Chapter 81: For Draco's Sake
Severus Snape.
The name hung in the air of Malfoy Manor's drawing-room like a foul odor. To the gathered Death Eaters, it was a symbol of betrayal and comfortable survival while they had suffered. If not for the Dark Lord's clear, inexplicable fondness for the man, many of them would have tried to kill Snape the moment he reappeared. In their eyes, he was the first to crawl to Dumbledore for protection after their master's fall, living a safe, soft life as they were hunted or tortured in Azkaban.
Their resentment was a palpable force, but none dared voice it—except one.
"Master," Bellatrix Lestrange hissed, her eyes burning with a fervent, possessive fire as she glared at Snape's cloaked form. "I beg you to be cautious with Severus. Do not trust him too deeply. I know his nature better than most." Her voice was a mix of pleading and venom.
The Dark Lord's hand, which had been gently stroking Nagini, paused. The air grew colder. Bellatrix, despite her privileged madness, felt a sliver of primal fear and fell silent. She knew her limits. For anyone else, such an insinuation would have meant a flash of green light.
"Bellatrix, my loyal one," the Dark Lord said, his voice a soft, chilling whisper. "Your devotion is beyond question. But so is my understanding of Severus. His position was a necessity, a deep cover to await my return. His loyalty to me has never wavered. Do not question my judgment again."
It was not a request. The finality in his tone silenced all dissent. The assembled Death Eaters stood in stiff, quiet submission, the only sound their own careful breathing.
"With the Order now alert, our direct actions must become more subtle," the Dark Lord continued, rising from his throne-like chair. His bare, bone-white feet made soft, unsettling sounds on the stone floor. "But other opportunities present themselves. For now, attend to your tasks."
With Nagini slithering beside him, he swept from the room, leaving a vacuum of tension in his wake.
The moment he was gone, the silent fury found a new target. Bellatrix whirled on Lucius Malfoy, her lip curled in a sneer. "Well, well, Lucius. I'm surprised the Master let you keep your skin. What use does he have for a failure who lets a schoolboy slaughter his comrades?"
Lucius's face, already pale, tightened. His silver-handled wand was in his hand in an instant. "Mind your tongue, Bellatrix. You owe your freedom from Azkaban to our resources and planning. Show some gratitude, or are the Dementors still rattling in your hollow head?"
Narcissa Malfoy stepped closer to her husband, her own wand subtly raised. Her voice was cold as ice. "Yes, Bellatrix. You should be on your knees thanking us, not spewing your madness here. Perhaps the Dementors did more damage than we thought."
Crack.
The sound of Bellatrix's knuckles tightening on her own wand was sharp in the quiet room. For a moment, it seemed curses would fly. The other Death Eaters watched with cold, detached interest, making no move to intervene.
Then, Bellatrix let out a wild, screeching laugh. "Hah! Look at you! So scared! Lucius, you're trembling! You're not even as brave as your wife, you pathetic worm!" Her mad eyes bored into him.
Lucius's arm tensed, but Narcissa's hand closed over his wrist, a silent, desperate plea in her eyes. Not here. Not now.
"Tsk. Boring," Bellatrix spat, seeing she wouldn't get her fight. She shoved her wand back into her robes with a jerky motion. "Go cower with your wife, Lucius. You're good at that." With a final contemptuous look, she stalked from the hall.
The other Death Eaters, seeing the spectacle was over, melted away into the shadows without a word.
When they were alone, the fierce mask on Narcissa's face crumbled into deep worry. She kept her hold on Lucius's arm. "Don't provoke her, Lucius. She is utterly unhinged. We must think of Draco."
At the mention of their son, Lucius's anger bled away into a colder, more profound fear. He lowered his wand, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Narcissa… I am no longer certain. Of anything. That boy, Throne… the magic he used… I have never seen or heard of its like. It was… structured, but alien. And the power…" He shuddered, the memory of the crimson-cloaked figures and silent, brutal deaths still fresh.
Narcissa nodded slowly, her elegant features drawn. "I feel it too, Lucius. A… coldness in my heart. A doubt. The Dark Lord is powerful, yes. But this Elian Throne… he is an unknown. A variable that does not obey the old rules." She looked around the empty, opulent, and grim hall, then back at her husband. "Our priority cannot be the Master's glory. Not anymore."
Lucius met her gaze, seeing his own terrible thoughts reflected there. For years, their loyalty had been tied to pure-blood ideology, fear, and ambition. Now, it was pared down to one single, driving force.
He took her hand, his voice dropping to the barest whisper. "For Draco."
Narcissa squeezed his fingers, her eyes hard with maternal resolve. "For Draco."
Far away in the Slytherin common room, Draco Malfoy had no idea his parents had just skirted a deadly duel for his sake. He lounged in a high-backed chair by the greenish fire, holding court.
"Crabbe, Goyle, you'll both come to the Manor for the holidays. Your fathers will be there," he declared, as if bestowing a great favour.
Crabbe and Goyle, their mouths full of pumpkin pasty, grunted in acknowledgment.
Draco watched them eat with familiar disdain. All brawn, no brain. Useful, but so dull.
"Draco," said Pansy Parkinson, simpering at his side, "is it true there will be… company at the Manor this year? Important company?"
Draco allowed a smug, knowing smile. "Perhaps. Father says the social calendar is always full during the holidays. It'll be a relief to be somewhere… civilised." He cast a scornful look around the stone dungeon, though it was lined with rich tapestries and silver. "Away from the mudblood stench and blood traitors. And finally, some proper service. Hogwarts is utterly lacking in decent house-elves."
A chorus of agreement rose from the gathered Slytherins—complaints about the food, the company, the lack of luxury. Draco basked in it, the centre of attention. The holidays meant a return to his rightful place, to a world where the Malfoy name still commanded respect and fear. He felt a thrill of anticipation. Let Potter and his freakish friend Throne skulk around their muggle hovels. He would be in a mansion, at the heart of the real wizarding world's power.
He had no inkling that the foundation of that world, in his own home, was cracking under the weight of a new, terrifying fear, borne out of love for him.
(End of Chapter)
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