Morbidus

Chapter One - Mortui vivos docent

The moment the cold water touched his back and shot through his spine like a razor, Draco woke up. One horrified gasp later he was under the surface, the murky water closed above him as his hazy mind tried to grasp hold of the situation to little avail, for the only things he could register were the cruel coldness of the water and his need to swim back to the surface for air. His legs started kicking instantly, and before he could even start worrying about the lack of oxygen in his lungs, his head emerged, coughing and gasping, from the freezing liquid below.

The water, though absolutely frigid, was many degrees warmer than the air of that night in early November, and feeling it Draco's body broke into violent shivers. His legs that were still kicking the water to keep him from sinking were turning numb even after those brief moments he had spent in the water, and the voice of reason in the back of his mind told him the same would eventually happen to his brain. Knowing he didn't have much time for rational thinking, Draco looked around, finding nothing but darkness all around him. The water he had accidentally swallowed had no salt in it, and he felt no current pushing his body, so he concluded he had to be in a lake.

The adrenaline, which moments before had taken over his body and helped him escape the watery abyss, started to wear out, and as it did, Draco was left with the growing concern for his own survival. The waves his body had set in motion splashed around him, but no other sound could be heard in the night. Draco turned his head in the hope of catching a distant light from the shore, but saw nothing, as if he'd gone blind in the water. His teeth clattered, and his cotton nightwear made staying on the surface increasingly difficult. As he had predicted already his mind was dulling from the cold, aggravated by the increasing messages of pain and discomfort his body was sending out.

His left hand made a dive into his pocket and he pulled out his wand, casting a ray of light bouncing off the waves effortlessly without a sound. He moved the light higher, it quivered on the water, still illuminating no sign of dry land in the distance. Draco gritted his teeth, lifting the wand above his head. The beam danced on the waves for a second longer, until it met a line of trees nearly half a mile away from where Draco had fallen in. The boy let out a sigh of relief, the light disappeared and he started swimming.

After a few yards, he stopped as he felt something else moving in the water below him. He straightened his body at once, casting another spell on the dark waves. He saw nothing, only heard a hasty splash that made him turn around just in time to see ripples disappearing into the waves. He wondered whether there was Grindylow in the lake, and how one actually fought them in the first place. He let the light of his wand die out again, keeping in mind the direction he was headed as he continued swimming. He kept his ears open for any other sound besides his own breathing, or the splattering of the water against his body as he moved smoothly through it.

After he had swum for what felt like an hour, a new sound broke the air so brutally it sent Draco's heart beating faster than it had done when he woke up to the water's frozen embrace. He had never heard a scream like that - it was like a howl of something too human to be an animal, and too beastly to be a person. The high screeching seemed to carry in the wind, bringing with it a message of resentment and carnage. Draco cringed and lifted his wand, turning in the water to see as much as possible, illuminating his surroundings once more. He saw nothing, but could feel something gliding through the waters beneath him again. He wondered if he should dive and try to see what it was, or just leave the creatures of the deep undisturbed, and carry on. Breathing more heavily than before, he presumed swimming, wondering how much longer he had to go.

The world around him fell silent again, and a light wind started to blow, bringing with it a delicate scent of pine trees. Draco shivered, feeling the cold air painfully on his face. Taking deep breaths hurt his lungs, and every now and then, his swimming was interrupted by loud bursts of coughing. He tried to muffle them down as much as possible, not wanting to drown out any other sound that might emerge - and more importantly, not to catch the attention of whatever was below the surface.

After another few yards, he suddenly felt his toes brush lightly against the slimy leaves of an underwater plant. Letting out a small sigh of relief, he allowed himself a further moment of light as his spell illuminated the shore that indeed wasn't far, albeit a bit further than he had imagined. He reached out his legs, wanting to feel the reassuring solidness of the pondweed under him, but no matter how low he tried, he couldn't find it anymore. Something slid past him, however, and he turned off his light.

As soon as the darkness fell around him again, he heard another scream, and this time the sound of blood thirst didn't pierce the night unaccompanied. The grinding screeching filled Draco's ears from all around him, and with panic instantly overwhelming him, the boy realised the sounds weren't coming from a distance - they were coming from the water below. Draco's heavy breathing turned into hysterical panting as he realised the reason he couldn't feel the pondweed more than once. He pulled his wand to the surface, lighting the tip of it again to see the water around him more clearly, expecting something to rise to the surface at any second. The howling continued getting louder and louder, until it felt like his head would explode from the sound alone - until suddenly, they stopped.

Without thinking twice, Draco started swimming faster than he had done so far. The light went out again, leaving him with an unpleasantly heightened hearing and a terrified mind that registered even his own gasping as something malicious that was following him in the deep. His hands pierced the water's icy surface separately, and his legs kicked the water behind him as fast as they could from the cold. In his anxious state, he swallowed a mouthful of water, the dirt of the lake stuck to his throat and he gagged. The long strands lingered on his lips, and as he brushed them away, he felt the slimy texture of something almost familiar between his fingers. He pulled the strings apart and as he realised what he was holding, his hysterical panting turned into disgusted, terrified whimpering, and he untangled it from his hands at once. In a flash, Draco understood what was in the lake below him, and how and why he had ended up there in the first place.

He started swimming, determined to make it to the shore in time. His mind kept trying to come up with curses, hexes and spells, anything that could be useful, but he seemed unable to focus a thought. He knew his body was now edging closer and closer to its limits, and that he barely had enough energy to swim to the shore in his state. The word "Inferi" kept echoing in his head, and though he knew what the word stood for, it still seemed to have no meaning to him. His incredulous mind was rebelling with the voice of reason that his panic tried hard to drown out.

Bony fingers buried in his arm and pulled him down so fast he didn't even have time for air. The wand that was still in his hand lit up, the dim light tried to penetrate the murky water in vain before dying out completely. Draco wrapped his hand tightly around the creature's wrist, but his yanking and pulling made no change to the grip he was in. More arms reached out from under him, he could feel them all over his body. His nails dug in the hands that were dragging him down, but the flesh peeled off the sinews and bones with no effect on its owner. The light from his wand pierced the water again, lingering on the distorted faces of the undead, their mindless and empty eyes and rotting corpses all turned to him in the muddy darkness. Their mouths were open in meaningless grins, and their hands were reaching out for him, for any part of him they could get a hold of. Draco's lungs were screaming for air. He lifted his wand the best he could, and wrapped them all in darkness again. The curse that warmed the water around him seconds later finally untangled the fingers from around him, and after a few strong kicks, his lungs and the air above came together in deep satisfaction.

One desperate gasp later, he was back under the water. The speed of the Inferi was inconceivable. Their bodies were closer now, and Draco could feel their decomposed faces pressed against his neck. His ears were filled with their sharp wailing and inhumanly rattling screams. A curse parted from his wand again, but to the wrong direction. They had his arms in their cold clutch, and this time they were clearly avoiding his wand. Draco fought with his body, struggling to loosen himself from their hungry grasp, but physical violence was useless against their rotten, controlled corpses. He sent out a curse after another, but they all pierced the water ineffectively. They were deep now, so deep the pressure of the water above him started to get very painful. Searching his brain for something, anything, Draco fixed his thoughts on the words he knew he had never uttered before. He could feel the force of the curse as it left his wand and disappeared in the freezing depths of the lake. He repeated the words in his mind again, concentrating on nothing else despite the undeniable presence of the Inferi.

The power of the curse was destructive. The water around them felt nearly boiling as the flames erupted from Draco's wand, wrapping them in a sudden heat wave. The hands flew off him as quickly as they had seized him, and Draco returned to the surface where the icy cold air felt crueller than he remembered. As soon as he had taken a deep breath, Draco started swimming, casting curses behind him as he did. Every now and then, he could feel a hand reaching for him, and every time it happened, he stopped to cast more curses in the water. The moment his feet found what they had been aching for in the muddy bottom of the lake, he let out an exasperated sigh of relief.

Too tired to stand, he half kicked half dragged himself to the shallows without bothering to give the lake another glance. It wasn't until he felt a strong pull on his ankle that he realised the Inferi had left the waters after him, and were now reaching for him, their mouths agape with fury as they tried to pull him back to the lake. Their shrill screaming had died out, and been replaced by loud, craving panting that made Draco feel nauseated. With the last bit of strength he had left, he pulled himself free, crawling to the safety of the cold grass near the wood line. His heavy breathing calmed down slowly as he lay there, shivering on the ground. He could smell the pine trees around him, and the smoky frost of autumn he had always been very fond of. It felt like those familiar scents were exactly what he needed to calm down, and recover from the lake's horrors. The Inferi stared after him with their hollow eyes, squealing with rage before returning to the depths of the murky waters.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

A familiar voice caught Draco's attention, and he turned on his stomach to face the one approaching. With a hint of annoyance, he saw Yaxley and two other Death Eaters walking toward him with wide grins on their faces.

"If it isn't young prince Malfoy," one of them sneered.

"And still alive, I see," Yaxley continued, sounding extremely disappointed.

Draco followed them with his eyes, too exhausted to make a sound.

"Is it just me, or is he looking a bit less dapper than usual?" one of them laughed, leaning to a tree nearby.

Yaxley snarled. "I wouldn't know. Can't really stand the look of them Malfoys," he grunted, picking up a stone and casting it forcefully in the lake.

Draco listened to their insults calmly, knowing that being alive was clearly response enough. The two others left quite soon after, following a nearly invisible path through the trees, but Yaxley stayed, giving Draco a kick in the ribs as he walked by.

"Useless scum," he said and spat at his feet. "Don't look so self-satisfied. No one gives a shit if you live or die, you worthless brat."

Draco felt something soft land on his back.

"Here. Put that on. And don't take all day," Yaxley snapped, and started walking away through the path as well.

Draco stumbled to his feet, feeling them trembling underneath him as he changed his nightwear to the robe Yaxley had given him. He followed the man along the trail, trying his best to keep up with his impatient pace. He fell behind before long, his tired feet stumbled on every root that was sticking out of the dirt, and his breathing turned into panting again. He could feel his eyes burning with lack of sleep, and every few minutes his mouth ripped into a wide yawn.

Realising Draco had failed to keep up, Yaxley had stayed and waited for him, forcing him to walk in front of him for the rest of the way. Whenever the man felt they weren't moving fast enough, he gave Draco a forceful push on the back. The boy fell down more than once, swearing in his mind every time not to give Yaxley any satisfaction by reacting. Instead, he got up more quickly after each fall, making sure to walk faster, though his legs felt like they could fall off at any minute.

After what felt like hours, they finally reached their destination. It was an old Victorian farmhouse that by the looks of it had been abandoned years ago. The windows were all nailed shut and the white paint was barely visible on the walls. The garden they walked across was badly overgrown, the branches of the apple and cherry trees scratched Draco's face as he walked by. He shivered. The whole place was soundless in a very peculiar way, as if it was that way only by someone's choice. The air felt thicker under the trees, making breathing far more difficult than it had been mere seconds before. Draco gritted his teeth to stop them from clattering and walked on, watching his step on the dead leaves. The cold sense of awareness that had taken over him in the lake was back, and despite his exhaustion the boy decided to stay as alert as he could.

Yaxley passed him before they reached the stairs, opening the door with a few muttered words Draco's ears couldn't quite catch. From the inside, the house seemed to be in better condition, at least from what he could see of it in the darkness. Before following Yaxley to the staircase on their right, Draco caught a glimpse of a parlour through an open door; there were no rugs on the floor, but the furniture was still in place, covered mostly with white, sheet-like cloths.

The stairs squeaked under their feet as they ascended, coming to a narrow hallway at the top. As they followed it, Draco started to make out sounds of people talking. A feeling of nervousness nested in his stomach as he suddenly realised what was happening, but before he could give it more thought, they reached a partly open door. A small strip of light entered the hallway before Yaxley pushed the door open. It made no sound, and the two of them glided in like shadows in their black robes.

"Draco."

The sound came from an armchair in front of the fireplace, which everyone in the room was facing. Draco stepped forward, his hands shaking slightly as he kneeled down in front of the wizard and kissed the hem of his robes.

"My Lord," he muttered, remaining on his knees out of exhaustion more than out of respect. Everyone else was quiet, as if they were waiting for something.

"Are you tired, Draco?" the Dark Lord asked now and Draco let out a weary sigh.

"Yes, my Lord. Very tired," he admitted, raising an amused reaction among the Death Eaters.

Draco glanced up and saw the wizard's lipless mouth had curled into a smile. Those red eyes he dreaded to look into were burning in the light of the fire, but the flames' glow could not fade away the whiteness of the Dark Lord's skin. A shudder went through his body, and he turned his eyes back to the floor.

"Did you find your test educational?" the wizard asked now, taking a small pause before the last word.

Draco couldn't help letting out a small laugh. "Yes, my Lord. I found it quite... compelling," he joked, and the Death Eaters muttered their approval again.

The Dark Lord's mouth curved into another smile. "There's more to come," he said, and his voice had a hint of a warning.

"I can only hope I keep meeting your requirements, my Lord," Draco replied, bending his head in a small bow.

The wizard sneered. "I can see your father taught you well," he said. "You're even more unctuous than he is."

Many of the Death Eaters laughed loudly at this, and Draco couldn't help smiling himself, mostly because he knew the Dark Lord's words were all too true.

"Severus," the wizard turned his eyes to the corner, where the Potions master was standing still, waiting for his cue, "you may escort young Draco back to school now."

Draco straightened his posture so fast he could feel his neck crack. He looked up at the Dark Lord with a frown, feeling rather disappointed. He had always expected something a tad more ceremonial than this, something that would last longer than a few minutes. He met those gleaming red eyes briefly, before turning his gaze back to the floor.

"Patience, Draco," the wizard whispered. "You have yet to prove yourself worthy."

Draco started, suddenly very aware of his own recklessness. Allowing his mind to take a course of its own was dangerous. He had to be more in control.

He followed Snape out of the room quietly, noticing now for the first time the smell of mould and dust that floated in the hallway around him. Someone cast a Silencing Charm on the room, and as they walked down the stairs, the only sounds that cut the air were the creaking of the steps and the occasional hissing Draco's hand made, sliding down the wooden banister.

The temperature outside had dropped by a few degrees, or at least that's what it felt like to Draco, who had gotten used to the room's warmth during the few minutes he had spent there. His teeth started clattering again, and the fatigue he had temporarily forgotten about was back, making his feet feel heavy as lead as he dragged them along another path, one that was leading away from the lake this time. For a long time the artificial silence around them took hold and neither one of them said a word.

Finally, Draco opened his mouth to vocalise what had occurred to him as soon as he saw the man by the lake. "It was Yaxley's doing, wasn't it?" he asked, yawning. "The lake and the Inferi."

He could barely see Snape nodding in the darkness. "He'll think of something much worse for the next one," the man muttered absently, clearing the path from branches with his wand. Draco looked back. As soon as he passed, the pieces of wood returned to their previous positions.

"Where are we?" Draco asked, frowning. "Whose is that house?"

Snape sneered loudly. "Yours," he said. "Malfoy built, Malfoy owned."

Draco's frown grew deeper and a thought occurred to him. "With what kind of sums does my father fund this activity?" the boy queried demandingly.

The man sneered even louder. "You'll have to ask him," he remarked, picking up something from the ground. It looked like a trap for some kind of a small animal.

"A Portkey?" Draco moaned tiredly. "What, you couldn't come up with a more vulgar way of travelling?" His mind was on the swirling-through-space- feature of the means, and he found the thought utterly displeasing.

"You should learn how to Apparate," Snape noted while taking a look at his pocket watch.

Draco snorted. "I should learn a lot more than just that by the looks of it," he declared, irritated, "since apparently that ogre is going to come up with something worse than a thousand corpses of the undead dragging me to the bottom of the lake in the middle of the night."

Snape agreed with a mumble. "I guess I could teach you something," he muttered, sounding less than excited about the idea.

Draco's eyebrows climbed a good inch closer to his hairline. "You?" he replied incredulously. "You would teach me?"

The man cast an irritated glance at him. "One minute," he informed, and held out the trap so the boy could grab it. He did, after a second of hesitation.

"I guess I should probably thank you then," he thought aloud, not actually doing it.

Snape sneered again, but didn't say a word. The minute passed faster than Draco had expected, and the two disappeared into the darkness without a sound.

***

To Draco, the morning came all too soon. It felt like his head had barely touched the pillow when he had to get up to face another day in the castle. His brain still seemed unable to process what had happened the night before, but he didn't make the mistake of thinking it had all been a dream, his sore limbs saw to that very effectively. His eyes were red and burning and the boy wondered how much of it was due to not sleeping and how much to the dirty water of the lake.

It wasn't until he had dressed into his school robes that someone said something. The thought of unpleasant questions had crossed his mind, but as soon as it had, Draco had chased it away, unwilling to think about it first thing in the morning. He was faced with the first one now, but to his surprise, it wasn't half as bad as he had thought.

"Did you get laid last night?"

Draco gave Blaise an irritated glare. "Can't your overly hormonal brain think about anything else than sex, Blaise?" he asked, yawning.

The other boy fell silent for a while before continuing, "You weren't in your bed last night. I saw it."

The blond boy gave a small laugh. "Congratulations, you still have eyesight," he mocked. "What do you expect me to say, Blaise?" he asked now, packing his books in his briefcase.

Now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure how much of it all he was authorised to say. It had all been very secretive, that much was true. Was Blaise considered trustworthy enough to know? His father was a Death Eater, but as far as Draco knew, the Dark Lord had no plans for Blaise himself.

Blaise shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "That you did?"

Draco sneered, and headed along the hallway for breakfast. He was so used to everyone following him by now that he barely noticed it happening. The boy wondered how much greater the number of his toadies would be if the whole house knew he was in training to become a Death Eater. He couldn't imagine a higher status than that.

The second he stepped in the Great Hall there was a commotion in the Slytherin House table, caused by the still confused first-years moving over from the seat everyone knew belonged to Draco and none other. The boy sat down indifferently, feeling the glares from the other house tables on his neck. He poured himself a cup of coffee while folding out the Daily Prophet. He gave the front page a quick glance before separating the economy section from the other news and handing them over to Blaise. He in his turn chose the sports, and the paper continued its journey to Pansy, who refused it, stating she had already read the news.

"You look like shit this morning," she told Draco in a matter-of-factly way as she spread some blackberry currant jam on a croissant.

The boy kept his eyes on the stock market development, and mumbled in agreement. He was looking a lot less dapper than usually with his bloodshot eyes and the bags under them. The warm steam rising from his cup only managed to make him even sleepier than he already was.

"Draco wasn't in his bed last night," Blaise hurried to inform the girl, "and methinks you know something about it."

Pansy let out a laugh. "Why would I know anything about it?" she queried amusedly.

Blaise raised his eyebrows insinuatingly. "Why indeed?" he asked back and turned back to the Quidditch scores.

The girl sneered. "You know what?" she pointed out. "Methinks Draco has something else on his mind than the only things you seem to be able to think about, Blaise."

Draco glanced at Pansy, once again suddenly reminded by the fact that the girl's excellent grades were not only due to busy revising. He kept his face expressionless, turning his attention once again to the news.

"Is it true then?" a new voice cut in the conversation. Draco felt an instant wave of annoyance as he recognised the speaker.

"Your father really doesn't have a life, does he, Gray?" he asked, gritting his teeth to keep himself from turning to face the brat. Of course the snitch had written to his son the first chance he got. The man had probably poured all his bitterness out on that one letter, cursing the Malfoys once and for all for all their good fortune and supremacy. Draco felt the familiar shiver crawling up his spine. It always happened when he was dealing with the Grays.

"Shouldn't you be a bit more respectful?" Colin Gray spat angrily. "He's your superior now."

Draco laughed a bit louder than he had intended. "You Grays will never be superior to me," he assured the boy. "No matter how big a complex you have over it."

Colin's face grew pale with resentment. "I'll never understand why he chose you," he swore before storming out of the Great Hall.

"What was all that about?" Blaise asked, making the pale boy let out a bark of laughter.

"Knowing Gray, nothing of real importance," Pansy interrupted, giving Draco one of those knowing glances. "Shall we go?" she asked, leaving the table. Draco poured the last of the coffee down his throat and followed her to the stairs leading to the dungeons.

***

The NEWT level Potions class was flooded. Ravenclaws were the conspicuous majority of the students and they occupied the front most seats in the classroom with no exceptions. Potter and his golden gang had taken over the right wing of the school desks among the occasional Hufflepuffs, who seemed to seek protection from Professor Snape in Potter's holy hems.

Although, it seemed like Potter was the one in need of that protection himself.

"Mr Potter," Professor Snape's poignant tone cut through the velvety smoke that mounted in thick, purple clouds from Potter's cauldron, "I won't even assume you understand this mess you have created."

The silence that followed was brief.

"Thirty points from Gryffindor for not showing interest in this, voluntary, subject," the man said calmly, "and detention on Friday."

Draco's practised concentration didn't flare for one second. His potion completed perfect among a few fellow Slytherins and almost half of the Ravenclaws. The bell rang and the lesson was over making the class wave to the exit in a blurry mass of black school robes.

As soon as he got out of the classroom, his feet took a quick turn to the right to a narrow hallway that lead to another hallway, this time dusty and unused but longer to his left. He took the left, spotted a door that seemed to be by the looks of it, at least five hundred years old with its rusty hinges and fractured wood. Draco's fingers quickly spotted a round metallic hoop that worked as a handle. Pulling the door open, he stepped into a dark window-less room that was even shallower than the Potions classroom but wider in a way that it almost seemed never ending. Draco, however, knew that on the other end of the room, there was a small part of the wall leading to the Slytherins' dormitories.

He arranged his schoolbooks that he had left behind on purpose to avoid the loud questioning of Blaise, Pansy and some unfortunate others into his bag. The questions, he felt, could wait until the end of the day. It didn't seem appropriate discussing the matter anywhere where undeserving ears could eavesdrop on their words.

The next lessons of Arithmancy and oh-so-needed Defence Against the Dark Arts went by agonisingly slow. Weasel got some extra credit for making a perfect Patronus Charm that was supposedly difficult to manage, even for some adult witches and wizards. That moment Draco had decided to crown Tuesday the most detestable day of the week.

As he sat down to face Pansy at dinner, he felt the burning of Potter's distasteful staring. The stare didn't seem to stop until Draco looked up to cast a quick glare at the Gryffindor.

"You would think that three inches of glass would filter some of that odium," Draco sneered. His steak went untouched as he proceeded to eat his green-pea salad.

Pansy choked out a laugh, her mouth full of potato. She followed Draco's eyes to the Gryffindor House table while swallowing. "He has been paying an awful lot of attention on you lately," the girl thought aloud, piercing a green bean with her fork.

Draco snorted and bit into his whole-grain bread.

"Hey," Pansy said and caught Draco's attention, "you weren't at lunch."

Draco nodded and forked some more peas into his mouth. "Hence the hunger."

"That's hardly food," Pansy retorted and passed him a dish of some pale fish in dark lentil sauce. "You should eat properly. Especially since rumour has it..."

"Now that we can discuss after dinner someplace more appropriate," Draco said in a monotonous voice. "It's hardly a topic for a dinner table conversation."

Pansy's eyes cleared with surprise. "It's true then?" her mouth curved into a distressed frown.

Draco ignored her, taking interest in the fish dish Pansy had offered.

***

The warmly lit common-room looked very welcoming in all its noise and liveliness after the dusty silence of the library. Draco entered the room, letting his gaze fall on the ornate chairs and delicate side tables, whose dark wood reflected the light from the fireplaces in a dim earthy glow. The green silky upholstery of his usual seat in the corner caught his eye, inviting him to join the conversation that was taking place around it. The boy went through the faces quickly to find anyone new, or anyone missing.

"You can't possibly think that half-bloods can be taken seriously, Tracey!" Daphne Greengrass exclaimed melodramatically as Draco sat down on his chair and let his black leather briefcase fall on the stone floor beside him.

His eyes shot back and forth between the two as they continued.

"I didn't say they can be taken seriously, I just said that they have some value in the matter," the girl corrected Daphne's words calmly. "And again, I'm not saying they have as much value as us, but I think they do have more value than Mudbloods and blood traitors."

"What's the difference?" Gray cut in with a sour expression. "I don't make any distinction between half-bloods and Muggles and neither should you."

Draco rolled his eyes, stretching his legs as he ridiculed Gray's words silently in his mind.

"You obviously have no idea what the concept warfare means," he declared pointedly. "I've said this to you before, Gray, you shouldn't take part in these conversations before you educate yourself a little. I suggest you start with your OWLs."

People around them laughed, and Colin's face grew sourer still.

"I myself believe that every case of a half-blood has to be dealt with separately," Draco continued assertively. "We all know how easily pure-blooded families can get tainted these days. Sometimes what matters more isn't the blood's escape from all corruption, but the most loyal and conscientious service." He took a small pause to clear his throat. "Of course it's primarily important that those people be made to understand their place in the natural order of things."

Those around him mumbled their agreement. Draco's eyes grew brighter as he went on.

"We must all be grateful for the recent development," he preached, "for finally someone is looking out for our interests, and believe me, there is no other reason for it not going about the usual political channels than the envy and maliciousness of those who refuse to admit that with purity of blood come some inevitable aspects of superiority."

"Hear, hear!" Derrick shouted and they all laughed. Draco's drowsiness had disappeared with his words, and new energy had replaced it. The feeling of empowerment flooded his mind as he realised the unquestionable truthfulness of his own opinions, and the fact that he alone was justified to verbalise them, and this time the justification didn't only come from his heritage but from his own actions. It came from his own flawlessness.

"Who do you suppose we have in the Ministry?" Miles Bletchley inquired, creating an uncertain silence. A handful of names rose to Draco's consciousness.

"Well, there are the obvious," Tracey Davis started, "Bole, Selwyn, and the new one, Higgs."

"We don't really have anyone close to the Minister, do we?" Pansy reminded. "I mean, Fudge was practically eating from your father's hand but this Scrimgeour..."

"He used to be the head of the Auror Office, you know," Goyle pointed out, making a few of the seventh-years cast irritated glares at him.

"Yes, Goyle. We know," Blaise groaned impatiently.

There was another pensive silence among the assembly, until Adrian Pucey let out a small laugh.

"Ah, to be living in the old days," he grinned, "when the Minister was one of us."

Blaise sniggered. "They had some proper laws back then," he declared enthusiastically.

Draco sneered quietly and turned his gaze to the fireplace. It had been many centuries since there had been laws to legalise pure-blood dominance, and he admitted in those days things had gotten more than a little out of control. He had never seen laws on hunting Muggles necessary for the modern society, but felt that a certain level of respect had to be maintained.

"Hunting Mudbloods," Colin Gray chuckled. "Now that's my kind of sport."

Draco turned back to the boy. "Sports, Gray?" he asked amusedly. "Really?"

People laughed again, but this time Colin's expression didn't go off.

"Well it's not like you do Quidditch anymore," he reminded the boy spitefully.

Draco sneered. "A man in my position does well to learn how to prioritise," he stretched the last word out pointedly.

With these words the atmosphere in the company sharpened, and without looking up Draco knew people had straightened their postures and turned their full attention on him and the answers he would give to their questions. For a long time they all were quiet and the only sound was the crackling of the wood in the fire.

"Gray was telling the truth, wasn't he?" Blaise finally breathed out. "You're actually going to be -"

"It's not quite as simple as that, Blaise," Draco hurried to cut in. "However, if everything goes well..." He left the end of his sentence incomplete, knowing himself how haughty he sounded. He could sense the respect that in those few seconds had gotten so thick he felt it was almost like a living, breathing thing ready to leap onto his lap to be petted, and he couldn't help a small smile curling his lips.

"Have you..." Nott started, stopping to clear his throat in the middle, "met him?"

The pale boy took a pause, returning in his mind to the previous night, thinking about it all for the first time without the cloud of exhaustion hindering his cognition. He wondered what his expectations had been, what he had thought the Dark Lord to be like before their brief encounter. All of his previous musings seemed to have disappeared during the brief hours he had slept. Slowly Draco nodded, but kept quiet.

Daphne Greengrass let out a hissing breath through her teeth. Draco could sense she was dying to ask something, but her tongue was held back by fear, or maybe even decency.

Pucey laughed again. "Draco Malfoy in training," he muttered, lowering his voice as they were passed by three first-years making their way to the dormitories. "I'd expect nothing less."

The blond boy smiled, stretching his arms above his head. The elder boy's words reminded him of his father, and for a moment, he wondered if his achievement had made the man proud.

"What's it like then? The training," Gray spat out challengingly, clearly in the hopes he could later on assure himself it was something he himself would have managed.

Draco looked around him at all those eyes gleaming in the light of the fire, anxiously waiting for any delineation he would make of the exclusive situations he was facing. He kept his face expressionless, wondering if he really wanted to say anything about it at all.

"I wasn't given direct orders about how much of it I could reveal to others," he finally informed, "and that being the case I'd rather not say anything at all."

Gray snorted so loudly a lonely third-year turned to look at them with a frown. Most of the crowd looked understanding, yet disappointed.

Draco frowned a little himself. "Well, I suppose I could tell you... since none of you have any essential connections with him..."

"Tell us what?" Blaise hurried to inquire, sounding almost breathless.

The pale boy sneered a little. "Who has been appointed to care for my training," he mentioned, and the group's attention sharpened again. Draco stayed quiet, enjoying the hold he had over them without doing a thing.

"It's Yaxley, isn't it?" Pansy ultimately presented, making Draco smirk a little at her sharp wit.

He picked up his briefcase and got to his feet. "Good night to you all," he barely wished before making his way across the room to the hallway that led to the sixth-years' dormitories.

When he took off his school robes, he felt the hours spent not sleeping on his eyes again, and he yawned widely. His bed had never felt softer, nor had the dormitory ever felt more peaceful. His thoughts returned to the common-room for a brief while, before he closed his eyes and fell to a deep sleep.

***

By the following morning, the news of Draco's advancing had seemed to reach every Slytherin in the school. When the boy joined his housemates at breakfast, he was followed around by a sea of whispers he quickly wished would disappear, as he noticed it drew the Gryffindors' attention. Though he himself couldn't have cared less, he spotted Professor Snape looking at his house in a displeased manner.

He took his usual seat at the table, feeling much better than twenty-four hours before. He poured himself a cup of tea instead of coffee, and buttered his toast just as the mail arrived. He wasn't expecting anything, and therefore the barn owl gliding down to his plate took him by surprise.

The message the bird was carrying was brief. Draco knew better than to glance at his Head of House as he read the few neatly composed lines that suggested he come to one of the larger dungeons after his lessons that day. The pale boy folded the note and placed it in his pocket, shaking his head a little at Blaise's inquiry on the letter's contents.

After breakfast, he faced another commonplace day inside the castle's thick walls. The challenge of the day turned out to be ignoring Potter's suspicious glares at Transfigurations, as well as Charms. By the time the bell rang and he started making his way to the dungeons, Draco had firmly concluded that the only one who needed to get a life was not Colin Gray's father.

He took a detour from a first floor landing to shake off anyone who might be following him, walking toward his destination at a swift pace. He wondered what Snape would teach him, and a little on whether the situation would be as awkward as it had been when they had left the house by the lake. Though he had always been the professor's favourite in the classroom, it was obviously intended more to irritate the other Houses than to compliment him, for the courtesy never extended beyond his weekly Potions lessons.

The door to the dungeon opened silently as soon as he reached it, and Draco stepped inside confidently. The room was dark, lit only by one lonely candle that stood on the teacher's desk.

"Did you notice anyone following you?" the man asked, sitting by the dusty desk that had clearly gone unused for a decade or two. Even now, after the end of the school day, he had a pile of paper in front of him that he was going over, his crooked nose nearly scratching the surface of the parchment.

Draco shook his head, setting his briefcase on an equally dusty desk, the only one in the room.

"Good," the man stated without lifting his gaze from his work. "The less people know about this, the better."

The boy mumbled in agreement, and sat down on the desk behind him. Another few minutes passed before the Potions master flicked his wand to make the paperwork disappear.

"As you might have guessed by now, your training will certainly not be easy," Snape lectured, making the whole situation feel like a lesson as he walked toward the empty space in the middle of the classroom. "Having someone who absolutely loathes you as your instructor will result to ruthless tasks, but it might have some advantages."

Draco snorted. It was hard to imagine what advantages Yaxley's detestation toward the Malfoys could possibly have.

"Emotional people make mistakes," the man explained in his low voice, guessing Draco's thoughts effortlessly. He flicked his wand again, and Draco could hear the key turn in the lock. The boy wasn't at all surprised to hear this was the man's opinion.

"Something tells me I shouldn't count on that, Professor," the boy pointed out, and the man nodded.

"The tasks you are about to face do not only measure your knowledge in spells and curses," Snape continued, casting a Silencing Charm on the room. "In order to serve the Dark Lord you must embrace every aspect of his ideology. Your reactions to problems are just as crucial as the way you solve them," he fell silent for a moment, "but above all else, you have to be willing to forfeit everything you hold dear, should the Dark Lord demand it."

Draco had expected to hear just that, but it didn't make it sound any better.

Snape seemed to get to the point. "I suppose the first thing you should learn is to make your way here unnoticed," he professed. Draco's eyes shot up from the floor onto which he had been concentrating and they grew bright as he imagined the infinite possibilities of invisibility. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and got to his feet eagerly.

"Making yourself invisible is far too difficult for someone your age," the man crushed his dreams at once. "However, there are other ways of helping you remain unseen by others."

Draco walked to the middle of the space somewhat more unsurely than he had stepped in the room.

"The key to mastering this spell is concentrating," Snape explained patiently, "and since it would probably be good for you to start learning non-verbal magic, you'll be practising it without words as well."

"How exactly does it work, sir?" Draco asked, not sure whether he should be excited or bothered.

The man continued in his dry tone, "The spell, if cast correctly, will allow for you to blend in with the shadows of any vertical surface close to you."

"Blend in?" Draco asked immediately. "So, what? I just change colour?"

Snape sneered. "What I meant is that you will become one with your own shadow," he informed the boy. "I'm sure you understand how that will help you remain undetected."

The boy's eyes grew brighter. Now that he thought about it, the spell sounded very handy indeed, and after a quick consideration he found it better than invisibility, which he, since his third year, had thought to be Potter's cheap little trick to make himself feel more special. Besides, what was so great about an Invisibility Cloak? To Draco it seemed like the easiest possible way to get around unnoticed. Even a monkey could dress himself, but it took a lot more to turn oneself imperceptible.

"If successfully cast, the spell will create a barely visible path leading from you to your shadow," the man went on. "By following that trail you should be able to complete it."

"Is it very common Dark Magic, sir?"

"No, it's more or less unknown," Snape explained, taking steps back and forth in the classroom. "Of course it doesn't come without risks."

The corners of Draco's mouth sunk.

"If thought about using this spell in a battle or a duel," the man started, "it may give you a crucial element of surprise, and let you remain unseen for a while, provided there are shadows to hide in. It will not, however, protect you from any curses or spells cast at you."

Draco frowned. "And the possibility of me being stuck as a shadow for the rest of my life, Professor?" he asked pointedly.

"It does exist, yes," Snape admitted, "but as I said, this spell is fairly uncommon, so the counter-curse is unlikely to occur to anyone."

The boy nodded soberly. "What's it called, sir?" he asked.

"Umbra Obscura," the Potions master replied, lighting a handful of air-borne candles with a wave of his wand. Draco looked behind him at the shadows playing on the rutted walls of stone and felt his anxiousness as a slight itch at the tips of his fingers.

"While you're casting the spell," the man begun, "you mustn't have one shred of hesitation in your mind. This aspect of the spell makes it exceptionally easy to use in a duel, for those are the moments when you truly want to complete it."

The way the professor kept mentioning duels and battles made the boy's palms sweat slightly.

"Imagining the wall being water may help," Snape continued. "You need to picture yourself sinking into it, and changing consistency."

"Changing consistency," Draco repeated hesitantly. "And what happens if I do it wrong, sir?"

"You shouldn't consider that option," the man stated in a matter-of-factly way. "You should practise the spell first, and try not to focus on the wall."

The boy rolled his eyes. As he turned to face the wall, it was suddenly all he could think about. His mind was crammed with the feeling of being in it, the cold stone crushing his body from all sides as he slowly ran out of air. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He tried to imagine sinking into the wall, just like he did every autumn at King's Cross station, but instead of going through it, he imagined stopping somewhere in between. The thought of platform nine and three-quarters seemed to help a little, but when he muttered the words and waved his wand, nothing happened.

"Point your wand to the floor," his professor guided him calmly, "and picture the spell in front of you. Don't let your mind rebel."

Draco took another deep breath and wrapped his mind around the concept. He closed his eyes, trying to see a path of magic in front of his feet, leading toward the wall. He opened his eyes for a moment to cast a glance at his shadow, waiting as still as he was on the uneven surface. The light in the room flickered with an invisible breeze, making the dark figure alter between different shades of obscurity like a strange chameleon.

"Umbra Obscura," Draco conjured louder than before, opening his eyes just in time to see a group of sparks part from the tip of his wand and land on the floor, where they disappeared like melting snow.

"Better, but you have to stay focused until the end," the Potions master reminded him. "Don't allow any other thoughts until the spell is complete."

Draco gritted his teeth, cursing his own impatience. "Can I keep my eyes closed?" he inquired, hoping not seeing the wall would help him focus.

"By all means."

The boy closed his eyes again, trying to keep all of the aspects of the spell on the edge of his mind, the sinking, changing consistency, the spell itself and the lack of reluctance. He waved his wand again; it made a swishing sound that was followed by absolute silence.

"Concentrate," Snape muttered from his right, "and walk forward."

Draco gritted his teeth again, trying to clear his mind from the anticipation and nervousness that suddenly attacked his brain. He could see the light of the spell on his closed eyelids faltering as the foreign feelings interrupted the magic. His whole body grew tense as he tried to grasp hold of himself. He took a step toward his shadow, the spell felt curiously warm under his foot despite his shoes of black leather. He stopped for a fraction of a moment to draw a hissing breath through his teeth before taking another step, and then another, until he could sense the wall in front of him.

Slowly he started reaching out with his right hand, picturing it becoming one with the identical hand his shadow was lifting to meet his. He felt the cold, coarse stone beneath the tips of his fingers for a moment before they penetrated it, and the roughness moved on to scrape the skin of his hand, wrist and forearm. He took another step, sinking halfway into the castle before opening his eyes.

The whole world seemed to consist of shades of darkness, of grey and black and everything in between from the light silvery hue of candlelight on the wall, to the ink-like tinge of the Potions master's shadow on Draco's immediate right. He took another step, sinking deeper into his own shadow. As he looked around, he noticed everything was two-dimensional; the world around him had no depth. He could feel the stone around him, but instead of suffocating, it felt secure, making a new meaning of the word safe occur to him.

He turned around to face Snape and the classroom again, making out more of his shape than his actual presence. The real world looked as though a veil of the thinnest grey silk had been drawn between him and home. He paced back and forth for a while, feeling or imagining the stone of the wall brushing his cheeks gently. Before he could even begin to wonder how to get back out again, he stepped toward the professor and found himself in the classroom that after the experience felt vast and cold.

"Well done," Snape admitted as Draco exhaled loudly. He couldn't remember breathing in the wall. "With a bit of practice, you should be ready to use it effectively in no time."

The boy glanced back at his shadow, almost expecting it to wave.

"Have you done non-verbal magic before?" the man asked now, and Draco replied by shaking his head absently. The spell had been more wearisome than he had anticipated.

"I suppose we should recommence on another day," the professor noted. "I strongly suggest you practice on your spare time." He lifted the Silencing Charm from the room and unlocked the door.

Draco nodded quietly, picking his briefcase up from the desk. "What else did you think of teaching me, Professor?" he suddenly asked, knowing he'd want to prepare for it beforehand.

The man took a small pause. "The Shield Charm is always useful," he finally stated, "and I presume a few curses may well prove useful in your situation."

The boy nodded again, staying quiet for a long time as he made his way to the door. Before opening it, he turned back.

"What is my situation, sir?" he asked bluntly, making the man gaze up from the papers he had once again conjured to appear.

The following calm lasted uncomfortably long, until the man broke it by uttering, "Looks like we've got a long way ahead of ourselves, do we not?"

Draco's face grew blank with the professor's words, and he reached for the door handle, ready to press it.

"I spoke with your father," Snape informed abruptly. "He sends his congratulations."

The boy's eyes widened a bit, before a small smile took over. "Thank you, sir," he barely mumbled before exiting the room.

As he entered the common-room a few hours later, it seemed like absolutely everyone had been talking about him. As soon as he stepped in, a complete silence fell over the room, and all eyes were pointed at him. He walked to his usual seat again, but unlike the evening before, there was no lively conversation he could partake. The atmosphere had become unnervingly tense, and even when the Slytherins started going on about their own business, and the people around him started fumbling for words, Draco couldn't enjoy the setting. He left early without saying much, even though he was still far from tired.

In the privacy of the dormitories, he practiced his Shield Charms and the few curses he had learned up to that point, and didn't stop until his housemates joined him.

***

The following morning found Draco more animated than he remembered being in a long time. One pleasurable stretch and a yawn later he was out of bed, and headed toward the shower. After washing himself hastily, he dressed in his school robes and left the stuffy morning air of the dormitories. A quick glance at his silver pocket watch told him it was far too early for anyone else to be awake.

The common-room looked more inviting to the boy now that the prying eyes were gone, and he took a seat on one of the larger sofas, lifting his feet up and leaning to the armrest. He allowed his mind to wander from one subject to another as he sat there, immobile with a few worry lines crinkling his forehead. More than the inevitable changes the whole wizarding world was facing, he thought about himself and his own situation. Being in training naturally meant that he would either become a Death Eater or die trying, and there was no question about which of the options Draco preferred. He couldn't help but ponder on the subject of what his purpose to the Dark Lord was, and what his function in the company would turn out to be. He had always rather imagined it would have more or less to do with money, since he was a Malfoy after all, and money was in his blood as much as purity was.

His eyes followed his shadow as it bounced on the wall, cast by the already lit fire in the large marble hearth. His thoughts shifted to the Potions master, and the way he had emphasised the words "battle" and "duel" repeatedly. That strongly indicated Draco was to not only duel as part of his training, but also play a part in the predestined battles that were to take place as the authority was reassigned to its rightful holders. The boy closed his eyes and sighed, as he realised how much work he was in for, and how much preparation it would take him just to get trough the following months without ending up in the ground.

His gloomy thoughts scattered as the door to the common room opened suddenly, and a rather unkempt Pansy stepped in. She looked around nervously before starting to take fast steps toward the girls' dormitories, pressing her untidy hair down all the while. When Draco called out her name, she jumped a good two feet into the air and pressed her hand on her chest, breathing heavily.

"You scared me," she gasped quietly and straightened her dishevelled robes, looking anxious and shaken.

Draco looked at her, not sure whether he should smile or frown. "Are you alright?" he asked with a hint of worry in his voice.

"Me?" the girl breathed. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Draco shrugged. "You look a bit... distressed," he finally settled on the word he thought would sound most diplomatic.

"Well I'm fine," the girl chuckled restlessly. "I was just taking a walk."

The boy shrugged again. "If you say so," he concluded, thinking it best to leave it at that. "I'll see you at breakfast then."

The girl nodded with an inaudible mumble before disappearing to the girls' dormitories. Draco wasn't surprised when she didn't show up for breakfast a few hours later. He was taken aback, however, by the fact that she didn't seem to be the only one acting abnormally on that day. It wasn't just that everyone seemed oddly taciturn, especially toward him, it was also that the commotion he had caused within his house seemed to have calmed down overnight, and no curious eyes were cast in his direction anymore.

Pansy didn't appear in the History of Magic classroom either, making Draco grow more worried by the minute as he sat there, her empty desk drawing his eyes much better than the problems of the eighteenth century wizarding England. He skipped lunch trying to find her, but the girl had obviously stayed in the dormitories where the boy had no access. When he asked Blaise if he had seen her, explaining the situation, the other boy seemed peculiarly indifferent.

"She's just been on one of her... you know," Blaise shrugged. "She's probably just sleeping."

"Maybe you're right," Draco admitted, not believing it for one second.

Even Arithmancy couldn't take his mind of his friend, and by the time of the Potions lesson, he was edging closer and closer to anxiety. When Snape saw Pansy's empty seat, he passed it without saying a thing, and that more than anything else made the hair in the back of Draco's neck stand up. There was something terribly wrong with everything, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

They started making their potions, and for his great misfortune, Draco ran into Potter by the supplies cupboard. The boy scowled at him sourly for a while in complete silence, before glancing at the professor quickly and muttering, "You're dead, Malfoy," under his breath.

Draco couldn't help his eyes widening for a fraction of a second. "And good school year to you too, Potter," he sneered. "You do realise that I haven't actually said anything to you since last spring?"

Potter's eyes narrowed as he looked at the pale boy. "I know what you're up to," he growled, "and trust me, you're going to pay for it with your life. I'll see to that myself."

After this hostile statement, he grabbed some unicorn hair from the cupboard and returned to his cauldron, which seemed to be filled with a rather satisfying specimen of the counter-poison they were brewing. Draco's mouth dropped slightly before he remembered what he was looking for, measured it, and completed his potion with outstanding results.

After a quick bite at dinner, Draco made a spin in the Hospital Wing in the hopes he wound find the girl there, suffering from nothing worse than bad PMT. Madam Pomfrey had no news for him, however, and he returned to the common room in a worried state of mind.

He was the only sixth-year student in there, and when he finally admitted he couldn't concentrate on his homework, the boy walked up to the dormitory to practice the spell Snape had taught him. He removed his robes and loosened his tie, but before he could pull his wand out of his bag, someone entered the room and knocked him over to a seated position on the bed.

"Draco, you have to help me," Pansy sobbed against his shoulder as she threw her arms around his neck and sat down next to him.

Draco, still shocked from her sudden reappearance, patted her clumsily on the back without saying a word. He let her cry there for a moment in peace before asking her what had happened.

"Oh, Draco," she snivelled. "I've done something a-awful." Her eyes were bloodshot, obviously from all the crying, and she kept wiping her nose on the sleeve of her robes.

"Now, now," the boy tried to soothe her awkwardly. It had been nearly a decade since he had seen Pansy cry. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

Instead of calming down, the girl burst into a new set of tears. "But it is!" she wailed in distress. "I've done something horrible and now I have no one to help me!"

Draco's eyes widened with the loudening volume. "Calm down," he shushed and looked around. "Just... tell me what happened."

The girl sniffled for a while before she started, "I was... oh, fuck..." She stopped to cry some more. Draco's jaw clenched. "I was out last night and... I ran into..." Her head sunk in her hands and her shoulders shook with the force of the inaudible weeping.

The boy wrapped his arm tighter around her, mumbling clichéd words he hoped would help Pansy calm down.

"Who did you run into, Pansy?" he finally asked her quietly.

Her crying didn't seize for another moment. "I ran into..." she sobbed. "Oh fuck, I ran into Yaxley..."

Draco's heart skipped a beat as he heard this, and his teeth along with his fists clenched immediately. "Just tell me what that half-breed bastard did to you and I'll have him taken care of," he rushed to promise without thinking.

"No, it's not that, it's..." The girl paused again, like what she was about to tell him scared her out of her mind and saying it aloud was just too difficult. "Oh, fuck, I should not have run into him... I shouldn't have..." she kept moaning persistently, until Draco grabbed her by her shoulders and forced her to face him.

"Pansy, you have to tell me what happened," he snapped, wishing what the girl was about to let out of her mouth would scatter away the bad feeling that was taking over him.

"I..." the girl breathed, her eyes widened. "I killed him, Draco."

A minute passed in complete silence. Draco's whole body had frozen into the position he was in when the girl's words cut the air. He didn't even blink as he stared at Pansy, his mind resisting the possibility of her actually telling the truth.

"You did what?" he finally whispered hoarsely, almost expecting to hear her say she wasn't being serious before.

"I..." the girl stuttered. "I killed him."

Hearing it the second time didn't make it seem any more real.

"How?" the boy asked pointedly. "I mean, why? I mean..." He took a breath. "What have you done, Pansy?"

Silent tears started falling down her cheeks again. "I don't know how it happened," she whimpered. "We got into a fight and... I just..."

"Are you sure you killed him?" Draco asked now. Trying to get his mind to understand it was actually painful.

"I checked, Draco! He wasn't breathing! So I just..." the girl sobbed, "I just ran, I didn't know what to do!"

Draco shushed the girl down, alarmed by her loud voice. "Alright, alright! Just... calm down," he ordered her quietly.

"You have to help me, Draco!" she cried. "You have to tell him I didn't mean to do it!"

Draco's frown grew deeper as he considered Pansy's words in silence before understanding them. When he finally realised who the girl had meant, he got on his feet immediately.

"Pansy..." he started with a horrified expression on his face, but she wouldn't let him continue.

"I really didn't mean it!" she wailed. "He tried to..." her words died out as her tears took over.

Draco took a few steps back, staring at the sobbing girl on his bed. What she asked him to do, he realised, could not be done. It couldn't be done by him, or anyone else to that matter.

"Pansy..." he tried again. "Pansy, you know I can't..."

"Please, Draco!" she exclaimed. "You have to! He'll kill me if you don't!"

The boy understood the truth in the girl's words, and started pacing back and forth in the small space between the beds. His shocked mind tried every possible approach to the problem, but reasoning closed them all out before they could even take shape.

"This doesn't make any sense..." he moaned. "Why would you do something like that, Pansy? How could you be so stupid?"

The girl kept crying. "I don't know how it happened," she whispered. "I just... didn't mean it."

"What were you doing out of the castle in the middle of the night anyway?" he was almost shouting now. "What were you thinking, Pansy?"

"I don't know, alright!" she yelled back. "It was an accident, so stop shouting and help me!"

"And how exactly am I supposed to do that?" he snapped. "I'm in training, Pansy, I've barely got my foot in the door and you..." he stopped and pulled his hair before continuing more calmly, "I'm sorry Pansy but you know I can't..."

"Please! I'll do anything if you help me!" Pansy exclaimed, pulling him back on the bed. She laid her hand on his thigh and continued, "You know I mean it. I'll do anything."

Draco looked at her hand on his thigh with the deepest frown he had had all day. It all seemed so wrong, absolutely all of it. The whole day had been a bit off, from the morning when he woke up at half past five without feeling the least bit tired to the indifference of his housemates, and Potter's sudden outburst of enmity. Now that he thought about it, the whole idea of Pansy succeeding in killing Yaxley sounded utterly ludicrous. And why Yaxley? Out of all the Death Eaters, she had killed the one person who was responsible for his training. But the most ridiculous thing of them all was what the girl had just let out of her mouth. She'd do anything if he'd help her, anything at all? Pansy knew him better than that, and he knew Pansy.

He turned his eyes back on her so suddenly she flinged. "I don't believe you," he stated. "I don't believe any of this. You, Blaise, Potter, none of it."

She lifted her hand from his thigh, her face showing nothing but shock and sadness.

"This is all some act," he said, nearly laughing now. Letting the words out of his mind made him realise they were the only truth he had heard all day. "You're just testing me to see if I'd refuse."

Draco woke up again, and for a long time he didn't know whether the world he was in was real or not. He could smell the familiar scent of furniture polish, and feel the Egyptian cotton sheets under his hands. He was home in the Manor, unmistakably, but was any of it real? He pinched himself, even though he knew it wouldn't tell him anything of his situation.

He got out of bed and walked out of the room to his study, opening his desk drawers as soon as he reached them. He looked for any sign of it all being just... whatever it had been before, but found nothing out of the ordinary. He returned to his bedroom to get dressed, before leaving his room through his parlour and entering the dark hallways leading to the rest of the house. In a flash he remembered what it had been like growing up there, when he had been a child who after having a bad dream sneaked through the rooms to the servants' side to find his nursemaid.

He walked past the endless lines of snoring portraits of his ancestors, keeping his ears open for any other sound than the slight creaking of the floorboards under his weight. His mind worked feverishly, and he knew if the previous had been a test, he should be able to find someone there. If he had been entertaining a company of such noble blood, he knew exactly in which room he would have it take place.

His gait fastened as he jumped down the stairs softly three at a time, making his way toward the grand parlour. The closer he got to it, the more voices he could make out in the silence. They suggested a larger and less restrained assembly than before. Draco stopped at the door for a moment, until he remembered he didn't need to knock in his own house.

The salon was full, additional chairs had been brought from all over the Manor for the guests and still some remained standing. Only a fire and the two chandeliers that both had only four candles in them lighted the scene. As Draco stepped in, he recognised many familiar faces, most notably his mother's, whom he had never imagined to take part in such a gathering. She didn't seem to be enjoying herself, but had drawn to a corner and lit a cigarette, which was not her first judging by the nearly full ashtray in front of her.

"There he is," Draco heard his aunt Bellatrix rejoice from across the room. The woman rushed over to him, her dark cloak fluttering behind her, and leaned closer to whisper in his ear, "We're all very proud of you, Draco, so very proud."

His smile was forced, but he nodded at her before making his way further in the room. He could already guess where the Dark Lord was seated. He walked over to the massive armchair by the fire and kneeled down like he had done before, ignoring everyone else in the room.

"My Lord," he spoke softly, and saw the lipless mouth curve into a slight smile.

"Always so courteous, Draco," he sneered.

Draco smiled. "Maybe the word you were looking for was well-bred, my Lord," he ventured daringly.

The Dark Lord uttered a quiet laugh. "Well-bred, indeed," he said gently, extending his hand to brush the boy's platinum blond hair indifferently. "So far you've lived up to my expectations, Draco," he complimented, until the tone of his voice changed, "but I will not tolerate the traditions we're trying to preserve being ridiculed."

The wizard got to his feet, walking past Draco so swiftly he could hardly see the hem of his ink-black robes swing by. The boy got up as well, his face growing slightly pale as the Dark Lord continued.

"Especially you, who are the direct consequence of thousands of years of determination and unfaltering sense of morality, should understand this," he spoke very quietly now, but his words didn't go unheard by anyone in his presence. "You are an ideal, Draco, and you must understand the importance of behaving like one."

Draco kneeled again. "I apologise for my inconsiderate words, my Lord," he tried to take back what he had said, even though he knew it was in vain. "I should have known it was inappropriate."

"Yes, you should have," the man agreed in a whisper. "I don't enjoy punishing any of you," he explained, addressing his words to everyone in the room, "and I trust you all understand why it is indispensable." He walked across the room slowly before stopping in front of the boy whose hands shook as he reached for the hem of his robes and kissed it obediently.

"There is no love without respect, Draco," the wizard told him didactically, "and no respect without fear. You understand this, don't you?"

The boy nodded gravely, trying to swallow down the lump of fear from his throat. He could hear his heartbeat loudly in his ears.

"Crucio."

Draco could barely hear the word before the blood red curse parted from the tip of the Dark Lord's wand and exploded into millions of fractions of individual pain that seemed to spread around his body in his blood, with the beating of his heart and the deep breaths of air he managed to pull in from the screaming. For someone who had always valued his own life as much as he had, Draco started to wish for death very quickly, as the insufferable torture spread to his eyes. He could feel fire burning them, and he cried in vain for it to stop. He couldn't feel lifting his hands to cover his face, but that's where he found them as the pain disappeared, and his screaming reduced to pathetic whimpering he wished no one would be there to witness.

"Your life will belong to me," the Dark Lord whispered. "Do you understand this, Draco?"

The boy got to his feet, keeping his eyes on the floor. "Yes, my Lord," he muttered compliantly.

The wizard turned back to the rest of the assembly. "We celebrate tonight," he suddenly announced, "for I have finally received verification of a fact I've always known to be true."

The ambience sharpened in an instant after these words.

"My family tree is finished," he informed softly, "the most noble and ancient tree that has borne so many fruits with no name, and no patrimony, the tree that has a branch for Salazar Slytherin himself."

Draco looked up at the Dark Lord, mesmerized by his words.

"Your father confirmed it, Draco, what I've always known to be true for indeed there was no other possibility," the wizard continued, "William the Morbid has been added to the patrician group of my antecedents, and with this disclosure will his name forever be linked to mine. His powers will be surpassed by mine, and you shall forever nurture his legend and his intentions shall be raised to the significance they deserve."

There was commotion in the company, the Death Eaters drew their hoods and kneeled, and Draco followed their example. He didn't understand the importance of the Dark Lord's words, but it was clear to him that something extraordinary had just taken place.

"Now," the wizard smiled, "we shall feast."

They shouted out their approval with excitement, disappearing from the room one by one. The Dark Lord watched them silently with a smile before calling for the only one who had left behind.

"Take Draco back to the castle, Severus," he ordered calmly. The other man nodded, leaving the room without bothering to look back. Draco followed him swiftly, and they made their way to the large fireplace in the library. In a flash of emerald flames, they were in Snape's study, and he hurried the boy along to the dormitories without a word.

Draco lay awake long that night, thinking about the situation in which he had involved himself. He could only imagine the headlines of the morning's Daily Prophet. Slowly but surely all other thoughts were wiped away by the strangely threatening and captivating name the Dark Lord was now inevitably connected to. He tried to understand its meaning, but found himself unable. Who, after all, was William the Morbid?