This is Chapter 1 of my first fan fiction – a story that takes place post HBP. Eventually, I am planning to make this a Draco/Ginny fic, but this should also contain some action and drama. I am going to keep the chapters very short so that I can update more frequently. I hope you like it! Enjoy :-)

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Steal-toed boots tapped out a methodic rhythm on the alternating dark-green and silver-gray marble tiles of Malfoy Manor. Black capes whirled and whipped around, as figure after figure apparated into the mansion and began marching towards the grand entrance hall, a room embellished with ornate pillars and carvings. Once present, the cape-wearers found their spot in a circle that was beginning to form – a circle of devotion, pulsing power and pain.

The heir to this estate and grandeur, Draco Malfoy, brushed the silver blonde hair out of his eyes, as he felt his feet hit the solid ground of his bedroom. He turned to look into the face of the man next to him. Greasy strands of black hair framed the pointed face, fierce black eyes, and aquiline nose of Severus Snape.

Draco's mind swirled and jolted, and the two words foremost in his thoughts tossed themselves out of his mouth before he could stop them, "Thank You."

The older man whipped around and directed a piercing look into the boy's cloudy, steel-gray orbs. "Do not thank me yet," he answered, before strutting out of the room and heading for the stairs.

Draco followed behind, elongating his strides to try and keep up, and cursing his lack of strength. Could I make it any clearer, how much I was dreading my task! It's bad enough that I failed; now I've just admitted I'm glad that I did, he thought, scolding himself. Of course, the words he let slip were true. The pressure of his mission tore him apart, and when it came down to the final chore, a simple incantation and flick of a wand, he had crumbled.

Even as he rebuked himself, he knew that casting the Killing Curse was no easy feat. It was a complicated bit of magic that took a very strong emotional focus to be successful. Had he said the spell, it probably would not have worked. On the other hand, he was now a flesh and blood Death Eater, and the burning tattoo in his arm reminded him of that. A true servant would have been thrilled, honored to partake in such a deed. With each throb of the dark mark, he knew that being sworn into Voldemort's ranks, had not given him the dark desire to cause pain the other followers felt. Is it an innate quality, he wondered, or can I still learn? He was desperate to please his master, and even more so his father.

Today it was made clear that Draco did not have what it took to be a supporter of the Dark Lord. He felt like a piece of paper, torn in two and dropped, left to float to the floor. He could only fulfill his deepest desire -- to make his father proud – through his own volition and action, and he had been incapable of doing so. His heart ached with self-hatred, but even more so with fear. The Dark Lord did not support failure, and Draco would be punished.

A sudden thought came into his head, and, in a voice that sounded breathy and shaky even to him, he asked, "Why did the Dark Lord choose to hold this meeting here, Professor?"

Snape turned. "I think it is safe to say that after tonight I am no longer your professor," he snapped, without answering his question.

Draco staggered down the stairs, almost tripping on the bottom step, as his stomach twisted and burned with terror – a fear for which he despised himself all the more. He entered his place in the circle last. A full ring of Death Eaters towered around him, and he felt like he was smothering in the black billowing capes. He turned his direction to a pedestal, from which a marble statue of Salzaar Slytherin had been moved aside, and replaced by a high-backed, mahogany and gold-gilt throne. The low lighting in the room was set specifically to illuminate Lord Voldemort; he sat there, twirling his wand in between his long, pallid fingers.

Dreading the frigid yet burning gaze of his master's red eyes, he looked down at the shining, green and silver floor, only to have his stomach wrench with another painful twist. His mother sat on a low stool at the Dark Lord's feet. Her eyes danced between the cloaked men, her mouth curled in a nervous grimace. Her blonde hair fell around her shoulders; tangled and uncared for in a way she would never have been seen willingly. Her light green robes were of good quality, but disheveled, a symptom that could only be due to her restless mind. Narcissa had been informed that the Death Eaters were meeting in Malfoy Manor, but obviously, she had not been treated well. This is why the meeting is being held in the manor, he realized. His mother sat there, a token of the fact that the Dark Lord was expecting Draco to fail, prepared to dole out his punishment, if need be. The young wizard's stomach began to burn with an anger that washed out the previous fear.

How dare he bring her into this? Draco thought. She is not a Death Eater; she is nothing but a whipped housewife, a woman whose only goal in life is to please her husband and throw a good party. There is no reason for her to suffer. But Draco knew this would not still the Dark Lords wand. Voldemort was willing to cause pain to anyone, if necessary. The young man laughed internally. Who am I kidding? He causes pain all the time for no particular reason. He will not stop now, simply because my mother is innocent.

His insides writhed and ached with anger, and shame. Tears he could barely restrain burnt in the corners of his eyes. If she suffers tonight, only I am to blame. I knew what failing my task could mean. I could have cast the spell, but I was too much of a coward, to much of a… goody-goody – the words in his mind brought the taste of bile into the back of his throat. --too much of a little boy, to do my job. Now she will suffer, and it is entirely my fault.

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A/N Well, there it is – Chapter 1. If you have the time, let me know what you think! Thanks, Ali