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August 3rd, 1996

Hot rain splattered against the windowpane of Borgin and Burkes as the August sky boomed with thunder. The storm cast a dark blanket across Knockturn Alley, shielding wandering eyes from noticing those arriving at the shop that afternoon. One by one, bodies filed into the backroom as the air grew heavy with anticipation. Draco could almost taste the dark magic in the air, a feeling he had grown accustomed to as the years had passed. Narcissa stood closely on his left, her hand absentmindedly reaching to his hair every so often, giving him a small pat and then dropping back to her side. Despite the blank stare in her eyes, Draco knew his mother better than he knew anyone. She was riddled with dread and anxiety, the small gestures a physical manifestation of her worry for her son. Lucius, however, lifted his chin just a bit higher with every new body that filled the space. Arrogance dripped off him like sweat as his eyes raked the crowd, catching the eyes of David Nott and Warren Montague, he tilted his head in greeting. Lucius believed he had everything to be smug about. 

Today, everything changed. 

Today, Draco Malfoy became the youngest Death Eater amongst the ranks. 

The first of his classmates to be branded with the dark mark while pledging himself to the Dark Lord. Draco saw Theo and Graham at their father’s side, both boys wide-eyed with curiosity. This was the first ritual any of the boys had been allowed to attend. Narcissa had explained as much as she could that morning, but she knew the Dark Lord had requested that Draco come clueless. Narcissa was never very good at occlumency, and in fear that the Dark Lord might check both Draco and herself for confirmation that his orders had been followed, she had decided it best to keep most of the information to herself. The bits and pieces she had been able to spill left Draco’s head spinning in an attempt to connect the dots. He wanted this to be on his own terms more than anything, but if he was being forced into taking the dark mark, the least amount of courtesy anyone could have given him was knowing exactly what he was walking into. 

A loud snap and ever-pouring cloud of smoke appeared at Draco’s right, pulling him out of his thoughts and signaling the arrival of the Dark Lord. This was only the second time Draco had seen Voldemort in all his glory. His black robes stretched to the grown and flowed behind him as he took long strides across the wooden floors. His bald head and pale skin shone bright against the dark background of Borgin and Burkes, and the absence of any human-like features made Draco’s heart nearly plummet out of his chest. 

“Welcome, my loyal friends. Today we are gathered to welcome another one of our own. Soon to be the youngest among us and a true asset to our ranks.” The Dark Lord’s voice bounced off the cement walls, loud and determined. Draco stared ahead, avoiding the many eyes which had locked on him. His mind was blank, void of all emotion. This was the only way he knew to deal with the situation. 

Draco had never really studied Occlumency until the beginning of the summer. Narcissa had came to him in early June and told him he was soon going to take the dark mark and follow in his father’s footsteps. It hadn’t been a question or a suggestion, but rather a statement. He had no choice. This was his fate, and it didn’t matter if he had wanted it. It was expected of him and forced upon him, and it was coming soon whether he was ready for it or not. That night, Draco stayed up until the wee hours of the morning reading book after book on Occlumency and Legillimency. The next day, Draco had stared out his bedroom window and whittled away at his mind for hours. He filed memory after memory, putting each one into categories. When he was finished, his mind resembled the Slytherin quidditch locker room. There were long rows of lockers on either side, each one tall and a rich green that nearly blended in with the dark walls. Each locker was filled with memories, emotions, feelings, that he filed meticulously and shut away, silently locking them from outside intervention. He pulled at the memories of his childhood, brown braids and creamy skin running across the Manor fields. Her bright brown eyes smiling at him from across the dinner table. He labeled the locker Pansy and moved on. Dark rooms filled with cases of jewels, a time-turner, and a rich voice calling his name among the trees that stretched across the Manor’s property line. LM . A cool cloth brushed along his burning forehead, a whisper of a lullaby in the middle of the night, a crystal glass half full with deep red wine. Mum. A soft hand squeezing his arm as he startled awake after a nightmare on the Hogwarts Express… No. He couldn’t label this one. Couldn’t put it in a locker along with the memories of his family and friends. Instead, he stuffed it in the very corner, left it unnamed in an empty locker all alone. Pushed it so far back in his mind he couldn’t remember how his whole body had trembled when she had whispered his name in the dark train car, how he had went to his bed, pulled the curtains closed, whispered a Muffliato, and sobbed into his pillow because she had touched him. He fell asleep that night with images of bright green eyes dancing across his mind. 

“Malfoy… Malfoy, you have to wake up. I walked by and heard your screaming.”

“You have to wake up, Malfoy. Please. I won’t tell anyone but I just need you to wake up, yeah?”

“Malfoy… come on”

“Draco”

Today, if anyone looked in his mind they would find Quidditch fields, high society balls, Theodore Nott and Graham Montague, plotting against Potter in empty classrooms with Crabbe and Goyle, Daphne Greengrass on her knees and begging to touch him, but no green lockers, and definitely no green eyes. 

“Draco, kneel before me boy.” It sounded more like a hiss from a snake than the voice of a man. Draco was on his knees in a minute. Everyone behind him was so loud, their breaths echoing in his ears like a song he couldn’t turn off. Draco drowned them out and stared ahead at the black and nothingness of the man’s robes. He grabbed Draco’s left arm, pulling the sleeve of his black jumper to his elbow with his wand. 

“Tonight is a change in personal and wizarding history alike, young Draco. You could do amazing things by putting our most important ideals as priority, if only you proceed with determination.” Draco took a short, deep breath. “Of course, we all know you are nothing if not dedicated to our noble cause, however I can not treat you any differently than those who have come before you. Look at me, boy. Look into the eyes of your Lord.” Draco lifted his eyes slowly, shutting lockers and whispering locking charms in his mind, running through the most forward memories in his head one last time. 

“Legillimens” The Dark Lord hissed and Draco felt a cold rush in his temples. It felt like flipping through the pages of a book, except painful. Not just painful, excruciating. Colder than the Black Lake on a November night, the Dark Lord slithered through his memories. Early mornings on the Quidditch field, a sly smirk at Potter after almost knocking him off his broom. Crabbe and Goyle asking how long before dinner during a meeting in an abandoned Potions classroom. The Slytherin Common Room, firewhiskey and butterbeer and drunk snogs pressed up against the portraits. Theo and Graham laughing at Granger in Divination class as she struggled to make some logical sense of what Trelawney was saying. Draco was doubled over on his knees, his forehead touching the wooden floors of Borgins. The pain was unbearable. He felt his mind throbbing against his temples, his head sure to explode. He could feel the snake wavering at the memory of Daphne, watching as her timid fingers unbuckled the silver clasp of his belt. His eyes widening, and his trousers dropping to the floor. The snake stayed with that memory too long. Draco felt ashamed, dirty. He needed a shower, and something to take the pain away. So much pain. So cold. 

When the Dark Lord finally pulled away, he was smirking. Draco shrunk to the ground, pulling his knees to his chest and shivering. Even without the cold, his mind felt as though it had been ripped to shreds. Pulled apart at the seams, leaving behind nothing but scraps… and long untouched rows of green lockers. The Dark Lord could have only been in his head for a minute or so, but it had felt like years. 

“Gareth, it looks like your niece is quite the charmer. Incredibly talented on her knees, as well.” The Dark Lord laughed, looking back down to the boy on the floor. Once more, the man grabbed Draco’s left arm, pressing his wand into the space between his wrist and elbow, tracing the dark mark into his pale skin with enough force to draw blood to the surface. 

“Proteandre Notatus” 

Draco’s arm began to glow red, burning so hot he thought he was on fire. His skin was melting away, the smell of burning flesh wafting around him. 

He hit the floor, and his vision went black.