Chapter One: Night of the Living Dead

Disclaimer: All characters bases on the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling. This story is my own, as are my interpretations of the characters, places, and situations.

Warning: This story contains naughty words, violence, much sexual tension and innuendo, gross misspellings, homo and heterosexuality, smooching, slash, and probably sex. If that's not your bag, then don't read the story. Take responsibility for yourself, reader. If you knew you didn't like broccoli, you wouldn't eat it right? The same thing goes for this story.

Notes: This has been in the works for about a month on account of I have to keep changing small details as I flesh out my plans for this story. It will (hopefully) be a trilogy, as long as I don't get to lazy to finish it. Reviews are welcome and encouraged. Intelligent criticism is also welcome. Unintelligent criticism will be promptly made fun off.

Cheers, and enjoy the story.

-Marilyn Stabs, Author

The summer before Harry Potter's 7th year.

A summer storm was raging outside the windows of the Malfoy Manor. Inside his room on the second floor, leaning back in a black leather chair with one leg thrown over the arm was Draco Malfoy. He studied the chess board in front of him which was enchanted to play against him. And play well.

Draco's eye's flicked to the clock on his wall. Past three a.m. He really ought to be in bed now- his mother would pitch a fit if she found him up this late. She believed in good health which meant getting eight hours rest a night. Now, Draco still could have gotten eight hours of sleep if his mother allowed anyone in the household to sleep past nine. Which she didn't. Draco's parents had long since gone to bed. In fact, they'd retired rather early tonight, but they'd seemed quiet and tired all day.

Draco moved his eyes back to the board and lifted his arm up. A breeze from his window rustled his black silk robe, which huge open at his sides. His lower half was encased in a matching pair of silk boxers. He shifted forwards, his long fingers entwining around one of his white pawns. He considered moving it forwards, but then thought he should make a riskier move. The bigger the risk, the bigger the possible gain, right?

He dropped the pawn with a clunk and moved his hand over to his king. He pondered a moment, then slide it diagonal one. Then he waited.

The board was usually quick to make it's move, so that the player didn't get bored. But a few seconds passed and nothing happened. Outside, lightening rippled through the sky followed by a quaking thunder that shook the walls. A few of the piece vibrated. Then, off in a corner of the board that he hadn't been paying much attention to, a black knight on it's reared horse began to slide forwards with a slight quaking movement. It then moved to the side, in it's L shaped pattern. It stopped, and after a second, the knight looked up and declared "Check Mate."

"What?" Draco sputtered in disbelief. He jumped out of his chair and leaned in to survey his board. How could that have happened? He'd been paying such close attention! He'd been at the game all night, and in fact had been winning up until now. How-

Suddenly Draco paused as a strange feeling came over him. He was hit with a wave of fear and confusion. He stood completely motionless for a full minute, listening, trying to sense the sudden change in atmosphere. Trying to figure out why suddenly something seemed strange.

He stood listening to his breath go in and out in deep, gasping breathes. And that's when it hit him. It was quiet. The storm had stopped. The rain had stopped. And the wind was no longer blowing through his window.

Now he turned, ran towards the window and looked outside. It was still dark and cloudy but the rain wasn't falling. In fact, the earth seemed to have gone suddenly very still.

Draco's heart was pounding now. A sweat broke out of his forehead. Stay calm, he commanded himself. But he knew it wasn't possible. He was having a panic attack. He'd been having panic attacks since he was little, and knew once something set one off, he was just going to have to get through it.

He was gasping for breath now as if all the air was getting sucked up out of the room. He slammed the window shut, wanting to get away from the strange freak out of nature going on at the moment. He hovered between the window and his door, wondering if he should wake his parents. His father had at times concocted brews that would put him to sleep during his attacks, so that he could sleep them away. But he hated to bother him at this hour. And even though he knew his father understood that his panic attacks were just a freak of genetics, something bred into him that was in no way a reflection of his character, they always made him feel weak.

Ok, he just needed to sit down and figure out what had caused this attack. He'd just been playing chess when suddenly something in the room had seemed to change. And then…then the storm stopped. Ok. That wasn't so bad, really. It was abrupt, certainly, but not all together too uncommon for a summer storm. They sometimes ended just as suddenly as the started.

But Draco still felt as though something was wrong. It was almost as if he KNEW something was wrong. Chewing his lip, he slowly made his way to the door. And as his hand touched the cool, iron knob a smell suddenly hit his noise and caused him to double over with nauseas.

Oh God, it smelled like a rotting corpse mixed with the metallic scent of blood. Draco could almost taste it in his mouth. Gasping, he struggled to stand up straight and pull the door open. Something was very wrong here.

He stumbled out into the dark hallway, his black robe flapping around him and swirling in around his chilled skin. His hair fell into his face and stuck to the sweat on his forehead. He coughed as the smell grew stronger and stronger, almost like it was getting closer. Then he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and slowly he turned to the stairs.

Oh.

Shit.

The tip of a cane clunked onto the landing of the staircase. It was the color of steel and flashed in the dim light of the single candle still lit in the hall. There was scrapping sound, and soon the tip of a black boot slide onto the floor. Draco backed against the wall, unable to look away, though he knew what he was about to see. His heart seized up in his chest.

The heavy fabric of a cape swept forwards as the figure on the steps hoisted them self into the hall. It was nearly 7 feet tall. Skinny, with bizarrely broad shoulders from which a massive, heavy black cape flowed down to the floor. Two large, long hands were curled around the top of a curved cane. It was shaped like a snake. A snake with glowing green eyes and a scull between its jaws.

Volemort tipped his head up, longish black hair dripping into his face. Draco gasped at the horrific figure before him. The last time he'd seen Voldemort…well he hadn't been this…far a long.

Volemort was getting his body back. But it was a slow process. Backwards decomposition. It was disgusting.

His hair was back, growing in thick and black and falling almost to his ears. As he looked up at Draco with the pale blue eyes of his former incarnation, Tom Riddle, his hair fell away from his face, revealing a gaping lack of skin on one side of his face. Muscles and tissue and bone were visible, yellowish and stringy. One the other half of his face, a flawless white skin had grown in, and the handsome features he'd had as a young man were present. Strange how Voldemort could look both breathtakingly magnificent and so shockingly revolting at once. Strange how something once so beautiful could be so ugly inside.

"Quiet, Draco," said Voldemort. His voice was a mixture of human baritone and a strange, mechanical sounding screech. He leaned closer, and Draco struggled not to gag from the smell. "I can hear what you're thinking."

Then he pulled himself up, towering over Draco's tall form by nearly a foot, and started down the hall slowly. The door at the end of the hall opened. His parents room. His father stepped out, fully dressed in his best dress robes. Draco struggled to understand what was going on, but he simply didn't. He thought his father was through with all this. He thought it was over.

It struck him suddenly that maybe it was just beginning.

"Dad," he said.

Lucius looked up, his blue eyes catching his son's gray ones. He lifted his head and took in a deep breath, seeming to be struggling to look dignified. Draco felt sick.

"Draco," his father said in a calm, cool voice, "Go to your room."

Draco pushed off the wall he was leaning on. "What?!"

"Go to your room."

"No. What the hell is going on?" He demanded angrily. His father had had promised him that he was done with dear old, rotting Voldie. He no longer believed in the Dark Lord's cause. Those days of his life were supposed to be over. He wasn't going to be Voldimort's crutch anymore.

Voldemort turned to him, staring at him with the eye not held in by skin, but instead stuck to the socket by yellow muscles that were twitching as he looked about.

"Listen to your father, Draco," he said.

Before he could say anything, his mother appeared in the doorway behind his dad. She too was dressed in her best robes, with her make up done up and her blonde hair styled. She looked at Draco worriedly and nodded. Draco slowly backed up towards his bed room. He slip inside and closed the door, falling back against it.

What was going on? What was he doing here? And why did Draco feel so bad about all this?

Then he heard his fathers voice screaming in the next room. A horrible scream, so full of pain that it almost tore Draco apart. He ripped out of his bedroom and tore down the hall, yanking open the door to his parents bedroom.

He saw his mother first, collapsed in the corner, her hands over her mouth, her cheeks stained in tears. He followed her gaze across the room, where the massive form of Voldimort stood, hands on his cane, looking down.

One the ground before him, was the motionless body of Lucius Malfoy. Draco covered his mouth before he screamed…