December, 14th

"Welcome home, my darling!"

Draco's mother's greeting was as warm as he remembered, her arms embracing him tightly as soon as he'd stepped over the threshold of the manor.

"Hello, mother," he greeted with a gentle smile, hugging her back. "Where's father?"

"Downstairs, tinkering away with yet another artefact," Narcissa replied, her warm smile falling slightly. "The Dark Lord has become rather… impatient."

Ah yes. The Dark Lord. Draco had heard his parents mention this wizard's name multiple times throughout his life, and always with the same hushed, frightened awe. On purpose or not, Draco's parents had yet to introduce him to this so called Dark Lord. He had spent most of the past ten years living in France after his parents had made the decision to send him to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts.

Good thing too…Draco thought musingly, considering what happened to the Scottish school…

After falling in love with the Mediterranean milieu of southern France, Draco had made the choice to remain, purchasing himself a penthouse in Perpignan, where he had been living ever since his graduation three years prior.

"He—he will be summoning you this evening," Draco's mother continued, somewhat hesitantly. "I believe he is... quite curious to meet you."

Draco's pale eyebrow rose. "Why me?" he found himself asking.

"Your father has been rather boastful about your accomplishments at Beauxbatons. It seems the Dark Lord would like to meet the young man behind the glamour."

Draco eyed the woman before him carefully. She seemed strained as she spoke and he wondered briefly just what type of man this 'Dark Lord' was to strike such weariness into his usually resilient mother.

"If he calls, I will go," Draco stated, glancing down at his trunk which still hovered patiently at his side. "Please excuse me, mother, I will retreat to my room now and… get settled."

Narcissa allowed her son to pass, concern on her face as she watched him climb the stairs.

Draco found himself staring aimlessly at the accustomed decorum of the manor. Everything here felt stale; overused. He figured that was most likely the reason behind his choice to remain in France. A new home to call his own—not the same manor that had been handed down through each generation of Malfoys. There were too many rules here. Too many constant, unchanging qualities.

The blond sighed. There must be more than this provincial life… he thought morosely, following the familiar path to his bedroom.


True to his mother's word, a summons for Draco came at precisely five o'clock that evening. He was startled from his thoughts—ah yes, this is where she meets Prince Charming, but of course she won't discover that until chapter three—as a loud crack echoed around the room. With a sigh, Draco place aside the novel he had been reading and turned his attention to the house elf that stood waiting obediently, large bulbous eyes staring imploringly.

"The Dark Lord is being here and is calling you, Master Draco. Is you be comings?"

The blond stood gracefully from his chair, smoothing down his robes. "Yes, Tinky, please tell the Dark Lord that I will be right down."

"He will be receivings you in the west drawing room, sir," the elf squeaked before disappearing with a crack.

Draco involuntarily shuddered. He'd always hated the west drawing room. It was filled to the brim with the pelts and the stuffed heads of animals his great-great grandfather had proudly presented after their capture. It seemed only typical the Dark Lord would have commandeered that particular room.

After one last longing look at his favourite book lying open on the table, Draco left the room and made his way downstairs. His legs took him automatically to the location of the west drawing room, something Draco was thankful for since his mind was elsewhere at that given moment. He'd been back for all of six hours and already he yearned for the comfort of his penthouse.

All too soon, Draco found himself outside a pair of large, dark, mahogany doors. He reached for the handle hesitantly, his resolve strengthening as he jutted his chin defiantly.

He entered.

Immediately, the blond's gaze was drawn to the hideous décor, the many animal heads staring blankly in return. His eyes then travelled to the moving figure that swept across the room.

The Dark Lord was nothing as Draco had imagined. He was tall, easily six foot, with dark luscious brown hair pulled back by a strip of black leather. His body was swathed in black robes that flared behind him as he stalked across the room, giving an air of conceited aloofness. His muddy-red eyes swept the room unimpressively, his gaze landing on Draco who suddenly felt an uneasy jolt in the pit of his stomach.

"Ah, the young Draco Malfoy," the Dark Lord crooned, a dark smile twisting at his lips. "A pleasure at last to finally meet you."

Draco fought the sudden disgusting urge to bow and instead inclined his head respectfully.

"My parents have… spoken highly of you," he said in reply, biting his tongue at the forced compliment. "My lord," he added after a moment. He glanced to the side at the source of unexpected movement, gaze landing on a familiar face. Wormtail… Draco recalled, remembering the few occasions he had crossed paths with the whimpering man.

"Yes, your parents." The Dark Lord's smile widened and Draco concealed a shiver. "Your mother tells me you live in France now. Tell me, Draco, will you be returning here to live in the near future?"

Draco frowned faintly. "I haven't really given it much thought… my lord."

"For you see, Draco," the Dark Lord continued as if the blond hadn't spoken, "it's not right for the sole heir of such an important family title to… disregard their duties, as it were."

Draco fought to keep the frown from his face. Duties…?

"Duties that your parents have fulfilled for you for the time being. However, I require… younger blood."

Wormtail sniggered at Voldemort's side. Draco felt his blood go cold.

"And what were you considering, my lord?" the blond replied, mouth slightly dry.

Voldemort stared at the young Malfoy, his interest in Draco not going amiss by the blond. "Join me, Draco. If your talents exceed your reputation, then you shall make a fine addition to my side. You belong here with me; it is your responsibility as a Malfoy."

He's positively primeval… Draco thought with mild concern. No wonder my mother is so perturbed by his presence… "I—thank you, my lord, I will give consideration to your proposal," the blond began, mind whirling quickly to find a reasonable excuse to escape without offending the other male. "If you'll excuse me, my lord, I'm afraid that time has gotten away from me. I had promised to assist my father this evening."

"Your father?" Wormtail snorted then, "he needs all the help he can get."

Anger flared within the blond. "Don't talk about my father that way," Draco snapped.

"Yes, Wormtail," Voldemort continued in mild amusement, "don't talk about Lucius in that manner." He had kept his gaze on Draco all the while, a deviant smirk curling at his lips. "Very well, Draco, be on your way. I do hope you give—consideration—to my request."

Concealing yet another shiver, Draco inclined his head once more and removed himself from the room.


"Fetch Lucius, Wormtail," Voldemort stated, gazing at the dark red liquid swirling gently in the wineglass.

"Yes, my lord," the smaller man replied, hurrying from the room.

The Dark Lord took a sip, enjoying the earthy tones of the wine as he contemplated his plan. Draco had certainly captured his attention; Lucius's stories of the boy had barely done him justice. It was true Voldemort's interest had been kindled when the older Malfoy had spoken of his son… and yet to see the young blond in person…

The Dark Lord felt an anticipated shiver course through him, a wicked smile curling at his lips. Oh yes, Draco would be his. Such a fine specimen of male would fit exquisitely by his side.

And in his bed.

Images of Draco lying beautiful, pale, and deliciously naked amongst his sheets flooded Voldemort's mind. His smirk deepened, envisioning the way he would force the young Malfoy to take him, every inch buried inside his tight—

"My lord?"

Voldemort blinked, his gaze sliding to the male standing expectantly in the doorway. He raised a dextrous hand and beckoned the blond into the room. The older Malfoy crossed the room elegantly, sliding smoothly to his knees as he bowed before the Dark Lord, much to the male's satisfaction.

"The time has come, Lucius," he said, placing aside his wineglass.

Lucius stared up at Voldemort. "My lord?" he questioned. "Do you mean—?"

"Yes," Voldemort continued, interrupting the kneeling man. "The end of the curse draws nearer. I require you to go to the castle and report on what you find. I need to know if the boy had been weakened."

"My Lord, wouldn't it be prudent—"

"Are you questioning me, Lucius?"

The blond immediately fell silent, bowing his head once more. "My apologies, my lord. I will go the castle as you request."

"I expect a full report in two days, Lucius," Voldemort continued, lifting the wineglass back into his hand as he deftly stroked a finger along the smooth stem. "We are very close to winning this battle, we cannot afford any failure."

"I will not fail you, my lord," Lucius replied, bowing his head once more.

"See that you don't." The Dark Lord gaze at the older Malfoy, unable to prevent the indulgent smile that appeared on his face. "Your son has made quite an impression on me, Lucius. I believe he will make a fine addition to my… cause."

"I—I am glad to hear that, my lord…" the male kneeling said after a brief pause.

The Dark Lord watched, amused, at the slight discomfort now present in Lucius's stiffened posture. He knew the older Malfoy had been hesitant to introduce his son, regardless of the boastful nature of his son's success over the years. With little doubt, Voldemort knew that in order to lure Draco into his enthral, he would need to remove Lucius's presence.

"You are dismissed, Lucius," the Dark Lord announced, eyes now on the red liquid swirling in his glass. "Do not fail me."


December, 15th

Lucius eyed the rusting gates, wand clenched tightly in his hand. The gate was slightly ajar and even as the blond cast a revealing spell, no further protective wards were exposed. He frowned warily.

Perhaps the curse has already been fulfilled…? He thought, entering the grounds.

The journey across the school grounds was eerily silent, only the occasional scrape of Lucius's foot broke the still air. He kept his wand unlit, not wishing to draw any further attention to his presence. Upon reaching the crumbling staircase to the large wooden doors, Lucius cast one last glance around and entered the castle.

It was exceedingly dark.

The air held a musky scent, the evidence of decay and abandonment. Lucius stepped cautiously across the Entrance Hall, contemplating whether it would be safe enough to light his wand. There was no way the blond would be able to navigate the castle in the darkness. To alert anyone of his presence however—

Pain shot up his leg as Lucius's shin made contact with something hard. He winced, barely holding back his grunt as he reached down to rub the tender area.

Wand light it was then.

"Lumos."

The beam fell across the offending article. Staring down at it in mild surprise, Lucius was alarmed at the sight of the broken bench. It appeared to be one of the benches from the Great Hall that ran the length of one of the tables. Lucius remembered, from his time at Hogwarts, them being rather heavy and incredibly steadfast. Whoever had done this…

The blond shook himself. Stop meandering… he scolded. He turned, eyes scanning the space before him until his gaze fell upon a familiar staircase. Lucius suspected, with little doubt, that the boy would have retreated to the Gryffindor tower. So that is where the older Malfoy would begin his search. With this thought set resolutely in his mind, Lucius stepped silently across the room and up the staircase. He kept his breathing soft, ears ready to pick up any hint of life.

It took Lucius longer than he had initially believed to get to the upper most tower. Every whisper of a shadow, every hint of a breeze had had the tall blond on alert, his wand raised offensively while his nerves sang and readied himself for the inevitable fight. And yet every time he thought he caught a glimpse of movement nothing followed. No attack, not even a murmur.

Was the castle truly deserted…?

Lucius could feel cold sweat trickling down the back of his neck. He forced himself to calm, releasing a deep breath as he reached the final landing. Moonlight trickled in through the windows, casting eerie pools of light onto the stone floor. The blond stepped carefully, grey eyes sweeping the corridor until he came to the entrance of his desire. However, where once a large portrait had evidently hung, there was nothing but broken bits of frame, dangling precariously around the edge of a large gaping hole of darkness.

Lucius glanced up and down the showed corridor, feeling apprehensive at the ease in which he had made it this far. The castle was large yes, but Lucius knew the boy had not been alone when the curse had hit. Lucius hoped his luck would not give out. He lifted a leg, his entire body leaning forwards as he prepared to step through the gaping hole, when something seized his shoulder in a grip so strong Lucius felt his bones crack. It tore him away from the entrance, Lucius spinning unceremoniously into the awaiting wall, the breath knocked out of him as his eyes quickly scanned the space of the corridor. He felt his breath shudder, his eyes widening as they took in the approaching menacing shadow.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" the shadow snarled, green eyes staring malignantly.

Lucius gaped. He had not expected the sheer amount of power that encircled the dark form. It surrounded them both and the blond was unable to tear his eyes away from the malevolent force.

"What are you staring at?" the shadow hissed.

"I—I—" Lucius stammered. Fear like nothing he'd experienced was growing inside him—not even the Dark Lord instilled terror to this extreme.

"Let me guess," the shadow continued, "you've come to stare at the freak!"

"No! No, I—I meant no harm!" Lucius panicked, turning for an escape.

With surprising speed, the dark figure was there, blocking the blond's path with a steady growl.

"You're not going anywhere."

Hands, strong and powerful, gripped Lucius's robe, dragging the man forward until the blond was mere inches from the angry, glowing green eyes.

"You wanted to be here? Now it is your prison as much as it is mine."

"No—no, wait, please!"

Lucius's screams echoed through the castle. The desolate building stood silently in response.