What If? - Drarry

Chapter Eight

Draco's heart sank as he alighted on platform nine and three-quarters to see that his mother wasn't there. His father, however, was very much present. Draco had practically sensed him before he saw him - sensing the nervous energy in the crowd that subconsciously flitted around the tall, ominous figure. Draco walked towards him with Manimi's cage in one hand, and his trunk in the other, every fibre in his body aching to turn tail and run as far away as he could. However, he set his face into a blank mask and forced his legs to just keep moving, concentrating on not letting his hands shake too much.

"Draco." His father stated. "Come."

Without any further talk, they left the station. A black Aston Martin was waiting for them outside, along with a white-gloved chauffeur who took Draco's luggage - and Manimi, to his dismay - and placed them in the boot of the car. As if the beautiful classical car wasn't enough on its own, the inside was magically expanded to give enough room for more than ten people to sit comfortably. Lucius sat a little away from Draco and said nothing to him for the entirety of the drive. When they arrived at the manor, he told the chauffeur to give Draco's luggage - and Manimi - to a house elf to be brought to Draco's quarters.

"And you, Draco, will come with me."

Draco was surprised when they didn't appear to be going to his father's study, but instead to the meeting room - a large, cold room with a long table that Lucius used when he needed to talk business with large groups of people. Draco swallowed, and, guessing that he couldn't really make his situation much worse anyway, got up the courage to ask;

"Father, why are we going to the meeting room?"

Lucius looked at Draco. "The Dark Lord wishes to speak with you."

Draco's eyes widened and his heart began to beat sickeningly hard.

"And Draco," Lucius continued, "I expect you to come to my office afterwards. We still have matters to see to."

Draco wanted to cry - he almost did, but swallowed the tears down and took a shaky breath. He was going to talk to the Dark Lord himself, going to meet the man - if he could be called a man - who had tried to kill Harry not once, but four times. And as if that wasn't bad enough, his father was going to torture him directly afterwards.

Too soon, they arrived at the meeting room. Lucius reached over Draco, cornering him, and tapped on the door.

"Yes?"

Draco winced. The voice sent shivers down his spine. Over his head, Lucius spoke.

"My Lord, I have Draco for you as you wished."

The door opened of its own accord, and Lucius put a hand on Draco's back in a sickening mock-fatherly touch, pushing him in. The cold, high voice snaked through his mind.

"Ah, Draco. How pleased I am to finally meet you."

0o0o

The Christmas dinner was completely surreal. Maybe that was just because Draco hadn't eaten in five days. On his left was his aunt, Bellatrix, who was gulping food like a famished wolf and cackling loudly at something one of the other Death Eaters had said. On his right, his mother squeezed his hand under the table. Her fingers were ice cold, just like his own always were. Manimi was with him, of course, coiled in his lap and keeping a low profile from Nagini, who clearly scared the life out of her. They were surrounded on all sides by death eaters - though some were absent, as they were having their Christmas dinner with family - and most disconcerting of all, the Dark Lord sat at the head of the long table, watching them all enjoy the beautifully prepared food with the cold eyes of death himself. Draco had never seen him eat or drink. He stared at the beautifully prepared food and felt giddy with hunger.

After his meeting with the Dark Lord, Draco had suffered one of the worst experiences of his life in his father's study. It had been especially bad because, as well as causing him physical pain, Lucius had used a spell that Draco had never even heard of before - induceros terrores. It made Draco relive the worst moments of his life as though they were happening again. Over and over, he had been slashed with his father's knife, and it had felt real, even though it had been nothing but a convulsion of his mind. Again and again, Harry's words had pierced his heart. A Malfoy is all you are to me now.

After it was finally over, he had been informed that he wouldn't eat until his father said he could, which could be anytime from the next day to the next week, or longer. It wasn't the first time his father had starved him as punishment, but to be doing it over Christmas...

He thought about Harry. He couldn't help it anymore - not when his brain was so exhausted. Mentally, he thanked his godfather for teaching him occlumency, and sank into the only refuge he had - memory.