A/N: For the Houses Competition

House: Ravenclaw

Year: 5

Category: Standard

Prompt: Joining the Death Eaters/Getting the Dark Mark

Word count: 931

Draco had hoped this day would never come. Logically, he knew that it would - that it had to - but he had hoped all the same. But, in a world such as this one, hope had no meaning, not in the face of power and duty and family. Draco had grown to learn that he was nothing more than a mere pawn of his father's, and that his father was a pawn of the Dark Lord's. So, no matter how much he wished it wasn't so, Draco knew that his life belonged to the Dark Arts, and had done for a very long time.

It had never been said out loud that Draco would be joining his ranks, but everyone knew that it was going to happen. Nor had there been an official date set for the moment - it could not be predicted when the Dark Lord would see fit to stop playing with his food and get it over and done with. Nevertheless, Draco knew as soon as he woke that the day had finally come when he would lose the last hope of free will and choice that he had left for good.

The house was devoid of their servants, and all the curtains were drawn almost shut, only the barest hint of light allowed to peep through. His mother and father were sat at the table when Draco came downstairs that morning, quietly drinking tea. Food had been laid out, but neither were eating. His mother was staring into space, although she did briefly glance up when Draco entered. Her eyes were sad and resigned, something heavy resting within them. She tried to smile at him, but it was watery and weak, and she quickly went back to watching the walls.

His father fixed him with an appraising glance, his eyes hooded and dark. He hadn't shaved in some time, and his appearance was dishevelled, but it was something that Draco had gotten used to in the past few months. Gone was the impeccable Lucius Malfoy, always so cocky and sure of his place at the high table. Now, Draco was faced daily with this sad excuse for a man - for a father - who somehow still managed to force Draco to do whatever was asked of him, no matter how high the price. Draco hated his father - hated himself - for submitting to his father's demands, but he saw no other choice. Besides, Merlin knows what punishment the Dark Lord would see fit to dole out should Lucius fail him one more time.

"The Dark Lord will be here shortly," Lucius told him, as casually as if he were announcing that the tea was cold.

Draco did not say anything; he did not have to, as at that moment there was a rush of cold air, and the Dark Lord appeared in the room, along with his masked followers. Draco closed his eyes momentarily, then kept his face carefully neutral as the Dark Lord glided towards him.

"Draco," he whispered, voice like a snake's hiss as he came far too close for comfort. "How… pleasing it is to have you among us at last."

Draco kept his mouth shut and the Dark Lord turned away from him, instead moving closer to his father.

"Is everything prepared?" he demanded.

Lucius visibly flinched, but managed to grit out a quiet, "Yes, my Lord."

The Dark Lord smiled viciously. "Excellent. Then we will begin."

Draco watched his father as he stood and wearily took out his wand. He muttered a spell that Draco didn't quite catch, and the table and chairs disappeared, the candles lighting themselves. He seemed oddly satisfied with his handiwork, although he was clearly trying not to show it. In any other circumstances, Draco might have found it amusing.

Draco locked eyes with his mother, but hers skittered away quickly. He could hate her for not speaking up and doing something to stop this, but he knew that she was just as much a prisoner as he in this. She has done her duty, just as much as Draco has to do his.

The Dark Lord beckoned him into a circle the Death Eaters had formed. Draco moved as confidently as he could, keeping his hands clenched at his sides to stop the shaking. He stood in the middle, facing the Dark Lord. He took a shuddering breath as the Dark Lord moved forwards until they were within touching distance. He beckoned lazily, and Draco, with his heart beating wildly in his throat, extended his left arm. His wrist was thin, the veins standing out starkly against the white skin. He watched with rising dread as the Dark Lord lifted his wand and almost carelessly laid it against Draco's forearm.

He hissed a spell, and suddenly there was a burning sensation in Draco's arm that seemed to spread through his entire body. He collapsed to his knees, noticing through watering eyes his mother start towards him, only to be held back by his father. He couldn't bring himself to care, however, as the pain receded and his heartbeat started to slow. He watched in horror as a black stain crept across his forearm, spidery lines tracing their way into a skull.

It was over in a matter of seconds. His arm stung with the remnants of the spell, and his mind was heavy with the weight of what he had done. Been forced to do. He was tarnished now, and any chance he had left of escaping his fate was gone, forever. It hurt more than he had been expecting.

A/N: Thanks for reading, and please leave a review if you have a moment!