DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything of this story
A Sealed Fate
Lucius did not speak once during the ride back to the Malfoy mansion; he simply stared at Draco from behind his silvery-blond hair, his eyes narrowed as he tried to read the expressions flitting across Draco's face. Although Lucius usually didn't give Draco the time of day, it was his style to at least *attempt* to make conversation of some sort, but today was different. Draco supposed it was a form of intimidation, but also gladly welcomed the unexpected silence. It gave him time to think, time to remember why it was he decided to go on living. The carriage kept hitting bumps, causing Draco quite a bit of discomfort, but Lucius seemed unphased by it. Now and then, he would tilt his head ever so slightly to the side, and open his mouth as if to address his son, but no words would escape his frozen lips. His eyes were brimming with a concoction of hate and loathing, the only emotions he was capable of feeling. He was concealed in shadows cast by the sun's rays as they passed through a tall stand of trees: huge, majestic oaks that seemed to bow down as the carriage passed. Lucius Malfoy was the type of man who never needed to earn respect; it simply nipped at his heels wherever life took him. He was not respected out of grandeur or brilliance, not for his good deeds (of which there were none) nor his *generous* contributions (which weren't really quite so generous). No, he was respected out of pure fear: fear of the wrath of Lord Voldemort. The landscape outside of the carriage window began to take on familiar shapes as the carriage approached Malfoy mansion. Draco felt a wave of nausea overtake him; he squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, trying to wipe away the unwelcome yet expected sensation. Straight ahead, Draco could see the wrought iron gates guarding the entrance to the property. Lucius had had them specially commissioned when he came into ownership of the Malfoy estate. The heavy, black bars stretched several meters into the air, twisting off to the right and left near the top in arcs -- their edges razor sharp, with thick spikes jutting out every few centimeters. In between the bars was a rather ornate latticework comprised entirely out of iron strips carefully woven together. The crowing touch was the golden letter "M" which was strategically positioned on the top of the gate so that it could be seen from quite a distance. The entire project had been a horrendously laborious task to undertake even with the use of magic, but was "Absolutely necessary," as Lucius liked to put it, "to keep out those rather unsavory neighbors.not to mention any *uninvited* guests." The gate was charmed; only pureblooded wizards (not witches, Lucius was sexist, to say the least) could pass through unharmed. Draco had never dared to touch the thing save one time when he was quite young. He and his mother had returned to the mansion only to find the gate sealed. "A test of your bravery, Draco, and of your mother's faithfulness." Lucius had later explained to him. Narcissa could do nothing but stand by and watch. Draco's hands had shaken violently as he reached out and pushed on the doors, watching them swing inward. He had not been harmed physically, but found the thought that Lucius would have let him die disturbing, to say the least. The carriage passed through the gates, its occupants still as silent as the moment they had entered. Has he always been so cold? Draco wondered as he watched Lucius out of the corner of his eye. The dark, foreboding mansion seemed to rise from its lush surroundings, looking as unnatural as its master. A complete contrast to Malfoy features, the rock comprising the house itself was a dark, mafic type, basaltic in composition. It was cut at unnatural angles, against the natural breakage of the rock, to prevent light from being reflected off of the surface. The windows were charmed; one could only see out of them. Standing four stories tall without the towers, upon first glance, one might be tempted to think that the house was abandoned (it looked far too unwelcoming for someone to actually live there), but then again, Lucius wasn't one for warmth or comfort. Passed from generation to generation of Malfoys, each new family made some sort of addition to the original structure, creating the rather twisted, asymmetrical masterpiece that Draco called home. Lucius' addition had been the fourth floor between the two towers, which rose ominously from the landscape. Only Death Eaters were welcome to trod upon the new level which, incidentally, was *not* charmed due to the simple fact that Lucius found it rather amusing to bring some of his muggle victims there so that he and his Death Eater friends could have a bit of *fun,* namely torture, with them. Draco had often been invited (forced) to attend these gala events, dressed in his best dress robes, wearing the Malfoy crest while others paraded around in their Death Eater getup, sans the hoods. Draco was praying that there would be no *parties* over this particular holiday season. The carriage drew to a halt in front of the massive front doors. Weighing several hundred pounds each, they were engraved with snakes coiling their serpentine bodies around a decorative "M." There was no doorbell, and no handles of any sort to open them with. Lifting the edges of his robes so as not to step on them, Draco carefully stepped down onto the drive, the gravel crunching underfoot as he made his way up toward the snake on the left. He placed his left palm over its eyes and spoke his own name allowed. A low hissing sound filled the air for a moment and then vanished just as quickly. A tiny sliver of light jutted out from between the massive slabs of wood as the doors swung inward, allowing Draco ample space to pass through the opening. For some reason, he could not bring himself to do it. He stood, his body frozen in place-- torrid waves of fear brandishing his mind. His toes stopped at the edge of the threshold, not daring to tread an inch farther. To walk through the doors would be like walking into a nightmare: one that cannot be escaped. It would seal his fate. Entering was easy; leaving was impossible. I could run, he thought, I could run away from all of this with Hermione.they'd never find us. "Well, boy, what are you waiting for?" Lucius snarled at him from behind in his usual hostile tone. He impatiently pushed Draco out of the way, brushing past him and into the mansion. Leaning his head against the doorframe, Draco could hear the fading *click* *click* of Lucius' boots upon the marble floors as he made his way across the entrance hall. Now was his chance-- "Narcissa!" Lucius bellowed, his voice echoing off of the cathedral ceiling as he continued to walk through the room at a rapid pace, "Your *son* is home." Draco froze. Even in his most desperate hour, he could not abandon her; he could not leave his mother here, not with that maniacal bastard. It seemed as though the decision had been made for him, and so it was with a heavy heart that he took the final step, and listened as the doors began to close behind him, each creak stealing from him his precious dreams of escape from all of this madness. A harsh gust of wind rushed over his back, whipping his robes about his legs, blowing stiffly against the nape of his neck. It was as though happiness was saying its last good-byes, leaving him with only bitter memories to sift through-- and then there was nothing. A lone leaf settled onto the floor next to Draco's feet. Eyes fixed upon it, only one word entered his mind: trapped. "Draco!" A woman's voice rang out happily, originating from the slight figure which was hurrying down the large marble staircase in front of him, her robes flowing behind her as she ran toward him. She dived into his arms, nearly knocking him into the wall. "Hello, mother," Draco said gently as he hugged her back. Narcissa looked into her son's face and smiled with pride, something Lucius never did. Draco was her only joy in life: her greatest accomplishment. She would have done anything in the world to keep him safe from harm, even stay with the likes of Lucius Malfoy. Sometimes Draco's startling resemblance to his father unnerved her, reminding her of the Lucius she had fallen in love with instead of the monster he had become. "You're growing up so fast," she beamed, pushing the hair back out of Draco's eyes with her left hand. She hated not having him around all of the time. Sighing, she began to recount what she affectionately called *Draco's Childhood Adventures.* "I can still remember when you were only a baby," Draco blushed, "and you took it upon yourself to grab my wand and crawl from your bedroom *all* the way to--" "Narcissa!" Lucius' voice seemed to significantly lower the temperature in the room, for both Draco and his mother shivered at the sound of it. "Send Draco to me at once!" Draco frowned at Lucius' treatment of such a well- respected witch. It had always been Lucius' custom to order Narcissa around as if she were hired help instead of his wife. Why she did nothing to better her situation was reduced to one simple truth: she was a prisoner in her own home. For her, there would be no escape: it was her life or her son's. Lucius had made this quite clear to her on their wedding night. "No one betrays a Malfoy, Narcissa," he had fiercely whispered into her ear only moments before he took her for the first time. "You are mine, you will always be mine; you will do what I tell you, *when* I tell you. Do you understand?" She had been too frightened to do anything except for nod. Lucius didn't even notice the tears sliding down her face as he ravaged her young body, making her his in every way possible. "You'd better go to him," she whispered, staring blankly at the floor. She felt so helpless, so terribly weak. Inside, she was still just the young girl whose naïve heart Lucius had captured so many years ago. What had she seen in him? Had his eyes really always been so cold? Were his thoughts always so malicious? Hadn't he been happy once? Had he ever loved her at all? Just thinking about these things made Narcissa's body ache with the love she still felt for the man she loathed above all others. "I'm going to lie down for a while." Her mind was tired, so very tired. Thinking itself took all of her energy. Perhaps if she had left sooner, if she had not loved Draco enough to stay-- "Mother," Draco asked, trying rather unsuccessfully to hide the worry in his tone. "Is something wrong?" So many things.Narcissa wanted to say.if only you knew. "Everything is fine, Draco," she said, adding a convincing smile that seemed to eradicate the worry from his silvery eyes. "I'm just tired." At least that was the truth, she consoled herself with the thought. With that, she ascended the staircase, leaving Draco to stare up after her, unspoken questions still on his tongue. They would have to remain unanswered as well. There was a mumbling sound that echoed down the empty hallway, originating from Lucius' private study. Glancing over his left shoulder, Draco could see a patch of light spilling out of the open door partway down the corridor. Hesitantly, he took a step in that direction, hoping that Lucius wanted no more than to discuss the latest Quidditch goings-on at Hogwarts. Cautiously, Draco neared the door, straining to hear whether or not Lucius was muttering to himself or engaged in an actual conversation. Wishing that he hadn't packed his wand, Draco slid silently over the marble floors, his robes gently billowing out behind as he moved like ebony sails. The scare light rays glinted off of his silvery hair, making him look like a ghostly apparition. "Yes, Master," Draco could make out the words. "Of course, I will see to the arrangements immediately." Lucius, being submissive? He could only be speaking to one person. Draco's thoughts were interrupted when a nearby painting announced his arrival. "Welcome back, young master Malfoy," the aged woman spoke in a low, breathy tone. Lucius evidently heard every word for he was at the door in four long strides. Grabbing Draco roughly by the neck, he forced him inside of the study and locked the door, placing a silencing spell on the room. He whirled around, his grey eyes teeming with disgust as he looked at the boy cowarding before him. "Afraid, are you boy?" he observed, contempt filling his voice. He began to move toward Draco in deliberate steps, never once breaking eye contact. Lucius' eyes were cesspools in which Draco watched his life spiral away. His face was now merely inches away, his breath hot on Draco's face despite the frigid voice. "Malfoys are *never* afraid." With both hands, Lucius shoved Draco backward against the wall. A sickening crack sounded as Draco's skull connected with the cold stone, sending pain surging through his mind. He sank to the floor. A thin crimson ribbon of blood trickled down the back of his neck. Lucius did not seem to notice. He turned on his heel and walked to the large wooden desk where he picked up what looked to be a small piece of paper, nearly crushing it in his fury. "I am going to ask you something, Draco," he said coolly, his back still turned, "and you will answer me truthfully, or you will severely regret your decision." He spun around. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, not waiting for any sort of response, and holding the paper up so that Draco could see it. Draco's vision was blurred from his head injury, but he could make out the image of two people standing side by side, waving at him: one dressed in blue, the other in black. There was a deep green in the background. Oh God, Draco thought in terror, it's a picture from the Yule Ball. He knows.Lucius noticed the look of horror on Draco's face and began to speak in a very controlled manner. "You have shamed me, Draco. You have shamed the Malfoy name. What the hell were you thinking, taking a mudblood," he practically spit out the word, "to the Yule Ball?" Draco made no response, using the arm of his robe to mop up the blood pooling around him. Lucius wanted a fight; Draco wasn't going to allow him the pleasure. Lucius' fingers curled around the edge of the photograph. "I received this picture from a very concerned friend of yours who was kind enough to apprise me of the situation." Probably Crabbe or Goyle, Draco thought miserably, cradling his throbbing head in his arms. So much for being "friends". "Did you honestly think that I wouldn't find out? Did you think you could just hide the little whore from me forever?" Draco's head shot up, his eyes blazing in anger. "Don't you *ever* call Hermione that!" He spoke fiercely, the corners of his eyes beginning to sting. "You know absolutely nothing about her!" Lucius kept a straight face, his frozen eyes boring a hole into Draco's mind. Lucius' eyes were a mirror of his heart; both were so cold that God himself could not have melted them. "I will not tolerate being spoken to in such a disrespectful manner, Draco. No son of mine will have anything to do with the Muggle world, do you understand me?" Lucius' voice did not waver as he spoke, remaining almost perfectly calm. Draco found it infuriating. "You *will* break it off, do you hear me? I'm appalled that this has continued for as long as it has." Lucius' contorted his face as if he were made physically ill by the thought. "No," Draco protested. "I will not break it off." To his surprise, Lucius did not become enraged. Instead, he did quite the opposite: he smiled. "So be it," he whispered. Raising the picture in both hands, he slowly tore it in half and let the pieces float to the floor. "Get up," he ordered, the smile making him look maniacal. Draco did not move. "Get up!" he repeated, a bit louder. Draco met Lucius' eyes and shook his head. Lucius grabbed Draco's collar and pulled him to his feet. "You will not defy me boy!" he snarled into Draco's face, gripping his collar as he spoke. "You will stop seeing that whore of a mudblood. You will receive the Dark Mark in two days time when Lord Voldemort arrives, and serve him faithfully as I have done." Draco's head felt as though it would explode any moment. "T-- two days?" he stammered. Lucius eyed Draco suspiciously. "I expected your reaction to be a bit more positive," he said skeptically, "As will our master, for that matter." His brows were twisted into a scowl.
"Our master?" Draco repeated with disdain. "Yes, Draco, our master. Unless your loyalties have changed, that is." Draco refused to meet Lucius' gaze, fixing his eyes upon the two halves of the Yule Ball photograph several feet away. Lucius took a step backward, his mouth opened in shock. He pointed his finger at Draco accusingly but said nothing, simply staring at him in disbelief. "No," he spoke finally, "No! You are a Malfoy, Draco! You will not bring further shame upon this house! You're my *son*, Draco. Certain things are expected of you!" "I'm not like you, father," Draco spoke hesitantly, watching cautiously as Lucius hand formed a tight fist. "I've never been like you." He closed his eyes as the impact came: Lucius' fist connecting firmly with his jaw, flooding his mouth with the coppery tang of blood and sending him flying backward into the edge of the desk. His back connected with a dull thud, and Draco collapsed onto the floor. Lucius stood over him, his fist bleeding slightly from the impact with Draco's teeth. "Are you going to defy me further?" he sneered. Draco groaned, holding his hand protectively over his jaw. "I asked you a question." Draco had no chance to answer for the next thing he felt was Lucius' foot slamming into his ribs. He cried out in pain, clutching his chest. Scrambling forward, he stretched out his fingers to grab hold of the desk, trying to pull himself to his feet. Lucius' footsteps sounded behind him, each louder than the one before, each striking a note of terror into Draco's heart. His fingers curled around a solid object; he hurled it toward Lucius, who managed to sidestep it. Aiming his wand at Draco, he muttered something under his breath. "Crucio." Suddenly, Draco's body was racked with white hot pain that sliced through his flesh like knives of fire. Writhing in agony, only one thought could penetrate the blinding pain in his mind: Hermione. He pictured her face, her smile; he felt her touch, tasted her kiss. Her words echoed in his mind, "I will love you even if they burn that mark into your flesh, Draco, because that is all it would be: a mark. It can't change who you are inside." Should he submit? Should he *let* them mark him for life? At least, that way, he would still be alive; he would still have a chance to be with her. But if he lay here, if he died at Lucius' hand, he would never see her again, never hold her again. He would never get to tell her he loved her again. She had turned his life around, showing him the kind of person he was capable of being. Why had he ever treated her as less than human? He would do it for her; he would give himself up for her. "Crucio." Not a trace of regret was evident in Lucius' voice. A new surge of pain twisted in his aching veins, inundating his senses completely. He knew only raw emotions: fear and pain. "Stop!" The plea tore itself from Draco's lips. He lay sprawled on the ground, his face pressed against the cold floor. The retreating waves of agony still racked his body as his lips attempted to form the words his heart begged him not to say. "Tell our master I anxiously await his arrival." He closed his eyes, sickened by his own weakness. "Well," Lucius spoke in a flat tone, "Your sudden catharsis will please Lord Voldemort, I'm sure." He cleared his throat and continued. "But to ensure that you are not merely trying to save your own throat, a few security measurements will be taken for your.protection." "Such as?" Draco asked in a hoarse voice. His eyes were still burning, his head throbbing in pain. The metallic taste of blood still hung on his lips.
"You will remain locked in your room until Lord Voldemort arrives. No visitors, no owls: no exceptions." Draco sighed in defeat, nodding reluctantly. "If you so much as put one toe out of line, I will track down that mudblood of yours so that she may.*attend* your initiation ceremony. I'm sure she'd love to join in the festivities." Lucius had the nerve to smile at Draco at this moment, sending him flying toward him, fists flying, a continuous stream of curses originating from his bloody lips. "You fucking bastard! Don't you touch her! I swear to God, I'll kill you myself!" Lucius was taken aback by this; he was used to having the upper hand with Draco on all occasions. He had never fully taken into account that Draco and he were nearly the same height and build until the boy had knocked him into the wall and was thrashing furiously at him. "I'll rip you apart if you *ever* come near her! I love her; do you hear me? I love her!" Lucius had dropped his wand in the commotion; it lay a few inches away from his outstretched fingers. Draco was still cursing him, though he had stopped flailing his arms about and was now standing up, wiping the trickle of blood from his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He turned his back for a split second, giving Lucius time to act. Lucius leaned forward three inches, his skeleton-like fingers encompassing the wand. Within seconds he had Draco in a full body bind, hovering a few feet off of the ground. He peered into the boy's frightened visage and shook his head in utter loathing. "I warned you," he said in an icy tone laced with sick, twisted humor. He bent down and picked up the two halves of the photograph. He shredded Draco's face further, tossing the tiny bits into the fireplace, but he held up the picture of Hermione and looked from it to Draco. "Just know that you've sealed your own fate.and hers. She'll make a wonderful party favor." His tongue darted out of his mouth and licked the length Hermione's face, distorting the image. It amused him to see the anger boiling over in Draco's eyes. Raising his wand, he muttered something unrecognizable. Darkness invaded Draco's mind, and he surrendered to it willingly. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW THX!!!
A Sealed Fate
Lucius did not speak once during the ride back to the Malfoy mansion; he simply stared at Draco from behind his silvery-blond hair, his eyes narrowed as he tried to read the expressions flitting across Draco's face. Although Lucius usually didn't give Draco the time of day, it was his style to at least *attempt* to make conversation of some sort, but today was different. Draco supposed it was a form of intimidation, but also gladly welcomed the unexpected silence. It gave him time to think, time to remember why it was he decided to go on living. The carriage kept hitting bumps, causing Draco quite a bit of discomfort, but Lucius seemed unphased by it. Now and then, he would tilt his head ever so slightly to the side, and open his mouth as if to address his son, but no words would escape his frozen lips. His eyes were brimming with a concoction of hate and loathing, the only emotions he was capable of feeling. He was concealed in shadows cast by the sun's rays as they passed through a tall stand of trees: huge, majestic oaks that seemed to bow down as the carriage passed. Lucius Malfoy was the type of man who never needed to earn respect; it simply nipped at his heels wherever life took him. He was not respected out of grandeur or brilliance, not for his good deeds (of which there were none) nor his *generous* contributions (which weren't really quite so generous). No, he was respected out of pure fear: fear of the wrath of Lord Voldemort. The landscape outside of the carriage window began to take on familiar shapes as the carriage approached Malfoy mansion. Draco felt a wave of nausea overtake him; he squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, trying to wipe away the unwelcome yet expected sensation. Straight ahead, Draco could see the wrought iron gates guarding the entrance to the property. Lucius had had them specially commissioned when he came into ownership of the Malfoy estate. The heavy, black bars stretched several meters into the air, twisting off to the right and left near the top in arcs -- their edges razor sharp, with thick spikes jutting out every few centimeters. In between the bars was a rather ornate latticework comprised entirely out of iron strips carefully woven together. The crowing touch was the golden letter "M" which was strategically positioned on the top of the gate so that it could be seen from quite a distance. The entire project had been a horrendously laborious task to undertake even with the use of magic, but was "Absolutely necessary," as Lucius liked to put it, "to keep out those rather unsavory neighbors.not to mention any *uninvited* guests." The gate was charmed; only pureblooded wizards (not witches, Lucius was sexist, to say the least) could pass through unharmed. Draco had never dared to touch the thing save one time when he was quite young. He and his mother had returned to the mansion only to find the gate sealed. "A test of your bravery, Draco, and of your mother's faithfulness." Lucius had later explained to him. Narcissa could do nothing but stand by and watch. Draco's hands had shaken violently as he reached out and pushed on the doors, watching them swing inward. He had not been harmed physically, but found the thought that Lucius would have let him die disturbing, to say the least. The carriage passed through the gates, its occupants still as silent as the moment they had entered. Has he always been so cold? Draco wondered as he watched Lucius out of the corner of his eye. The dark, foreboding mansion seemed to rise from its lush surroundings, looking as unnatural as its master. A complete contrast to Malfoy features, the rock comprising the house itself was a dark, mafic type, basaltic in composition. It was cut at unnatural angles, against the natural breakage of the rock, to prevent light from being reflected off of the surface. The windows were charmed; one could only see out of them. Standing four stories tall without the towers, upon first glance, one might be tempted to think that the house was abandoned (it looked far too unwelcoming for someone to actually live there), but then again, Lucius wasn't one for warmth or comfort. Passed from generation to generation of Malfoys, each new family made some sort of addition to the original structure, creating the rather twisted, asymmetrical masterpiece that Draco called home. Lucius' addition had been the fourth floor between the two towers, which rose ominously from the landscape. Only Death Eaters were welcome to trod upon the new level which, incidentally, was *not* charmed due to the simple fact that Lucius found it rather amusing to bring some of his muggle victims there so that he and his Death Eater friends could have a bit of *fun,* namely torture, with them. Draco had often been invited (forced) to attend these gala events, dressed in his best dress robes, wearing the Malfoy crest while others paraded around in their Death Eater getup, sans the hoods. Draco was praying that there would be no *parties* over this particular holiday season. The carriage drew to a halt in front of the massive front doors. Weighing several hundred pounds each, they were engraved with snakes coiling their serpentine bodies around a decorative "M." There was no doorbell, and no handles of any sort to open them with. Lifting the edges of his robes so as not to step on them, Draco carefully stepped down onto the drive, the gravel crunching underfoot as he made his way up toward the snake on the left. He placed his left palm over its eyes and spoke his own name allowed. A low hissing sound filled the air for a moment and then vanished just as quickly. A tiny sliver of light jutted out from between the massive slabs of wood as the doors swung inward, allowing Draco ample space to pass through the opening. For some reason, he could not bring himself to do it. He stood, his body frozen in place-- torrid waves of fear brandishing his mind. His toes stopped at the edge of the threshold, not daring to tread an inch farther. To walk through the doors would be like walking into a nightmare: one that cannot be escaped. It would seal his fate. Entering was easy; leaving was impossible. I could run, he thought, I could run away from all of this with Hermione.they'd never find us. "Well, boy, what are you waiting for?" Lucius snarled at him from behind in his usual hostile tone. He impatiently pushed Draco out of the way, brushing past him and into the mansion. Leaning his head against the doorframe, Draco could hear the fading *click* *click* of Lucius' boots upon the marble floors as he made his way across the entrance hall. Now was his chance-- "Narcissa!" Lucius bellowed, his voice echoing off of the cathedral ceiling as he continued to walk through the room at a rapid pace, "Your *son* is home." Draco froze. Even in his most desperate hour, he could not abandon her; he could not leave his mother here, not with that maniacal bastard. It seemed as though the decision had been made for him, and so it was with a heavy heart that he took the final step, and listened as the doors began to close behind him, each creak stealing from him his precious dreams of escape from all of this madness. A harsh gust of wind rushed over his back, whipping his robes about his legs, blowing stiffly against the nape of his neck. It was as though happiness was saying its last good-byes, leaving him with only bitter memories to sift through-- and then there was nothing. A lone leaf settled onto the floor next to Draco's feet. Eyes fixed upon it, only one word entered his mind: trapped. "Draco!" A woman's voice rang out happily, originating from the slight figure which was hurrying down the large marble staircase in front of him, her robes flowing behind her as she ran toward him. She dived into his arms, nearly knocking him into the wall. "Hello, mother," Draco said gently as he hugged her back. Narcissa looked into her son's face and smiled with pride, something Lucius never did. Draco was her only joy in life: her greatest accomplishment. She would have done anything in the world to keep him safe from harm, even stay with the likes of Lucius Malfoy. Sometimes Draco's startling resemblance to his father unnerved her, reminding her of the Lucius she had fallen in love with instead of the monster he had become. "You're growing up so fast," she beamed, pushing the hair back out of Draco's eyes with her left hand. She hated not having him around all of the time. Sighing, she began to recount what she affectionately called *Draco's Childhood Adventures.* "I can still remember when you were only a baby," Draco blushed, "and you took it upon yourself to grab my wand and crawl from your bedroom *all* the way to--" "Narcissa!" Lucius' voice seemed to significantly lower the temperature in the room, for both Draco and his mother shivered at the sound of it. "Send Draco to me at once!" Draco frowned at Lucius' treatment of such a well- respected witch. It had always been Lucius' custom to order Narcissa around as if she were hired help instead of his wife. Why she did nothing to better her situation was reduced to one simple truth: she was a prisoner in her own home. For her, there would be no escape: it was her life or her son's. Lucius had made this quite clear to her on their wedding night. "No one betrays a Malfoy, Narcissa," he had fiercely whispered into her ear only moments before he took her for the first time. "You are mine, you will always be mine; you will do what I tell you, *when* I tell you. Do you understand?" She had been too frightened to do anything except for nod. Lucius didn't even notice the tears sliding down her face as he ravaged her young body, making her his in every way possible. "You'd better go to him," she whispered, staring blankly at the floor. She felt so helpless, so terribly weak. Inside, she was still just the young girl whose naïve heart Lucius had captured so many years ago. What had she seen in him? Had his eyes really always been so cold? Were his thoughts always so malicious? Hadn't he been happy once? Had he ever loved her at all? Just thinking about these things made Narcissa's body ache with the love she still felt for the man she loathed above all others. "I'm going to lie down for a while." Her mind was tired, so very tired. Thinking itself took all of her energy. Perhaps if she had left sooner, if she had not loved Draco enough to stay-- "Mother," Draco asked, trying rather unsuccessfully to hide the worry in his tone. "Is something wrong?" So many things.Narcissa wanted to say.if only you knew. "Everything is fine, Draco," she said, adding a convincing smile that seemed to eradicate the worry from his silvery eyes. "I'm just tired." At least that was the truth, she consoled herself with the thought. With that, she ascended the staircase, leaving Draco to stare up after her, unspoken questions still on his tongue. They would have to remain unanswered as well. There was a mumbling sound that echoed down the empty hallway, originating from Lucius' private study. Glancing over his left shoulder, Draco could see a patch of light spilling out of the open door partway down the corridor. Hesitantly, he took a step in that direction, hoping that Lucius wanted no more than to discuss the latest Quidditch goings-on at Hogwarts. Cautiously, Draco neared the door, straining to hear whether or not Lucius was muttering to himself or engaged in an actual conversation. Wishing that he hadn't packed his wand, Draco slid silently over the marble floors, his robes gently billowing out behind as he moved like ebony sails. The scare light rays glinted off of his silvery hair, making him look like a ghostly apparition. "Yes, Master," Draco could make out the words. "Of course, I will see to the arrangements immediately." Lucius, being submissive? He could only be speaking to one person. Draco's thoughts were interrupted when a nearby painting announced his arrival. "Welcome back, young master Malfoy," the aged woman spoke in a low, breathy tone. Lucius evidently heard every word for he was at the door in four long strides. Grabbing Draco roughly by the neck, he forced him inside of the study and locked the door, placing a silencing spell on the room. He whirled around, his grey eyes teeming with disgust as he looked at the boy cowarding before him. "Afraid, are you boy?" he observed, contempt filling his voice. He began to move toward Draco in deliberate steps, never once breaking eye contact. Lucius' eyes were cesspools in which Draco watched his life spiral away. His face was now merely inches away, his breath hot on Draco's face despite the frigid voice. "Malfoys are *never* afraid." With both hands, Lucius shoved Draco backward against the wall. A sickening crack sounded as Draco's skull connected with the cold stone, sending pain surging through his mind. He sank to the floor. A thin crimson ribbon of blood trickled down the back of his neck. Lucius did not seem to notice. He turned on his heel and walked to the large wooden desk where he picked up what looked to be a small piece of paper, nearly crushing it in his fury. "I am going to ask you something, Draco," he said coolly, his back still turned, "and you will answer me truthfully, or you will severely regret your decision." He spun around. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, not waiting for any sort of response, and holding the paper up so that Draco could see it. Draco's vision was blurred from his head injury, but he could make out the image of two people standing side by side, waving at him: one dressed in blue, the other in black. There was a deep green in the background. Oh God, Draco thought in terror, it's a picture from the Yule Ball. He knows.Lucius noticed the look of horror on Draco's face and began to speak in a very controlled manner. "You have shamed me, Draco. You have shamed the Malfoy name. What the hell were you thinking, taking a mudblood," he practically spit out the word, "to the Yule Ball?" Draco made no response, using the arm of his robe to mop up the blood pooling around him. Lucius wanted a fight; Draco wasn't going to allow him the pleasure. Lucius' fingers curled around the edge of the photograph. "I received this picture from a very concerned friend of yours who was kind enough to apprise me of the situation." Probably Crabbe or Goyle, Draco thought miserably, cradling his throbbing head in his arms. So much for being "friends". "Did you honestly think that I wouldn't find out? Did you think you could just hide the little whore from me forever?" Draco's head shot up, his eyes blazing in anger. "Don't you *ever* call Hermione that!" He spoke fiercely, the corners of his eyes beginning to sting. "You know absolutely nothing about her!" Lucius kept a straight face, his frozen eyes boring a hole into Draco's mind. Lucius' eyes were a mirror of his heart; both were so cold that God himself could not have melted them. "I will not tolerate being spoken to in such a disrespectful manner, Draco. No son of mine will have anything to do with the Muggle world, do you understand me?" Lucius' voice did not waver as he spoke, remaining almost perfectly calm. Draco found it infuriating. "You *will* break it off, do you hear me? I'm appalled that this has continued for as long as it has." Lucius' contorted his face as if he were made physically ill by the thought. "No," Draco protested. "I will not break it off." To his surprise, Lucius did not become enraged. Instead, he did quite the opposite: he smiled. "So be it," he whispered. Raising the picture in both hands, he slowly tore it in half and let the pieces float to the floor. "Get up," he ordered, the smile making him look maniacal. Draco did not move. "Get up!" he repeated, a bit louder. Draco met Lucius' eyes and shook his head. Lucius grabbed Draco's collar and pulled him to his feet. "You will not defy me boy!" he snarled into Draco's face, gripping his collar as he spoke. "You will stop seeing that whore of a mudblood. You will receive the Dark Mark in two days time when Lord Voldemort arrives, and serve him faithfully as I have done." Draco's head felt as though it would explode any moment. "T-- two days?" he stammered. Lucius eyed Draco suspiciously. "I expected your reaction to be a bit more positive," he said skeptically, "As will our master, for that matter." His brows were twisted into a scowl.
"Our master?" Draco repeated with disdain. "Yes, Draco, our master. Unless your loyalties have changed, that is." Draco refused to meet Lucius' gaze, fixing his eyes upon the two halves of the Yule Ball photograph several feet away. Lucius took a step backward, his mouth opened in shock. He pointed his finger at Draco accusingly but said nothing, simply staring at him in disbelief. "No," he spoke finally, "No! You are a Malfoy, Draco! You will not bring further shame upon this house! You're my *son*, Draco. Certain things are expected of you!" "I'm not like you, father," Draco spoke hesitantly, watching cautiously as Lucius hand formed a tight fist. "I've never been like you." He closed his eyes as the impact came: Lucius' fist connecting firmly with his jaw, flooding his mouth with the coppery tang of blood and sending him flying backward into the edge of the desk. His back connected with a dull thud, and Draco collapsed onto the floor. Lucius stood over him, his fist bleeding slightly from the impact with Draco's teeth. "Are you going to defy me further?" he sneered. Draco groaned, holding his hand protectively over his jaw. "I asked you a question." Draco had no chance to answer for the next thing he felt was Lucius' foot slamming into his ribs. He cried out in pain, clutching his chest. Scrambling forward, he stretched out his fingers to grab hold of the desk, trying to pull himself to his feet. Lucius' footsteps sounded behind him, each louder than the one before, each striking a note of terror into Draco's heart. His fingers curled around a solid object; he hurled it toward Lucius, who managed to sidestep it. Aiming his wand at Draco, he muttered something under his breath. "Crucio." Suddenly, Draco's body was racked with white hot pain that sliced through his flesh like knives of fire. Writhing in agony, only one thought could penetrate the blinding pain in his mind: Hermione. He pictured her face, her smile; he felt her touch, tasted her kiss. Her words echoed in his mind, "I will love you even if they burn that mark into your flesh, Draco, because that is all it would be: a mark. It can't change who you are inside." Should he submit? Should he *let* them mark him for life? At least, that way, he would still be alive; he would still have a chance to be with her. But if he lay here, if he died at Lucius' hand, he would never see her again, never hold her again. He would never get to tell her he loved her again. She had turned his life around, showing him the kind of person he was capable of being. Why had he ever treated her as less than human? He would do it for her; he would give himself up for her. "Crucio." Not a trace of regret was evident in Lucius' voice. A new surge of pain twisted in his aching veins, inundating his senses completely. He knew only raw emotions: fear and pain. "Stop!" The plea tore itself from Draco's lips. He lay sprawled on the ground, his face pressed against the cold floor. The retreating waves of agony still racked his body as his lips attempted to form the words his heart begged him not to say. "Tell our master I anxiously await his arrival." He closed his eyes, sickened by his own weakness. "Well," Lucius spoke in a flat tone, "Your sudden catharsis will please Lord Voldemort, I'm sure." He cleared his throat and continued. "But to ensure that you are not merely trying to save your own throat, a few security measurements will be taken for your.protection." "Such as?" Draco asked in a hoarse voice. His eyes were still burning, his head throbbing in pain. The metallic taste of blood still hung on his lips.
"You will remain locked in your room until Lord Voldemort arrives. No visitors, no owls: no exceptions." Draco sighed in defeat, nodding reluctantly. "If you so much as put one toe out of line, I will track down that mudblood of yours so that she may.*attend* your initiation ceremony. I'm sure she'd love to join in the festivities." Lucius had the nerve to smile at Draco at this moment, sending him flying toward him, fists flying, a continuous stream of curses originating from his bloody lips. "You fucking bastard! Don't you touch her! I swear to God, I'll kill you myself!" Lucius was taken aback by this; he was used to having the upper hand with Draco on all occasions. He had never fully taken into account that Draco and he were nearly the same height and build until the boy had knocked him into the wall and was thrashing furiously at him. "I'll rip you apart if you *ever* come near her! I love her; do you hear me? I love her!" Lucius had dropped his wand in the commotion; it lay a few inches away from his outstretched fingers. Draco was still cursing him, though he had stopped flailing his arms about and was now standing up, wiping the trickle of blood from his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He turned his back for a split second, giving Lucius time to act. Lucius leaned forward three inches, his skeleton-like fingers encompassing the wand. Within seconds he had Draco in a full body bind, hovering a few feet off of the ground. He peered into the boy's frightened visage and shook his head in utter loathing. "I warned you," he said in an icy tone laced with sick, twisted humor. He bent down and picked up the two halves of the photograph. He shredded Draco's face further, tossing the tiny bits into the fireplace, but he held up the picture of Hermione and looked from it to Draco. "Just know that you've sealed your own fate.and hers. She'll make a wonderful party favor." His tongue darted out of his mouth and licked the length Hermione's face, distorting the image. It amused him to see the anger boiling over in Draco's eyes. Raising his wand, he muttered something unrecognizable. Darkness invaded Draco's mind, and he surrendered to it willingly. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW THX!!!