A/N: OMG, OMG, OMG!! I am so sorry about how long this chapter has taken to get out but I do have some sort of excuses. And yep, that's a plural. I went home for Christmas and in between having a full-time job to pay off the ridiculous amount of debt I'd accumulated in my very first term at uni and actually seeing my friends and family and eating and sleeping I really just didn't have the time to get this written. Also, I wasn't writing on my laptop and it was just damn strange to write this on another computer. Oh, and sorry but as I have two essays to write, one for Monday (eek!) the next chapter may be a little while too. Once again, sorry and I'm also going to say sorry for the chapter as I'm not entirely sure it works but it needed to be in the story so, hey. Hope there are still people out there reading and reviewing!
*
Home is where the heart is. Draco wasn't entirely positive where he'd heard the inane saying but he'd always decided that it absolutely meant nothing in the slightest to him. To Draco a more accurate saying would run along the lines of 'home is where the ridiculously opulent bedroom, hundreds of servile house-elves and his favourite beef casserole is'. Draco wasn't a huge fan of placing sentimentality onto inanimate objects, even vast manor houses, (castle, Draco would always insist fiercely,) that one day he would own and run.
Which made the sickening twist in his stomach that Draco experienced the moment he stepped through the flames in the vast entrance hall quite unexpected. He felt Blaise tense up beside him at the sight that met their eyes. Intellectually, Draco had known he was in a war, the various dehabilitating lessons he'd suffered should have told him that, but it wasn't until he saw the throng of people milling around his childhood home that Draco suddenly realised one important fact.
He was part of an army.
Various wizards inclined their heads in greeting as they swooped by, giving Draco a glimpse of flashing metal at their waists.
"I thought we were wizards," muttered Blaise as he noticed the daggers attached to the belts of the Death Eaters.
"For close combat," Draco answered distantly, taking in the mass of weaponry at the foot of the stairs. Draco felt a chill run through him as his sweeping gaze ran over the pile of healing potions cluttered against the far wall. The chill turned to nausea as he looked closer and saw that the small bottles actually held kamikaze potion, it's acid green colour swirling prettily through the dainty glass. Just like a Death Eater to choose death over painful recovery, Draco thought wryly, his mind's eye busy picturing the comfortable infirmary back in Hogwarts.
He noticed Blaise's eyes reach the bottles and they flickered to Draco's for reassurance. Draco averted his eyes, having no reassurance to give but he noticed Blaise's hand tighten on the pocket of his robes where he'd deposited the small healing draught they'd filched from Pansy's collection.
Trying to appear as though he knew what was happening and was in control of the situation, Draco began to swerve through the crowd of wizards, arrogantly waiting for them to move out of his way. To his credit, and that of the Malfoy name, most of them did move, Blaise following in his wake.
As he pushed past an aging wizard with only one ear Draco saw her.
His mother was stood in the midst of some of the most respected Death Eaters, her sparkling laughter drifting through the room in sharp contrast to the cold smile that graced her features. Her floor length, sky blue robes, looked frightfully out of place among the deep black that the others were wearing.
Draco flinched as he watched her lean fingers gently caress the arm of a man he didn't recognise, the way his mother lilted towards him making him feel sick. A slight cough from behind Draco made his mother spin to face him, her smile faltering for a brief moment as she glimpsed his icy expression.
"Draco!" She swooped towards him, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. Draco glared at the man stood fidgeting behind her and resisted the urge to shrug off her hand.
"Mother," he replied coolly, directing his attention towards her. She frowned at him.
"Draco, this is a momentous occasion. I'd appreciate at least some semblance of joy to be displayed on my only son's face."
Blaise cleared his throat. "I'm afraid we're not even clear what this 'momentous occasion' actually is, Mrs Malfoy."
Narcissa turned her smile on Blaise. "Isn't it obvious, Blaise?" She waved a hand over the hall, encompassing the bustling minions. Draco raised an eyebrow as he steadily stared at her. "We're launching a war."
Draco stared at her. "Right now?" he asked, knowing he sounded idiotic but finding himself unable to say anything else.
His mother laughed prettily and waved her hand disdainfully, steering her son and his friend through the entrance hall into the corridor that led to Lucius' study. "Of course not, Draco dear, don't be silly." Draco stifled the sigh of relief that nearly fled him. "We're at least going to wait until after dinner."
Both boys froze on the red plush carpet, staring at Narcissa in shock. Draco opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by a shout of; "Blaise!"
Narcissa smiled beatifically and both boys span to face the source of the voice. Blaise's face lit up gleefully at the sight of his father barrelling down the hallway.
Draco repressed the twinge of jealousy he felt in his gut at the sight of Sicarus Zabini embracing his son fiercely and looking at him with something that Draco presumed was pride.
"Father!" Blaise exclaimed, leaning into his father's embrace. Draco averted his eyes, aware that his mother was watching him carefully.
Draco tried to tune out the conversation, concentrating instead on a painting of one of his ancestors hanging just behind Blaise's head that was making a very disapproving face at this display of familial emotion. Upon realising that Draco was looking at him, the painting, he thought the sour old man was his great-great-great uncle, decided to go back to posturing like a proper Malfoy portrait. Meaning that he stuck his nose in the air and sniffed disdainfully down at anyone who ambled by him.
Draco rolled his eyes and realised that the other members of the hallway were staring at him expectantly. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that." Draco said politely.
Blaise snickered behind his hand causing both parents to shoot their respective offspring disapproving glances.
"Mr. Zabini was just asking if you were prepared for your meeting with the Dark Lord?" Narcissa supplied helpfully, laying an arm over Draco's shoulders and squeezing just a little bit too hard.
Suppressing the grimace on his face, Draco looked at Sicarus levelly. "It's easy to be prepared to do something you've been planning to do all your life."
"True," murmured Blaise, his eyes fixed on Draco. "But you're a little nervous though, right?" The question was slightly hopeful and Draco didn't miss the sympathetic glance shot Blaise's way from his father.
His mother's fingers digging into his shoulders Draco answered. "Not in the slightest." Her fingers tightened as Draco stared at Blaise, willing his friend to see the message in his eyes.
The message that he wasn't nervous. That he was terrified.
Blaise gave a small nod before turning to his father and Narcissa. "Where is it that we'll be meeting the Dark Lord?"
Narcissa smiled serenely and gestured to the heavy oak door a few feet away. "Right there."
Furrowing his brow in confusion Draco asked; "In Father's study? But surely…"
His mother laughed, a sound filled with no humour. "Really, Draco. You live here your entire life and you don't think we have enough wards and charms to stop the whole of the Ministry trying to find us?"
Blaise's face registered shock as he glanced back up the hallway to the room full of war preparations though Draco merely nodded in response. It made sense and, if anything, he was just annoyed that he had never thought of it himself.
Narcissa suddenly clapped her hands together causing a nervous Blaise to jump, only settled by his father's hand heavy on his shoulder. "It is time, do you not think?"
Staring at his cool and composed mother gesturing for her son to go into a room and meet the most evil creature on Earth Draco was struck by the juxtaposition of the image against the one his mind preferred to picture. One of a redhead who'd left him on the East Tower, tears streaming down her face.
Blinking away the picture that was taking his mind to a more welcome and yet completely inappropriate places Draco followed his mother through the heavy oak doors.
*
Strangely when Draco first walked through the doors of his fathers study his first instinct was to sneak in. He felt rather than heard Blaise giggle behind him and guessed that he was having the same thought.
Draco could barely recall a childhood memory that had him standing in this room after being invited in. Whenever Lucius Malfoy had decided to discipline him he'd been yelled at and reprimanded in his own room, his father liking the memory of the punishment to be ever present around Draco, obviously thinking that the bruises weren't reminder enough.
It was far more common for Draco to be in the study after sneaking in with Blaise as one of their childhood pastimes. They'd been endlessly amused by the variety of strange objects and dark arts books that littered the shelves of the ancient bookcase. Even the accident where Blaise ended up with his mouth fused shut, because he'd decided it was a good idea to read aloud a passage of one of the books, hadn't slaked their curiosity.
The study that Draco was stood in now was, just like the entrance hall, so removed from the familiar environment that he had been expecting that Draco felt his stomach flip.
The room was bare, the ancient bookcase gone, leaving stone walls with guttering candles perched against them. The heavy desk that Draco had rifled through looking for interesting things to play with was gone, the space it used to occupy a palpable loss in the now empty room.
The loss of furniture wasn't what made Draco nearly recoil in horror, his shoulder brushing into Blaise.
The Dark Lord stood in the centre of the room. His most trusted advisors circled him, with Lucius sparing a slight nod for Draco.
"Hello Draco, Blaise," The Dark Lord's rasping tone echoed across the room and Draco felt his throat go dry.
Serpentine red eyes stared at him as long, inhuman fingers reached out, grasping for his hand. Trying not to cower Draco hesitantly accepted the hand, repressing the wince that threatened at the feel of the sandpaper-like skin against his palm. "My Lord," he spluttered out, bowing down to avoid having to look into the crimson depths of his eyes.
His hand having been released Draco straightened, his eyes searching out his father who showed no sign of anything on his face. He heard Blaise repeating the same performance beside him but Draco couldn't tear his eyes away from his father.
Cool features stared back and Draco was reminded again of how similar they were in looks. The same white-blonde hair, the same cool grey eyes, the same sharp features. The same impassive mask. Exploring his father's face for any sign of how he felt about his only son, Draco found none.
For an instant Draco thought he might do something that he had sworn he would never do again. He though he might cry. Bitter resentment flowed through him. He was better that his father. And yet he still searched for the same acceptance from the cold man that he always had.
Staring at Lucius Malfoy, Draco felt as though he was being given a glimpse into what his future could hold. A place at the side of the man who would be the ruler of the Wizarding world. A strong, proud position as a man who had never given up on his Malfoy heritage. And, also, apparently Draco was going to have great hair.
Dragging his eyes away from the figure of his father, from the image of his future, Draco realised that the Dark Lord had continued talking. Wincing inwardly and imagining that he should probably pay more attention Draco tuned himself back into the conversation to hear the last words of what had, apparently, been quite a long speech.
"….and tonight we shall launch our first attack," the Dark Lord smiled at the room, giving Draco the urge to go and find a mouse to throw into his snake-like slit. Almost giggling at the image, all amusement was wiped from Draco's mind the instant the next words left the Dark Lord's mouth. "Against Diagon Alley."
*
When he was seven Draco had gotten lost amongst the bustling crowds of the popular shopping district. He distinctly remembered not caring that much at all and believing that he was on a great adventure. Until he began to get hungry that is. Then Draco had gone and cried to one of the shop holders and they had hurriedly found his parents, handing him over with a small smile for the lost boy and a nervous glance at his parents.
From his position at the top of the street, Blaise by his side, wand in hand and cool steel against his belt, Draco could see the small shop that he'd ran into nearly ten years ago. He hoped that the owner had gone out for the evening.
The silence around his ears was unnerving, the only sound from the men clustered around Draco their even breathing. Sounds of happiness, of people having a good time, drifted up to Draco from the street below causing him to wince.
He glanced at Blaise, the mask that covered his face hiding his features from Draco's view. He watched Blaise's hand clench and unclench around the wand in his hand and Draco realised that his own fingers were doing the same.
"He doesn't look human," Draco felt the whisper leave his lips even as he desperately tried to take the words back.
Blaise started, lost in his own thoughts and not expecting a disruption. "But think how far he was come." Awe tinged his words. "He is our master, Draco. You remember that, don't you?"
"I'm stood here."
"Are you?" Blaise asked.
Draco didn't reply, turning back to the street, mentally running over curses and hexes in his head, obstinately refusing to recall the Unforgivables. The call went up, the sound of the yell sending a shiver down Draco's spine as he began his descent into the town, his wand raised in front of him.
It was chaos. Green flashes interspersed with screams and fires raged around him as he dodged his own side's curses. Draco heard his own voice yelling every curse he could think off that didn't necessarily result in death, the words rattling off his tongue as he wove his way through the smoke and pulsing mass of bodies.
He cursed himself for his weakness whilst he prayed that his father couldn't hear his yells. Draco tried to yell the curse he knew he would need to say to gain his place amongst the Dark Lord's ranks, but his resolve kept failing after the first syllable, a lesser, less lethal curse taking it's place.
Stumbling forward Draco felt his knees give away as he stumbled over a man lying in the street. Cursing heavily, Draco twisted his body and found himself inches away from dead, unseeing eyes.
There was no blood on the body, it's mouth open in an eternal scream. Draco felt his stomach heave. It was the first body he'd allowed himself to look at.
He stared at the man's contorted features, trying to make his body move from his prone position on the cobbles but it was no use. He was transfixed by the very real evidence of death in front of him, the only consolation running through his mind was that he knew he couldn't have been the instigator of this man's death. Though perhaps it was Blaise or his own father who had been his murderer.
Draco would have stayed like that forever if it wasn't for the strange foreboding that overcame him, causing him to turn and see the wizard above him, wand outstretched, mouth forming words that Draco knew were very unlikely to be a friendly hello.
Acting purely on instinct Draco rolled out of the way, the flash of the curse burning the pavement he'd been lying on moments before. The man's face screwed up in an expression of pure hate that made Draco's breath catch even as he was blindly grasping for his wand.
As though in slow motion he watched the wizard raise his wand and re-aim and Draco, his hand hitting the pavement in agitation as he searched for his wand, lunged forward, the dagger on his belt leaping into his hand before he even realised what he was doing.
The slick, wet sound that the dagger made as it sliced through the man's throat would reverberate in Draco's ears as he staggered to the edge of the street, the dagger, dripping blood, clasped loosely in his hand. He ripped the mask from his face taking deep, shuddering gasps that did nothing to ease the heavy weight that had settled on his chest, and only made him cough because of the smoke that still riddled the air.
He glanced behind him and let the dagger fall from nerveless fingers as he glimpsed the lump in the smoke that could only be the man he just murdered. Draco imagined he could make out every anguished feature, the sound of the man's flesh giving way repeating over and over and over in his mind.
This time he did throw up.
*
Lucius found him there some time later, his son's glassy eyes staring out into the body riddled street. Draco felt his father approach him and tried to move his eyes away from the mass of bodies lying tangled on the cobbles.
"We have to get moving," Lucius said, his tone void of any sentiment. Draco looked up at him, unseeing.
"Did we win?" He asked.
Lucius smiled viciously, yanking his son up by the arm and dragging him away. "Of course."
"Good," said Draco distantly, "because I think I killed some people. And I'd hate it to be for nothing."
"It is never for nothing when it is in service of the Dark Lord, remember that, Draco."
Draco nodded, his head feeling disconnected to the rest of his body. He felt a tug in his navel unlike the one he was accustomed to from Portkey, and nearly threw up again at the unexpected sensation. He blinked around his surroundings for a moment, taking in the happy looking Death Eaters. An oxymoron, his snide inner voice commented before his less coherent part of his mind worked out that he was back in the manor.
He gazed owlishly up at his father, registering that he had apparated with him. Lucius smiled and for the first time in his life, Draco recognised pride in his father's expression. "You did well tonight, Draco."
Well, I killed someone, thought Draco, bitterly. And his father now loved him enough to apparate with him, something Draco could never recall his father doing with him before. "And so it is time for your final test."
At the word 'test' Draco's mind and body seemed to fall into sync and he stood up straight, noticing that his father had been leading him back to the study.
He leaned away from his father and began to walk steadily on his own, trying to resist the urge to grasp his left forearm in a childish display of rebellion. Draco dropped his hand away as he was led into the room.
Blaise was stood there with his father, his features pale and drawn, the dark circles under his eyes giving him a haunted expression. Piercing blue eyes met his and Draco suddenly remembered their conversation before the descent into the town.
Blaise looked away, his fingers gently brushing the wand in hand, his attention fixated on the man stood before them.
"Ah, my young followers," the Dark Lord's dry hiss washed over Draco. "You performed well in my little battle and now there is but one more thing I ask of you." He paused and seemed to eagerly await their reaction.
"Anything you wish, Master," the words came form both boys and Draco was completely unsurprised, their training growing up had been practically identical.
Their Master smiled a slow, feral grin and motioned to two of his Death Eaters to retrieve something. "Then this is your final test." Screaming filled the room as the two men reappeared, their arms full of shrieking, writhing girls. The Dark Lord looked at both boys and gestured at the girls. "Kill them."
Draco felt his world narrow down to just him and his chosen victim. He raised his wand, the words on his lips ready to be said just as she was pushed fully into the firelight. The words died in his throat as the flames flickered off her blazing red hair.