Covered in Crimson

Five Years and Two Months Ago

Two and a half months without the attentions of his wife had left Lucius Malfoy irritable and surly. While he acknowledged that she had a calming influence on him in most situations, it was his baser nature that needed consideration now. He strode through the hallway of the main level calling her name at top volume. “Narcissa! Where are you? I’m home.” That he hadn’t thought to call a house-elf for search duty was testament to his impatience.

Hearing his bellowed summons, Narcissa set aside the correspondence she’d been reading in her study and met him as he rounded the corner into the west wing of the Manor, pulling up short so as to avoid a painful collision. That turned out to be a pointless effort as Lucius tugged her aggressively toward him, resulting in a crushing embrace that was bordering on abusive. “There you are – I’ve been looking for you!” a feral growl in his voice. He bent to claim her lips in a deep and passionate kiss, leaving no doubt about why he’d been dashing through the halls in search of his wife. He broke his enveloping hold on her only long enough to drag her into their bedchamber, the entrance just three meters from where he’d found her.

Once the door was closed, he stripped their clothes with an impatient display of wandless magic. “I’ll take my time later, wife. For now, I need you as fast as I can take you,” he apologized without any real remorse.

Narcissa just smirked and fell on to the bed. “I’ll keep you to your promise, husband, on both accounts.”

An hour later, both sated and sleepy, Narcissa lifted her head from her husband’s chest and hesitantly opened her mouth to speak. “Lucius, Draco will be home tomorrow. I’ve missed him so.”

“I’m sure you have, love, and I’m sure he’s missed you too,” Lucius soothed. He too paused briefly before sharing his own tidbit of news. “Did you know that he owled me a couple of weeks ago? He requested a meeting upon his return from school.”

Narcissa’s heart began to thud rapidly, imagining all kinds of scenarios that could draw her son and husband together – some more dastardly than others, but few with completely benign content. “I didn’t know that, dear. Did he say what he wanted to speak with you about?” she probed, trying not to betray the concern in her voice.

Lucius was wool-gathering and scarcely paid attention to his wife’s question. “Hmmm? No, nothing specific. Just said he wanted to talk about his future. You know he’s going to be sixteen in a few months; I’m sure he’s starting to think about what he wants to do once he graduates, and how he’ll take his place in the family’s, uh, interests,” Lucius hedged.

“Oh, Lucius, please don’t push him too soon,” Narcissa whispered. “I’m afraid for him. I don’t want him to lose his soul to a madman’s folly.”

A deep sigh preceded her husband’s response. “Cissy, Draco requested this meeting. He’s clearly already thinking about his future. He’s smart enough to know that if he doesn’t come willingly, it will be much worse for everyone if he’s dragged in kicking and screaming. This is our legacy and our future, Narcissa. I may not agree with all of the Dark Lord’s goals, or all of his methods to achieve them, but this is our power base. Without it, we may as well be Weasleys.”

“I understand that, Lucius, but the hypocrisy of it all…” Her meaning clear, Narcissa’s voice trailed into nothingness.

“When the Dark Lord comes to power, he will need strong lieutenants and gifted leaders to maintain order and rule. I intend that those roles be filled by Draco and me for a very long time.”

“How can you be so sure that he will prevail, Lucius? I’m not convinced, not in the least,” she argued.

“Obviously I can’t be one-hundred percent certain, but the dark magic he uses is so ancient and so powerful. And he’s more than willing to use questionable tactics and strategies that the Light side would rather die than employ. That, I believe, will be their downfall, and I intend to be on the winning side, regardless of whether I have some distaste for a method or two. The ends justify the means, and all.” Lucius waved a hand dismissively, as though this was something that she should know and embrace willingly.

“Forgive me if that doesn’t make me feel any better about this, but I’d rather not have my son embroiled in political intrigue and violent bloodshed before he’s even sixteen years old,” Narcissa spat. She disentangled her limbs from his and rose to wrap herself in the baby blue silk dressing gown that rested on a bench at the foot of their king-sized cherry wood bed.

Lucius leaned up on one elbow, head resting in his palm, and watched her stiffly stomp around the room, gathering the clothing that had been discarded in haste earlier. “If the situation was different, I’d agree. But I can’t do anything to change what is, only manage to deal with it the best we can. If you’ve got other ideas, I’m willing to listen, but I don’t see a way out of this that doesn’t leave all of us dead at the Dark Lord’s feet,” Lucius retorted. “Look, Cissy, decisions that were made by my father and his father before, set us on a path that is nearly impossible to abandon. I made my own choices as a young man that, in hindsight, could have been better considered. But what’s done is done, and if we tried to walk away now, even with the influence and funds that we have at our disposal, we’d never be safe. We’d always be looking over our shoulders, waiting for one of his followers to punish us for our betrayal. I don’t want to live like that.”

“But you’d rather sacrifice our son’s future to what amounts to a lifetime of servitude to a lunatic?!” Narcissa rounded on her husband, voice raised and eyes flashing.

Lucius rose from the bed in all his naked glory and in two long strides, reached his wife where she stood near her marble-topped dressing table. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he squeezed firmly to focus her attention and assert his dominance. “Narcissa, we are all in servitude to someone, somewhere along the way. Draco will be at the top of the ladder if he gets involved now. If he waits, his commitment will always be questioned and his position far less secure. I’m trying to carve out the best possible scenario for him given the circumstances.” He gave her the tiniest shake, letting just a little of his own anger and frustration show, then released her abruptly. “That’s it. I don’t want to hear another word about this.” He stalked away from her into their adjoining bathroom and called for a house-elf to draw his bath, sending a Colloportus to the door behind him, effectively shutting his wife out.

Not one to be easily deterred, Narcissa moved to the heavy wooden door and pounded on it with the side of her closed fist. “My sister wants him, Lucius. And she’s insane. I can’t let her have my boy.”

On the other side of the door, the senior Malfoy sat on the side of the tub, head in his hands, as he listened to his wife sobbing in great, wracking gulps. “I know, Cissy, I know,” he whispered.

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Narcissa had retreated to a guest room for her own bath and to sleep for the night. She just could not tolerate her husband’s presence after their row over Draco. She felt heartbroken and defeated, convinced that her son was being ripped from her long before it was time. It was infinitely more painful than the forty-three hours that she’d labored in delivering the child, her own life in the balance for most of that time. If she knew what this time would bring, she’d have gladly sacrificed both of their lives then rather than allow her only son to succumb now to the whims and schemes of that evil half-blood bastard.

Draco had owled her early that morning, and his note had been curt and succinct, none of his usual chatty questions about Yule preparations or how he’d missed her. It had been all of two sentences: School is dismissed at 5:00pm today, and we leave on the Hogwarts Express at 9:00am tomorrow. I’ll expect someone will meet me at the station.

The last statement brought home the fact that the young man was not yet even of age to Apparate on his own. “What in Merlin’s name is my idiot of a husband thinking?” she wondered. Her second worry came to the fore when an owl from her sister arrived, inquiring as to finalizing the family’s Yule celebration plans, and asking after Draco again. Narcissa had not gained any substantive support from Lucius in deflecting Bella’s attentions from Draco.

“Let’s wait to see what Draco wants to discuss with me before we do anything rash,” he’d admonished.

Her only hope rested in her knowledge that Draco had never shown any real interest in getting to know his aunt beyond the necessary familial acquaintance in the few times that they’d met since her dramatic escape from Azkaban. He’d looked at her with a healthy amount of suspicion and wariness, and Narcissa hoped that the boy’s skepticism about the truest “Black sheep” of the family remained.

Unable to procrastinate any longer, Narcissa replied to her sister, offering a family dinner invitation for three nights hence, Christmas Eve. She was certain that Lucius would not delay in having his tête-à-tête with Draco beyond tomorrow, and that would afford them two more days to deal with whatever fallout resulted before having to confront any lunacy that Bellatrix would attempt to perpetrate on her son. In the meantime, she would prepare for her son’s arrival, ensuring that his favorite meal and sweet treats were available for him, Lucius’ needling about her spoiling Draco be damned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco had spent the last two nights of the school term in the company of his Head of House, Severus Snape. That had formerly been a relatively welcome occurrence, but detention with the man he’d grown to distrust nearly as much as Dumbledore was positively hellish. Rather than the typical detention penance of cleaning cauldrons, writing lines, or organizing the ingredients stockroom, Draco had been subjected to endless questioning and constant Legilimency assaults. Snape clearly suspected that he was involved with something he shouldn’t be, but Draco had been relatively well-behaved since the Astronomy Tower escapade, at least to his own thinking. Sure, he’d mouthed off and talked back endlessly, but there was no blood on his hands. What else was he supposed to do, keep his mouth shut and tolerate all the bull that he’d had to endure listening to dipshit Gryffindors and brainless teachers?

In retaliation for Snape’s magical mind attack, Draco had shut his brain down like an iron gate in a prison. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d learned to do it; it just seemed to come naturally. Once he made the decision to shut someone out, they weren’t getting in, period. He could tell that his Potions professor was getting thoroughly annoyed and peeved at not being able to read anything from him, and it amused him to no end. He’d maintained eye contact as long as the older wizard had, a sickening twinkle present in his cool gray orbs.

The results of Snape’s questions were no different. He hadn’t answered a single one, not even the simplest basic queries akin to name, address and wand material. In an effort to exasperate the elder wizard even further, Draco had been unfailingly civil in his refusal to cooperate. The refrain of “I prefer not to answer at this time, Professor,” might as well have been recorded and played back over and over again for its exact repetition. Draco left both sessions, tired and smirking at his perceived victory, well after midnight. He’d retired to his bed, treated himself to his favorite sweet confection, and fallen into satisfied rest with the knowledge that he’d thwarted Dumbledore’s emissary yet again.

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Infuriated didn’t come close to describing Severus Snape’s level of anger. He’d spent a total of nine hours questioning and using Legilimency on Draco to absolutely no avail. He was having a great deal of trouble reconciling the level of Occlumency that the boy practiced with the fact that, to his knowledge, Draco had never been taught in the art. The only other Occlumens he’d ever encountered with that degree of skill was Bellatrix Lestrange. The thought that she had somehow educated her nephew in the practice was unthinkable, and unlikely. As far as he knew, the young wizard and his aunt had only had very limited contact, and had only seen each other a bare handful of times, certainly not enough to impart that level of training. When he’d dismissed the boy from detention, he had been the one to leave with the headache, the younger wizard remaining unscathed and unaffected. Something was definitely… weird.

The children would be departing for the Yule holidays in just about three hours, and Snape wanted to ensure that he shared his observations with the Headmaster prior to the group’s departure for Hogsmeade Station, and ultimately, the Hogwarts Express. Therefore, he’d requested the early morning meeting to which he was en route. Typically only house-elves and Quidditch teams seeking practice before breakfast were the only living beings active at this hour, but he’d had an idea, and wanted to share it with Dumbledore before it was too late to capture his quarry when the train spirited him away.

“Reese’s Pieces,” the dark-haired man intoned, wondering what in Merlin’s name this particular confection might be. Dumbledore was fond of his Muggle treats, of this there was no doubt. As expected, the stone phoenix twisted aside to reveal the staircase that would bring him to the Headmaster’s office. Albus was waiting for him at a small table that had been set with breakfast treats and tea; he’d anticipated that this might be a lengthy discussion.

“Good morning, Severus. Please, join me in some breakfast. I’ve got fabulous croissants and boysenberry jam,” the older man offered.

“Thank you, Albus, you’re too kind.” Snape nodded with as much of a smile as he was likely to give – a mere twist of his thin, pale lips. He sat opposite the Headmaster and accepted a cup of tea, but did not reach for one of the flaky pastries. “I’m grateful that you agreed to see me so early this morning; I wanted to ensure we spoke before the carriages leave for Hogsmeade.”

“It was no trouble, Severus. I’ve been up for nearly two hours. I find that the older I get, the less sleep I seem to require. Perhaps my body’s way of telling me that I don’t have much time left, so I’d better stay awake to enjoy it!” He chuckled lightly. “What can I do for you today?”

“You know, Albus, that I had Draco in detention for the past two nights,” Snape paused as he waited for Dumbledore’s nod of acknowledgement. “As has been our unfortunate duty too many times this term, I used the occasion to attempt to both question and use Legilimency on the young man.”

“Attempt?” Dumbledore questioned at the clearly deliberate and troubling choice of word.

“Yes, sir, attempt. I’m afraid that Draco refused to answer a single question that I asked of him, and was again able to completely block every attempt I made to read into his mind. I was thinking about this earlier, and something troubling came to me. The only other person I’ve ever encountered who had a greater level of skill in Occlumency was Bellatrix Lestrange. To my knowledge, she has not had much access to Draco, not enough to teach him the level of skill he displays, but what if I’m wrong about that? What if she is in contact with him, and instructing or influencing him in the Dark Arts?”

“Hmmm. Interesting thought, Severus, but I don’t see how she could be doing that. We have carefully scrutinized every owl and package that Draco has received since the beginning of November. I realize that there were two months of the term prior to that, but the general tracking and screening that we do on all post in and out of Hogwarts has not detected any change in the number or type of parcels or letters Draco has received. The tracking spell that Professor Flitwick placed on him has not noted any attempts to leave the castle, and Draco has diligently stuck to two or three favored locations for his leisure time. He even stopped going to the library a few weeks ago, and other than a quick broom flight around the Quidditch pitch every now and again, he keeps to his room. He rarely even frequents the Slytherin Common room. How could she get to him?” Albus’ musing was almost more for his own benefit than for Severus’.

Sighing in frustration, Severus had to agree. “I suppose you’re right. I’m grasping at straws because I’m utterly at a loss to explain how and why he’s changed and how he’s acquired these new skills without apparent instruction. I’ve always thought the boy intelligent and capable, but these are skills that require a great deal of practice beyond any natural ability. I guess that leaves me with another question instead of any answers. Is he that much more talented than what we believed?”

“That’s a question I can’t answer, Severus, but it would not stun me to find that to be true. I have always believed that young Mister Malfoy has not given his all during his time with us. But that is a far cry from the level of ability you describe.”

“Yes, that’s all well and good, but it leads me to the reason I wanted to see you so early this morning. I was thinking that you and I should take a little trip down to the courtyard while the students are boarding the carriages, and maybe catch Draco unawares. Each time we’ve attempted Legilimency previously, he had time to recognize what we were doing and defend against it quickly. What if we were to double-team him, so to speak, and see if we’re able to catch some flash of memory or image before he has time to slam down the walls?”

Dumbledore looked at the man with a guileless, open expression. “I cannot believe that we haven’t thought of that before now, Severus. That’s brilliant, and I’m glad one of us finally came to our senses. If he’s distracted enough with the idea of getting home, we may have a window of opportunity that won’t soon be open to us again. Let’s take a few moments to strategize how we’ll do this, and then we’ll meet again in the courtyard about fifteen minutes before the students are expected.”

Severus felt a small shiver of a sensation that had been woefully unfamiliar lately – hope for success – and bent to the task of brainstorming with his Headmaster for what could be the most important assignment he’d have as a teacher and school official all year.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As the students gathered for breakfast for the final time this term, the two Professors made a brief appearance in the Great Hall, but left soon after the Headmaster’s fond farewell and Yule Tidings message on the pretense of overseeing final departure preparations. They’d agreed to make their presence known as the students arrived in the courtyard to board the carriages, and to make a fairly obvious show of leaving for other duties early on in the process. They’d planned to return under powerful Disillusionment spells to observe their target, young Mister Malfoy, in the hopes of catching him unguarded and unawares. Both were hopeful that their mission would yield better results than their previous efforts.

The young wizard in question actually awoke in a reasonably good mood; he’d be leaving this annoying environment for what he hoped would be the final time, dependent upon the outcome of his meeting with his father. His thoughts kept circling back to the missive he’d written two days earlier – his plan for the future – and he rehearsed over and over again how he’d present his wishes.

This was the tiny opening that Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore had been waiting for, and together they gently but thoroughly probed Draco’s mind for any clues they could find. They completed their exercise when the blond climbed aboard one of the waiting carriages, and returned to the Headmaster’s office to discuss what they’d discovered.

Dumbledore had invited Minerva and Filius to join them for their meeting, and both had arrived mere moments after the final carriage left the courtyard’s gates. “Thank you for joining us this morning. We have some news to share regarding the situation with Draco Malfoy, some of it quite troubling and much of it as confusing as his behavior this term. Severus and I were finally able to successfully complete a Legilimency spell on him while he was distracted during the boarding in the courtyard. I’m embarrassed to say that none of us had thought to use that approach earlier, but what’s done is done. We’ve extracted a selection of memories and placed them in the pensieve. There are two in particular that I think will give us a very stark picture of what Draco’s state of mind is right now. I thought we’d project them from there so that we can watch and discuss them together.”

At the group’s nods and murmurs of agreement, the Headmaster used his wand to select the first memory he wanted them to see. “This one is the most disconcerting to me. Let’s view it all the way through first, and then share our impressions.”

Draco’s writing took on a furious pace as his thoughts solidified and his anger at his situation overtook him. His exhaustive diatribe against Mudbloods and blood traitors was worthy of any uttered by the most zealous of the Dark Lord’s followers. He described in lurid detail how he wished to “eradicate” the Wizarding world of the “scourge” of those who sought to change the pureblood way of life by allowing more power and authority to be granted to the unworthy among them. His note indicated that he viewed murder, torture, and rape as acceptable for both punishment and “a deterrent inducement” for those who did not share his thinking. He concluded with a very specific wish – to take the Dark Mark as soon as possible and to leave Hogwarts in all due haste.

The four professors were quiet for several moments as they absorbed and considered what they’d witnessed. Minerva McGonagall was the first to break the silence. “Albus, if this is true, I do not see how we can possibly allow him to return to Hogwarts. It seems as though he’s just biding his time before a thorough explosion of violence. There are far too many here who would be targets for his rage. I can not be party to putting them at such clear risk.”

Dumbledore only nodded in acknowledgement but did not voice a reply. He looked next to the diminutive Charms professor. “Filius, what are your thoughts?” he prompted.

“I tend to agree with Minerva, but I also want to know what else you found. Your desire to discuss this rather than to make a firm decision to expel him on the basis of this undoubtedly disturbing development indicates to me that there are mitigating factors that you’ve found. I’ll respect that and reserve judgment for the moment.”

“Severus?”

“Since I saw the other things you did, I also prefer to hold back my opinion until everyone has had the opportunity to view the whole story,” he demurred.

“Very well, what do you wish us to see next, Albus?” Minerva asked with a sigh.

With another flick of his wand, Dumbledore displayed the second memory.

Draco sat on his bed, surrounded by the contents of a large hamper sent that morning from Malfoy Manor, the glee and serenity on his face in stark contrast to the fiercely angry sneer in the previous image. He picked through the smaller packages contained within, setting one or two apart from others, and eagerly read the enclosed letter from his mother. He actually smiled as he read her brief but chatty message, and lifted items out of the hamper as though prompted to do so by her writing. He laughed aloud when he reached in to find a pair of black silk sleep pants that had charmed golden snitches flying about the waistband and hems of both legs. He actually appeared younger than his fifteen and a half years by virtue of the sheer joy and amusement he clearly felt.

Dumbledore cleared his throat as the memory ended, drawing the group’s attention to him. “As near as we can tell, this event was separated from the other by no more than thirty minutes. In the Muggle world, they’d suspect a clinical diagnosis of schizophrenia or possibly bi-polar disorder. Those afflictions rarely happen in the Wizarding world, and even more rarely in purebloods. In our world, it’s more likely that such behavioral swings are caused by spells, potions or a combination of the two. As you all know, we’ve not been able to find any such evidence in young Draco, but our inability to uncover that evidence does not mean that it does not exist. There seem to be two different Draco Malfoys inhabiting our walls, and for now, the vile one appears to be taking precedence. What this also tells me is that there is a different Draco underneath all his bluster and anger, and I for one don’t wish to abandon him to the fate he thinks he’s chosen for himself. I say we keep him here, if his parents don’t pull him out from under our control, and see what we can do to draw out the Draco in whom I have hope. What do you all think?”

Filius Flitwick was the first to respond. “The disparity is beyond stunning. I don’t really know what to think; I’ve never seen anything like it. I must agree, however, that I am reluctant to abandon someone when there is hope to change for the better.”

“I am most concerned that if we let him go, his influences will only be worse and there will be no chance at redemption. I am in a position to sway his mother at least somewhat, and she will not easily give him over to the Dark Lord. I think we try to keep him here,” Severus voiced his thought.

“Well, I’m not nearly as hopeful as the rest of you, but if you all believe that there are more benefits than risks in allowing him to stay, I will defer to your judgment – provided that we use every measure possible to ensure the safety of Muggle-borns and half-bloods who could be his targets and to increase our surveillance of all of his activities,” the Transfiguration professor relented.

“Then we are agreed,” Dumbledore stated. “With the stipulations requested by Minerva, Draco Malfoy will be permitted to rejoin us for the next term.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lucius Malfoy awaited the arrival of his son on the Hogwarts Express. He’d offered to meet him personally at the station rather than send a retainer when it was apparent that his wife would be ignoring him for at least another day. She’d made her displeasure known by sleeping apart from him the previous night and refusing to even take breakfast with him that morning. She’d had a house-elf relay the message about Draco’s arrival and need for someone to rendezvous with him for the final leg of his trip back to the Manor. It had been the pointed reminder of his age that she’d intended it to be. Lucius understood her fear and anxiety; he shared them to some degree. She was not aware, however, of the intense pressure that he was receiving to deliver his son into the Dark Lord’s service at the earliest possible moment. Her own sister and brother-in-law had been among the most vocal in pushing for his early admittance into the ranks of fully invested Death Eaters. On this point, even Lucius was opposed. No one had ever been branded with the Dark Mark prior to their sixteenth birthday and there were numerous reasons for a delay until that time. This was the trump card he hoped to wield to keep Draco marginally protected for at least six more months.

Lucius also saw this trip from King’s Cross Station as an opportunity to have a few moments alone with Draco to glean what he could about the boy’s request for a meeting without the immediate influence of his mother hanging over both their heads. Draco’s note had contained a bit more detail than he’d shared with Narcissa, but not enough to provide his father with an unambiguous picture of his son’s requests. Draco had been deliberately vague, probably to avoid the certain prying eyes of Hogwarts’ professors. But Lucius knew his son well enough to read between the lines, and he was a little surprised at the tone of his son’s note. It gave him pause that perhaps Narcissa’s concerns about her son’s behavior were not unwarranted. Lucius had always believed, above all else, in self-preservation and clear-eyed practicality. There was no place in the Malfoy creed for wild fervor; it led to enormous mistakes - passionate ones, to be sure, but mistakes nonetheless. What he’d read in the undercurrent of his son’s request smacked of the fanaticism that tainted both Bella’s and Rodolphus’ ability to function outside the confines of the Dark Lord’s narrow world. If nothing else, he needed to impress upon Draco the desirability and wisdom of a more moderate approach, at least in appearance, than that adopted by some of the more rabid zealots who invariably marginalized themselves too quickly to be of real effect. They would need to maintain “plausible deniability” – a term he’d learned from the Muggle political world - should things not turn out as the Dark Lord desired. His sister-in-law would likely be quite displeased at such a turn of events. For some reason, that made him want to smirk.

Lucius was roused from his reverie by the sound of the train whistle signaling the approach of the Hogwarts Express. His boy would be joining him momentarily.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco’s ride back home had been as irritating and mind-numbing as had the trip at the beginning of the term. He’d secured a compartment by himself, locking out any and all potential companions. He’d wanted to continue preparing for his meeting with his father without the constant prattling and inanity of his classmates. He’d heard Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson and Nott all request entrance, and thoroughly ignored each and every one. He’d even turned Zabini away; that was the only one he felt slightly chagrined to snub. Maybe he’d make it up to him at some later date, but for now, Draco wanted his solitude.

When the train had finally pulled in to King’s Cross, a light, wet snow had begun to fall and Draco hoped that it hadn’t delayed whomever was meeting him for the trip back to the Manor. He was therefore both surprised and pleased that it was his father that he spied standing apart from the gathered rabble in wait for him; they’d have some private time to talk. Draco made his way through the crowd as the house-elves accompanying his father retrieved his trunks from the baggage compartment. Hugs were simply not done between Malfoy men over the age of seven, so Draco extended his hand in greeting. He was stunned, then, when his father gathered him closer, not quite a hug but more than a simple hand-clasp. He surmised that his father’s extended business trip had left him melancholy and missing his family. How uncharacteristic, he mused.

“Father, how was your trip? Did you get home yesterday?” Draco asked.

“It was productive, thank you. I arrived early in the afternoon,” Lucius answered, not expanding or volunteering anything further. “I received your owl two weeks ago, requesting that we meet about your future plans. Since I brought the carriage, it will take us about an hour to get back to the Manor. Will that be sufficient time to discuss your request?” They both boarded the carriage which had already been loaded with Draco’s things from school, father and son sitting opposite each other on the velvet-covered benches.

“Yes, Father, I believe it will.”

“Good. I’m sure your mother will want to spend some time with you when we get back, so this will allow us some time without interference. What’s on your mind, son?”

In this anxious moment, when Draco’s future rested before him, all his well-laid plans for outlining a cogent argument flew right out of his head, and he blurted without thought, “Father, I want to leave Hogwarts and take the Dark Mark as soon as possible.”

Lucius sat quietly, crossing one leg over the other, while he considered how to respond to his son’s outburst. He’d suspected that Draco would ask for some role or assignment in the Dark Lord’s service, possibly in some spying on suspected Order members at Hogwarts or even in keeping an eye on the activities of young Potter, but this went far beyond what his expectations had been. “Why do you think that’s the best course of action for you now, Draco?” he asked calmly, maintaining eye contact with his only child.

“I can’t tolerate being there any longer, Father,” he whined. “There are so many Mudbloods and blood traitors, and I simply can’t stomach being around them. I want to fight for our rights, and I want to do that to the fullest extent that I can.”

“That’s admirable, son, but what makes you think you are ready to be a full member of the Dark Lord’s army? You aren’t even a fully trained wizard yet, how are you to be of use when there are so many who are much better qualified and experienced than you?”

“I’ll study hard on my own. I’ll do whatever I have to do,” Draco sounded utterly desperate in his plea.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm and your willingness to fight, Draco, but I can’t allow you to leave Hogwarts just yet.”

As Draco opened his mouth to protest, Lucius raised a hand, effectively silencing him. “Hear me out, son. There are very important reasons for you to stay right where you are. It will make you better prepared for whatever is to come, and I’ll not support sending you out without being fully ready for the challenges that you will be forced to meet.”

Draco’s immaturity began to show as he crossed his arms over his chest and his facial expression could only be described as a sulk.

“There are some things you should know, Draco, before this discussion goes any further. First, no one has ever taken the Dark Mark before they reach the age of sixteen, and no exceptions will be made for you on that account, so regardless of any other factor, you will need to wait until June. I’ll not have you lazing about the Manor until then. You need to continue your education, and you will do that at Hogwarts, where you can be useful in other ways. Second, your mother and I are practical people. We recognize that we must plan for any number of contingencies and possibilities, and in light of that, we are not ready to allow you to make such a momentous decision until we have weighed all the factors and given you appropriate counsel. You are not of legal age yet, and you must have our consent to leave school. We will not give it at this time.”

Draco’s anger had begun to build as he believed his plans to be going up in smoke. His father was not being supportive, and was actually refusing his wishes without truly listening. He grew more frustrated and upset by the moment as his father spoke, and he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I can see that you are unhappy with my decision, Draco. You’ve never been very good at hiding your emotions from me, even when you could fool everyone else. Please trust me that I am looking out for your best interests, and what will secure the most illustrious future for you. I recognize that you are frustrated with the environment at school and the number of people whose picture of the future of the Wizarding world is far from our own ideal. I know you don’t want to hear this, but we must be realistic. There is a small possibility that the other side will prevail and we must be positioned to survive no matter what. I’m not asking you to change your views, but I’m asking you to consider being slightly more circumspect in expressing them at school so that our family has some, uh, flexibility in how we approach delicate situations.”

Lucius paused to gauge Draco’s reaction. It wasn’t positive.

“Are you telling me that your support for the Dark Lord is not complete?” Draco spoke through clenched teeth.

“That’s not what I’m saying at all, Draco. I’m saying that the perception that we are slightly more neutral would be a more politically expedient position until other factors fall into place.”

“Father, I have no choice but to follow your orders in remaining in school, but hear this now. I am immensely unhappy about this, and I will do whatever I can to change your mind about allowing me to do what I want.”

“Understand this, Draco, regardless of your unhappiness, I am doing what’s best for you and for our family. You will follow my lead, and in that, your future will be secured. If things develop as I believe they will, and you still want to take the Dark Mark at the end of this school year, I will reconsider my decision. Remember that sometimes the best service to our cause may not appear to be what you think it is. In the meantime, you can be of service by keeping your eyes and ears open, and reporting back to me what you see, especially with regard to Dumbledore, Potter and anyone else who seems especially vocal and supportive of changing Wizengamot rules. Consider that your interim mission. We’ll not discuss this any further until circumstances develop, I’ll expect you to comply with my decision.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at his father in displeasure and responded in the only way he could, for now. “Yes, Father.”

Neither Malfoy male spoke again until they arrived at the Manor some forty-five minutes later.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Narcissa Malfoy could not have been more disappointed if Draco had not come home at all. When he’d arrived with his father, Draco’s mood had been so morose that he’d only nodded a greeting to his mother and dashed off to his bedroom. That had been two hours ago and he still hadn’t emerged. Lucius had retreated to his study and had also been silent about their trip home and any conversation they’d had. Narcissa was still angry with her husband, but she was anxious to know what had happened between her son and husband that had both of them so infuriated. She decided that her best bet for now was with Lucius, and she knocked on the door to his study, awaiting admittance.

While it seemed like an hour, it was only about twenty seconds before Lucius opened the door and invited his wife into his study with a sweep of his arm. As she passed by him, Narcissa noted the distinct aroma of Ogden’s finest. For Lucius to be drinking this early in the day, it had not been a pleasant conversation with their son.

“What happened?” she pressed.

“Well, my dear, it appears you weren’t wrong to be worried about Draco. He asked me for permission to leave Hogwarts and take the Dark Mark…”

“No!” she gasped.

“Don’t worry, I told him that he couldn’t do that. But I must say that he was surprisingly adamant about his wishes. He’s become quite ardent in his support of the Dark Lord, so much so that I had to ask him to moderate his vocal expression. While I was waiting for Draco at the train station, I thought about our earlier conversation, Narcissa. You know I’m a pragmatist above all, regardless of my desire to maintain the position of supremacy that purebloods currently hold in our society. I’ve come to agree that it is too soon for Draco to have any overt role in the Dark Lord’s fight. I’ve told him that the most he’ll be allowed to do for now is to observe and report back on activities at Hogwarts. You should know, however, that his views have become much more solidified and he’s chomping at the bit. He’ll make his own choices soon, Narcissa, and there will be little that I can do to stop that. You need to be prepared that he’ll ask to be branded with the Mark in June.”

“And you need to know that I will do everything in my power to stop it, Lucius.”

Narcissa turned and left her husband standing in her wake. She climbed the grand stairwell toward Draco’s room, hoping to get at least a few moments to take the measure of what had happened to her son over the last few months. She knocked on his door and tried turning the knob, only to find it securely locked.

“Draco, it’s Mother, may I come in?” she requested.

She got no response, but did hear him moving about and he opened the door a few moments later. His greeting wasn’t exactly warm. “Suit yourself.”

She followed him in to the large rectangular space, taking a seat on the armchair nearest his bed, where he’d reclined immediately after admitting her. “Your father tells me that you had a difficult conversation earlier. Are you all right?”

“No, and I don’t want to talk about it,” came Draco’s sullen reply.

“Fine, dear, I understand that you’re upset. I just want you to know that your father and I only want the best for you, and we’ll make decisions that we feel are appropriate to support those ends. You may not understand our reasoning now, but you will later. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed, but there are better ways to promote our beliefs that will provide you with more options and a better future. I hope you can accept that. We love you, Draco and only want the best for you.”

He grunted in reply, refusing to make eye contact or engage in anything resembling conversation.

“Dinner will be served at seven o'clock. I expect you to be there.” Narcissa rose and left her son to his thoughts.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Malfoy family dinner that night was a silent, sullen affair. Draco moved pieces of food around on his plate, but ate almost nothing. Lucius ate ravenously without commentary. Narcissa just picked at her meal, but drank deeply of the rich burgundy wine that had been served. She desperately hoped that this was not a foreshadowing of the dinner that was planned for the next evening.

Twenty minutes after being seated in the smaller family dining room, Draco asked to be excused and was dismissed by his father with a curt nod. He retired to his room and indulged in his favorite chocolate truffle confection before settling in to bed for the night.

In another wing, Draco’s parents sipped cognac in silence, both staring into a crackling fire. Narcissa had overseen the final touches on Yule decorations hours earlier and made decisions on the menu for the Christmas Eve dinner. Gifts had been purchased and wrapped; house-elves would place them under the tree in the ballroom after midnight tomorrow. Every mundane preparation that could be made had been. There was nothing left to do but wait. Narcissa sighed deeply in anticipation of what was certain to be a strange and stressful evening.

Lucius was roused from his wool-gathering by his wife’s audible exhalation. “What’s wrong, Cissy?”

“Nothing different than what’s been wrong for the past few days, Lucius. I’m worried about Draco, and terrified that Bella will do something tomorrow to make the situation worse than it already is. I wish we could just cancel the dinner and run off to Milan for a few weeks.”

“They’d find a way to follow us, you can be sure,” Lucius replied without amusement. “I honestly don’t believe they’ll actually do anything, Cissy. I think they want to see what Draco has to say for himself, and with all the subtlety of a brick to the face, encourage him to actively support the Dark Lord.”

“Well that’s just grand,” Narcissa retorted sarcastically. “I’m going to bed. I can’t think about this any longer; it will drive me around the bend.” Draining the last of her cognac, she left the room to ready herself for bed – in a guest room for another night.

Lucius sighed, poured himself another drink and stared into the fire again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christmas Eve morning dawned gray and cold, not unlike the mood of the mistress of the house. Draco had made a brief appearance in the sun room for tea and toast, and then disappeared to his room again. He hadn’t spoken with either parent since his mother’s visit to his room the afternoon before. Stewing in his own anger was giving him a headache, but he wasn’t ready to stop sulking – it was a great way to annoy his parents.

He spent the next hour attempting to read a book, but not a single paragraph registered in his brain beyond a collection of vowels and consonants. His thoughts were too distracting, too disturbed to concentrate. Draco couldn’t believe that his father hadn’t approved of his plan; he’d felt certain that he would be pleased and supportive. He’d have little choice but to comply with his decision, but Draco didn’t have to be happy about it. He’d find ways to express his opinions and further his agenda without Lucius’ help or approval. The next couple of hours were spent contemplating ways to covertly act on his growing hatred of those who would take away his birthright.

Around 4:00pm that afternoon, Draco heard a sharp rap on his door, and heard his mother call out to him. “Draco, we’re having guests for dinner. Be dressed and ready by 6:00pm to receive your aunt and uncle.”

For the first time in two days, Draco’s spirits perked up. He didn’t know either Bellatrix or her husband Rodolphus very well, as they’d been incarcerated in Azkaban for most of his life, but he certainly knew their avid support of the Dark Lord. Maybe this evening could hold some promise after all. With a burst of energy and enthusiasm, Draco bolted into his bath, showered, shaved what little blond fuzz had appeared on his chin and upper lip, and styled his silky blond - and utterly unmanageable - hair with the ever-present gel he’d preferred for the last two or three years. Once properly groomed, Draco selected his favorite charcoal gray dress robes and a crisp white Egyptian cotton shirt. Black onyx and platinum cufflinks and studs, an emerald green silk tie, and custom-made black Italian leather oxfords finished his look. He was ready thirty minutes before his mother’s deadline.

Draco was waiting outside his father’s study when he heard the Floo activate, heralding the arrival of his aunt and uncle, and he hoped, new allies in his quest to join the Dark Lord’s army. He actually smiled as he greeted his mother’s sister, which prompted Bella to grin with satisfaction, Narcissa to cringe with fear, Rodolphus to smirk knowingly, and Lucius to squint with confusion. It would be an interesting evening, of that there was no doubt.

Cocktails were served in the drawing room, followed by a dinner of prime rib of beef, jacket potatoes, roasted asparagus, a fine burgundy, and a mouth-watering crème brulee with espresso for dessert. After dinner, the small group gathered in the ballroom, where Narcissa entertained them with a selection of classical music on the piano. Draco had been allowed a small glass of champagne in recognition of the festive evening, and each of the adults had had their flutes filled continuously by attentive yet somehow invisible house-elves. While dinner conversation had been limited to the fine quality of the food and drink, now that the music had stopped and drink was flowing more freely, Bella saw an opportunity to probe her nephew’s opinions, and to test how well her potions and spells had taken hold.

In a voice that was far too bright and cheery for the topic, she asked, “Draco, darling, how are things going at Hogwarts this year?”

That was all it took for the dam to break, and Draco spilled out all his frustration, anger, and resentment against Mudbloods and blood traitors. He railed against the constant scrutiny and inspection, and seethed over the school administration’s obvious prejudice against maintaining pro-pureblood policies. Bella was so pleased.

Just after midnight, gifts were exchanged and treats consumed. Among the broad selection of confections were Draco’s favorite chocolate and nut truffles. As he retired for the evening an hour later, Draco thought that this had been his best Christmas Eve ever. He fell asleep with a satisfied grin.