Chapter Text
In the Dining Hall of Malfoy Manor, opulence was expected. From the 15th Century walnut table, once owned by Charles VII (Muggle, but no one talked about that), to the crystal chandeliers, the marble flooring, and the 24-carat gold in the pillars. The words Malfoy and opulence had long since been synonymous with each other. Draco Malfoy had lived in the lap of luxury his whole life. He had never wanted for anything. Many said that made him spoiled. The word brat had been thrown at him for as long as he could remember. Draco wouldn’t deny it. He was entitled, spoiled, brattish to an extent, a proud son of a bitch, and fiercely possessive of that which he thought of as his. It was probably the reason seeing the Dark Lord swan about his house like he owned the place rubbed him the wrong way. Not that he would ever say anything, he wasn’t suicidal. Plus, having Death Eaters bandying about his house was doing nothing to calm his annoyance.
It had been almost a year, and the Dark Lord was still living in his house, as were the Azkaban escapees. Draco knew that he was going to be marked soon; he’d heard his father talking to the Dark Lord about it when they had returned from the Ministry. It had been the talk of Hogwarts. Bloody Saint Potter and his gaggle of Gryffindor fanatics bravely running to the Ministry, coming face to face with the Dark Lord himself and living to tell the tale. Draco wasn’t sure what was more shocking about the whole thing - the fact that Potter and all his little friends survived or that none of the Death Eaters had been caught. Draco had overheard his aunt and her husband talking about Potter after the whole thing. Talking about how Potter wasn’t what they expected, how he seemed to be amused the whole time, almost like he was enjoying himself. And the way he fought; it was like nothing they’d ever seen.
Whispers about Potter swept through the Death Eaters, never in front of the Dark Lord, of course. But there were many, like master duellist Bellatrix Lestrange herself, who were reluctantly impressed by the Gryffindor Golden Boy. Draco hated to say it, but he wasn’t surprised. Something about Potter was different since he came back from the graveyard at the end of the Triwizard Tournament. He was harsher, more ruthless, sneakier like he’d lost the tiny sliver of childhood innocence that Draco wasn’t even sure he ever had to begin with. It was not that Draco had been paying that much attention to Potter, but it was hard not to notice. Draco was sure that he’d seen Potter sneak out of the school on more than one occasion as well. Coupled with the fact that he had distanced himself from the other two-thirds of the Golden Trio, not that said two-thirds had actually noticed; well, Potter had become a lot more interesting to Draco over the past year.
The night of Draco’s initiation was closing in when Draco’s father pulled him aside to inform him that someone else would be initiated on the same night as him, and whatever Draco did, he was not allowed to react. His father wouldn’t tell him who was being initiated. The only thing that Lucius told him was that only three people knew the identity of the person being initiated; himself, the Dark Lord, and Barty Crouch Jr of all people. Draco was surprised to feel that he wasn’t annoyed that someone else would be initiated on the same night as him. He thought that it would rub him the wrong way, like the spotlight had been taken off him somehow, but instead, he felt relief that all eyes would be on this mystery person rather than on him.
Draco studied himself in the mirror, checking to make sure that everything was perfect before pulling on the black robes of the Death Eaters and adorning his face with the bone-white mask that had been left on his bed. He made his way down to the dining room and waited outside the door to be called. His hands shaking only slightly as he tried to calm his nerves, he felt more than saw the approach of someone behind him. Adorned in his own shadowed cowl and bone-white mask, Draco almost shivered at the amount of sheer power exuding from the mystery initiate. Draco had only felt that much power once before in his life, and that was standing in front of the Dark Lord himself. Whoever this initiate was, he was powerful, and he was dark, darker than almost anyone Draco had ever come into contact with. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Draco turned slightly to observe the man who had just arrived, inhaling sharply when they locked eyes. Green. Green as the curse that Draco was expected to cast to take the mark. There was only one person in the world that Draco knew who had eyes like that. Potter smirked and shot him a wink before bringing a long finger up to his lips and mouthing for Draco to shush. Not that Draco could actually say anything. His mouth had gone dry; his throat felt like it was closing over and his ears filled with white noise.
It felt like forever before they were called into the dining room, which was probably a good thing in hindsight; Draco needed as much time as he could possibly get to calm himself after the revelation that Harry Potter was the mystery initiate. They walked almost in sync, Potter and himself as if they had rehearsed it.
“My loyal Death Eaters,” The Dark Lord spoke, capturing the attention of all those in the room with no effort, “Tonight marks the dawn of a new era. Tonight, we welcome two of the newest generation of Death Eaters to the ranks.”
Draco looked subtly around the room, noticing his father looking at him with pride.
“Tonight we welcome Draco Malfoy,” Draco removed the mask and knelt in front of the Dark Lord, “And we welcome my Heir,” This comment was met by a sharp intake of breath from all those in the room, “Harry Potter.” Potter removed his mask and knelt down in front of the Dark Lord as whispers broke out around the hall.
The Dark Lord let the whispers go on for just a moment before calling the Death Eaters to order. A scuffle could be heard as two muggles were brought before the hall.
“Mr Malfoy,” The Dark Lord spoke softly, “You will go first.”
The smaller of the two men were brought forward for Draco. The fatter one, Draco noticed, was staring daggers at Potter specifically. Draco swallowed, desperately trying to keep a tight hold on his nerves, so his wand didn’t shake. Taking a deep breath, Draco turned his wand on the muggle, “Avada Kedavra,” Draco called, summoning all of his will, making sure he meant it. The curse hit its target, and the muggle fell down dead. Draco caught his father’s eye, pride almost like he’d never seen shining in the man’s eyes.
“Harry,” The Dark Lord turned to Potter, “Your turn.”
Draco turned to watch as Potter stalked towards the fat muggle with a terrifying glint in his eyes.
“Hello, Uncle Vernon,” Potter said with a sick smile, “Did you miss me?” The muggle had obviously been silenced, Potter turned a questioning look towards the Dark Lord, who nodded slightly, and Potter removed the silencing charm.
“You’re a sick freak, boy!” The muggle, Vernon, screamed, “I should have drowned you as a baby!”
Draco was taken aback. Was this the man who raised Potter?
“Yes,” Potter said softly, “You should have.” Potter pointed his wand at the man, no words were spoken, but red exploded from Potter’s wand, and Vernon screamed. The longer Potter held the curse, the bigger his smile became; as if this man’s screams were music to Potter’s ears.
“Harry,” The Dark Lord spoke, his soft voice carrying even over the screams.
Potter released the curse and knelt down next to the panting muggle, “Don’t worry, Vernon, I’ll take good care of Petunia next.” Standing back up, Potter pointed his wand almost lazily, and a curse as bright and as green as his eyes hit the man square in the chest. It took only a moment for Draco to realise that Potter had just cast two of the unforgivables wordlessly. Who the hell was Potter?
“Kneel,” The Dark Lord intoned, and both Draco and Potter dropped to one knee in front of the Dark Lord, “Welcome to the Dark Order. Morsmordre. ”
The pain was unimaginable, but Draco refused to scream. Not in front of the Dark Lord, and certainly not in front of Potter. Potter barely even flinched as the mark was placed on his arm.
Draco watched as Potter took his seat on the Dark Lord’s left, as was his right as Heir. He watched as Crouch put an arm around Potter’s shoulder and pulled him close, whispering something in his ear, which caused Potter to smirk slightly. He watched as, even though Crouch had taken his arm from around Potter’s shoulder, their hands stayed intertwined under the table, and an almost jealous fire lit itself in Draco’s chest.
The meeting was short. Really, it was an initiation more than it was a meeting, so that was to be expected. After the Dark Lord had dismissed them all, he walked over to where Potter was seated, murmuring something in Potter’s ear. Draco watched as Potter smiled up at the Dark Lord and nodded before standing up and dragging Crouch with him to a more shadowed corner of the room. It was traditional for a celebration to be held after initiations. So the Malfoy house elves brought food and drink in for everyone, transforming the room into something more conducive for a celebration. Draco barely paid it any mind; instead, watching Potter and Crouch. Potter had his back pressed against the wall, one hand resting softly on Crouch’s hip, and Crouch had one hand resting on the wall next to Potter’s head, the other almost absently playing with Potter’s hair.
“You did wonderfully tonight, Draco,” Draco’s father’s voice startled him out of his staring, and he turned around to see both his mother and father standing behind him with smiles on their faces.
“Thank you, father, mother,” Draco said, accepting the hug from both his parents, “You knew about Potter then?”
Lucius nodded stiffly, “Yes. The Dark Lord saw fit to inform me when I was told the initiation would be the two of you.”
“And Crouch?” Draco said before he could stop himself, trying not to blush at his mother’s knowing look.
“Yes,” Lucius said, looking over to where Crouch and Potter were standing, “Apparently, against the Dark Lord’s wishes mind, Crouch spent the whole of Potter’s fourth year trying to turn him. The fight between Potter and our Lord in the graveyard was staged for the Death Eaters’ benefit, so Potter’s allegiance wasn’t known until they were ready.”
“Mr Potter will be joining the rest of the Death Eaters living here,” Narcissa said lightly as if she hadn’t just dropped the bomb of the century on Draco. Draco inhaled sharply, but his only other reaction was to nod.
“He is our Lord’s Heir now, Draco,” Lucius said, his voice both soft and urgent, “Any childish grudges and petty rivalries must be forgotten.”
“Of course, Father,” Draco said immediately, his eyes flitting back over to where Crouch and Potter were still standing. Potter was looking their way and their eyes locked. Potter smirked at him before he leaned forward slightly to say something to Crouch, who turned to look at Draco, an inscrutable look on his face. Draco quickly looked away, turning back to his parents.
After Draco had received congratulations from Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Severus (who, surprisingly, had nothing to say about Potter), Draco made his way over to the drinks table to grab a glass of champagne. Leaning against the table, Draco took a fairly substantial mouthful of his drink, desperately trying not to search out Potter, who had finally disentangled himself from Crouch.
“Malfoy,” Draco turned towards Potter, who had come up to grab a drink from the table, “You did well today.”
Draco scoffed, “Says you, Mr Heir-to-the-Dark-Lord-I-can-cast-wordless-unforgivables.”
Potter laughed, “You know, I don’t know if you’re insulting me or giving me a compliment.”
The corners of Draco’s lips ticked up, “Honestly, me neither.”
Potter laughed again, and Draco was struck by just how much he liked Potter’s laugh.
“So,” Draco said carefully, “You and Crouch?”
Potter furrowed his brow, “What about Barty?”
“You’re not together?” Draco asked, trying to cover up the relief in his voice.
Potter scoffed, “No, we’re just friends.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, “Are you like that with all your friends?”
Potter smirked and shot him a wink, “Wouldn’t you like to know. I’ll see you round, Malfoy.”
“Sure, Potter,” Draco said to Potter’s retreating back.
***
“What did you and Mini-Malfoy talk about?” Barty asked as Harry approached, spinning him around and wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist, softly resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder.
Harry laughed softly, “I congratulated him, and he saw fit to both compliment me and insult me in the same sentence. He also seemed very interested in our relationship.”
“Oh yeah?” Barty said teasingly, “And what did you tell him about little old me?”
“That we’re friends,” Harry said with a shrug.
Barty let out a dramatic sigh, “You’re breaking my heart, Harry!”
Harry laughed, “Go talk to the Demon Trio, I’m sure they’re going to have quite a few questions for you, and I’d rather not incur the wrath of the Lestrange’s because you spent all night with me.”
Barty scoffed, “Right you are, love. I’ll come find you later.”
“Bye, Barty,” Harry said absently as Barty wandered off to find the Lestrange’s.
Harry cast sharp eyes around the room. Malfoy was deep in conversation with Snape, both men throwing what Harry assumed was supposed to be surreptitious glances in his direction. Malfoy’s fascination with him was something that Harry hadn’t expected. Sure, they had a fairly contentious rivalry at school, but Malfoy had spent more time than Harry would have expected looking at him during both the meeting and so far at the party.
No one had come up to congratulate him or try to talk to him yet. Not that Harry was all that surprised, the revelation that Harry was Voldemort’s Heir and that he had willingly joined the Death Eaters was going to be a tough pill for many of them to swallow.
“Mr Potter,” Snape had obviously finished his discussion with Malfoy because he was now standing stoically next to Harry.
“Professor,” Harry replied, with a respectful bow of the head.
“The muggle,” Snape said quietly, “You called him Uncle Vernon, yes?”
“I did,” Harry replied carefully.
“And you mentioned Petunia. I take that to mean Petunia Evans?” Snape continued.
“Dursley now,” Harry confirmed with a nod.
“Give her my regards before you kill her, would you?” Snape said with a sneer.
Harry turned to look at his professor, “She’s in the dungeons if you want to do it yourself.”
Snape’s eyes danced with vindictive glee, “I think I will do just that,” Snape turned to look Harry in the eye, “I would like to talk to you in a more private setting at some point, if you are amenable, Mr Potter.”
Harry studied Snape’s face for a moment before nodding his acquiescence, “I’ll be there, sir.”
Snape bowed his head in respect, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a tuna fish to taunt.”
Harry snorted as Snape walked off in the direction of the dungeons. Harry went back to his observations of the party when he noticed, with a barely restrained groan, that Barty was walking back over, the three Lestrange’s in tow. Barty was grinning at him, Bellatrix was looking at him like he was a particularly interesting animal in a zoo, Rodolphus just looked bored, if Harry was being honest, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about the slightly hungry look in Rabastan’s eyes.
“My dearest, darling, favourite person in the world,” Barty exclaimed, coming up behind Harry to circle his arms around Harry’s waist and rest his chin on Harry’s shoulder again, “Meet the three other people I tolerate the presence of.”
Harry rolled his eyes and held his hand out. Bellatrix shook it first, which would be frowned upon in most pureblood circles, but she held a higher position in the Dark Lord’s ranks than Rodolphus or Rabastan, and as such, it was her right to shake his hand first.
“Itty bitty Potter, not so itty bitty anymore,” Bellatrix said, a slightly manic gleam in her silver eyes.
Harry made to make a cutting remark about her sanity or lack thereof when he felt Barty tighten his arms around his waist in warning, so he decided to ignore the comment and just roll his eyes again, offering his hand to Rodolphus next, who shook it without comment.
Rabastan shook his hand next, “Harry Potter, aren’t you a revelation. I’m sure having you around is going to be very interesting.”
“Rab,” Barty growled in warning as Harry pulled his hand back.
“Alright, Barty. Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Rabastan said with a laugh, never once taking his eyes off Harry.
“So, Itty Bitty Potter,” Bellatrix purred, and Harry wanted to hex her fucking mouth shut, “How’d you become our Lord’s Heir?”
Harry raised his eyebrows, “I give excellent blowjobs. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” and wriggled out of Barty’s hold and stalked off as Barty and Rabastan cackled behind him.
Harry stalked through the halls of Malfoy Manor, looking for Voldemort’s office. If he didn’t have to suffer through the stupid initiation parties, then neither did Harry. Knocking on the door lightly, Harry heard Voldemort call for him to come in. Sweeping into an exaggerated bow, Harry spoke with mock reverence, “My Lord.”
Voldemort scoffed, “Don’t be a brat.” Harry laughed and walked over to take a seat in front of the man, “Bored of the party already, Harry?”
Harry let out a long-suffering sigh, “You know how I feel about parties. Oh, just so you’re aware, the Lestrange’s probably think we’re fucking.”
Voldemort groaned, “And why would they think that?”
Harry shrugged, “I don’t like them, and Bellatrix asked me how I became your Heir, so I told her that I gave excellent blowjobs. If you want to blame anyone, blame Barty. He should have known better than to bring them over to speak to me.”
Voldemort rolled his eyes, more than used to the way Harry was, “Did you speak to young Mr Malfoy?”
Harry nodded, “Very briefly. He did spend a great deal of the party watching me, though.”
Voldemort hummed, “As did everyone else, though, Harry. Your place at my side is not something any of them would have expected.”
Harry tilted his head in acceptance; Voldemort has a point. He was probably reading into it too much.
“You need to learn to get along with the Death Eaters, Harry. Particularly my inner circle. You are my Heir, yes. But they won’t follow you unless you earn their respect.”
Harry scoffed, “I’m not going to earn their respect by making nice at parties. You don’t.”
“Ah, but I did,” Voldemort said with a grin.
“No, Tom Riddle did. Lord Voldemort never did,” Harry said with a raised eyebrow.
“But I had to be Tom Riddle before I could be Lord Voldemort,” Voldemort countered, “Just as you have to be Harry Potter before you can be my Heir.”
Harry huffed, “I’ve been Harry Potter for almost 16 bloody years. I’m sick of being Harry fucking Potter.”
Voldemort sighed, “I know, Harry. You have done remarkably well so far. I won’t force you to make nice with the Death Eaters, but do try to be more receptive to them.”
“If I’m any more receptive to Rabastan, he’ll take it as an invitation straight into my pants,” Harry shivered dramatically, “He creeps me out.”
Voldemort scoffed, “Yes, Rabastan was always a bit like that. Just ignore him, and he’ll move on.”
Harry scowled, “If he so much as looks at me the wrong way, I’ll curse him into next week.”
“And you have my full permission to do so,” Voldemort said with a laugh.
Harry stood up, “I’m going to see what Mini-Malfoy is up to.”
“Mini-Malfoy?” Voldemort asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Barty’s name for him,” Harry shrugged.
Voldemort waved a dismissive hand, and Harry left with a quick bow. He may be a brat, but he could show proper respect when he felt like it.