Chapter Two: Draco
July 1996
The weather was dreary despite July's supposed summer heat. Draco already knew why that was so as he walked the halls in Malfoy Manor leading up to the drawing room. As soon as he entered the space, he tried to remain placid as his eyes flitted across the people standing there.
Narcissa, his mother, stood to the side dressed in black robes; looking disheveled as though she had just been crying. Next to her stood his aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, looking very exuberant as she stared at Draco hungrily. The next person he turned to did not ease his quelling discomfort.
Standing in the middle of the drawing room—just before the great fireplace adorned with the portrait of his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy—was the Dark Lord himself. He looked as menacing as ever, despite the pleasant look the pale man was sporting towards Draco. His red, snake-silted eyes bore into Draco's cold, gray ones expectantly.
"My lord," Draco's voice wavered as he bowed stiffly. "I've been told you've called. What do I owe the pleasure?"
"I am sure," Voldemort's raspy voice started as he began to pace away from the fireplace towards one of the ornamental vases placed upon the room. "You are aware of why I am here, young Draco. You are, I believe, aware, of your father's little... mishap at the Department of Mysteries."
"Yes, my lord," He said in a small voice, remembering briefly how his father sat behind bars during his visit in Azkaban. His eyes wavered towards his mother briefly but looked away just as the Dark Lord spoke again.
"He has failed to acquire what I need. The prophecy, if you will." Voldemort said with a nod, glaring at Bellatrix and Narcissa for a moment before returning his gaze towards Draco. "I fear your father will no longer be of quite proper use. A simpleton pawn. A waste."
Draco cringed, but he did not dare to meet the dark wizard's eye.
It might have been a trick of the light or a mere scrape of the wooden table, but he was certain that he heard his mother whimper from where she stood. However, Draco did not brave himself to check if it was really her.
"However, I am a man of second chances; despite what other people might think." Voldemort went on, finally stopping in front of him. His pale, cold fingers touched his jaw and forced him to look up. The slits of the Dark Lord's blood-red eyes narrowed. "I am prepared to offer you a deal you cannot refuse. A deal that will not only save your father from my wrath, but also your mother."
He swallowed what felt like rough sand as he nodded. "Anything, my lord."
Voldemort's smile looked more like a sneer as he pulled his fingers away and continued walking. "I am in need of your great service, Draco. But before I can do that, I must mark you. For you see, I will need your word before I can offer you such kindness."
"Mark me, my lord?" Draco asked, completely taken aback. A part of him felt as though something had awakened, perhaps a certain pride slowly mending itself once more. That pride, to which had been tarnished the moment his father was sent to Azkaban, built itself up now.
This is what his father would need. Finally, after years of trying to impress the man that never seemed to care for Draco's accomplishments, he's able to prove once and for all that he wasn't a complete waste of time after all. He never thought, however, that proving that would mean joining a legion of Death Eaters.
And that much of his doubt was confirmed by the noticeable whimper from his mother. Draco tested himself by staring at Narcissa, only to find Bellatrix gripping her sister's arm harshly as if to shut off the noise. He frowned. He wished his aunt didn't have to, but she makes a fair enough point. This was no time to show weakness.
"Your mother has disagreed at the first thought, of course," Voldemort finally spoke after what felt like a pregnant silence save for Narcissa's attempt to castrate her worries. "But I have told her, as I shall tell you, that this would mean the greatest honor, Draco. Think of what your father would say when he returns from Azkaban. Would he not be proud?"
Draco could already imagine it: the proud look on his father's face when he shows him the freshly inked Death Eater mark on his forearm. That look was ever so rare, and perhaps the only time he's ever seen it was when he successfully mastered the art of riding his first junior broom several years before he entered Hogwarts. This was going to be better than some measly childhood pride.
Fully determined, and thus feeling that particular honor, Draco nodded eagerly. "Yes, my lord."
A harsh chuckle came from the Dark Lord as he again forced Draco to look at him. His lips curled menacingly as he raised his wand. "Your left arm then, Draco Lucius Malfoy."
Trying to keep himself from glancing at his worry-faced mother, he held up his left arm and rolled up the sleeves with his right hand. His pale skin was dotted with goose bumps and before he can pull up his control to rid of it, the Dark Lord raised the tip of his wand and stabbed it against the height of his forearm.
A searing pain unlike any other coursed through his arm and slithered its way throughout his entire body. A sharp gasp escaped his lips as he attempted to sound brave, yet whimpers and groans of sheer pain came as the familiar tattoo of the dark mark began to draw its way downwards.
Suddenly, flashes of terrible memories came to his mind. The time he fell off his broom during his first Quidditch match, the time he saw his parents fighting over his father's allegiance to the Dark Lord, constant nightmares that he hoped wouldn't happen of Voldemort murdering his father right before his eyes. Tears began to brim his eyes as the memories slammed into him like a hurricane, and only when he closed his eyes – away from seeing the dark mark be completed on his arm, did the memories began to ebb.
The pain subsided, but there was an aftermath of prickling discomfort as the Dark Lord's wand relented. Draco opened his eyes now. The dark mark, quite similar to the one his father has, was now horribly sewn against his skin; patches of red singeing the edges of the ink, similar to that of getting a fresh tattoo.
"Now," Voldemort said nonchalantly, just a slight chuckle of sheer, joyous laughter came from Bellatrix. "Are you prepared to carry out what I am about to ask you to do, young Draco? I must recapitulate that the fate of your family's lives rests upon your delivery of the task of which I ask you to accomplish. Fail to do so, and you just might find your parents dead on the wooden floors of your very manor; your lifeless body alongside them."
This time, Bellatrix stopped laughing. Whether it was sheer concern for what the Dark Lord had just said or the glare that he had just sent upon the witch, Draco didn't care. He sincerely doubted it was the former.
"Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord." He agreed unfailingly while he still tried to recover from the infernal flashes of dreadful memories and nightmares. "I am prepared to be at your bidding."
The Dark Lord smiled darkly. "Very well."
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Early October 1996
"Draco, mate, get up!"
Draco bolted upright from where he sat. He took in his surroundings groggily before rubbing the sleep off his eyes with the back of his palms. The sound of the Black Lake's waters crashing against the castle walls resounded above the crackle of the warm, green fire provided by the elegant Slytherin common room.
The warmth of the fire, gratefully, made the painful thudding of his heart slow. In some ways, he always seemed to forget that Voldemort was far away from where he was right now. In Hogwarts, the Dark Lord wouldn't be thick enough to touch him. In Hogwarts, he wouldn't have the nerve to control his actions. In Hogwarts, he was, quite painstakingly so, safe.
"That's the fifth time you fell asleep, you know?" Blaise said; his Italian accent laced with the English graced the room as he came into view before him. His arms were crossed against his chest, but his face laced with friendly worry. "The bloody hell's been going on with you?"
"It's nothing." Draco drawled on lazily as he ran his fingers through his hair, looking down on the table of which he most likely slept on so many times already. Strewn about on the table, it would seem, was his Transfiguration and Potions homework. He didn't quite see the point of doing any of them anymore, not with what he was about to do, anyway. "What time is it?"
"It's half past ten. You missed your Prefect duties and Snape's not happy." Blaise grunted as he took one of the emerald seats surrounding the round table before them. "I had to wake you up anyway. Professor Slughorn's looking for you."
"Oh yeah?" Draco asked disinterested as he closed the parchments of essays he was half-assing. He supposed it wouldn't be worth passing them tomorrow. "What did the old man want? Finally came to his senses that I'm worth being in his little Slug Club?"
Blaise laughed as he shook his head. "Not bloody likely with the way you're doing in your classes with him. Nah, mate, he said you need to go to his office now. Something about getting you a tutor or something."
This finally caught Draco's full attention. "A tutor?"
His dark friend's body racked with laughter as he attempted to wipe fake tears off his eyes. "Yeah, a tutor. I never thought I'd see the damn day, really. Honestly, I thought McGonagall would give you the boot on that instead of chucking you into detention all the bloody time."
Draco frowned at this. It seemed of his professors had been eager to send him to detention, though not without reason. He was skipping classes deliberately to go about the plan that the Dark Lord has asked him to do. To his surprise, it was taking a little longer than he had expected.
"But by Salazar's balls," Blaise went on. "Slughorn may be mental, but he's sure got a sense of humor and some guts."
"Who does he bloody think he is?!" Draco growled as he stood rather violently from his seat. "If you think I'm going to his office for a blasted tutor—"
"I thought you might say that." Blaise nodded as he finally calmed down. "That's why he said if you didn't go to his office tonight, he'll exceptionally fail you and you won't be able to see the light of N.E.W.T next year."
He sneered at his friend as he pushed his parchments and books into his leather bag. Not like he was ever coming back here next year. As much as he was attempting to underestimate the academic system of his school due to the task he was assigned at hand, he didn't want to have Slughorn sending his mother letters about his failing grades. If anything, he did greatly in most of his subjects thanks to her. But the severity of what he was tasked to do weighed so much in him, he tended to forget what he did for his mother.
"Fine." Draco hissed impatiently as he shouldered his bag and started for the door.
"Mate, you sure you're alright?" Blaise asked for what seemed to be the bloody umpteenth time that month.
Draco looked back and nodded wordlessly at him before heading out, hoping for yet again the umpteenth time that Blaise doesn't ask him the same question again.
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With a rapt knock on the wooden door of the sixth floor, it opened to reveal Professor Slughorn in his usual attire of a brown waist coat that threatened to burst due to his pudginess and brown slacks. He was a balding man of old age, though he graced a pleasantness that Draco didn't exactly enjoy. Why were people so damn cheerful these days?
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy!" Professor Slughorn jeered with a wide grin as he stepped aside to give him room. "Do come in! I was a bit worried Blaise wasn't able to relay my message. Oh, but Blaise, quite the trustworthy man. I suppose it wouldn't be a tad bit biased for me to say five points to Slytherin for his exceptional delivery."
Draco attempted a slight smile but failed to do so, entering the wide office instead. The room was fairly large, big enough to host a small party of a sort. It had a large fireplace to the side – though not nearly as big as the one in Malfoy manor – and two white velvet sofas that could seat about six people or so. It was an impressive room, and he attempted to distract himself by his surroundings as Slughorn went on.
"Now, I do believe Blaise has briefed you on why I've called you here." Professor Slughorn said as he conjured an elegant tea set out of nowhere, setting it down the coffee table before the sofas. Draco voluntarily sat on one of the cushions as the professor began to pour them tea. "I take great pride in my teachings. In fact, such great pride, that I find it difficult to look past a failing student. Of course, you're not ultimately failing, but you're nearly there."
He couldn't help but roll his eyes at this. The only people concerned about his grades were his mother, Snape and for some odd reason, Professor McGonagall. Can't a man go a month without being pestered for top notch grades this year? It's not like there's ever going to be a Hogwarts next year with the plan already set in motion.
"I'm offering to have you tutored by one of my Slug Club members. There's only so little of them well available and have the willingness to do any of this, really." Professor Slughorn handed him a cup of tea and Draco absent-mindedly took three sugars and a splash of milk onto his cup. "I only mean for you to get at least decent grades, Mr. Malfoy. I find it rather painful to know that I have failing students at my class. It makes me look like the old potions master isn't doing his job the way he used to, and I certainly beg to differ."
"Let me guess," Draco finally spoke up as he glared at the old man. "You're sending Saint Potter to tutor me, are you? If you think I'm going to tolerate even a second being tutored by scar head just because he's your bloody top student, then you've certainly got another thing com—"
"Oh, heavens no!" The professor chortled delightedly before taking a sip of his tea. "Certainly not. I believe the boy already has a lot on his hands..."
"Of course he does." He muttered disdainfully under his breath as he finally downed some of his tea, nearly searing his tongue, though he paid his pain no mind.
"...no, I have decided to take in a much more willing candidate to help you out on your studies for my class. Ms. Greengrass, if you please?"
This caught his attention a lot more than he had hoped it wouldn't. He nearly spit out his tea when he finally saw her. From the open space balcony behind them appeared Astoria Greengrass, still in her uniform, holding her own cup of tea. Her black as night hair was tied up in a neat, elegant bun and her face, though eloquently tired, looked pleasant. As she approached, her green eyes grazed over him in surprise, her mouth forming a small 'o' as the pleasantness drifted into nervous wreck. She looked at him hesitantly now before biting her bottom lip and finally meeting the professor's eye. Perhaps she wasn't briefed that she'd be teaching him. That made two of them.
"This is Astoria Greengrass." Professor Slughorn introduced proudly once Astoria finally came to view before him. "Best student in her year! Fourth year, mind you. Quite the little potions master herself next to Potter and Granger. She knows the higher years' syllabus more than her own, actually."
"I'm sorry," Draco cleared his throat as he slammed his nearly empty cup on the coffee table before rising from where he sat. "You expect me to be tutored by a fourth year? Little Greengrass, who's about two years younger than me? Are you mad?"
At this, he saw Astoria's eyes widen; though he couldn't tell if they were out of anger or fear. He didn't give a damn about it.
"If by mad, you mean quite the mad genius, then yes, Mr. Malfoy; consider me "mad"." Professor Slughorn air quoted before going on. "I'll have you know that not a lot of people in my club were exceptionally grateful for the opportunity of tutoring you. Well, with the happenings of your father and all—"
"Don't you dare talk about my father like that!" Draco cut him off crassly.
"I mean no disrespect, mind you. Of course not!" Professor Slughorn tried to recover. "I'm merely saying that not a lot of people wish to be in your company at the current moment—"
"Including me," Astoria finally spoke, her voice matching the harshness he had produced earlier. He stared at her; now the one with the look of his surprise on his face. She was glaring at him, in which he returned the favor. "But I have a lot of free time on my hands, and I intend to pursue them with extra academic work. Even if it does include tutoring someone as awfully reluctant as you."
Draco wanted to say something. Literally anything. He's used to insulting banter, rather having done a fair few with Potter himself and admittedly, winning 90% of the time. And fairly, not a lot of girls engaged in arguments with him in fear of being cursed by his wealthy family and all. But the fact that he could hardly say a word, throw a single insult at this little girl that just regarded him so rudely meant a prideful deal to him.
"Now, now, Ms. Greengrass; we mustn't be rude. Though I daresay you're an excellent match to tutor Mr. Malfoy. I'm sure he'll learn a number from you." Professor Slughorn tatted at her before finishing his tea. "Conduct your tutoring in whatever way you wish. I expect by the end of November, he'd at least pass half of the assignments and potions to be brewed by then. If not, well, it must be continued!"
Instead of regarding Astoria, in which he decided he'd deal with later, he turned to Slughorn. "And what if I don't want to do this blasted tutoring? Hm? I'm only behind Granger in my year. I'm nearly as smart as her and I can easily accommodate being able to catch up on the subject—"
"I understand your defense against the matter." The professor nodded patiently. "That is why I have owled your mother out of respect this morning, and she, too, has agreed to garner you with a tutor. And, she's favorable of having Ms. Greengrass here be the one to tutor you. I believe you and the Greengrasses are, as they say in the pure-blood community, well-connected."
He was finding it hard to believe that his mother would agree to such methods. It was shameful, embarrassing and all the more an awful means of delaying his task. Every Death Eater and ally were now well aware of the task the Dark Lord has set upon him, though the specifications lie between him and Voldemort. It was maddening not being able to tell his mother all about it. At this point, he owes her this one wish of her agreeing to have him tutored; even if it is against his will.
"Very well, professor." Draco said the last word with enough venom to poison an entire class before shoving the strap of his leather bag further up his shoulder. He then turned to Astoria who was now the least bit calmer, but her front of an annoying glare remained. "Tomorrow. 1 o'clock. Near the Black Lake and don't be late, Greengrass."
Astoria seemed to fume and he couldn't help but grace her one of his signature smirks before walking past her and Slughorn towards the door, slamming it behind him for good measure.
As he made his way back down towards the Slytherin dungeon, he felt a slight hinge of remorse for Astoria. She didn't ask for this, but then again, she sort of did. He's heard of her little school-girl crush on him from when he helped her in her first year, though he's not surprised considering how most of the girls in her year, the year above her and in his year fawned over him relentlessly. At this point, he doubted she still had it in her to fancy him; not after the way he treated her tonight. But he pushed such thoughts aside – for there was no room for remorse this year.
Just like there was no room for remorse for what he was about to do in a few months' time.