What if He had a Choice?

69

The next morning brought exactly what Tom had predicted, much to Draco's immense irritation.

Walking into the Great Hall felt less like entering a dining area and more like walking onto a stage where everyone knew his lines but him. The whispers didn't stop when he entered; they just changed pitch. He could feel the heavy, suffocating weight of stares—not the fearful, respectful ones he was used to as the Malfoy Heir, but something cloying and wet. Pity.

He saw Granger whisper something to Potter, who looked at Draco with big, stupid, green doe-eyes that made Draco want to hex him into oblivion. Even Longbottom looked sympathetic. It was nauseating.

"Ignore them," Tom's voice was a cool balm against the heat rising in Draco's neck. A hand settled on the small of his back, guiding him firmly toward the Slytherin table. "Remember what we discussed? Let them look. Let them think you are a victim. It shields you."

Draco gritted his teeth, sliding onto the bench. "It shields me by making me look weak," he hissed under his breath, stabbing a sausage with more force than necessary.

"It makes you look human to them," Tom corrected, pouring himself a cup of tea with elegant, unbothered movements. "And humans are forgiven for their transgressions far more easily than monsters. If they think you are a product of a cruel environment, they will hesitate to punish you when you inevitably lash out. They will blame the father, not the son."

Tom took a sip, his dark eyes gleaming over the rim of the cup. "It is a tactical advantage, Draco. Do not squander it because of your pride."

Draco sighed, the fight draining out of him as it always did when Tom explained things. It made sense. It was just... humiliating. But he fingered the silver choker hidden beneath his collar, feeling the hum of Tom's magic against his pulse, and found his center. He wasn't alone in this.

As the owl post swarmed in, a sleek eagle owl—not one from the Manor—dropped a small, velvet-wrapped package onto Draco's empty plate.

Draco's breath hitched. He snatched it up before it could touch the table.

"Is that it?" Tom asked, the amusement in his voice evident.

"Yes," Draco whispered, his earlier foul mood evaporating instantly. He looked at Tom, eager and a little shy. "I... I ordered it express from a jeweler in Paris. I didn't want to wait."

"Well?" Tom tilted his head, a challenge in his eyes. "Are you going to make me wait, or shall we go infuse it?"

Draco didn't even look at his breakfast. He stood up immediately. "We're going."

--

The Room of Requirement provided them with a small, ceremonial table this time, draped in black velvet.

Draco's hands trembled slightly as he unwrapped the package. Inside lay a bracelet of braided white gold, delicate but strong. Embedded in the center was a small, uncut piece of Serpentine—a stone known for protection and grounding.

"It's... simple," Draco mumbled, suddenly worried it wasn't enough compared to the goblin-wrought silver choker Tom had given him. "But white gold conducts magic better for... for what I wanted."

"It is perfect," Tom said, and his voice was devoid of mockery. He held out his left wrist. "Do it."

Draco swallowed, nervous fingers shakily clasped the bracelet onto Tom's wrist. "Good," He purred softly. His other hand gripped Draco's keeping it over the metal. "Now, repeat...And let the magic surge." Draco dutifully did as he was commanded. He felt the pull immediately as his magic flowed out of him and into the bracelet. It was exhausting, dizzying, but Tom stepped closer, his hand moving to cup Draco's cheek, grounding him.

"Push," Tom commanded softly. "Give it to me, Draco. All of it."

Draco let go. He poured his worry about his father, his fear of the Ministry, his adoration for Tom—he pushed it all into the metal until the white gold hummed and turned warm to the touch.

With a final gasp, Draco cut the connection, stumbling forward. Tom caught him easily, one arm wrapping around his waist to hold him upright.

With his other hand, Tom picked up the bracelet. He slipped it onto his own wrist, the clasp clicking shut with a sound that seemed to echo in the quiet room.

"There," Tom murmured, holding his wrist up to inspect it. The Serpentine glowed faintly for a moment before settling. "Now I carry you with me."

Draco looked at it—his magic, sitting on the Dark Lord's wrist. It was possessive. It was permanent.

"Does it..." Draco swallowed, steadying himself. "Does it work?"

Tom smirked, his eyes flashing red for a split second. "I can feel your heartbeat, my dove. It is... racing."

Before Draco could respond, Tom leaned down, pressing a kiss to Draco's forehead.

"And regarding your other worry," Tom said against his skin. "I received a missive this morning. It seems Lucius has made a very generous donation to the St. Mungo's Janus Thickey Ward. A donation large enough that the Ministry has decided an investigation into the Malfoy family affairs would be... 'counter-productive' at this time."

Draco went limp in Tom's hold, the relief crashing over him like a wave. "He bought them off."

"He played the game," Tom corrected. "Just as I told you he would. You see? There was nothing to fear."

Draco nodded against Tom's chest, closing his eyes. His father was safe. He was safe. And Tom... Tom was wearing his magic.

"Thank you, My Lord," Draco whispered.

"You are welcome," Tom replied, his fingers toying with the chain around Draco's neck. "Now, I believe you have a class to get to. And I expect you to look terrified when Potter looks at you. Can you manage that?"

Draco pulled back, a genuine, sharp Malfoy smirk finally gracing his face.

"I think I can manage a flinch or two," Draco drawled.

"That's my boy," Tom praised, steering him toward the door.