Disclaimer: For the entire story, I claim no ownership of characters. Much of the dialogue in scenes that indeed happened within the book is Rowling's, but most of the prose is mine. Any and all detectable Draco-coddling is my fault as well.
The world was filled with an eerie darkness that swallowed shapes and shadows alike. The sky had no trace of blue in it, no stars shone down from the heavens. There was not a sound emanating from any of the people standing in a circle around the mock altar. Everything was still, except for the beating of Draco's heart.
Only he could hear the pounding that came from his chest, and the sound made him nauseous. It was his birthday, his sixteenth birthday, and this was his party. And what a party it would be, full of Death Eaters and Dark Magic. What more could a sixteen-year-old wizard wish for?
"Lumos." A voice whispered, and the yew wand belonging to that voice lit up the granite gazebo. Draco could see them clearly now, and he gave an involuntary shudder at the sight of the bone-white masks that seemed to whisk away any trace of humanity from each man.
"Are you scared, boy?" The same voice that had lit up the area taunted Draco now.
"No, sir. I am not afraid. Fear is demeaning to the character, and a sign of weakness. I laugh in the face of fear. Muahahaha!" Draco was lying through his teeth, but he wanted nothing more than to impress this man. Impressing him meant impressing his father, and that was his single goal in life. Someday his father would love and admire him, someday.
"Your father taught you well. Let the ceremony begin." The tall man flourished his wand, his red snake-eyes sweeping the room. The only woman wearing a white mask stepped forward and grabbed Draco's wiry arm.
"Imperio," she growled, licking her lips. Draco's body shook in a brief spasm of terror before his eyes went blank. The Death Eater directed Draco to lie upon the altar and drink a small vial of Veritaserum. Draco was then bound to the altar with magic. Releasing him from the Unforgivable Curse, the gruff woman chuckled at the ease of this job.
"Draco Cygnus Malfoy, do you pledge your life to serve under the rule of the Dark Lord for all eternity, no matter what the cost may be?" Another one of the white-masked Death Eaters had stepped forward. This one spoke with a bored drawl not unlike Draco's own voice.
"I do so pledge." Draco's voice was shaky, and there was an element of doubt in his drawl. The man who had spoken stepped back into the circle, and the one man without a mask turned his cold gaze to Draco.
"Are you prepared to receive the mark of servitude from me?" The man hissed at him, wondering how much longer Draco could lie through the Veritaserum.
"Y-y-yes, sir, I am prepared." It was harder this time to prevaricate, mostly because Draco could not keep his mind closed under the influence of Veritaserum.
With that, the Dark Lord himself hissed the incantation. A jet of blue light shot from his wand, and it quickly jumped from the wand to Draco. The blue light emanated from Draco, enveloping him. The light pulsed, like a heartbeat; slowly at first, ever quickening. A flash, pure white, and then the darkness returned. All was submerged into the darkness.
Lord Voldemort had taken his payment from Lucius, but he was not finished with the Malfoys yet. Now it was Narcissa's turn to pay, and her payment would be such enlightening torture. The Dark Lord almost giggled in joy at the thought of the pain it would cause her.
Draco's left arm started to burn, piercing through the suffocating darkness. He felt compelled to apparate to his bedroom, and so he did. He appeared with a loud pop in the middle of his bed. He sat there in his cold room, with its stone walls and green décor.
He stood suddenly, striding across the room to his mirror. He allowed himself a moment to admire the reflection. His silver-blond hair fell seductively across his forehead, focusing any glance on his cold blue-white eyes. He was tall, with a slim, yet fit, build. His robes were custom tailored to fit him perfectly. He shook his head to clear it and rolled up his left sleeve. There, on his left forearm, was the Dark Mark.
The snake curled perfectly through the lifeless skull. It smelled of acrid smoke, as if it had been burnt onto his arm. He admired the contrast of the black on his pale skin, flexing his thin flexor carpi radialis muscle. As he lost himself in another moment of narcissism, he heard a hiss. His eyes flew from the mark on his arm to the mirror. There, standing behind him, was the Dark Lord himself.
"What do you want of me, sir? I am your humble servant." Oh, how Draco hoped that that was the correct way to address the Lord of Almighty Darkness and Victory Over Life Itself. He cringed slightly as the Lord moved forward, placing himself between Draco and any mode of escape.
"Draco, I have chosen you for a task that many have failed. If you succeed, you will win glory and fame above all other death eaters. If you fail me, like so many before you have, I will kill your whole family as punishment. Do you understand me?" The Dark Lord spoke loudly, as if he expected someone else to hear.
"Y-yes, my lord, I understand. What is it you would have me do?" Draco stopped the stuttering only to have his body start trembling. With great effort, he shut down the part of his brain that was causing him to tremble.
"You must kill Albus Dumbledore for me. I do not care how, but he must die before the end of your sixth year. Do not fail me, Draco, do not fail me." With those words, Voldemort vanished. Draco let himself tremble a little bit, just to give the rest of his mind time to work things out.
Draco's brain was very compartmentalized, and Draco was very good at shutting down certain compartments. At school, he shut down compassion and pity, making him a very effective bully. At home, he shut down pain and love, because he did not wish to be like his father. He only wished for his father to like him. His mother adored him, frequently sending him gifts and candies. She always signed his father's name, but Draco knew that it was not from him.
His father had never wanted children, and to Lucius, Draco was the worst sort of son. Draco was weak, full of love for his parents. In Lucius' eye, love was a weakness to be trodden on. Draco learned quickly that if he was going to survive as a Malfoy, he was going to need to be a Malfoy, and Malfoys don't cry.
Draco couldn't do much about killing Dumbledore until he was at school, and so he waited to decide on how exactly he was going to go about this job. He waited so long that he nearly forgot about it.
