My name is Ruby. I love to write but this is my first proper attempt at a FanFiction (other than worded daydreams about Draco/Severus/Sirius and I). I am desperately in need of a beta reader; please message me if you are interested. I am trying to keep this Fic as canon as possible, but obviously, considering the pairing, there will be changes.
In the film adaptation of Harry Potter and Half-Blood Prince, Draco openly displays his Dark Mark to Dumbledore, but, in the book it is not verified that he has actually taken the Mark. So for the sake of the story, let's assume that killing Dumbledore was a test to see if Draco was worthy of taking the Mark, he didn't have the Mark when he was in sixth year.
Disclaimer: Most unfortunately, I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters
Let Love Bleed Red:
Chapter One:
Malfoy Manor was a rather huge house, and did indeed look like something from a fairy tale. Hiding the pristine gravel driveway to the front of the Manor were gothic style gates, painted white. White eves; pillars; fountains. If Muggles were to see it, they would think it somewhat angelic, someplace in which a princess would live.
The neatly trimmed lawns that stretched from almost a mile were a vibrant green that would have been the envy of all neighbours… if they had any, if any were to stay long enough to notice the sickly green grass.
Yes, that was the 'thing' with the Malfoy's. Everyone knows there are some things that you can't hide. No matter if the garden is always in perfect order, if the horses are always groomed and with a sleek coat. No matter if the tiles are like shiny pearls, people will know if there are dark forces hidden beneath.
"Draco, dear, where are your black dress robes? They must be pressed and ready for this evenings meeting."
"You know as well as I do, mother, that the Dark Lord has no interest in such petty things."
"Yes, but Draco," Narcissa Malfoy sighed, "if the meeting is to be held in our house, then I assure you I will not have you looking like someone off the streets."
"But mother, I–"
"Your mother is right, Draco. We are one of the eldest pureblood houses and have long had affiliations with the Dark Lord; it is a part of our legacy. Serving the Dark Lord is a glorious honour that has been bestowed upon us and we shall treat it as such." Lucius intersected from the doorway.
"An honour?" Draco spat, twirling around to face his father, "Stop fucking pretending! You're scared shitless of him! And he knows it!" Lucius' eyes were red with fury as he stalked towards his son.
"Soon it will be your job to carry on the legacy of the Malfoy name and become a faithful servant to the Dark Lord. We shall maintain our honour, and you shall watch your tongue!"
"He's using your fear against you." No sooner than the words had left his mouth did a harsh hand strike him across the face.
"Do not speak of things in which you do not understand!" The elder Malfoy whispered resentfully, "Narcissa, come. You must leave Draco. He needs to prepare. Draco shall take the Mark tonight." The colour drained from Narcissa's face.
"Lucius, please no!" Narcissa had flung herself at her husband and was desperately pulling on his robes, "You can't. He needs to finish his time at Hogwarts! Lucius, you promised you'd wait."
"Stop at once!" and with a swift flick of his wand, Narcissa was flung across the room like a rag doll, "I did once think that this could wait, but we cannot afford to have our loyalty questioned. Draco must take the Mark tonight. The Malfoy's have been treading delicately for too long, and Draco failing to kill Albus Dumbledore has made matters even worse. It is time we show the Dark Lord how truly committed we are to him and his clause." Lucius turned swiftly and strode out of the room, summoning a house-elf in the process.
Narcissa lifted herself off the floor and gently walked towards Draco, hand outstretched. "Draco, you have turned into the wonderful young man I raised you to be. Taking the Dark Mark is the last thing I ever wanted for you, but we both knew that this day would come. You will take the Mark this evening; there is nothing neither me nor you can do to stop it. Don't let it change you, Draco. Don't let the Mark control your life like it does Lucius. Do what your heart tells you… Don't be afraid."
Draco's steely eyes followed his mother's back until she left the room and the door was closed. He rolled up his sleeve and looked at the pale, unblemished skin of his left forearm. Fear and anger bubbled and rose inside him like vomit. For some reason, Draco could not imagine being in the Dark Lords inner circle, being branded with the Mark, the highest honour among his followers.
He was with Gibbon when he cast the Mark over the Astronomy Tower to lure Dumbledore there. And then he failed in killing his Headmaster. He just couldn't do it, 'killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe'. It was true. You had to really want it. Draco had been forced to try the Killing Curse on birds, dogs, cats and had never succeeded. Some people thought that he was just too young, but others insisted he was weak, and the followers of his Lord did not want weakness in their ranks. That is why the Dark Lord had given Draco a trial of sorts. Kill Dumbledore and be rewarded with the highest honour – a place in the Dark Lords inner circle. His Aunt Bellatrix had tried to give him advice, her eyes swimming with tears of gratitude. His mother had cried for days afterwards; locked herself in her room. Narcissa insisted that Draco was not yet capable of such a task. Lucius implored Draco to succeed, as it would put the both of them in a much higher place in the Dark Lords eyes; the place in which they truly deserved. Draco did nothing. He knew he was powerless. He knew he couldn't kill Dumbledore, but he tried. He thought of a very cunning plan – Dumbledore said so himself. And, it did work, but when it came down to it, Severus had to save him – again.
Draco's hatred for his own uncle was immense. He was always saving the day, for both the dark and light (although they did not know it). Draco knew there was something wrong with the picture but he could not yet put his finger on it. Maybe it was something that Dumbledore had said to him that night on the tower – that had raised unnecessary doubts and questions in his mind. Draco knew that his Aunt Bellatrix didn't like Snape either – she thought that he was too comfortable with Dumbledore, but the Dark Lord did not share her suspicions. And for Bellatrix, maybe that was enough.
Draco's head was swimming with thoughts and his brain was screaming at him: feel something, but he felt numb. He couldn't feel anything. He clutched his left forearm and sobbed. Broken, anguished cries escaped his lips but at that moment, he didn't care.
Hermione Granger always woke up at six-thirty. But today, she stayed in bed well past eight. She was dreading what she had to do. Modifying her parents' memories was the last thing she thought she would have to do when she became friends with Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter.
She found little comfort in the fact that she was only modifying the memories of her parents; not completely getting rid of them. If she survived the hunt for Horcruxes, she could find her Mum and Dad and lift the enchantment, but if not, they would be safe and happy. It really was the ideal situation.
Wendell and Monica Wilkins. So mundane. But, this wasn't about fun. This was for the safety of Harry, the Weasley's, the Order, her parents; everyone she loved. Hermione didn't know whether or not to tell her parents what she was doing. They had known something was wrong. Hermione was packing what seemed like the whole house, cutlery; pens and paper; blankets. Pouring over old maps and scavenging for camping equipment every spare second she had.
"Hermione? Are you still in bed, my dear?" her father queried from the door, pushing it open slightly.
"Yes, but you can come in."
"I can't remember the last time you stayed in bed this late," her father said with a resigned smile.
"I wasn't sleeping."
"I kind of guessed that." Dr. Granger sat on the side of Hermione's bed, "Hermione, darling. Your mother and I know something is going on. I'm not asking you to tell me what it is, no. I believe that if you haven't told us, it's for good reason. I know that you're not going back to school and again, if you haven't told us I'm sure it's for good reason. You're probably of saving the world or something, huh?"
"Something like that," Hermione grimaced.
"Don't be afraid, Hermione."
"As I was saying," continued the Dark Lord, looking again at the tense faces of his followers, "I understand better now. I shall need, or instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter."
The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms.
"No volunteers?" said the Dark Lord. "Let's see … Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore."
Lucius Malfoy looked up. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.
"My Lord?"
"Your wand, Lucius. I required your wand."
"I…"
Lucius glanced sideways at his wife. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale as he was, he long, blonde hair hanging down her back, but beneath the table her slim fingers closed briefly on his wrist. At her touch, Lucius put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand and passed it along to the Dark Lord, who held it up in front of his red eyes, examining it closely.
"What it is?"
"Elm, my Lord," whispered Lucius.
"And the core?"
"Dragon – dragon heartstring."
"Good," said the Dark Lord. He drew out his own wand and compared the lengths.
Lucius Malfoy made an involuntary movement; for a fraction of a second, it seemed he expected to receive the Dark Lords wand in exchange for his own. He gesture was not missed by the Dark Lord, whose eyes widened maliciously.
"Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?'
Some of the thong sniggered.
"I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late… what is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?"
"Nothing – nothing, my Lord!"
"Such lies, Lucius…"
The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving. One or two of the wizards barely repressed a shudder as the hissing grew louder; something heavy could be heard sliding across the floor beneath the table.
The huge snake emerged to climb slowly up the Dark Lords chair. It rose, seemingly endlessly, and came to a rest across the Dark Lords shoulders: its neck the thickness of a man's thigh; its eyes, with their vertical slits or pupils, unblinking. The Dark Lord stroked the creature absently with long thin fingers, still looking at Lucius Malfoy.
"Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?"
"Of course, my Lord," said Lucius. His hand shook as he wiped the sweat from his upper lip. "We did desire it – we do."
To Lucius' left, Narcissa made and odd, stiff nod, her eyes adverted from the Dark Lord and the snake. To his right, Draco, who had been gazing up at the inert body overhead, glanced quickly at the Dark Lord and away again, terrified to make eye contact.
"And you, Draco?"
"Yes, my Lord. Very much so."
"My Lord," said a dark woman halfway down the table, her voice constricted with emotion, "it is an honour to have you in our family's house. There can be no higher pleasure."
She sat beside her sister, as unlike her in looks, with her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, as she was in bearing demeanour; where Narcissa sat rigid and impassive, Bellatrix leaned towards the Dark Lord, for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness
"No higher pleasure," repeated the Dark Lord, his head tilted a little to one side as he considered Bellatrix. "That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you."
Her face flooded with colour, her eyes welled with tears of delight.
"My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!"
"No higher pleasure… even compared with the happy event that I hear, had taken place in your family this week?"
She stared at him, lips parted, evidently confused.
"I don't know what you mean, my Lord."
"I am talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She had just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud."
The was eruption of jeering laughter from around the table. Many leaned forward to exchange gleeful looks; a few thumped the table with their fists. The great snake, disliking the disturbance, opened its mouth wide and hissed angrily, but the Death Eaters did not hear it, so jubilant were they at Bellatrix and the Malfoy's humiliation. Bellatrix's face, so recently flushed with happiness had turned an ugly, blotchy red.
"She is no niece of ours, my Lord," she cried over the outpouring of mirth. "We – Narcissa and I – have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries."
"What do you say, Draco?" asked the Dark Lord, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. "Will you babysit the cubs?"
The hilarity mounted; Draco looked in terror at his father, who was staring down into his lap, then caught his mother's eye. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, then resumed her own deadpan stare at the opposite wall.
"Enough," said the Dark Lord, stroking the angry snake. "Enough."
And the laughter died down at once.
"Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time," he said as Bellatrix gazed at him, breathless and imploring. "You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest."
"Yes, my Lord," whispered Bellatrix, and her eyes swam with tears of gratitude again. "At the first chance!"
"You shall have it," said the Dark Lord. "And in your family, so in the world… we shall cut away the canker that infects us until only those of the true blood remain…"
The Dark Lord raised Lucius' wand, pointed it directly at the slowly revolving figure suspended over the table and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds.
"Do you recognise our guest, Severus?" asked the Dark Lord.
Snape raised his eyes to the upside-down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity. As she revolved to face the firelight, the woman said, in a cracked and terrified voice,
"Severus! Help me!"
"Ah, yes," said Snape, as the prisoner turned slowly away again.
"And you, Draco?" Asked the Dark Lord, stroking the snakes snout with his wand-free hand. Draco shook his head jerkily. Now that the woman had woken, he seemed unable to look at her anymore.
"But you would not have taken her classes," said the Dark Lord. "For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
There were small noises of comprehension around the table. A broad, hunched woman with pointed teeth cackled.
"Yes… Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles… how they are not so different from us…"
One of the Death Eaters spat on the floor. Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape again.
"Severus… please…. please…"
"Silence," said the Dark Lord, with another twitch of Lucius' wand, and Charity fell silent as if gagged. "Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defence of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the pure-bloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance… she would have us mate with Muggles … or, no doubt, werewolves…"
Nobody laughed this time: there was no mistaking the anger and contempt in the Dark Lords voice. For the third time, Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape, Tears were pouring from her eyes into her hair. Snape looked back at her, quite impassive, as she turned slowly away from him again.
"Avada Kedavera."
The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the room, Charity fell, with a resounding crash, on to the table below, which trembled and creaked. Several of the Death Eaters leapt back in their chairs. Draco fell out of his on to the floor.
"Dinner, Nagini," said the Dark Lord softly, and the great snake swayed and slithered from his shoulders on to the polished wood.