Nox // Dramione

Contagious

Draco twisted his signet ring around his pinky, and watched as the Daily Prophet reporter set up their camera. His father was stiff in the chair next to him, long fingers curled below the snake head that topped his thin cane. Lucius' thumb rubbed at the release button, that would free his wand if pressed. The small indention was hardly visible, and Draco only knew where it was due to familiarity.

His father was nervous, and Draco couldn't blame him. There were whispers floating around the Pureblood circles that Death Eaters were taking a stand, once more. There had been an undercurrent of disquiet for a long while; grumblings that Purebloods were no longer respected, that jobs were given to Halfbloods and muggle borns instead of paying reverence to the well connected. Centuries of nepotism were being rewritten. The Purebloods could no longer depend on having a powerful father, but were required to build skillsets and minds of their own. Draco had been lucky, in some ways, that his parent's expectations were high when it came to his grades, and practice; while many others of his same pedigree had been allowed to flounce about being pretty and stupid.

Draco had been on the receiving end of long sessions of torture, once Bellatrix had broken out of Azkaban. She had viewed him not only as the Malfoy heir, but as her blooded nephew of the Black line. He was meant to be perfect; the top of his class, the best in sports, a steadfast and coldhearted Death Eater that wanted nothing more than to serve Voldemort and honor his family's name with prestige and glory.

Those moments had both broken him and instilled in him not just a desire but an obligation to prove himself. While Crabbe and Goyle were happy to slough off any responsibility, Draco had pored himself into his studies. He'd read book after book, long into the night, perfecting every spell, charm, and hex that could help him overcome his Hogwarts competition.

It had never been good enough for Bellatrix.

However, in adulthood- Draco had mastered a large variety of magical skills that had allowed him to secure stability in his job.

These interrogations would cement the Malfoy's as anti-Death Eater; whereas Draco knew his father to try to hover on ambiguous lines until absolutely necessary. It was Lucius' way of doing his best to protect his family. Declaring his oath to the Ministry meant that he was showing his hand, far too early in the game.

The Minister had taken Draco's word, that the Malfoys would set a precedent, and now they would be headlining the papers with the interrogations, and what side they were choosing.

"Will you please roll up your sleeves?" The reporter was a greasy bastard, with finicky mannerisms.

"I don't see why that's necessary?" Lucius drawled, his gray eyes glowering at the man.

"Your uh... your Dark Marks?" The wizard squeaked out the last two words.

"Was that supposed to answer my question?" Lucius' tone remained stoic, and unyielding.

"We're marking an important day in history, Lucius," Kingsley Shacklebolt spoke from the other side of the table. He was perched in his favored purple armchair.

Draco set his jaw as he looked over the interrogation team. Shacklebolt, Potter, Weasley, and a member of the Wizengamot were proceeding over the Ministry's questions.

Ron Weasley had the typical look of disdain on his face, but he wasn't trying to drag Hermione's name through the gutter. Draco wasn't sure if that was because he had seen the newspaper article about Helaena, or simply because his job was toeing the line with Shacklebolt in the room.

Draco watched as his father splayed out his left arm; with quick, precise movements, he unbuttoned and rolled his sleeve up, to reveal his forearm. The black tattoo glared out of his father's pale skin, as sharp and evil as the day it had been cursed into his skin.