"I'm surprised that you haven't asked me where Harry's hiding," I said to Malfoy when we were alone.

"Right now, he's the least of my worries. I have a lot on my mind." He chewed on his bottom lip, tapping the armrests of his chair. I didn't press further, understanding. Voldemort was using him as his puppet, forcing Malfoy to do all the dirty work for him.

"Remember," I said, letting out a small laugh, "when our biggest worry was how many points our houses had?"

"Those were simpler times," he nodded in agreement. "Tournaments, Quidditch, the House Cup."

"I was good at earning points for our house, though. We were always so close! Then there was Harry Potter, saving Hogwarts every year as if it were second nature . . . and Dumbledore, awarding him and his friends hundreds of points for breaking the rules!"

"Don't remind me," Malfoy scowled, "I thought it wasn't possible, but now I loathe him more."

"You can't hate him when you barely earned points for Slytherin, Malfoy," I pursed my lips.

"What? Barely earned . . . The professors picked on me all the time. It wasn't my fault they didn't like me 'cause of my father."

"Don't blame everything on him! What about Snape? You couldn't even get him to give you points."

Malfoy almost rose out of his seat. "He hated me too."

"He always protected and favored you."

"Because he made a vow with my mother. An Unbreakable Vow. Deep down, he loathed me. Probably still does."

"You know what's surprising?" I asked as Malfoy looked away, irritated, "he actually liked me. I was one of the only students he didn't pick on. You know what's even more surprising?"

"What?"

"McGonagall hated me."

Malfoy's silver eyes widened, suddenly interested, sinking back into his seat.

"Did she?"

"Once, in Transfiguration, we were supposed to turn toadstools into toads. A kid's toadstool grew eyes, not transfiguring all the way, and I got distracted. I pointed the wand elsewhere, and . . ." I paused, holding back a laugh.

"And?"

"I turned Neville's left hand into a toad."

Malfoy threw back his head, letting out a laugh. "I can imagine the look on his face. A fearful Gryffindor, how ironic."

"Well, at least he had a new friend for his toad Trevor for a while. I named it Martin."

That prompted laughter from him, and not the unkind type. I smiled.

"Who was your favorite professor?" I asked as the laughter died down.

Malfoy squinted, thinking. "Sprout was a sad excuse for a professor. I did like Snape, but it wasn't mutual. Hooch wanted to murder me all the time, and The oaf Hagrid almost killed me because he didn't watch that stupid bird of his. Trelawney was a dimwit . . ." He paused. "Moody turned me into a ferret."

"That was Barty Crouch Jr., actually."

"Doesn't matter. Hate him."

"Well, they're both dead." I said blankly.

"True," he nodded. "And then, McGonagall, that old hag, encouraged him."

"To be honest, we all did," I said, biting back a grin.

He scowled. "Well then, it seems I don't have a favorite."

"No, it seems you weren't anybody's favorite."

"Neither were you."

"I was Lockhart's favorite!" I argued.

"Please tell me you didn't say that," he groaned. "He was his own favorite."

I snickered. "Okay. My favorite professor was, in all honesty, Hagrid. He was the least threatening, the kindest, and to be honest, I loved magical creatures. Still do."

"Just because you said that, you're not allowed here anymore," he said, raising his eyebrows as he stood up. Malfoy ran a hand through his neatly gelled hair, roughing it up a bit. A few wisped across his forehead. "Anyway, back to reality." He tapped the inside of his arm. "I'm being called."

As he readied himself to disapparate, he knit his eyebrows as if he were thinking of something important.

He looked at me, and smiled. A real smile.

"Flitwick. I had the highest regard for him—still do."

And with that, he was gone.

⚡️⚡️⚡️

I asked Nott and Parkinson if either of them knew anything about the Sword of Gryffindor, and they shook their heads.

"What would you want to do with it?" Parkinson asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

I shrugged, nonchalant. "It seems like a powerful weapon to have."

"I've overheard Bellatrix mentioning it a couple times," Nott said, his face scrunched as he tried to recall what he'd heard her say.

"If Bellatrix thinks it's worth talking about, it must be a dangerous weapon indeed," Parkinson agreed. 

The three of us were on our way to the Malfoy Manor, where Voldemort awaited. I was anxious, my insides churning, wringing my hands as I walked with them, breathing out through my lips. The manor seemed to tower dauntingly above us, ready to swallow us whole.

"Don't worry," Nott said, "you'll be fine if you follow these rules."

I swallowed. "Which ones?"

"Don't speak until you're spoken to," Parkinson said.

"Don't look the Dark Lord in the eye," Nott added. 

"And most importantly, never disagree with anything he says. When you're in that room, everything he says is right."

"But what if he asks my opinion on something?"

"Only say what you think would be in his favor," Nott explained. He grabbed my arm, bringing me to a sudden halt. We were already at the doors to the manor, and I hadn't even realized. 

"Just pretend you don't exist," Parkinson said, and there was no spite in her words. She was trying to help me, for once in her life. 

Nott looked at me. "Ready?"

I nodded, and he turned, pushing open the doors. I made my way across the foyer, into the grand dining room.

Relieved, I realized he wasn't there yet. His chair was empty, but many of the Death Eaters were already seated, including Antonin Dolohov, Thorfinn Rowle, Selwyn, Yaxley, Travers, Snape, Lucius Malfoy, and Bellatrix Lestrange. Of course, these were only few of the many. 

I took the seat across from Snape, between Crabbe and Goyle (of all the people!), and waited.  Daring to lift my eyes away from the table and see if I could recognize a few more people, I searched the faces.

I caught Bellatrix's eye. Her lips curled as she stared at me, deep circles appearing under her eyes as if she hadn't slept in days. Her hair was still an unruly, frizzy mess. Her lips were a strange shade of deep purple, and her eyes were wide, wide open.

Staring into my soul.

Hairs stood up on the back of my neck, goosebumps appearing on my arms. I swallowed, averting my gaze. There was a sudden whoosh of air, blowing strands of dark hair around my face.

Voldemort was here. 

I didn't dare look up. I tried to sink into my chair, make myself nonexistent. If there was one way to win this war, it would be to be an insignificant, useless, Death Eater.

Yes, that's what I'd be. I rolled my eyes at myself. 

I heard the scrape of the chair across the marble as he sat down, the blood pounding in my ears.

"Yaxley, you called us," I heard Voldemort say. "Why don't you begin?"

Yaxley cleared his throat, possibly hiding the shake in his voice.

"I've have an update on Harry Potter's location."

I tried not to show my surprise.

"Well?" I heard the chair creak as Voldemort leaned forward. "Do tell."

"He was seen last at the home of Bathilda Bagshot."

Last seen. So they didn't have him yet. 

I wiped all traces of relief off my face, keeping my ears open and my head down. 

"I know," Voldemort said. "I knew they'd end up going to Godric's Hollow. The place where it all began," he said with a sigh. It wasn't a tired sigh, more like one where he'd expected this to happen all along, and he was satisfied that he was right. "Did Nagini manage to kill the Boy Who Lived?" Oh, the irony.

"No," Yaxley said. "They managed to stun her and make it out alive."

"Hmm . . . " Voldemort said, not angrily, as if he had presumed this as well. "And where are they now?"

"I . . . I don't know. I thought an update on their location would be the right information to bring you, my lord." 

Before I could think, before I realized what I was doing, I let out a scoff.

A scoff. 

My eyes widened, all the blood draining from my body. Time seemed to freeze. I kept my eyes down on my lap, only glancing up for a moment, my eyes meeting Lucius Malfoy's.

He was staring at me, his face paler than usual.

You shouldn't have done that, his silver eyes said. My eyes flicked to the right. Parkinson and Nott seemed to be holding their breaths, and suddenly, I realized, Draco Malfoy was sitting there too. His face was expressionless, but there was a hint of something in his eyes. Maybe worry. I hoped it was worry. It felt good to have someone worry about me.

"Dear child," Voldemort said slowly, but there was nothing but ice in his voice. "Did you say something?"

"I . . ." I began, my voice quieter, more fragile than I'd hoped. Damn it. 

"Speak up, and look at me when you talk." He didn't yell, but there was demand in his voice. A cruel, sneering order. Voldemort was the master of manipulation, this was certain.

I stilled my shaking hands, took a deep breath, and looked right into his red eyes. I was hit with a wave of fear as I stared at him, but that only gave me a rush of adrenaline. 

Now was the time to prove myself.

"Yaxley is a fool," I said, my voice loud and clear. It seemed to echo across the large, lifeless room, bouncing back towards my ears. And man, was I proud of how strong it sounded. "He wasted our--and especially your--precious time by gathering this insignificant meeting to tell us about where Harry Potter had been. Instead of having all these search parties trailing after him, I can be waiting at his next location before he even decides to be there."

The snake-looking man was quiet. The slits for his eyes seemed to narrow as he thought about what I said. My heart pounded through my ribcage, and I was afraid that everyone in the room would be able to hear just how out of my mind afraid I was. I had just made an insane promise that could either get me killed (or worse, tortured), or award me the Death Eaters'--and maybe even Voldemort's--trust forever. 

The silence seemed to go on forever. 

And then, suddenly, in a flash of white, Voldemort whipped out his wand. I held back a gasp, flinching as I awaited my death. Shutting my eyes, I sank back, waiting for pain. There was a bright burst of red across the darkness of my eyelids.

I heard someone yelp, and then a crash.

Slowly, I opened my eyes. Yaxley lay sprawled on the marble floor at the base of the wall behind him, unconscious. The relief I felt was unlike any other, but I held my breath. With Voldemort, there was always more to come.

"Do it," he said to me in his calm, cold manner. "And when you find him, I'll be waiting." He took one last look around the table, at all the Death Eaters bowing their heads, and his eyes once again met mine. He smirked. 

And with a whoosh of air and black smoke, he was gone, as if he'd never been there. Every Death Eater now looked at me, their faces full of shock at my idiocy, and some even with pity. Bellatrix, on the other hand, threw her head back and barked out a maniacal laugh, showing off her rotting teeth.

"When you fail," she cackled, "I'll be the one to torture you, and there will be nothing greater I'll take pleasure in doing."

I stood, calming my nerves, hiding the shake in my legs. 

"I will not fail." 

I turned, and walked away from them. Yes, I was confident. 

Was I going to fail?

Hopefully not.

Did I have a plan?

Hell to the no.