AN: Many thanks to my wonderful beta, who helps and suggests like none other. Sorry for the long delay in chapters, but I try to do at least seven pages each time, because when I made shorter ones in Who? I got razzed too.
Some eight days hence, Lucius offhandedly informed Draco that the Dark Lord would be calling a meeting to discuss their plan of attack on, as Lucius so kindly put it, the "dregs of wizarding society."
Draco took the news with mixed emotions. He would be unable to communicate any of this to Dumbledore, and of course, Snape most likely wouldn't have an inkling of what was going on until he was summoned to the meeting. And with nothing to go on other than the news of the meeting, Draco couldn't make any inferences on what would happen next. It was debatable if his father would suspect anything if Draco were to question him. Sometimes his father could be deadly keen and other times he was off in his own little mad world. Draco sulked.
He visited his mother in St. Mungo's, though it pained him to do so. Seeing her tall but slight form sitting straight-backed in a chair, hands folded neatly but constantly mute, wore on him more than he let anyone know. He longed to banish his father's marks from her and free her from her gilded but hopeless cage.
The routine was the same. The medi-witches and wizards knew him, and gave him his leave. He always brought that day's Daily Prophet (even though he thought it was rubbish himself) and read her the news. When her lunch was served, it was he who helped her eat. Before he left he always put a daub of her favorite perfume on her wrists (he couldn't remember her not putting it on) and gave her a kiss goodbye. It was the one thing between his mother and him that his father could not take away.
Draco didn't have to wait long after his father's announcement of the meeting. The excruciating pain led him to the Crabbe manse, a smaller, danker, and moldier version of Malfoy Manor.
The hooded figures arranged themselves around a hearth, where Voldemort would appear when he was physically able. He was surviving on close to nothing these days, and if not for Lucius Malfoy he'd most surely have perished. Lucius had procured the necessary bloods and potions that would bolster his lord's strength, and he felt it was an honor to serve in such a manner. Lucius took great pains to record all his actions in a journal as a precaution should anything happen to him and Draco would have to take over serving the Dark Lord.
"Severus, my dear friend, please, tell me how Draco is faring at his new post?" Lucius smoothly asked Snape, who was standing beside him around the hearth.
Snape startled, but recovered so quickly that his surprise went undetected.
"Lucius, really. He's a grown man now by any standards, and what he does daily is not my business." Lucius frowned and looked at his friend.
"But Severus, as his godfather I would have expected you to be a bit more privy to his life at Hogwarts." Turning the frostiest look possible upon Lucius, Severus replied,
"If he's old enough to become a Death Eater, he's old enough to look after himself. If you want any more details, Lucius, I suggest you buy him a keeper."
Draco threaded his way through the throng of men standing by the fireplace. He ducked past them all to stand between Snape and his father, figuring that if something important were to happen it would be there. Suddenly, there was a flash of blue light and the tenuous form of Lord Voldemort appeared, floating slightly off the floor. His whole being was diaphanous, and it was hard to focus on what he called a face. Draco tried not to wince when he did catch the occasional glance at the papery, scarred visage. But Voldemort almost didn't need his body; his voice could commandeer legions of followers.
His hissing voice issued forth from an orifice barely qualified to be a mouth. Instantly Draco felt hot and cold, like a sudden sickness racing though his body and settling in the pit of his stomach. He had to grab Snape's sleeve to keep from falling. Snape nearly broke his neck whipping it around to see what was the matter. When he saw Draco's face his expression softened for just an instant, which made Draco think that Snape somehow knew what he was feeling.
Draco worked hard to suppress these feelings; to clear his head and concentrate on what was said, what was happening. His blurry vision focused, and he heard Voldemort's words ringing in his ears as if the Dark Lord was speaking directly to him at close range.
"I am confident that those of you who have been given preliminary assignments are close to executing them," Voldemort said, "and that you will look forward to being given new ones when you succeed."
Preliminary assignments? Draco had no idea what these were. He knew he didn't have one. Did Snape? Did his father? There was no time to dwell on that.
"I remain alive thanks to one man here among us. The decision has been made that it is necessary for me to manifest myself in another body. You will all begin searching for suitable vessels for my inhabitation. Someone young, someone strong, and someone who does not follow me. Those who hate me give me strength. I shall rise again!" Voldemort thundered. The force shook the room. Paintings rattled on the wall, candles flickered and the weakest were extinguished.
Draco didn't know if he could stand much more. The nausea was rising sourly in his throat and he would no doubt endure the wrath of his father should he faint. Voldemort's form was nearly vapor now. Draco was sure that he had expended precious energy on his vociferous missives. Distantly, he heard the Dark Lord dismiss those gathered, save Lucius.
Snape grabbed him discreetly as soon as he staggered out of the meeting room and dragged him to a corner.
"Has the sickness passed?" Snape asked quietly, his eyes flickering over Draco.
"It has diminished some," he said. "Why did I feel that?" Snape frowned.
"Every human feels that sickness in the presence of the Dark Lord. It is how he weeds out those who are not true believers. You must learn to suppress the nausea and dizziness. Death Eaters school themselves to do that, and the Dark Lord takes this as a sign of their loyalty." Snape looked around to make sure they weren't being watched or listened to.
"Perhaps I can arrange for you to fight a Voldemort boggart. You won't feel as ill, but it is a good way for you to practice." Snape swept off and Disapparated in the foyer.
Draco sagged against the wall.
Lucius stepped out of the meeting chamber and observed his son standing straight-backed against the cold stone wall. His head was tipped back, eyes closed. Lucius knew he was fighting off the effects of the sickness. Purposely he had not told his son about this peculiar affliction. It was Draco's duty as a Malfoy to be prepared for the unexpected and be able to defend oneself against it, whether it was simple illness or the Imperius.
"Come, Draco, we must go." Draco's eyes popped open and he walked slowly towards his father. In the split second that they both stood there before Disapparating, Draco noticed for the first time that he was taller than his father. His father's eyes were several weary shades darker than his own, and right now, Draco could see fatigue, something he was sure that only he could see and that his father would refute. Lucius frowned briefly at his scrutinizing son and disappeared.
The spring term began only a few days later. Ginny carefully packed Draco's sweater (so she'd worn it a few times, so what?) and his compact disc player amongst the items in her trunk.
She was amazed that in a few short months she would be graduating Hogwarts. It didn't seem possible. She hoped, although she knew it was rather naïve to do so, that after she graduated Voldemort would be vanquished once and for all, and she and Draco wouldn't have to hide their relationship.
It was hard not to participate in her mates' discussions about boys with her own information, though she'd heard enough of the girls' dreamy talk about shagging Draco to last her until the end of time. She had wanted to elbow right into the fray and let them know exactly what it was like shagging the great, scary Malfoy. The very thought brought some unbidden images to the front of her mind and she blushed so much that one of her Hogwarts Express traveling companions asked her if she felt all right.
When she arrived at the school, she expected to see him sitting at the Head Table. He and Snape were conspicuously absent.
"Riddikulus!" Draco yelled at the hideous form in front of him. Sweat dripped into his eyes as he held his roiling stomach, watching the Voldemort boggart melt into the floor.
"Better, Draco," Snape said. Draco collapsed into a nearby chair.
"I feel better," Draco said bravely. Snape glanced at him edgewise and rolled his eyes. This boy had never been sick a day in his life. He'd never felt any pain.
"Don't lie, Mr. Malfoy. It only hinders your progress. How do you really feel?" Draco lowered his head.
"I'm on the edge of a vomit cliff."
"We've made some progress, then."
"I call this meeting of the Order of the Phoenix to order," Dumbledore said to the room at large. 12 Grimmauld Place had been expanded to thrice its normal space, and it was still crowded. The Weasleys (except for Ginny, who had been forbidden to come since she had class the next day) occupied one corner along with Harry and Hermione and Neville Longbottom.
Various other members of the Order fought for seats and others stood, all trying to catch a glimpse of Dumbledore sitting serenely in the middle.
"I have called this meeting for two reasons. The first is because we have new information from Severus Snape about the activities of the Death Eaters. Secondly, I wish to motion that Draco Malfoy be granted membership in the Order." Dumbledore smiled as a murmur swept the room and began to elevate into a buzz.
"My friends, please let me explain my fervent wish that Mr. Malfoy be allowed to join. He currently functions as a special envoy from the Ministry to Hogwarts. He also works to gather firsthand information from his father, Lucius, which Professor Snape cannot. Draco risks his life as bravely as Professor Snape does (Snape held back an uncharacteristic snicker), and I feel that he will be a valuable asset to our defenses."
"Who's to say he won't turn on us, Dumbledore?" came a voice from the back. "Merlin knows that people think he's second behind his father to be the next Dark Lord. A bloody dark prince, he is." Other people began to voice similar sentiments. Dumbledore silenced them all with a raised hand. The clamor died down and Dumbledore chose his words very carefully before he spoke, remembering a certain necessary memory charm.
"Young Mr. Malfoy has more that calls to him on this side than that of the Dark Lord's," Dumbledore said, looking in an unerring way at the Weasley entourage. "He trains daily with Professor Snape to learn methods of resistance to dark magic."
Before anyone else could speak, Molly Weasley's hand shot up.
"Headmaster, I second your motion to approve Draco Malfoy for membership in the Order of the Phoenix." She paused, and took a deep breath. "Recently I became aware that he has been working for our side. And after the short conversation we had about it, I am more than convinced that he intends to do only good. I find him to be far different than his father. I respectfully request that those of you gathered here support him as well."
The Order went completely silent. Dumbledore could see that the collective thought was that if Molly Weasley, of all people, supported Draco Malfoy that perhaps there was nothing to fear from him.
Slowly, Arthur Weasley raised his hand and voice to move the motion forward. Other hands began to rise and people chimed in. Dumbledore counted each voice. It was unanimous, however; sluggish.
"It is so. Draco Malfoy is now a member of the Order of the Phoenix. It is his duty to protect you, as it is our duty to protect him. I trust that none of you will fail him. Now, we must discuss new information that Professor Snape has from a recent Death Eater meeting. Severus, if you please."
Snape cleared his throat and rose, strangely appearing a little less greasy and sallow than usual. His black robes swirled around him as he picked his way through the people to stand at Dumbledore's side.
"Only a few days ago, the Dark Lord convened the Death Eaters in at the Crabbe mansion. Voldemort," Snape began, then paused, sincerely relishing the palpable shudder that went through the room. "The Dark Lord," he began again, "is searching for a new body to inhabit. He wishes it to be someone who is young, strong, and is not a Death Eater. As he proclaimed, those who hate him make him stronger."
"Thank you, Severus. As you can see, this is clearly a grave situation. I implore all of you to be on a heightened alert. We will be strictly enforcing earlier curfews at Hogwarts, and anyone who wishes to visit must be cleared by the Ministry and me. Please be on the lookout for strange activity. Report it immediately. We cannot chance that one of our young people will be taken by Voldemort."
Dumbledore looked the assembly.
"Please remember, my friends, that we are in a constant state of war. It simply has not escalated as of yet."
"Where have you been?" Ginny hissed impatiently, snagging Draco by his robes and pulling him back into the secluded corner of the hall. He appeared to be utterly greenish and in a hurry to go somewhere.
"I've been training, Ginny, let me go," he said, wrestling with her to release her grip. Astonished, she unhanded him and watched soundlessly as he rounded another corner and disappeared from her sight.
Ginny had had no contact with Draco for ten days. The winter nights were that much colder when she wasn't around him in even the tiniest of ways. It was not much consolation that she knew he was obviously training hard for whatever role he might have to play in the capture of his father and the other Death Eaters. Curling up in his Weasley sweater, as she had nearly every night since returning for the spring term, she fell asleep without even dreams to assuage her mind.
"Father, if I may have a word with you?" Draco asked, peering around the heavy study door. Draco had made the trip home this night for the sole reason of ferreting out some information from Lucius.
"Of course, Draco," his father said graciously, and it boggled Draco's mind how Lucius could turn the charm on and off. "Come and sit."
Draco crossed the cold tile, his boots echoing loudly against the vaulted ceilings. Arranging himself in the soft leather chair, he attempted to sit up very straight, to counteract any height he lost while sinking into the cushions.
"At the last…gathering," Draco began, unsure of what to call the Death Eaters' little consortium with Voldemort, "the Dark Lord spoke of 'preliminary assignments.' I was curious, Father; I don't remember being assigned a task."
Lucius steepled his elegant fingers, weighing the answers at hand.
"No, Draco, you were not given an assignment, for you have not proven your worthiness to the Dark Lord." As Lucius hoped, Draco bristled. Lucius was banking on his bait to attract Draco.
"And how exactly does one go about proving their worth?" asked Draco briskly, hoping his face belied none of the circling emotions in his mind.
"Oh, there are several ways. The best way is to take the life of one who does not support us, in sacrifice to the Dark Lord. Another is to gather intelligence of great worth to our cause."
"But Father, I am gathering intelligence!" Draco protested, clearly irked. Lucius glared coldly at him down his nose.
"You call what you are doing intelligence-gathering? Wool-gathering is more to the point!" Lucius said ominously. Draco swallowed hard and suddenly he forgot that he was an agent for the other side; now he was merely being indignant, as eighteen-year-olds were wont to do.
"And I suppose for Voldemort to like me I should just spear Dumbledore through the heart with my butter knife at dinner! Honestly, Father, these are things that I cannot do!" Draco burst out, running his hand exasperatedly though his hair.
"You are not fit to speak his name!" shrieked Lucius, gesturing wildly. "Perhaps if you were more of a man and less of a whoremonger I would have fewer troubles securing the Dark Lord's acceptance of you! I am lucky that he allowed me to initiate you! You, who given half the chance, would have offed Harry Potter in a Quidditch match! Do you not see, my son," Lucius seethed, "that keeping the Dark Lord happy should be your chief mission now? Obviously not. And if you cannot begin to show some sense in that fool head of yours, something drastic will have to happen."
"Oh, really, Father?" Draco retorted. "Losing me means losing your damned legacy. Let's not upset history in the making, shall we?" Draco rose and slammed out of the study, taking with him his father's surprised expression.
Lucius sat as if Stupefied for a few moments in his high leather desk chair. Rising gracefully, he swept over to the small tray of spirits he kept handy when his nerves needed calming. He passed over the selection of alcohol known to the wizarding world for a bottle of something decidedly more Muggle. He poured himself a measure and felt the magically chilled clear liquid burn a path through his abdomen.
Some moments later he returned to his majestic desk and sat pensively. He, Lucius, had indeed been given a preliminary assignment. And with the Dark Lord's announcement about needing a new body, Lucius found himself mulling over the advantages to changing his target.
His thoughts abruptly shifted to Draco's impudence. Though he would never reveal it to anyone, he was less than entirely certain of Draco's allegiance to the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters. Worse, Lucius was sure that Draco was indifferent at best, which enraged him but rendered Lucius futile. He could not definitively test the boy's mettle, especially since he had undergone initiation and he was collecting information. Proving that Draco was loyal would only publicly inform the other Death Eaters that he could not keep a firm hand on his son.
Worst of all, Lucius could not shake the niggling image of the woman he had gleaned from Draco's mind. He was vaguely unsettled, but could not decide why. Perhaps it was the thought of Draco sullying himself. Perhaps.
Coming full circle, Lucius thought again of his new choices in targets. If they had been led to the dark side once, they could be led again.
All he wanted was some fragrant female flesh to keep him warm. Well, Ginny's, to be exact. But she was having none of it.
"You skulk about in the dungeons with Snape and don't bother to say a word to me in almost two weeks now. Two weeks, Draco!" Ginny said, barely controlling her voice. Draco's head began to ache and suddenly he was confronted with a mental image of Ginny as Molly Weasley, hands on hips, berating him for some transgression. He groaned, trying to erase the thought.
"And what, exactly, was that groan for?" she asked him pointedly. He flopped back on his bed and draped his forearm across his eyes, trying to shut it all out. There was no use in lying.
"I have reason to believe that you sound exactly like your mum when you use that tone," he said listlessly. He heard her vigorous harrumph and couldn't even muster a smile.
"Ginny, I'm not asking for all that much. Look at me. I'm everything a Malfoy doesn't want to be, right this second. I'm bedraggled like some peasant, I'm scarred like a bloody street urchin and my nose is becoming snotty from all the damp cold down here. Is it too much for you to lie beside me, look pretty, and eventually feel sorry enough for me that you'd just happen to shag me?"
"Yes. You ignored me."
"I didn't ignore you, you ungrateful petty wench! You try fighting a Voldemort boggart that makes you sick on both ends and see how social you feel."
Ginny frowned. She was being petty, even if she knew that Draco didn't mean what he said. He sighed, as if his speech had sapped his strength.
"Why didn't you fix those scars?" Ginny asked softly, sitting beside him on the bed, taking his other arm and holding his hand.
"Because I'm not goodwhfgmrspells."
"What?" she asked, straining to hear his rushed phrase.
"I'm not," he said, clearing his throat, "any good at glamour spells." He could feel Ginny looking at him quizzically. He had a feeling that any sympathy he may have built up in these last moments would be sorely lacking after his next words.
"Oh, sod it, I'm no good with them because I never had to cast them on myself," he said. "I was waiting for you to do it, because you're so much better at those than I am," he said.
She dropped his arm like it was on fire.
"Oh, yes," she sneered. "Because I've obviously had so much more practice using them." He resigned himself to another lonely night when he heard the door to his chambers shut rather loudly.