AN: Well, after a few years, I'm trying my hand at writing (AND HOPEFULLY FINISHING) a novel-length fic. I still totally regret what happened to CC Forgotten, but that's another story :) However, I'm more attached to the Potter fandom than I am to any other fandom so hopefully, I will have enough willpower to push through with this one. Chapter 1:
Lucius Malfoy was enraged. He gripped the handle of his cane tightly, his knuckles turning white and deep inside he was screaming curses, both profanities and magical ones. Yet, his face was still a calm and collected mask betraying none of his emotions.
His wife, Narcissa Malfoy, on the other hand wore an expression of unadulterated shock.
The Dark Lord was inside their foyer, sitting on an antique couch, his long pale fingers crossed together as he watched the middle-aged couple in front of him. He was rather delighted with their reaction. After all, Lucius Malfoy botched up his previous mission at the Department of Mysteries and this new mission he gave them was the Malfoys' punishment.
Failure on this mission will cause them death.
Success would cause the end of their pure lineage. The lineage Lucius was so proud of.
Nothing could bring them any lower.
"My lord," Lucius said rather calmly, "forgive my forwardness, but my wife and I fail to see the importance of this mission to our cause."
Voldemort hissed, his eyes leveling a glare to Lucius, causing the other man to look away properly chastised. "Are you questioning my leadership now, Lucius?"
"Of course not, my lord." Lucius quickly remedied.
Voldemort nodded, then faced Narcissa. "Bring in your son now, Narcissa. I wish to speak to him."
Narcissa opened her mouth as if to speak, then on better judgment, closed it again and quickly exited the room leaving her husband and master alone. Quietly, she ascended the Manor stairs to her son's room, despairing over the recent turn of events.
For her son to touch a mudblood. Narcissa shuddered. Oh, what would the ancestors say? To sully the Malfoy name. How repulsive. Abraxas was most probably turning on his grave.
Draco was sprawled on his bed, gazing at his left forearm, the Dark Mark adorning his pale skin. Her son was branded only the previous week and he flaunted it in their circles like he did with his first broomstick at age ten. To say that Draco was happy about his mark was an understatement. He wanted this, this chance at glory, this chance to impress his father, and more than once, Narcissa wondered if Draco would have truly chosen this path if not for his intense desire to be praised by Lucius.
"Mother?" He said, looking at the woman standing in his doorway.
"The Dark Lord has asked me to summon you, Draco. He wishes to speak to you."
Draco's eyes lit up with glee. This was it. He felt it in his bones. His moment of glory, the moment he had been waiting for, has finally come. He would redeem his family from the Dark Lord's graces and finally make his father proud.
"Do not look so happy, Draco!" Narcissa snapped, "this is no joke. I'd like to remind you that you were branded because of your father's mistakes. You were accepted in the inner circle not because you were qualified, but because they were hoping you're not. They want you dead, Draco. They want us dead."
The younger Malfoy's face did not change. "I know, Mother. But I will prove you wrong. I am qualified. I am ready for this. I want to serve the Dark Lord and redeem our family in the process." He clasped his mother's hands tightly. Narcissa looked at her tiny hands engulfed in her son's much larger ones and was once again reminded that her boy was turning into a man. "Trust me, Mother."
Narcissa allowed herself a smile. Draco is more man than child now, and if he says he can do it, who is Narcissa to say he will fail? And if ever he doesn't, she would be there to protect him. Come hell or high water, no one – no one – will hurt her son.
When Draco entered the foyer, Lucius was no longer there. Seated alone in the room was the Dark Lord. He gave Draco a warped version of what must be a smile that made the younger boy's hairs stand to its ends.
"My lord," Draco greeted with a bow. Voldemort motioned for him to sit on the couch his parents had vacated and once the boy sat, Voldemort waved his hands and a silvery-gray bubble enveloped the whole foyer.
"I like mission briefings to be private." Lord Voldemort stated.
"Of course, my lord."
"You have received the Dark Mark last week, administered by Bellatrix Lestrange with your parents as witnesses, am I right, boy?"
"Yes, my lord."
"And you are to resume your schooling at Hogwarts as a sixth year student in two weeks time?"
Draco nodded.
"Answer me when spoken to." Lord Voldemort hissed, his snake-like eyes narrowing.
"I beg your forgiveness, my lord. Yes, I am going to be a sixth year at Hogwarts this coming term."
"Perfect. I'm sure you are aware of the existence of a certain Harry Potter." Draco nodded to show he was listening. "And his two cronies. The blood traitor and the mudblood."
"What I ask of you, Draco Malfoy," the Dark Lord continued, "is rather simple. I want you to conceive a child with Hermione Granger. I want the child that the two of you will yield and you will give this child to me, healthy and strong."
Draco's face mirrored his mother's when presented with this news a few moments ago.
"Your appearance is Lucius' yet your bearing is Narcissa's." The Dark Lord observed. "Do not worry, Draco, I do not do this simply to spite your family."
Draco seriously doubted that but good judgment told him to keep quiet. The Dark Lord wished him to have a child? With the mudblood!
Draco cleared his throat. "May I know the reason for this mission, my Lord?"
"I admonished your father for asking the same question. I will not do the same with you as you are directly involved. And I want you to know. I feel like I can trust you, Draco. You are not an incompetent buffoon like your father." The Dark Lord said silkily. The Dark Lord was luring him, trying to get a firmer hold on the new recruit and if this whole debacle happened before he learned that the Dark Lord was out for their skins, Draco would be jumping for joy by now. "However, the time for stories and explanations has not yet come. Do you accept your mission, Draco?"
It was a rhetorical question. Rejection of a mission from the Dark Lord means immediate death.
With his next three words, Draco Malfoy had signed the death warrant of the pure Malfoy lineage.
"Yes, my lord."