Author's Note/Disclaimer Thingie: This story happens during the same timeframe as Harry Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts. The first couple chapters have very little in the way of a mature theme, but there will eventually be a bunch of graphic sex in later chapters, so please don't read this until you're of legal age in the country you reside within. As you are probably well aware, these characters do not belong to me. I tried to be true to the spirit of the characters and the original material, but there will probably be discrepancies. I had to write this story because otherwise my brain wouldn't let me think about other things. For the rest of you, who like twisted people who do twisted things for twisted reasons, you're in for a treat. Constructive comments and feedback, as always, are highly appreciated.
Chapter 1: The Would-Be Murderer
Draco Malfoy was pacing in his dormitory. He was alone, but his eyes darted nervously towards the door every few moments. A few minutes passed and a dark shape moved in the crack under the door, darkening the serene glow of the hallway to the Slytherin common room.
There was a stiff knock at the door and without waiting for a reply, Professor Snape opened the door and stepped into the room.
He was an imposing figure in the dim green light. His tall frame clad in dark robes, greasy hair and pale, hooked nose gave him the appearance of a carrion bird looking down at the carcass of an unfortunate animal.
Snape looked at Draco and he flinched a little at the permanent ghost of a sneer he alway seemed to have curled over his lip. It made him look as though he was perpetually about to spoil someone's fun.
Apparently, he had found his target, because his lip curled back, as it so often did, in the sneering smile that he always gave before giving out a detention, especially to his favorite scapegoat, Harry Potter.
"I spoke with your mother," he said, dark eyes boring a hole into Draco's forehead.
The boy's eyes flickered for a moment before he replied.
"So?!" He tried to sound defiant, but his voice quivered slightly.
"She's worried about you," he said, darkly sarcastic, "Thinks her little baby boy isn't cut out for the scary mission from our Dark Lord."
His words had the desired effect. Draco clenched his fists in rage.
"I've got plenty of plans! Loads, really! I'm not about to let V-v-You Know Who down!"
Snape's face melted into a withering look.
"Oh, I'm sure you'll be right on it, then," he said softly, looking at his fingers as though he didn't care, but his voice betrayed an underlying hint of irritation.
Draco crossed his arms.
"I don't care what my mother told you. I'm considered a Death Eater right now, and that makes me an adult. And I can handle the mission."
"Well," Snape's tone was brisk, "Then I will expect not to have to pick up after you. Because if you can't do it, I can promise you that the Dark Lord will be incredibly pleased by...my...services..."
With that, the man whirled, greasy hair and black cloaks snapping around with him.
"For what it's worth," Snape said as he retreated, "it may do you well to see things from a different perspective."
A quiet sound of glass clinked on wood and then he was sweeping out of the room like a great black bird.
The potion sat on the little end table by the door, the side of the label closest to Draco reading "PolyJ-".
He noticed then how tightly he had been clenching his fists and his hands dropped to his sides, breathing raggedly.
"I don't need your help," he finally said to the empty room, eyes still closed in an effort to hold back the angry tears in his eyes. He flopped down on his bed and rolled on his side, wrinkling the green and silver comforter as he covered his hands with his eyes. When he finally uncovered them, they were wide and red-rimmed but tearless. His gaze was drawn down to the brown satchel he had tossed down next to his nightstand. A small, fluorescent pink bottle with a distinctive triple W on the front surrounded by a big cartoonish heart poked impishly from one side pocket as though it had a mind of its own.
"He thinks that I'm just some kind of apron-strings twiddling prat!" Draco's lip curled into a sneer of his own as he said the thought out loud.
"But I'll show him. He might think he's the Dark Lord's favorite pet, but I'm the actual pure blooded one. And for being such a dismissive shite-for-brains, I'm going to make him part of my little plan, keep him busy while I'm getting to what needs to be done-" he paused a moment, clenching his fists a bit as he thought about the task his master had given him only a few months ago and the slithery cold fingers that had brushed his cheek and turned his stomach icy with dread, "-and showing him what the real Death Eaters are capable of!"
He eyed the Polyjuice Potion on the far table and noticed that, hanging from the label like a greasy invitation, was a single strand of thick dark long hair, crinkled a bit at the end where it had been pulled from the scalp.
He smiled then, but it was not a nice smile.