Sinister

Two | Family Loyalty

WITH his usual mask of distaste, Draco Malfoy watched the Mudblood and her mother leave the bookshop. His stare lingered on Margot long after she'd vanished from view, half-expecting her to reappear at any moment just to flip him off.

He would have liked that.

Their short spar today had been a refreshing dose of normality after a long and dismal summer, and a secret part of him looked forward to what this school year would bring. Nothing brought Draco quite as much pleasure as seeing Margot Montgomery squirm.

"Young man, are you here to buy something?" The shopkeeper who remained gave Draco a pointed glance over his spectacles.

Draco curled his lip. "Mind your tone when you speak to me, you oaf. My father could put you out of business at a moment's notice if I were ever so inclined."

The shopkeeper's eyes widened by a fraction. He listened quietly as Draco relayed his order, bottom lip quivering. One of the benefits of being a Malfoy was that Draco could purchase his books ahead of time, ensuring he had the newest copies. It wasn't exactly standard, but he'd never witnessed anyone deny his father anything.

As he waited for the brainless worker to retrieve his shipment, his gaze fell on a sorry stack of books laid off to the side. The titles were familiar, but judging from the battered state of the binding, they were ancient copies. Had the Muggle-brain forgotten to take them?

"The girl who was here before me," Draco said when the worker returned, keeping his voice neutral and unbothered. "Are those her books?"

The worker followed his gaze. "Y-Yes. I believe she couldn't quite afford the whole set, so she left those here."

Why did that not surprise him? Margot reeked of secondhand clothes and food stamps. In another life, she might have even been a Weasley.

Draco tapped the counter with his ringed fingers, considering. "How much for the lot?"

...

THAT evening, Draco sat with his father and mother at their miles-long dining table, eating dinner in heavy silence. It was tradition to dine together the night before a new school year - one last family gathering before he boarded the Hogwarts Express and said goodbye until Christmas.

Malfoy tried to get out of it every year - inventing maladies and mishaps that might bar him from partaking in the Supper of Suffering - but it was always to no avail. He was his father's son, after all, and there were no tricks he could come up with that his father hadn't thought of first.

"Are you not hungry, dearie?" Narcissa asked, watching on as Draco poked absently at his lamb stew. The dining room - along with everything else in the Malfoy Manor - was dark and  cold. A massive chandelier glittered above them, casting ghoulish shadows across everyone's features.

"The boy's fine, Narcissa," Lucius said before Draco could reply. "He's merely looking forward to tomorrow. Isn't that right?"

His father sat at the head of the table, looking positively regal with his shoulder-length blond hair. His snake-head cane leaned against the arm of his chair, ready to be wielded at a moment's notice. Everyone always said Draco favored his father in looks, but he didn't think he would ever quite master that sort of commanding presence.

Draco mumbled, "Yes, Father."

Lucius paused to set down his fork and give him a meaningful look. "And you do remember what responsibilities you'll have once you arrive at Hogwarts? The plan we talked about?"

"Yes, Father."

"Good." Lucius offered his best interpretation of a smile, which was little more than a flash of teeth.

Narcissa cleared her throat and reached across the table to cup Draco's hands. Her palms were dry, lukewarm. "The Dark Lord will reward you for your loyalty, dearest. There's nothing to fear."

"You've seen him, then?" Draco asked, flicking his eyes up from his meal. "The Dark Lord - he's really returned?"

Narcissa and Lucius exchanged a pained glance. Draco noticed they'd shared a lot of those this past summer. There had been many times he'd ventured past his father's study and their fervent whispers drifted beneath the door like smoke.

He certainly wasn't daft. He knew they were involved in the World Cup attack. But the reality of Voldemort's return was only just starting to sink in, like serpent's venom.

"Listen, Draco . . ." Narcissa started to say. 

"No, let me." Lucius held up a hand to stop her and directed his full attention to his son. "It doesn't matter whether or not we've seen him. That part doesn't concern you. The only thing that matters is the task you've been entrusted with. Do you understand?"

Draco's throat bobbed. "Of course, Father."

"Have you given more thought to taking on the Dark Mark?" Narcissa asked quietly, after a few more dragging minutes of silence. 

The Dark Mark. The truest way for Draco to prove his loyalty to the cause, and to his family. His parents had broached the subject at the beginning of the summer, but he avoided talking about it as much as possible.

In the end, he knew he'd be branded whether he wanted to or not. It was his birthright. His destiny, if such a thing existed.

But all he said was, "I . . . I still have to think about it."

His father's stare burned a hole through him.

"Eventually, Draco, you will have to choose," Lucius said gravely. "Either you rise with us, as a family, or you take the plunge. Alone. I hope you will make the right decision."

Draco did, too.