Title: How to be a Death Eater in 5 Easy Steps

Disclaimer: Everything in this story belongs to the really quite talented J.K.Rowling who has the potential to make a success of herself one day if she keeps trying hard.

Theme: Drama/Angst/Humour

Keywords: Draco, Lucius, Death Eaters, Snape, Voldemort

Rating: PG-13 (mainly slightly salty language, a little bit of gore and some pretty sick humour)

Spoilers: All 4 books, to be safe

Summary: Baby powder? Sneering lessons? Incontinence pants? Becoming a Death Eater is a far weirder experience than our favourite Slytherin could ever have imagined. But what is really going on…?

Author's note: Um… well what can I say? I'm a bit warped I'm afraid, but not to worry, there is a bit more of a plot in this than I ever intended when I started (although far less plot that I usually have…) You'll probably notice that ol' Draco is behaving fairly enigmatically (the sexy devil). This is deliberate and judgement should be withheld until Step 5 is posted…

P.S. A few reviews would be nice, but I'll keep on writing, whatever! Enjoy…

Step 1: It's not WHAT you know, it's WHO you know

"…such is the general ignorance prevailing amongst the populace regarding the practice and promulgation of Dark Arts that potential candidates for apprenticeship into the Noble Tradition must necessarily be sponsored by an adept lest the unprepared, unwary or prejudiced taint the purity of the Dark Magic through incompetence or misunderstanding of its purpose. The practice of sponsoring an apprentice also prevents the admission of half-blooded (and thus less-talented) wizards, and protects the integrity and natural superiority of the pure-blooded families…"

Salazaar Slytherin.

Taken from : So You Want To Be A Dark Wizard?: An Introductory Text

The Hogwarts Press, 1678

"Draco!"

"Yeah, I'm coming…"

Draco Malfoy smoothed the front of his black woollen dress robes and twitched the long sleeves so that the shoulder seams lay flat and symmetrical and the cloth draped cleanly down his slender arms. Keeping his eyes on the full-length mirror in front of him, he twisted from side to side, noticing with satisfaction the pleasing swish and ripple of the heavy cloth around the ankle of his black dragon-hide boots

"DRACO!"

Rolling his eyes slightly at his own reflection, the pale-haired Slytherin made a last minute adjustment to his carefully brushed fringe, flicked an almost invisible piece of lint from his cuff and span towards the door of his chamber. Risking his father's wrath, he paused a moment, looked back towards the mirror, and caught the reflection of his robe flaring out dramatically behind him. In the guttering candlelight, he looked unreal - a creature of light and shadow.

How appropriate.

A smile formed slowly, transforming the usual blankness of his face into something approaching character.

"DRACO! Come downstairs AT ONCE!"

The smile morphed briefly into a grimace, then his features settled gently back into place.

"Coming Father…."

He quickly left the room and holding onto the banisters of the Great Staircase (which led from the Great Gallery to the Great Hall), half-ran down the long, shallow steps towards the waiting figure of Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius, also resplendent in black, glared at his only son with venom.

"How kind of you to grace us with your presence, boy."

The drawling sarcasm dripped easily from the thin lips, but his heart plainly wasn't in it; Draco knew his father well enough to notice the nervous excitement in his rigid stance and twitching hands. He merely gazed limpidly back at his father and Lucius turned abruptly, his mouth twisting in a genteel sneer.

"Well hurry up then, the portkey activates in 30 seconds. At least I won't know the shame of having kept the Dark Lord waiting…"

Lucius strode across the Great Hall towards the Great Fireplace and plucked a small golden chalice from the chimney piece.

Draco thumped heavily down the few remaining stairs. If anyone had been close enough, or listening carefully enough, they may have heard the muttered words beneath the scuff of dragon-hide on stone,

"The Dark Lord can kiss my ass…"

Lucius glared in exasperation at his son. Draco faltered slightly, brief and quickly suppressed panic flashing across his face. He relaxed at his father's next words,

"…And don't stomp. Death Eaters don't stomp."

"Sorry Father"

He reached out and touched the golden chalice in his father's hand and with a brief 'Pop', the pair vanished.

A flurry of dust skittered across the floor of the Great Hall in a rush of displaced air as if in counterpoint to the fading echo of a half-muttered phrase,

"…and you can kiss my ass too…"

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"Are we there yet?"

Draco tramped miserably behind his father, jiggling his legs with each step in an attempt to shake the mud-matted leaves from his boots. It felt like he had strapped cushions to his feet.

"Don't whine. Death Eaters…"

"…don't whine. Yeah, I know, already."

Draco struggled on, pondering on the insanity of having portkeyed halfway across the country, only to have to stagger half a mile through a god-forsaken forest. He kept talking to distract himself from the rain-sodden ruin of his new robes.

"It's not true anyway. I've heard Wormtail whining, in fact, he's always moaning about something or other"

"Wormtail is scum", uttered Lucius coldly, contempt oozing from every syllable.

"Nice to see such esprit de corps in your happy troupe"

"Shut up, Draco"

"Shutting up"

Twenty more yards of slog and mud.

"Are you prepared, boy?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't be impertinent"

"No impertinence. Right. Got it."

"I meant, do you have the necessary… accessories?"

"You mean the…?"

"Yes"

"Yeah, but I don't half feel stupid. It's a good job I'm wearing robes and that's all I'm going to say on the matter."

"I told you why you had to… put them on. As it were."

"I know, I know. Don't blame me if I die of humiliation first."

"I'm more afraid of the humiliation of you not wearing the…"

"OK. I get the picture."

"…no Malfoy has ever disgraced himself in front of his fellow Dark Wizards, and you're not about to be the first."

Draco felt a prickle of half-amused curiosity.

"So, do you always wear…?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes"

"I mean, really?"

He knew he was going too far when Lucius wheeled on him, his face tight with anger and chagrin. He looked as though he was winding up for a good shout, but with a glance around the darkening and blustery forest, obviously thought better of it.

"It's necessary. The Dark Lord's moods are…unpredictable", he said finally and fairly mildly, considering.

Draco wisely shut up. His inner voice was slightly less circumspect…

But, I mean, really…

Incontinence pants…?

Five more minutes of leaf collecting and Lucius halted abruptly on the overgrown path.

"We're here"

Peering around his father's rigid shoulder, Draco made out a clearing slightly ahead and the glow of what looked like smoking torches; he could hear the faint sizzle of rain hitting flame. He cleared his throat nervously and fought the impulse to run

Your last chance to get out…

"Shut up" he muttered, blocking out the mental voice that had become more persistent over the last few months. He was beginning to think that even his subconscious was against him. Either that, or it was a double-agent and was actually working for him by attempting to drive him bonkers. Madness after all was probably preferable to what he was about to do.

Paranoid, much?

"Aaargh!"

His groan of exasperation was quickly swallowed when a small, hunched shadow detached itself from the gloom surrounding the clearing and made its way steadily towards them. Even if the squatness of the figure hadn't told the Malfoys the identity of the man, the sickly silvery-greenish glow emanating from his arm would have given it away.

"Wormtail", hissed Lucius quietly.

The amazing bionic rat-man, added Draco's subconscious (which may, or may not have been working against him).

Peter Pettigrew's arm lifted in a strange gesture which may have been a greeting (unlikely), may have been a warning (possible), but was most likely a threat (Oh, my, yes). The powerful uber-hand, a 'gift' from the Dark Lord himself, was not a little bit intimidating. Whatever his motivation, the magical glow from the false limb threw eerie shadows over the mean and shrewish features of Voldemort's lieutenant.

Hmm, theatrical but effective

"Lucius and Draco", whined Pettigrew, "Welcome to our little…gathering. The Dark Lord himself awaits you."

Surprised to find his heart beating loudly, whether in excitement or fear or a combination of both, Draco silently fell into step behind his father.

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"Who presents the Apprentice?"

Lucius stepped forward, holding his head proudly and speaking confidently.

"I do, My Lord"

"Is he of pure-blood?"

"He is"

"What proof of this?"

"By proof of his lineage"

"Recite the lineage"

"By birth, Malfoy. By distaff, Crowley and Sinistra. By the second-generation of Van der Valk and…"

"Enough"

Voldemort, having halted the ritual, continued to gaze imperiously at the senior Death Eater until Lucius managed to meet his eye. But not for long. Draco noticed a subtle shudder run through his father's tall form just before his head dropped. Voldemort smiled and there were no circumstances in this or any other dimension in which it could have been described as a 'nice' smile.

"I am satisfied", he drawled in his oddly high-pitched voice. "You may thank me."

Lucius dropped instantly to his knees and crawled forward until he could reach the hem of Voldemort's robes. He kissed them. Draco fought the rise of nausea in his throat.

You're next, Bucko

"Draco Malfoy, come forward"

Draco wrestled his fear down past the blockage in his throat and squeezed it deep, deep inside himself. Resolutely, he strode forward, careful to appear arrogant and subservient all at once. Not an easy combination. Good job Wormtail was there to show how it was done.

Voldemort stood on his stone dais, his flat serpentine nostrils flaring gently with every breath. His midnight black robes were highlighted along the seams and on the lining with a strange colour - a sort of dirty, angry orange which made Draco's skin itch just to look at. The shade clashed horribly with the redness of his eyes and succeeded in making them redder, like a particularly nasty case of eczema. If it was by design, it was magnificently effective.

"You have attained your eighteenth year and your blood-line has been proved clean. For what reason do you seek the service of the Dark Lord?"

Draco relaxed slightly into the familiar patterns of the ritual. He was strangely glad that his father had prepared him so well.

"By reason of Knowledge, of Power and of Purity"

"What Knowledge do you seek?"

"The Dark Arts. Reviled by the ignorant, feared by the wise and practised by the few."

"What is the Power you seek?"

Draco knew enough to answer that question carefully,

"Whatever power my Lord deigns to give me" . He bowed his head respectfully.

The Dark Lord sneered. The expression did nothing to improve his appearance.

"You answer easily, boy. Do you think to impress me with this show of confidence? How deep does your commitment go? Why should I desire the service of a petty, mewling whelp?"

His mouth dry, Draco swallowed with difficulty, the fear more difficult to suppress with this break from the formal pattern he had expected.

"I…I will not always be young, Lord."

Voldemort stepped closer. Tension prickled in the air like the prelude to a thunderstorm. Draco could feel a bead of cold sweat ooze down his back.

"And you think this gives you some…value to me?"

Draco closed his eyes briefly and sought for a convincing enough answer. Deep inside, he found a kernel of truth; a truth that had sustained him for many years. When in doubt, try sincerity.

"I have always desired to serve you. You are the only one I would call Master".

Voldemort leaned in closer. Draco leaned backwards.

"You are arrogant"

Ah

That was easy enough to answer…

"Naturally. I am a Malfoy."

He forced his spine back to ninety degrees and slowly met the impenetrable eyes of the one he sought to serve. A quick intake of breath behind him may have been Lucius. It was a gamble that Draco had no qualms about, however.

Voldemort appeared pleased.

"Hmm. So you are self-serving also, no doubt."

"Of course".

Voldemort turned abruptly and returned to his stone throne.

"Very well. I accept your service."

Draco wasn't sure whether to be elated at his admission or perturbed by its unexpected ease.

"But…"

Oh Gods

"Do you know why I don't use Veritaserum, Draco?"

Oh buggery hell

He sincerely hoped the question was rhetorical as he was currently out of pat answers.

"…because I prefer men to serve me through fear. Everyone has their grubby little secrets and I doubt not that you have yours. Men are motivated by fear - and what they fear is being FOUND OUT"

The dark and cynical sneer returned to the half-human face of the Dark Lord. He stalked forward again. Draco found himself shuffling backwards on pure instinct.

"Do you fear me, Draco Malfoy?"

"…er"

Fear was pouring off him in waves. He knew what was coming, he could practically smell the anticipation.

"What did you say? I didn't hear you", quietly and insidiously.

There was only one answer.

"Yes"

Voldemort nodded.

"Good. You should"

Fast as a striking snake, Voldemort's hand whipped down inside his robe and Draco found himself staring down the business end of a wand. The silence was absolute.

"CRUCIO!"

…no time to draw breath…no breath to scream…the pain, oh gods the pain…like razor blades in his veins…a thousand ice-picks through his skin, drilling through his eyeballs, through every nerve ending and synapse of his brain…stop, please stop…I didn't mean…OH GOD…

As quickly as it had begun, it was over. It may as well have been a month. Draco found himself on his knees with no recollection of having staggered. With an unsteady hand, he swiped with disgust at the drool hanging off his chin. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his father's face. Stone-like, impassive, but with a glint in the eye which suggested a deep sadistic pleasure.

I think I'm going to vomit

"A small object lesson" said Voldemort, almost dispassionately. "I hope you learned it well?"

"..ggnnhh"

"Really? Oh well. CRUCIO!"

"NOOOOOOO!"

The scream ripped from his throat unbidden like a wild beast. His already sensitive nerves shredded from within, his head hitting the forest floor, his legs spasming uncontrollably. He was to be spared no indignity it seemed. With a dreadful, sickening shame, almost worse than the pain, he felt the muscles of his bladder override his control.

Oh. Now I understand…

He had no idea how long it lasted. He wasn't even sure if he could have remembered his own name when it was over. He concentrated on sucking breath into his aching lungs. Even his hair hurt.

I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive

Rolling his eyes in default of actually moving any of the rest of his body, Draco could find it in himself to be surprised when he met the eyes of Severus Snape. The dark enigmatic depths of the Potion Master's gaze told him nothing. What he thought at that moment of his erstwhile pupil was a question Draco would ponder over for a considerable time in the days ahead.

But first…

He blessedly passed out.

To be continued…

Coming soon: Step 2: You Are What You Wear