His eyes lit on a bucket down the other end of the cellar. A bucket? Haughty indignation flared up automatically – how dared they treat a Malfoy like this? What did they think he was – an animal to be fed from a trough? And then the indignation died down to a low smoulder as Draco remembered exactly why they dared. He was nothing now – since Lucius had disowned him he wasn’t a Malfoy any more. He had become the lowest of the low, offered no protections by virtue of his last name – at the mercies of the other Death Eaters. And they had no mercy. And now he was a snivelling, maimed traitor that had torn his mother away from her husband and thrown her and himself on the mercy of the Order of the Phoenix.