Unbound

chapter eleven.

Draco found days that ended in nights with a full moon were always a fuck up, to put it gently. It all truly started going downhill when he was called into an emergency meeting at 3:26 in the morning, but that didn't mean the rest of his night had been peaceful.

Sleep truly was Draco's least favorite time of day, it was hard and uncomfortable and never really worked. He thought maybe with being an asset to the Order that he would be so worn out, so used, that he'd be begging to be in bed at the end of a day. Yet that was far from the truth. He hadn't been given much more to do for the Order than he was already doing for the Dark Lord. Really, the only difference was training himself to memorize information until he was able to conjure a scroll and quill and training Granger in Occlumency.

That second change in his daily routine is usually where he found his mind running off to.

So when he was called with a searing pain on his left forearm in the early hours of the morning, he found his mind running in circles, tripping over the thoughts of a captured Granger awaiting him in a cage with Nagini swirling around the bars. It was a horrifying thought and thankfully, far from the truth.

When Draco arrived in the entrance hall of Dolohov Manor like he had done so many times before, he found it surprisingly empty and he allowed himself to breathe only momentarily before taking off his Death Eater mask and squeezing it tightly in his right hand. Haunting curiosity replaced the fear in his throat that only subsided with every step he heard himself take but if they hadn't caught Granger he knew the summon was something of importance and needed higher officials opinions. His stomach lurched at the thought of the army finding something they shouldn't have.

Draco slowed his breathing as he let his cold facade slide into place along with the walls in his mind. It was too early in the morning to let his mind wander too far into other things when the Dark Lord felt it necessary to call a meeting at such hours. He found himself in the east wing entering the tea room that had lost any of its fond warmer toned decor, replaced with cold and emotionless dread that entered your very soul the moment you walked in. It wasn't as volatile as the main ballroom which was saying something - this room was much smaller and the cold, stagnant energy still remained in a very apparent thick layer.

Upon stepping into the room, all eyes landed on him. Although he had been out of his room in three minutes flat, he had still been the last one there. Voldemort sat in the head chair with four others surrounding him at the small round table in the middle of the room. Draco clenched his jaw and lifted his chin waiting for someone to say something and when nothing came, he opened his mouth.

"You called, Lord?"

A smile spread out upon his lips at being addressed in such a way. "Sit, my boy, we have much to discuss."

Draco sat down in a wooden chair across from the Dark Lord and next to Dolohov and Mulciber. His eyes landed on Severus who sat beside Voldemort and looked down at the table rather than meeting Draco's eye. There was silence for a moment and in those few seconds, Draco shut the locks on his walls and pushed hard from the inside out to test the durability.

They didn't fall.

Draco thanks every star above him for it, he didn't know how he'd handle this conversation if he hadn't started putting his walls down before. He rarely got nervous around the Dark Lord, he was secure in his position as well as his missions and general importance to the Dark Side of the war, so he truly didn't have much to worry about yet he still found his heart beating faster than usual.

If he died tonight, he hoped it would be quick and easy - he knew the Dark Lord had tortuous tendencies.

"I have been hearing whispers of a safe house in Caithness that holds rebel children," the Dark Lord started. Draco caught himself and let his breath out slowly, thanking his mother for his continuing heartbeat in the face of potential demise.