Chapter 1
It was pouring down. Although it was still midst July, the sunny days were over, and the world started looking grey and miserable. It had been like that for days and Draco was already sick of it. The peacocks at Malfoy Manor had long since sought shelter too.
From the inside, one could easily overlook the rain, as the windows were charmed to silence the rain drops on the glass, but that didn’t change the unfortunate effect a missing sun had on Draco and everyone else in the manor. Wherever he looked, there were droopy looks and worried gazes.
The Dark Lord hadn’t been happy with his followers, and it had shown. Draco was lucky that his mother has only been crucioed once for her husband’s mistakes, until the Dark Lord slowly redirected his attention to him.
Just a few days ago he had gotten a notice he would become a Death Eater. He had no choice. His mother had cried, and Aunt Bella was just as delighted as he always imagined she’d be. Draco hadn‘t been too surprised; he had known it would happen at some point. Still, it came as a shock. He had seen the Dark Mark on his father’s forearm. It was so very dark and sometimes the snake twisted in a way that was both abhorrent and mesmerising.
In the past he had noticed his father often clutching his arm in pain, his face twisting into s scowl.
And now he would be getting the same Mark as his father and many other influential men and women. He’d become a Death Eater.
Draco was not happy about it. Not happy at all, he decided with one look at the Dark Lord. He sat in the nicest chair the Malfoy’s owned, right at the head of the long dining table in the pompous dining room. He held his wand in his left hand and used the other to pet Nagini on the head, who was draped around the Dark Lord’s neck.
Draco and his mother were sat in the middle, between Yaxley and Rowle who held their heads bowed like Draco. Their close presence felt suffocating.
Other Death Eaters were scattered at the table. Aunt Bella and Severus had their seat right beside Voldemort.
It was eerily quiet in the room.
He wished he could hear the raindrops. He wished he could hear anything other than the stifling silence, besides the occasional rustle of clothes when someone shifted in their seat. Anything that indicated he would make it out of here alive.
The Dark Lord sighed deeply, sending Nagini to crawl over the table with a hand gesture.
He felt his gaze settle on him.
“Draco,” the Dark Lord called out, his voice unnaturally loud and clear, “You don’t seem to enjoy yourself!” he leaned forward. “What is going on in your head, my boy?“
Aunt Bella grinned condescendingly. “Yes, Dragon, what’s wrong?” she taunted.
Some of the Death Eaters cracked a smile. Severus didn’t. But he didn’t look like he minded the jokes either.
Everything in Draco protested against being called the Dark Lord’s boy and he swallowed hard. His father would have liked to hear Voldemort call him that though, and he didn’t know what to make of that thought.
Next to him, his mother reached out under the table, grabbed his hand and squeezed it once, then let go again.
“My apologies, my Lord“ he forced out. He had nothing to follow up with, because there was absolutely no way he could get away with lying to fucking Voldemort-
He smiled smugly, leaning back in his chair. “You can save your apologies for later. Don’t you agree you have a lot to make up for?”
Draco did not, as a matter of fact. His father’s actions were not his own and it was unfair he was being punished in his stead.
He didn’t dare say any of that and carefully diverted his eyes.
“Yes, my Lord” his voice was barely a whisper.
“Speak up, you’re being disrespectful,” Aunt Bella chided.
“It’s fine,” the Dark Lord called her off, “he will learn soon enough.”
At that moment, Nagini coiled her way towards Draco and raised her head. They could see eye to eye. He didn’t dare move.
Voldemort snapped his finger and Nagini let Draco be. „Let’s get on with it then“
As if on command, everyone in the room stood up. Draco quickly followed. Follow and learn, follow and learn. Adapt or die, am I right?
„Come here, Draco“ Voldemort called out. Draco hesitated before obeying. The chair he sat in screeched when he stood up and his steps felt way too loud. He came to a stop a couple feet away from the Dark Lord.
Draco could feel their eyes on him. He could almost imagine their snickers; he knew he didn’t look very excited nor brave, just bloody terrified. He could sense his mother’s worried gaze upon him. It burned into his back. He longed for her embrace.
With a swallow that was so loud he felt like everybody must have heard it, he forced himself to focus. This was way too important; he couldn’t mess it up.
He could imagine what they were thinking. It was obvious that he was scared of what was going to happen next and he knew most people in the room took pleasure in seeing him squirm. Primarily the Dark Lord himself. After all, this was some sort of sick punishment for his father’s disappointing service to the Dark Lord. The once mighty Malfoys were on their knees, begging for another chance. And Draco was the sacrifice.
He was doing this for his mother. For his father, too, but mostly his mother. She didn’t deserve any of this. She didn’t deserve to have the manor, her home, infiltrated by disrespectful Death Eaters who looked down on her because his father fucked up the battle in the department of mysteries.
So, he grit his teeth and finally focused.
With a start he noticed Voldemort had stood up and spread his arms. He has missed the beginning of his speech.
„-expect nothing more than loyalty. Draco will have to prove his loyalty to me.“ He beckoned him to come closer. Draco did. „He is to be given a mission of which the outcome will determine whether the Malfoy family is worth keeping around.“ Voldemort grinned. People nodded in agreement.
Draco’s stomach plummeted. He had not expected this. What would he have to do? Draco risked a glance at his mother, whose face was stoney. Nothing betrayed her thoughts.
“Albus Dumbledore is an old fool. The Wizarding World has no need for him. And Draco will be the one to put an end to his life.” The Dark Lord announced. A murmur went through the crowd.
Draco’s mouth went dry. He couldn’t kill a person. Especially not his headmaster. Never in a million years.
He dared looking at his mother with desperate eyes and she shook her head almost imperceptibly.
“Do you accept?”
Draco took a moment to realise the question had been directed at him. He didn’t want to accept, but there was only one right answer.
“Yes, my Lord.” he croaked. Whatever it took to save his life.
“Very well.” The Dark Lord paused for a second before eying Draco up. “Why don’t you bow for me, Draco?“
Draco folded in half before he could overthink the command. He only realised seconds later that that was just for laughs.
Voldemort made a lazy gesture that Draco interpreted as permission to stand up straight.
Nagini hissed at Draco. He startled. Some Death Eaters snickered at his reaction. He could feel bile creeping up his throat. He would be dead in a second if he vomited over the Dark Lord’s feet.
„Give me your arm.“
Slowly, he held out his arm to Voldemort who took it and pulled him even closer. Then, he began pushing his sleeve up. Draco unwillingly shivered at the sensation of the Dark Lord’s long, cold fingers on his skin. It was something he never had wanted to feel. But, as it seems, a Malfoy never got what he wants. Or else his father wouldn’t be locked away in Azkaban.
„Such pure skin,“ he murmured.
Indeed, Draco’s forearm was porcelain white with no scars or other impurity. He used to be proud of it, but now that the Dark Lord acknowledged it too, it didn’t feel as good anymore.
The Dark Lord’s gaze felt heavy. His lips moved, but no words came out. Then he drew a sample on his arm which could only be the outline of the Dark Mark and his forearm started to burn.
Was the marking really that simple? Voldemort touched his arm, mumbled something and that was it?
After a couple of seconds, Draco struggled to stay upright, blinded by the pain – tears were threatening to spill. Only years of directing his feelings and pain inwards made it possible for him not to break down.
It still didn’t take long until the pain overwhelmed his senses and he fought hard to not let any screams escape his mouth. When the pain finally subdued until it was reasonably bearable, he was barely conscious.
Everybody was watching him. This was so humiliating.
He thought he could hear the Dark Lord talking but none of the words said made sense to him.
He knew he was breathing heavily and irregular.
It felt like his arm had been sat on fire.
If he looked at the snake twisting across the skull that was now tattooed on his forearm, he might vomit so he did his best to avoid looking there. He just stared at the floor, unfocused. Not like he could see much, anyway, with his watery eyes. His right one even betrayed him and let one single tear roll down his cheek.
He couldn’t imagine his father crying during the procedure. Writhing in pain, yes. But openly showcasing his pain in form of tears, no, never in a million years. He would never present himself so weakly.
What a shame Draco must be for his father. If only he could see him right now, he would be outraged.
Another sharp sting made him cry out loud.
‘Is this really what you wanted, father?’ he thought before promptly passing out.