When the letter eventually came, Draco had the good fortune to receive it while Harry was in the shower.  He gave the owl a small treat and watched it fly off, still holding the little folded piece of parchment with the large green Malfoy family seal on it.  He knew what it would say.  His mother had never written him before during the summer, so logically…

The water turned off and he quickly shoved the letter under his pillow, then thought better of it and put it down the front of pyjama pants instead, making sure that his shirt covered it.  Harry came out a moment later, towel wrapped around his waist and his hair mussed in every which direction.  “Go on.”

Draco hurried into the bathroom, closing the door quickly before taking out the letter and looking at it again.  It felt overly heavy.  Reaching over the bathing tub, he turned on the water and let it fill while he opened it.  A little dingy coin fell out and Draco scoffed.  A portkey, of course.

The contents of the letter itself were simple enough.  The portkey would activate at midnight and Draco was expected to come with it.  No words of wisdom, no wishes for good luck, but then his mother had to know that none of that would do any good.

Taking his wand out of his sleeve, he incinerated the letter and set the coin on the counter, next to his wand.  The water was hot and Draco sat in it, watching his fair skin turn bright pink.  He’d have to go.  If he didn’t, his mother could get hurt and he would be a target.  He just had to make sure that Harry was sound asleep by midnight.

He bathed and dressed as quickly as he could, taking to dispose of the ashes of the letter so that Harry wouldn’t question it.  The day went normally, too normally, actually.  Draco kept expecting something to happen, he thought that Harry would see how jumpy he was and start asking questions, but instead they went flying and Harry was all laughter and smiles.  When they were done flying, Harry took him to the kitchens and they ate something called a corndog, which was a thick sausage, wrapped in yellow breath and dipped in mustard.  Draco’s stomach was too knotted to eat much of anything, but Harry took it as a sign that Draco simply didn’t like the food and promised to let him choose dinner.

They’d gone to the library for something, Draco hadn’t been paying enough attention to know what, and ended up having sex.  Not that he was complaining.  He’d secretly had a plan to shag Harry in every room of Hogwarts and they hadn’t done the library yet.  Still, he’d been distracted, but Harry hadn’t noticed, not that he noticed much of anything when his cock was being sucked.

For dinner Draco had made the house elves bring a simple dish, made with regular beef and rare mushrooms that could only be harvested on the full moon in certain deep forests around the world.  They tasted earthy and rich, but most importantly, they were known for making people groggy, especially the first few times they ate it.  Draco had stashed a pepper up potion in the pocket of his clock in the wardrobe.

Every minute ticked by slower than the one before it.  Harry had fallen asleep almost as soon as they’d lay down, flopped on his stomach with his arms tucked in around him.  It was only ten.  What was he supposed to do for two hours?  He took the coin out and fingered it absently.

Finally deciding that he couldn’t just lie there, he got up quietly, making sure that he didn’t shift the bed overly much.  Harry mumbled a little, but didn’t wake up, or even move.  The next task was getting his cloak out.  He opened the door, turning the little knob and holding it until after it was closed.  Taking one final look at Harry, he grabbed his clothes off the trunk and slipped out the door, leaving it open as he crept down the stairs.

Two minutes to midnight.

One minute to midnight.

Draco grasped the portkey in his closed hand and stared out the window on McGonagall’s Tower.  He wasn’t sure he could do this.  He wasn’t even sure what this was.  He knew it was to do with Voldemort.  He didn’t know if he would be permitted to come back to Hogwarts, or if he’d be able to once he had the mark.  Surely, Dumbledore would know the minute a Death Eater stepped into his school.

Something grabbed onto his navel and the floor dropped out from under him.  He grasped and closed his eyes, but it wasn’t long before his knees suddenly collided with a stone floor.   He managed to grit his teeth against a cry of pain, remembering what his father had said, ‘Pain is a weakness, and a Malfoy never shows weakness’.

He opened his eyes, taking deep breaths against the nausea that always accompanied that particular form of travel.  In front of him, Voldemort sat on his moth-eaten throne and around him, stood five Death Eaters with their masks firmly in place, though he thought he saw a few strands of pale blonde hair beneath one of them.  Was it his mother?  He thought it was too long to be his father, but then his father was in Azkaban, he couldn’t possibly be there.

“Draco Malfoy, I am pleased that you decided to come.”

Draco forced himself up into a kneeling position and bowed his head respectfully, though it was mostly to hide his disgust.  “There was no decision to be made, my lord, I am yours.”

He wasn’t, he was Harry’s, but that didn’t matter, mostly because right now he really didn’t want to die.  Voldemort chuckled.  “It pleases me to hear you say that.  Tell me, how are your plans for Harry Potter going?”

“Well.”  He didn’t want to elaborate.  He was afraid that he would say the wrong word or that the tenor of his voice when he spoke would give away his true feelings.

“Look at me, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco looked up and locked eyes with Voldemort, knowing what was coming, but still not knowing how to avoid it.  Something slithered into his mind and images of Harry slipped around before his eyes.   Harry laughing on a broom, staying just out of his reach; Harry sitting at the table first thing in the morning, his eyes half lidded; Harry pressing him against a table, snaking a hand under his shirt, pressing his warm fingers to Draco’s abdomen, panting in his ears…

It broke off suddenly and Draco closed his eyes instinctively, looking down and away.  He felt violated, but he couldn’t give that away, not now.  With a deep breath, he looked back up, meeting Voldemort’s eyes again, but the assault did not resume.  Voldemort was smiling at him, clearly pleased with what he had seen.

“It appears your son is a very talented young man.  You should be proud, Lucius.”  Draco whipped his head around just in time to see one of the Death Eaters dip his head respectfully.  When had he gotten out?  Had he been released?   That couldn’t be it.  If his father had been released from Azkaban and all charged dropped there would have been something in the prophet, but wouldn’t there have been some sort of news if there had been a break out, as well?  “Although, you may wish to consider having another heir to secure the family line.”

Draco’s cheeks went hot and he did look away again.  His father couldn’t know.  He hated the man, but for some reason, he still wanted his approval, he still wanted his father to be proud of him.

“Draco.”  His head snapped up, looking at Voldemort again.  God, why did that thing have to be so absolutely hideous?  “I have had your father removed from Azkaban and do you know why?”  Draco bit the inside of his cheek, “because you will not be receiving the mark.  I have decided that you shall continue to serve me in the capacity that you are now.  Having someone that close to Potter will be a great asset to me and it will also help you in your next task.”

“Task?”

“Yes, I can’t mark you without alerting young Mr. Potter to your loyalties, but I can charge you with a task and if you fail, I will consider you a traitor, Mr. Malfoy, and will dispose of you as I see fit.”

Draco could hardly force breath into his lungs, but he somehow managed to speak.  “How can I serve you, my lord?”