22

Chapter 22: Draco's Task

Albus Dumbledore strode swiftly into his office, his heavy blue robes swaying inside just as the door slammed shut. He pressed a wrinkled hand to his sweating forehead and sat heavily into his high-backed chair.

He had not been this upset in a very long time.

He should have known the signs. Hadn't he been suffering from memory recall since last year? Well, only when it concerned that child, that...that Slytherin child. Hasan Castell. Yes, he knew the name. Yes, he knew the face. But what else did he truly know? Was he a happy boy? An intelligent one? When had he become friends with Neville Longbottom? Yes, he knew the surface.

No, he knew nothing at all.

But despite what some people thought, Dumbledore was extremely intelligent. And it did not take half of his intelligence to figure out that he had been cursed. The question was, Why? Who would have Albus Dumbledore at their mercy and cast a simple memory spell? Obviously, there was more to the story.

He waved his hand, causing several sheets of papers to fly towards him with a perfectly dipped feather quill. He wrote down the name, then sat and stared at it for a long time. There was nothing else he could add. Severus thought he was purposely neglecting the Slytherin House, but truth be told, he paid very close attention to the house of Salazar. In some ways, too much attention. He had a file for every child, and it just so happened that the house of Salazar had a larger file cabinet, most likely because half of it was speculation and only a few basic facts were considered accurate.

Albus sighed, sent the paper away, and looked at Fawkes forlornly.

"What is happening? I just don't understand..."

Fawkes let out a trill and ruffled his feathers in a shrug.

"I've been placed under a memory spell or something like it." Albus wondered aloud. "Someone at some time before or during last year had been able to get close enough to me to cast the spell. I must have been sleeping, knocked out, or perhaps this memory is gone too. I can't remember Hasan Castell. I don't know anything about him. Maybe...?"

The headmaster looked at Fawkes questioningly before sighing. Phoenix tears, though powerful, could not heal this type of hurt. All he could do for the foreseeable future was dig just a bit more, and perhaps uncover a scrap of truth.

But even with all this uncomfortable uncertainty, something deep within Albus Dumbledore roared. It was almost as if part of him was expecting, even hoping that he himself would discover his own memory gap, and was now proud that he had figured it out for himself..."Merlin, help us all!" He was getting too old for this...

A knock on the door woke Albus from his slumber. He hadn't even realized he had been sleeping.

"Come in." he called as Minerva McGonagall hurried into the office with Madame Pomfrey at her heels.

"Albus! What is going on?" Minerva asked breathlessly. "Are you suffering from memory loss? Do you need some potions? It's perfectly normal at this age—!"

"Minerva, I am fine." Albus lied, holding up a tired hand to silence her.

"No, you most certainly are not!" Poppy screamed. "You had us all worried! This isn't normal!"

"Poppy, Minerva, calm down!" Albus pleaded. He didn't need them to know how vulnerable he was. He needed to be the leader and not have people think someone else messed with his mind. That someone else could manipulate him. "It was a simple memory lapse. I will ask Severus to make me some potions later."

"Well." Minerva pursed her lips. "I'm glad you're alright because... I am VERY disappointed in you Albus Dumbledore! What were you thinking, letting Mr. Longbottom fight the Dark Lord for the second time? What was all that you said about not sacrificing children for the cause? First Mr. Potter, now Mr. Longbottom! Are you trying to see how long each child will last before they crack? I suppose you'll pick Ron Weasley next! Goodness knows he'd appreciate some recognition!"

"He's trying to best!" Poppy defended soothingly. "No one planned for You-Know-Who to show up at the school!"

"Oh, but isn't that why we had dementors? To protect against this sort of thing?" Minerva shrieked. "Look, Albus, I understand that you have to do what's best of all of us, but Neville needs more support."

"I agree." Albus said. "Which is why I have planned for the Weasleys, as well as Mr. Longbottom to stay at Grimmauld Place with Sirius and Remus. With Voldemort more powerful than previously thought, we can't afford to leave them at their family homes."

Albus Dumbledore did not know yet about the breakout.

"That's...very thoughtful of you." Poppy nodded. "Don't you think so, Minerva?"

"The best thing would be not to involve them at all." Minerva said stiffly. "But wars do have a way of involving all of us...Well, I'm glad you're feeling alright, Albus." A touch of concern entered into her eyes, and a niggling feeling, some might identify as guilt, bubbled in Albus' heart...

Just as the two women left, a large grey owl swooped into the room. In its talons was a rolled up Daily Prophet.

Dumbledore gently undid the knot and unrolled the freshly printed paper.

"The Daily Prophet reports a mass breakout from Azkaban..."

The shadows lengthened.

.oOo.

The Dark Lord had left Lestrange Manor seconds ago, leaving Narcissa and her husband gasping on the floor. Not Draco! Not her Draco! Instead of feeling regret for what she did, for the sin she had committed, she felt now, more than ever, that that bastard had to go down.

"D-draco!" Lucius whispered hoarsely after several minutes. "We can't tell him we're switching. He doesn't have enough experience. The Dark Lord will be able to sense it and then he'll die for certain."

Narcissa's beautiful blonde hair fell over her face. "No. We can't tell him." She was condemning her son either way: Don't tell him, and leave him to think he was alone to carry out the Dark Lord's orders. Tell him, and have him die not long after. Her son was too young, too innocent—this was the only way. Draco, I'm so sorry.

"He will have to believe we are still loyal. And we'll have to support him." Lucius continued, feeling sick.

"He'll be so confused. He'll feel betrayed." Narcissa said, tears welling in her icy eyes. "My poor Draco..."

The husband and wife looked at each other for the first time since they were alone. Lucius did not have to ask about the missing cup. He could sense it. Narcissa had taken the cup, and by the Dark Lord's reaction, it was a pretty damn valuable cup too.

"I'm so proud of you." Lucius smiled pitifully. He didn't want to go into specifics. Not now... "And Draco. He's alright."

"And Hasan?" Narcissa couldn't help but ask.

Lucius licked his lips. "No different than before."

The two stood up gingerly, limbs still shaking from the cruciatus, and leaned heavily on one another. It had indeed been a while since their Lord had punished them and they hoped it would not happen again anytime soon.

As they regained control of their tremors, the door opened to reveal Bellatrix Lestrange, dressed cap-à-pied in a rich wine-plum color. Her hair was gorgeous after many washes, but her face remained gaunt and mercilessly sharp.

"Cissa! Lucius!" Bellatrix yelled happily. Contrary to popular belief, Bellatrix did actually care about her family.

" Bella!" Narcissa beamed, shoving down her guilt for stealing the cup. She welcomed the cadaverous woman with open arms, praying that the other did not feel how her heart sped up in panic. Even if Bellatrix cared about her, she knew that treason would not be tolerated. Why, Bellatrix would like nothing more than to rip Sirius Black limb from limb and throw him into a lake of Inferi. If she had a choice, Narcissa would like to avoid that treatment at all costs. "Oh, Bella. I missed you!" she lied sweetly.

"I missed you too! And Draco! He has had to grow up without his aunt!" Bellatrix lamented. "But I hear he has a task! What luck!"

Lucius coughed. "Please excuse me."

"He's a little tired, that's all." Narcissa said, envious of her husband that he could leave when she could not.

"No matter. Come, let's get out of this drafty room. I'll have the house-elves fix us some tea."

Narcissa followed the dark woman through Lestrange Manor till they came upon the salon. She hadn't been here in many years. The place was labyrinthine and cold.

"How are you feeling, really?" Narcissa asked. "I can't imagine the Dark Lord was too happy with you either. It was your vault."

A shadow crossed Bellatrix's face and she sighed. "No. But I can't bring myself to feel too ashamed because I've been freed. I'd rather not talk about it. How has Draco been? What have I missed?"

"Draco has grown up as handsome as Lucius." Narcissa said sincerely. "But he's much too young for this task. I don't even know what it is, but it's a punishment. I know it is, for our mistakes."

"Oh, Cissa! Don't worry! If the Dark Lord thinks Draco is ready, then he is! I have no doubt he is every bit as great as both of his parents!"

"I hope." Narcissa said uneasily. "He'll need every ounce of fortune he can get."

"If I had sons I would willingly give them up!"

"Why don't you? Have sons, I mean." Narcissa asked as tea suddenly popped onto the table. "Oh! That was...fast." She thought of Dobby suddenly and wondered where the little elf was if no mistress was in the picture...

"They're trained well." Bellatrix said nonchalantly. "But kids? I've been in Azkaban for most of Draco's childhood! I couldn't fully serve my master and raise my own kids!"

"Our parents hired nannies." Narcissa reminded her.

"Yes, and look how Andromeda turned out! It's a one in three chance! I can't take that chance!" Bellatrix sighed. "If I'm having a child, I'm raising him or her myself!"

"You're better than most people give you credit for." Narcissa sighed, sipping her tea.

"Like who? Dumbledore, the old fool?" Bellatrix laughed. "What else could he think after what I did to the Longbottoms! My life's work, if I do say so myself."

"They're still at St. Mungo's." Narcissa said quietly. "I don't know why they bother keeping them alive. Except perhaps for Neville Longbottom...he's the Boy-Who-Lived now."

"A simple farce." Bellatrix quipped. "The Dark Lord maintains that Harry Potter is the one to kill."

"What?" Narcissa nearly jumped. "Harry Potter's been training in the mountains!"

"If that were true, don't you think the Dark Lord would have killed him by now? No, the boy's been in hiding. The Light can't find him. He's missing."

"Oh Merlin..." Narcissa breathed. That was it. They were doomed! They were doomed!

"Yes, I know." Bellatrix said. "Hmm." She frowned down at her cup. "It appears my tea has run dry."

.oOo.

JUNE.

Grimmauld Place, ordinarily so drab and lifeless, was now full of vivacious young witches and wizards. Dumbledore had decided that it was in Neville's best interest to stay at Headquarters for the summer holidays, especially since there had been a mass breakout from Azkaban...The Weasleys were there, as they were known to be Dumbledore's top supporters, Neville's friends, and therefore, Voldemort's enemies. The Burrow was just too vulnerable and conspicuous, even with Bill's warding expertise. Hermione was there as well; being a muggleborn, she of all people needed solace.

Sirius and Lupin lived at the house full time. It was Sirius' ancestral home after all—not that he much liked it. They liked Dobby of course, although Sirius for the life of him couldn't remember if the elf was a new addition. Then again, it wasn't like he paid much attention to the goings on of the house when he was a child, him running away to the Potter's and all. But he remembered Kreacher-the damnable creature! Hermione kept trying to draw the poor elf out and knit him a sweater (despite it being 90 degrees outside), but he always refused and disappeared to Merlin knew where...

It was midday and the sun was shining through the weathered windows and into the dusty air. Fred and George had gone upstairs to explore, while Hermione attempted to teach Ron Fur Elise on an old piano they'd found in the living room. Lupin and Sirius were out and about, doing some shopping here and there, which inevitably left Neville and Ginny alone.

"Ginny?" Neville asked quietly, setting aside his plate. "Why is it that you like me?"

"Why wouldn't I, silly?" Ginny laughed, swinging her legs under the chair in the dining room. "You save people. You're my hero! We both know what it was like when You-Know-Who was terrorizing the world—at least, our parents told us. Now, because of you, we have a chance to defeat him."

"But I can't-!" Neville protested, squiring in his seat.

"But you already have!" Ginny protested, growing a bit frustrated. Why was he fighting her on this?

"Well, what if it wasn't me who saved the world? What if it was Harry Potter?"

"Don't be silly, Neville!" Ginny repeated with a little laugh, thinking he was pulling her leg. "The prophecy referred to you!"

"No! The prophecy referred to a boy born at the end of July!"

"Yes! You!" Ginny insisted. "What are you trying to achieve here, Neville?" Her legs stopped swinging. "Look, I'm attracted to you...you're brave and smart and, and...handsome. Defeating You-Know-Who is only secondary to that."

"But-" Neville said looking guilty.

"No but's! Neville, I know it's hard, but I know you'll defeat him in the end. Just listen to me: I understand."

Her beautiful brown eyes locked with his and his heart began to spiral. But she didn't understand. He didn't either really. Every time he had 'defeated' the Dark Lord, his friends were by his side, and then he would wake up in the infirmary with no recollection whatsoever. Perhaps the only thing that bothered him was the invisibility cloak. He had taken it down to the chamber but no one had mentioned it since...and yet, all Neville could think was good riddance! It was never his at all and some of the guilt stripped away.

.oOo.

Meanwhile in the living room, Hermione watched as Ron struggled to make sense of all the music notes on the page.

"This is an A, right?" Ron asked, squinting at the yellowed parchment.

Hermione nodded. "Good! Now do you know where it is on the keyboard?"

Ron swallowed. All the keys looked the same! Granted they were black and white, but honestly! How could anyone learn to navigate on this thing? Let alone play it!

"Er...Er...I can't find it." Ron said helplessly as he stared down at the identical keys. He waited, staring at the music, and wondering.

He waited.

Hey, wasn't this about the time that the girl was supposed to come up behind him and rest her chin on his shoulder and move her hands on top of his and place them gently on the keys? (Not that he was cheating on Lavender, no...he just liked attention no matter who gave it to him.)

He waited some more.

Finally, Ron turned around to find Hermione perfectly content, curled up on the couch with a poetry book. She seemed to sense his glance and looked innocently up at him.

"Oh. You know the three black keys? The white one in between that's on the right."

She immediately turned her attention back to the book. Apparently it was much more engrossing than him.

Ron turned back around.

Black, white, black, white, black, white...

Summer sucked.

.oOo.

Hasan was home at last, but the Estate seemed distant and more impersonal than before. How could he feel the way he had when he knew what Altair did? He was a nothing more than a pensieve. And this—this fantasy of being taken away from the orphanage and given a home- a family, well, he knew it for what it was. The Castell Estate was not a home. It was a velvet box with a satin cushion, a pretty prison to keep the memories safe. He was just a body.

No wonder Altair had taught him to defend himself—it was all to defend his mind. And as for the mind itself, it was obvious now that Altair never taught him Occlumency because then he would have been aware of the added presence. He was no more a son than he was a boy. He was a tool. No one would ever love him.

But that wasn't true! he told himself. Luna loved him. She had understood before anyone else, and had not hated him for any of the innumerable mistakes he had made. Perhaps it was time he told her about the diadem? He hadn't before, but now...now that he knew it was a horcrux...it was best to tell her. Who else could he tell? By Severus' reaction, it seemed that Altair knew about them. For how long? Perhaps this was why he had to feign death, because the Dark Lord realized he knew. The Black Blood Book wasn't the real reason...the Dark Lord didn't even know about it because it had never been published.

Which meant that Altair had tried to get Hasan off his tracks.

It meant that Altair knew the Blood Book would serve as an adequate reason, while the true reason, the horcruxes would not be disturbed. Hasan wouldn't be able to pry if the case was closed. Hasan wasn't sure how to feel about this betrayal.

And then there were the visions...more than visions. He had been the snake. He had been Voldemort. Was this why Harry Potter was the Boy-Who-Lived? Because he could spy on the Dark Lord for a little price of pain?

Hasan shut his eyes, ran his nimble fingers down his auburn hair. So why, with everything he knew, did he want to return to Harry? Just Harry with black hair and emerald eyes...

:How are you, little one?: Tina hissed, winding around the back of the chair as a pretty blue snake.

:Confused. Unsure.: Hasan admitted. :Did you know Altair knew about horcruxes?:

:Horcruxesss? What are they?: Tina enquired. :Your father hassss never sspoken of them.:

:They are soul fragments locked in a container.: Hasan said. :Similar to how Lucius' memories are locked within me.: He shuddered and glanced towards the door that stood slightly ajar so that he could see if Altair was approaching.

:You have another'sss memoriesss? What a sstrange art you humansss practice. It iss sstrange becaussse you cannot experience the memory. You mussst watch it play out asss a witnesss.:

Hasan swallowed. As a witness. Yes, this described Lucius' memories, but not Voldemort's.

:And what if I experience the memory as it happens?: Hasan queried softly.

Tina flicked her forked tongue out to taste the air. She was orange.

:Then it isss not a memory, Hasssan.:

Hasan knew this, and yet his veins turned to ice. Not a memory. He knew this. So why was it suddenly so ominous?

"Hasan?" Altair called for the sitting room. "Hasan, where are you? Can I speak with you for a minute?"

Hasan exchanged glances with Tina.

:Good luck, little one.:

.oOo.

Hasan arrived in the sitting room with some trepidation. He saw his...father sitting stiffly in a large squishy armchair with an air of sadness. Hasan tensed. Was his father sad because he would regret what he was about to do? Were Hasan's memories to be obliviated right now? Today? As it had happened how many times before?

"Sit."

Hasan sat on the long couch, body turned slightly towards his father.

"What is it?" Hasan asked tonelessly, biting his lip.

"I was about to ask you the same thing." Altair turned towards him, brown eyes darkened by some unknown emotion.

"I don't know what you—" Hasan tried, making a fist at his side. His wand was in his pocket, but Altair's wand was on the arm of the chair...

"Have I done something to you?" Altair blurted with wide, desperate eyes.

"Pardon?" Hasan asked. What?

"You've been avoiding me all summer." Altair continued as if bruised. "Have I harmed you in any way?"

Memories were not harmful, but the emotional pain...oh, sod it all! He had enough of his logic! Altair couldn't find out. Self-preservation above all!

"No, I didn't mean to—" Hasan blushed. He had been worried for nothing.

"Please, Hasan. Don't lie to me. I know you're an Animagus!"

Wait, what? Hasan froze, mind whirring blankly. Did he just-? What-? Whatever he thought Altair was about to say was decidedly not this. He nearly sighed out with relief.

"When?" Hasan asked.

"Your aura. I noticed it last year, it has some red flecks in it."

"So you knew what I had done?"

"No, but I guessed." Altair admitted. "And Severus—"

"Severus told you?" Hasan asked aghast.

Altair laughed suddenly. "No, no he didn't. I just wanted to confirm that you got the potion from a viable source. Goodness knows the side effects of weird potions!"

Yeah, like you, Hasan thought.

"I'm sorry I haven't told you." Hasan said in what he hoped was a sincere voice. "But it's not exactly legal and I didn't want you to be angry at me for putting us at risk."

"Hasan, Hasan, Hasan...This is wonderful! It gives you more defense, more skills to work with!"

Defense...Just when Hasan was about to like the man again, he had to go and bring that up. That was all he was: protection for the memories...

"I'm glad you approve." Hasan said carefully. "May I be excused? I have to complete my Transfiguration homework."

"Of course, of course!" Altair waved him off, very much happy, and very much relieved himself. As Hasan walked away, Altair leaned back and sighed.

Yes, there had been red flecks in his son's aura, always. At first he never mentioned it, thinking them to be Lucius' memories, but then...Lucius was silver. He couldn't imagine what the flecks could mean, until he happened to see some scratch marks on the wood floors, and a paw print, forgotten, by the back door. It wasn't hard to put that and Hasan's frequent disappearances together- Hasan was an animagus...but something nagged at the back of his mind. He had seen red flecks before.

On the ring, the locket, the cup, and an unknown object in Hasan's bag...perhaps Hasan's flecks were only black? A deep orange perhaps? Too small, and therefore the color indistinguishable?

He pushed the idea out of his mind. In all honesty, he suspected that the memories he had implanted had affected the boy's aura, and this guilt made him shut out the idea. Altair sat there, staring at the white ceiling, and wondering when Severus would arrive with the potions.

.oOo.

Draco kept to himself mostly.

He would lock himself in his room and only come out to go to the loo or to grab something to eat from the kitchen. (Apparently Dobby had disappeared and all the other house-elves weren't too keen on volunteering.) And anyway, he didn't want a house-elf in his room. He knew the thing would spy on him and report back to his mother and father, who were quite frankly, worried sick about him.

How could he have stolen the diary? He lay on his back, eyes glossed over as his stared at the dark brown ceiling. The diary of Tom Riddle had been Voldemort's. He had been writing to Voldemort all this time...he felt the bile rise in this throat. The man his parents worshipped was a monster. A madman. And He had been inside of him.

Why had his father been entrusted with Voldemort's diary? How had Hasan gotten it? And why hadn't Hasan been possessed like he had?

Because Draco was weak.

Draco could not have hated himself more than right now. He remembered the events of his first year quite clearly. Quirrell had tried to steal the stone, no one the wiser that Quirrell was really Voldemort, or partly at least. Last year, his concern was mainly with Hasan, and though he was loath to admit it, Neville Longbottom. He had been so young last year...he had never fully connected the blood-drinking monster with the glorious Dark Lord...but now? How could he even think of serving the man that tried to suck out his life force? He had trusted Tom Riddle, and nearly died! How could that vile creature, that cunning diary, and the Dark Lord he had been raised to worship possibly be the same?

His head was pounding, vision spinning as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Draco? Dragon, dear?" Narcissa pleaded forlornly at the door. "It's been a week and..." She faltered. No one wanted this, but she couldn't hold Him off any longer. It would look suspicious and Draco would have no chance. No. This had to happen. She took a deep breath. "The Dark Lord will be coming in ten minutes."

Draco had expected the usual, come eat something, come watch a movie, come play chess, NOT the man who tried to kill you will be coming for a little visit! Draco shot off the bed, heart racing wildly, and blood draining from his head so that his vision was dotted in blackness and stars.

He stayed in that upright position, waiting for his vision to return to normal, his breath to even out. He was a Slytherin, he reminded himself. He would have to be calm and in control because anything less would be seen as weakness.

"Pardon?" he asked, wondering what Hasan would do in his position.

"Please Dragon..." don't make me say it again, Narcissa finished in her head. "Come out."

Draco bit his lip and smoothed down his flat hair. Ten minutes. That's all he had. Surely he wouldn't be killed over indirect treachery? It wasn't like he had actively worked to destroy the diary anyway...Still, he didn't want to die, and he didn't have enough time to master Occlumency...but he could try to clear his mind at least. That's what Uncle Sev always told him. Think! Clear your mind! White! White! No, maybe black? Think! Clear your mind!

"Dragon, honey?" a note of hysteria touched Narcissa's voice. She couldn't go through with this. It was all too much. Any longer and she would flee, taking Draco with her to one of her homes in France...

The door cracked open. Draco peered out, silver eyes dulled and determined. Narcissa swallowed uncomfortably, her tears and puffy eyes hidden beneath her glamour so that she looked the epitome of happiness.

"I'm alright. Thank you, mother." Draco said tonelessly. "Ten minutes you say?"

His mother nodded. "Draco?"

He looked at her, wondering why her voice seemed to falter despite her charming smile.

"Draco, I just want to warn you. I-I've not had the chance to bring you up to date seeing as we've wanted you to re-recover...but your Aunt and Uncle are back."

"My Aunt...Andromeda?"

"No, Draco. Your Aunt Bella...There was an Azkaban breakout." There was an odd metallic quality about her voice, but he couldn't pinpoint it. Did she resent her sister? Was that possible? He had always heard stories of how they had pranked Andromeda growing up. They had been best friends...but then, he had also heard stories of an older, more twisted Bellatrix. The type of Bellatrix who tortured Neville's parents into insanity. "-and I better tell you this too. The Dark Lord is in a sort of...transitional state. He doesn't look the way we remember him because of some magical experiments."

Draco quirked an eyebrow at her, his heart, making another revolution around a knotted trap. Something didn't fit. How could his mother be so cheerful when this was the same man who had tried to kill him before? He had thought that he was his mother's world, even more important than the Dark Lord. Had he been wrong? Was this another fanciful idea he had dreamed up as a child?

"Magical...experiments?" Draco echoed, wondering what it entailed.

"Yes." His mother fidgeted with her black robes. "It's best not to question it. Here." She proffered a bundled black cloak and waited for him to throw it over his shoulders. As he went to do the fastenings, she stepped forward and began to do it for him. Her hands shook, and Draco frowned.

.oOo.

Lucius paced the main room like a caged animal, hands twitching behind his back. The Dark Lord would arrive in less than a minute, and if the gods were ever merciful, Bellatrix would not be with him. The entire situation was so screwed up and twisted! Last week it had been simple enough to say they would carry out the plan, but now, Lucius was beginning to realize that there was never a good time to start. Draco had been possessed not more than a week ago! How would he feel? Betrayed? Upset? Perhaps he'd just commit suicide like Altair Castell supposedly had...

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Lucius released an audible sigh of relief as Draco and Narcissa entered the room. He studied his son, worry etched on every line of his face. Draco was wearing black, probably on Narcissa's recommendation, had his pale blond hair pulled back neatly, but not tied, and wore the dullest expression Lucius had ever seen. It eerily reminded him of Hasan, and perhaps that was who Draco was attempting to emulate now. Well, whatever worked best, because Draco was going to need all the help he could get.

"Don't be nervous." Narcissa soothed. "Just follow our lead and be respectful."

Respectful was right, but perhaps groveling was a better definition.

Just as the wards sent a tingle of magic through Lucius and Narcissa, the door on the other end of the room slid open...

A crackling of magical energy permeated the air, rubbing against Draco's cells in a way he didn't like. The Dark Lord entered with long strides, black robes swirling around his feet like an ominous fog. Draco's eyes trailed upwards, nearly shuddering at the harsh contrast between the handsome Tom Riddle and this...repulsive monster. The creature was barely four feet high with stretched papery skin and no nose whatsoever. Admittedly, the Dark Lord did look better than he had last week due to a potion Severus was brewing him, but for Draco, the contrast was startling.

Then something odd began to happen. A large green snake slithered from under the Dark Lord's cloak, heading straight for him. His mind's eye flashed the picture of the Basilisk, but this was just an ordinary little snake...nothing to worry about, right?

"My Lord!" Narcissa and Lucius exclaimed simultaneously, falling to their knees, black robes pooling around them. Draco hurried to imitate them, falling-albeit less gracefully-to the floor where his knees scraped the stone.

"My Lord!" he whispered, the sound steady but weak in the large room. The sound poisonous on his tongue.

The Dark Lord chuckled, stopping about a foot away from the kneeling family.

"You may rise, young Draco. You are not yet mine."

Narcissa stifled a gasp, eyes squeezing shut in horror. Not her Draco! Not her Draco! He could not mean to mark him now!

"But he wishes to be, my Lord!" Lucius interjected beseechingly from his position on the ground.

"Did I ask for you to speak, Lucius?" Voldemort snapped, whipping out his wand. The cruciatus was on the tip of his tongue, but he needed to speak to Draco first. Even he knew a thing or two about not attacking parents to gain willing cooperation, the key word here being willing. Draco got up slowly, trying his best to disguise his shaking, both arms clamped firmly to his sides.

"I wish to be yours, my Lord." Draco said quickly, hoping to save his father from blunder. His eyes were fixed on the floor and his limbs began to ache.

"Ah, but you have not yet proven yourself." Voldemort said softly. "This is why I have come today. I have a very special task for you, Draco. One that will please me very much."

The way the Dark Lord wrapped his tongue around the syllables, Draco was sure they both knew he didn't have any intention on pleasing, no more than staying alive.

"What is it, my Lord? How may I best serve you?" Draco pleaded, hoping he was laying it on thick. It was a bit like ice skating, better thick than thin...

The Dark Lord's magic rumbled in pleasure at the sound of another willing servant, but Draco's attention was partially captured by the giant green snake slithering closer and closer. Unlike the frail looking Dark Lord, the snake left nothing disguised. It had clearly powerful jaws, shining white fangs with venom dripping from the ends, and a heavy tail that thumped against the floor...Draco couldn't help the tremors running through him. It was too reminiscent of the Chamber. The cold stone floor, the snake...Voldemort.

"For now, I only wish to satisfy my curiosity." Voldemort said carefully, watching as Nagini began to circle the boy like prey. "My understanding is that you are very close to this...particular person."

Draco swallowed, keeping his eyes lowered. Person? What person? Blank! Think nothing! White! Black! Monochrome! But no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts wandered towards the stone, towards the chamber, towards Neville. Of course the Dark Lord wanted to learn more about the Boy-Who-Lived...but how could Draco bring himself to betray the one person who saved him time and time again?

"Neville Longbottom, my Lord?" he asked shakily, knees beginning to grow weak.

He was met by deafening silence.

Lucius sucked in his breath, Narcissa shook, her limbs already numb. He had spoken out of turn and even insinuated he knew the Dark Lord's motives. Two very dangerous things indeed. Suddenly, laughter filled the main room, a cold maniacal cackle that sounded of ringing chains.

"Longbottom? The Boy-Who-Lived?" the Dark Lord cried hysterically. "You seem to forget I taught him! No- the person I want is much more...competent."

Draco's blood ran cold. If not Neville then who was he to spy on? There was only one other person that had met the Dark Lord before. One person whom he was close to. Just one. He knew the name before it entered into existence, into the still air of Malfoy Manor.

"Hasan Castell."

Narcissa and Lucius automatically tensed, neither knowing what the other knew, but both knowing that this was probably the one person Draco would hesitate over. Did Fate hate them? Had one of them killed Merlin in a past life?

"You want me to spy on him, my Lord?" Draco squeaked, nearly quaking with fear.

"For now." Voldemort said, eyes blazing red. "I want you to learn his secrets. His friends. His family. The places he goes. The people he sees. I need you to tell me his weaknesses. In other words, everything."

Draco set his resolve.

"I will not disappoint, my Lord."

"I'm sure of it." Voldemort leered, but he wasn't looking at Draco, no, he was looking straight into Lucius' eyes, and then at Narcissa. "Because unlike at Hogwarts, Failure here is not tolerated."