“The plan is heading to a good start my Lord,” Snape said to Voldemort, unnaturally calm.

Voldemort and his Death Eaters were in the Malfoy Manor. The dining room had been made slightly larger, for it was already quite enormous, with its shiny black marble floor, and dark emerald green silk curtains which covered ancient looking windows. They reached from half the wall down to the floor A twelve foot long marble glass dining table with elegant chairs were the only furniture in the grand room that had been removed; they were replaced, temporarily, by an elevated platform with simple, yet sophisticatedly passable, chairs and a throne at the end of the elevated flooring. Of course, there the Dark Lord slightly slumped, with his hood over his snake-like appearance, his head being supported faintly by his hand.

Good, very good indeed.
“They had better be,” said Voldemort coldly.

He was growing impatient at the fact that his Death Eaters were taking so long in accomplishing something so simple. Yet what he didn’t know was that the girl and the other two were being protected immensely. Not only by the Ministry of Magic (but only for about two more days, maybe even less), by the Order of the Phoenix, and by the school’s enchantments.

“Draco,” Voldemort said, almost in a whisper.

The Slytherin boy, whose face was more pale and more sickened looking than ever, forced himself to look up at his master, and in a hoarse( because he had been keeping to himself in silence for days) frightened sort of way he replied:

“Yes, my Lord?”
“You have nearly failed me once. I hope that you will not repeat yourself twice, or you will be punished twice as much from what and your family experienced last time, just because you showed weakness, softness. What do you have to say for yourself?”

But Draco wouldn’t find the words to say. He couldn’t even think right, and even less with those red malicious, evil eyes looking straight at him. Without bringing any attention from Lord Voldemort, he could feel his mother’s pale blue eyes on him, and her effort to try and draw her slim, frail looking hand closer to his, which looked like hers except his were larger. And even though he tried to think of something to say, he couldn’t.

“I see…You disappoint me, Draco. I thought for sure that you, unlike your father, would have something to say. But I can see that speechlessness and weakness runs in your family,” Voldemort said with a hint of repulsion. Bellatrix, who was sitting only three chairs away from her master, gasped in shock: She was also part of Draco’s family, and she didn’t think she was weak at all. Finally mustering words to reply back to Voldemort and trying to hide the fear from his voice, Draco said:

“Master, I will not disappoint you again.”

Only Draco hoped that what he was saying was fact, not only for his sake but also for his parents. Well, at least his mothers’. As for his fathers’ he didn’t really care, because if it weren’t for Lucius not retrieving the prophecy for Voldemort no one in his family would be in this position. This was the fact that Voldemort didn’t really trust them anymore, and that the other Death Eaters favored by Voldemort saw Draco’s family somewhat lower than them.

“I know you won’t, or else,” Voldemort said making Narcissa shudder almost unnoticeably and making tears run down her slim pale bony cheeks.


“You say you know the girl well?” continued Voldemort.

“Yes, I have watched her since school began.”

“Then you know what she usually does on a daily basis to do what you must?”
“Of course my Lord,” Draco finished with a small nod of his head.

“Well then, as for this pest,” Voldemort said, indicating to a figure that looked like an unconscious woman, who was rotating upside down in midair in the middle of the platform.

“The Malfoys should keep it in the basement in cell, in case the girl is unable to be controlled once she is cornered, my Lord,” suggested Snape, who was sitting in the very first seat next to Voldemort’s right.

“Do not order my family around in my own house, Snape.” These words had come out of Lucius Malfoy before he could even stop himself from saying them. And what a horrible mistake it was. Narcissa grabbed his left wrist tightly and looked at him, absolutely horrified, even before Lucius started to scream and jerk in utter pain.

“How dare you speak without my permission?” Voldemort asked, rising is voice slightly (which made everybody sit up rigidly straighter). Pointing his wand at Lucius, Voldemort had ceased the screaming. Lucius was trying to sit up as rigidly as the others, panting.

“Have you not learned anything in the last months?” Voldemort said. “And yes you shall keep it in your cells until the girl is captured,” he continued lowering his wand and making Snape look a bit proud of himself.

“I shall take it,” said Bellatrix, leaning forward to rise, becoming jealous of her master’s approval of another one’s suggestion. “No, let the son do it,” her master replied lazily pointing a finger Draco’s way.

At this Bellatrix looked straight at Draco so fast that if anyone else would have done it they would have snapped their neck. Frustration boiling in her gut as she tried controlled herself, so to not curse Draco square in the face. All eyes were on him as he stood, and with a swish of his wand he made the figure followed him into the hallway, past the huge sitting room, into another long hallway, through a self opening door, and down a flight of stairs. He dropped the woman in the last of the cells, closed the cell door and walked back and entered the kitchen where he placed himself in a chair that was beside a small table for-two, almost fainting from lack of rest, and food.

Relax.

He was angry with himself for being so scared. If it weren’t for his mother whispering to him the charm before he rose from beside her, he would have been f[censored]. Even though he didn’t show it he did care for her. And he was relieved that Voldemort asked him to do the deed, because that way he could get away from the room that was being held for an occasion he hated attending.

So after taking a few deep breaths, he stabilized himself enough to call Ella, the house elf.

“Ella,” he called in a low voice

Crack.

“Master called El- Oh gosh Master Draco!” she gasped in a sort of squeaky yet gentle voice.

Malfoy was almost falling off the chair, looking almost gray because of how pale he looked, moaning. Since the day had gone to Knockturn Alley and brushed up against what looked like an ancient jewelry box in a bar, he had felt strange, sick. He had no energy, or appetite. And the worst part was that he couldn’t tell anybody at home because then they would act suspicious, asking questions, which he didn’t want happening. He couldn’t even ask Madam Pomfrey, in fear that she too would act in a suspicious way. He would rack his brain trying to remember who the familiar man was that put that the box there. He remembered the day clearly:

It was cloudy and thundering, and he went to the bar to get something from an acquaintance of his dad’s that owed Lucius a favor. The favor was “important information” that Lucius needed. As the guy started talking, he also started stuttering. Draco was getting frustrated and ignored the guy. He started looking around the bar when he noticed a man leaning on the bar table staring at him. He was tall, very skinny, an old looking fellow with long gray matted hair and a scar going from his the middle of his forehead to the left side of his long wrinkled neck. The scared man took a last gulp from his drink, called to the bartender, and started whispering to him. Apparently Lucius’s acquaintance didn’t seem to notice that Draco wasn’t paying him the slightest bit of attention, so he drew his attention back to the bar table. The men were still whispering to each other until, Draco noticed, the scar faced man took out a sack of what looked like to be Galleons and an ancient looking box. The bartender looked from the box, to the money then to Draco. Then the scar faced man leaned forward, grabbed the bartender by the shirt said something to him to making look frightened. And he took off.

Draco wanted to ask the bartender what all the talking was about so he told the stuttering acquaintance to shut-up and give him what he did to Draco, and so he did and walked, away looking embarrassed. What happened next to Draco was fuzzy. He knew that he went up to the bartender and asked him who the scar faced man was and why he gave him that box. The next thing Draco knew, he was walking out the door, angry, because the bartender was to much of a coward to tell him who the scar faced man was, and brushed up against the box that seemed to pop up out of nowhere, making everything slow down for a few seconds.

Ella hurried to the lowest kitchen cabinet near the sink, grabbed a clean cloth off the shelf, hopped up on the stool standing in front of the sink, wet an end of it, and ran to her deathly-looking master.

“Master… master what is wrong?” she whispered to him, dabbing his face with the cold, wet cloth. Even though she was about two feet tall, she could easily reach his face while he was leaning back, allowing her to freshen his skin. He had found her in an alley way in London asking wizards and witches that were passing by to take her in as their house elf. Noticing the elf’s pleading, he nonchalantly passed by her and when she asked him, he nearly nodded. She followed with her big, glassy, light purple eyes. He asked if she had a name, but without looking at her while they walked. She told him it was Ella, so he decided for her to keep it like that since it was simple. When they arrived at his house he gave her a small table cloth that she would make into a toga to replace the old one she’d had. Pity wasn’t why he took her; that would have been a miracle in the Malfoy family. But because he needed an assistant to do his bidding when he couldn’t sneak out of Hogwarts, and of course to care for him if anything happened. But since she was a house elf, she did more than that. She cooked for the family, cleaned, did the laundry, and tended to the other members of the family (and only the family unless Draco told her otherwise) when they wanted her assistance.

“Nothing… Water…need water…” he whispered back to her, as if it where his last breath. She hurried to the sink again took a cup from the top left cabinet, and poured Draco water. She placed it in his hand as he indicated to her in silence as she walked back to him. He drank nonstop until it was all gone. He was glad, nonetheless, that Ella was here to care for him.

“Help me to my room, Ella,” he said to her quietly. Due to his dizziness he stood with great effort and grabbed her right shoulder for guidance.

When they got to his room, which to him felt like a lifetime journey, he fell on his bed in a sitting position. Ella helped him take off his robes, took his shoes and socks off, closed the curtain on the only window that wasn’t hiding, and left the room, after she made sure that Draco wasn’t going to ask her anything else, and went down stairs again to the kitchen where she saw her Mistress (Narcissa), crying at the small table. All the Death Eaters and Voldemort were long gone by then, except for herself and Bellatrix. Ella dared not to ask her why she was crying, but merely comforted her, and made her some tea, which she drank at her own will. Narcissa sipped it in silence, staring into space.

“Ella, where is my son?” she whispered with streams of tears running down her face.

She hesitated, not knowing if her master would want her to tell his mother where indeed he was, then replied:

“Master is in his room, Mistress.”

“Very well,” she said, stared for a few more seconds and then said politely,
“Ella, assist me to my room quickly”.

“As Mistress wishes.” The elf nodded. Then she took hold of Narcissa’s cold, bony hand, and Apparated in front of Draco’s parent’s room. Ella said good night to her Mistress and went to check on Draco, who was fast asleep, eagle spread, on his bed.