," Draco said as patiently as he could. It was obvious what Umbridge was vying for. She wanted revenge upon Potter… and she very much intended to hurt him.

Stupid woman, he thought.

He zoned out Umbridge as she went on a tirade about unruly children and how they needed a firm hand. He offered a few hums of agreement as Umbridge droned on, not listening to her at all.

Quick footsteps tapped on the floors in the hallway behind them. Draco turned, recognising his mother's gait. She smiled at him, appearing far less stressed than she had been over the past two days. Her smile turned strained as she considered Umbridge, but she graciously went to greet the witch all the same was the usual perfect manners of a noble witch.

"I am to take you to our Lord. If you will follow me…"

Draco concealed his wince as Umbridge hastened to follow. He hung back a few steps, catching his mother's gesture for him to follow as well. Rather than lead Umbridge up towards the East Wing where he had full use of the Master Suite, his mother instead took the route towards the drawing room.

"As you can appreciate, we have certain… discreet locations that we allow only a few to see," his mother explained over her shoulder to Umbridge. Drawing her wand, she headed over to the part of the wall that concealed a hidden door. Draco hid his confusion. The secret door led down to the chamber under the drawing room, the same chamber where Potter had been chained and tortured.

His mother pressed on a section of panelling in the wall. The door clicked, swinging inwards, revealing the staircase behind. The torches illuminated, running down to the chamber below.

"He is expecting you," his mother said, indicating the stairs with her wand. Umbridge glanced between her and Draco, a brief hint of her nerves showing before she drew herself up smugly. Whatever was waiting for her, it wasn't anything good. Draco kept his face as an impassive mask, watching as Umbridge made her way down the narrow, awkward staircase.

Waiting for the sound her her footsteps to diminish, Draco rushed over to his mother, a hundred questions bursting in his mind. She waved him off, levelling him with a serious look. With a flick of her hand, she shut the secret door.

"Mother… wh-what is going on? I thought she was… well… on our side."

"Come away. We are not to be caught eavesdropping," she said firmly yet quietly. He nodded, understanding, letting her take his arm and quickly usher him out of the drawing room before they heard the inevitable sounds of torture.

Deeply confused, he didn't speak until they were in the sun room. His mother made a beeline towards the windows, her hands resting above her chest as she stared out at the grounds. The soft light of the setting sun cast her in its warm glow. There was little warmth to be had in their house of horrors. He drew cautiously towards her, staring. Since his father's fatal mistake, there had been a noticeable change in his mother. He could see it in her eyes, a deep uncertainty that was exceptionally dangerous while in close proximity to the Dark Lord. His father's selfish actions could have condemned them all, yet it was only how they worked together to save Potter that brought the Dark Lord's favour. For some reason, it was Potter that had become the Dark Lord's most favoured pet.

"Draco, go and collect Harry from his room. He is no longer under bed rest."

Recoiling a little, he glanced in the direction of the drawing room. It was still silent. "Do I tell him about our guest?"

"It will be best to warn him so he can temper his reactions," she said, turning from the window. "I will speak to Bella. She returned earlier."

"Mother, I don't understand."

"It is good that you don't," she suddenly said loudly, rounding on him. Draco drew back, surprised at her harshness. "Draco, can you not see that I am trying to protect you? The less you know, the better. Now go to Harry and bring him. Make sure he's restrained when you do and explain to him that it's for show. He is still a prisoner. He'll understand."

"Are you sure?" He asked weakly.

"I am. Now go. Make haste."

Confused and fearful, Draco did as he was told. Seeing his mother so visibly shaken unnerved him deeply. They were in danger again and he didn't know why. He trusted his mother more than anyone in his life, but he had a horrible feeling that she was emotionally compromised since his father showed his true colours. He climbed the stairs, feeling prickles of apprehension. He hadn't seen Potter since he had escorted imperiused Healers into the suite to help nurse him back into health. Two days wasn't a long period, but he wasn't quite ready to confront the reality that his father nearly killed Potter and then did a runner.

He'd been avoiding the truth just as he'd been avoiding Potter.

Reaching the door, he hesitated as he had done all the other times. The reason for his apprehension was different. He knocked on the door, waiting for Potter's voice to come through the wooden barricade. There wasn't a response. Thoughts flashed through his mind. What if Pettigrew had tried to get in? Worse… what if Potter managed to get out?

Seizing the handle, he wrenched it open. Rather than discover Pettigrew in a moment of treachery or discover Potter in the midst of an escape attempt, he instead walked in on Potter eating dinner… on his own.

"Sorry, had a mouthful," Potter said from his place at his solitary table in front of the window. Soft light from the setting sun outside cast him in a pleasant glow. "Er… wait. Why are you here? I'm not dining with you tonight… as you can see."

Potter gestured at his tray. Draco sniffed the air. Definitely smelled like coq au vin. He shut the door behind him, entering the suite. Looking around, he noticed the potion bottles at the bedside table. Other than that, there was no other evidence that Potter had been on his death bed just two days ago. Draco noticed how Potter sat at relative ease, moving back to eat his fare. Despite not being a guest for dinner, Potter wore fine robes, a little too fine for his solitary feast. The emerald silk brocade was evidently new and tailored to fit. The colour suited Potter, making his eyes shine all the brighter.

"You need to eat that quickly, Potter. You're needed downstairs," Draco said cautiously, trying to not pay attention to how the subdued sunlight brought out the contrasts of Potter's complexion.

Potter frowned, chewing a new potato. Thankfully, his manners were decent enough that he didn't speak before clearing his mouth.

"Does this have something to do with how my scar feels like it's on fire?"

Draco couldn't help but glance up at the scar barely concealed under Potter's fringe. He didn't need to think about Potter's bizarre connection to the Dark Lord.

"Possibly. I don't know. All I know is that the Dark Lord has Umbridge in my grandfather's chamber."

Potter's mouth dropped open in shock. "No… Umbridge? "

"The same," Draco said, nodding, "and before you ask, no, I don't know why she's here. I was just told to expect her and bring her into the house. I thought it was all meant to be Ministry related until mother led her down into the chamber where the Dark Lord was waiting."

He watched Potter digest his words along with his meal. It was mildly fascinating to see Potter's mind at work as he went through the information he provided. Potter's eyes then creased in the corners with confusion. It turned out he was just as clueless then.

"But why? She's definitely not on my side, that's for sure."

"She took some pleasure in knowing that you are among those being rehabilitated and currently being held here."

Potter's face went slack. He made a strange gesture as he brought his left hand over his right. His gaze turned worryingly distant, a hollowness that Draco recognised. His green eyes then lifted.

"I bet she loved that," he said bitterly.

"Oh, she did."

Potter put his fork down, appearing noticeably ashen. "Right, well… I have no idea why Voldemort wants to… you know… torture her."

"I have a funny feeling you'll find out. Mother's told me to bring you downstairs."

Looking up, Potter's brows briefly drew together, then he sighed and pushed himself up. He straightened his rich robes, then even ran a hand through his hair as if ruffling it out in some attempt to style it. Much to Draco's chagrin, he noticed that the effect suited Potter. His black locks settled in place as if spelled, sticking out in different directions.

"Let's be honest. This likely has something to do with me," Potter said grimly, his green eyes taking on a resigned look. He then sighed, shoulders dropping. He half-turned, bringing his arms behind his back and crossing his wrists over. "Here. Do what you have to do. He'll be watching you all more closely than ever since your father tried to off me."

Draco could scarcely believe it. How could anyone still remain so level-headed after going through so much in such a short timespan? Was Potter insane? Shaking his head in disbelief, Draco drew his wand and cast the bindings around Potter's wrists. They were inescapable and possibly a little extreme considering that Potter didn't even have a wand. The black cords entwined around Potter's wrists, pushing his sleeves back.

For some unknown reason, the thought that Potter was willingly pliant in his hands stirred something forbidden deep inside. As he moved to stand at his side, waiting with an eerie patience to be escorted, Draco then felt an alarming rise between his legs. Of all the times to get aroused?

Umbridge naked, covered in dragon dung…

Hurriedly, he tried to mentally shock himself into a very different mood. Seeing her so recently helped with the image and kept his errant feelings at bay. He cleared his throat, acting like nothing happened, and took hold of Potter's arm. He couldn't help but think about how nice Potter's muscles felt under a layer of expensive silk.

As they emerged from the guest wing, Potter pulled to a halt as he caught sight of the figures waiting for them at the top of the stairs. Draco silently cursed as his Aunt turned her face in their direction.

"What is she doing here?" Potter muttered, sounding tense and angry. Draco inwardly sighed and gave Potter a tug on his arm. He flashed an indignant look, nose twitching in the dangerous way it did when Potter was about to lose his violent temper. He held it in, however, and took wary steps forwards.

In contrast against his mother's elegant lilac and pearl robes, Bellatrix appeared almost demonic in her blood red robes that appeared almost a mockery to Auror robes. Her teeth bared as they approached, eyes glittering with dark malice as she kept her attention fixed on Potter. Her tongue flicked out, running over her bottom lip.

"Trying to disguise the muddy blood running in Potter's veins, sister?" Bella drawled as they joined them. "Those fancy robes don't hide the smell."

"A bit rich from someone with rotten teeth, you demented hag," Potter quipped back, as fast as a whip. Draco had to cough to hide his laugh. "At least muggles understand dental hygiene."

The manic swell of Bellatrix's magic was like a static charge. Her long-nailed fingers clawed at her robes for her wand. Her sister intercepted, moving between her and Potter.

"Enough," she snapped, glaring down her nose at her sister. "I will not have you making the same mistakes as Lucius. We are on the precipice of doom and Harry is our only anchor. His life alone has value to the Dark Lord so you best keep those insults to yourself, sister."

Bellatrix's chest heaved, her mouth twitching in great dislike as she matched Potter's hate for her own. She then sucked at her teeth, the same teeth that Potter had pointed out were in need of care. His mother then looked at Potter, unimpressed. Potter, however, met her gaze levelly, the challenge clear. She then sighed and approached Potter, raising a hand placatingly.

"I know there is a blood feud between you both, but this must be put aside for the moment. Our survival depends on it."

Draco saw Potter's jaw twitch before he impossibly nodded. The four of them then descended together, the sisters leading the way while Draco continued to hold Potter's arm, taking him down the stairs. He couldn't help but steal glances, wondering what was going on in that head. As they descended, candles spluttered into life where the halls had darkened in their absence since the sun had set.

It was still eerily silent. No screams wrenched from under the flagstones. They entered the drawing room, all on edge and tense while the Dark Lord was below their feet with his recent victim. Draco guided Potter over towards a seat for him to take. He tentatively took it, eyes darting frequently over to Bellatrix who was already pouring herself a glass of wine.

Potter suddenly let out a strained cry, doubling over. Draco drew close, knowing the cause. Before he could ask him what was going on, the concealed door clicked and sprung open. All looked over as the Dark Lord emerged, dressed in his black silk, red eyes gleaming as he entered the space silently. Draco lowered himself into a bow as his mother and Aunt sunk down as well. He kept his gaze low to the ground as the Dark Lord paced towards his sole object of interest, the one panting in pain.

Hoarse rasping filled the room as the Dark Lord spoke only to Potter, the unnatural tongue of the serpents reverberating out of him. Bellatrix gasped in awe at the display. Draco kept his gaze rooted to the ground, not daring to move or do anything that would get attention. His mother was right. They were very much on the precipice of doom.

Potter suddenly pushed himself onto his feet. Moving with alarming purposefulness, he strode right up to the Dark Lord, his green silk robes shimmering around him. The Dark Lord smiled, showing his too-sharp teeth that were as white as his face. His pupils had enlarged as he looked down at Potter, hissing something quietly in Parseltongue. Potter flicked his head over his shoulder, looking specifically at Draco's mother. He then looked back at the Dark Lord.

Parseltongue sounded different from Potter, yet no less strange. The Dark Lord was satisfied by his answer. His teeth then clenched, muscles around his mouth tightening before his hand snapped up and he seized Potter around the back of his neck. Potter yelped in surprise, but didn't resist.

"Please excuse us," the Dark Lord then said in English, his gaze sweeping about the room, "Harry and I have a personal matter to deal with. Good evening."

Potter didn't look at either of them as he was dragged away to the door that led down into the secret chamber. Draco almost started after him, fear beating in his chest. The door shut behind them and a strange, stilted silence fell.

"This is where you explain yourself, sister," Bellatrix said quietly, her rage quaking behind her words. Draco looked over to his mother, not wanting to agree with his aunt, but his mother's odd behaviour wasn't making sense.

Suddenly filled with eerie calm, his mother looked right into her sister's eyes. Her voice barely a whisper, she explained herself very clearly.

"Harry Potter is the Dark Lord's horcrux."