Author's Note and Disclaimer: The idea for this story hit me out of nowhere. I haven't read all of the sixth book yet (what a horrible Harry Potter fan I am. I do have it though, awaiting my reading pleasure) so some of the plot here will be altered to fit. Hope you enjoy. So far, I own nothing but the plot, unfortunately.

Chapter One: Cold Prospects

I was walking through the skin of the mirror

Into the unexpected country of my childhood.

I watched my body dispersed and reunited

Somewhere else, transformed, transfigured.

-Edward Hirsch

-

That night the rain poured from the heavens as if to knock loose the stars. It crashed with a tumultuous rage, causing the tiny plants to quiver as they bent beneath the water's mighty will. It brought the Wrath of the Gods, screaming and booming at the two individuals in the process of attempting to change fate.

They huddled, man and wife, in the midst of the rain with a child clutched between them. Screaming and shivering, the child wiggled in the woman's arms. She held the baby close, trying to keep it warm. However, their magic was dwindling. There was hardly enough left for the last spell.

However, hope was not gone. Somewhere, in the distance, a child had survived the killing curse. With an age-old prophecy discovered, the Dark Lord's reign would end. The Boy Who Lived would not be alone in his desperation to fight he-who-must-not-be-named. A Dragon would be led to victory over evil by the light of the moon.

The mother laid her baby on the patch of clovers; sprinkling marigold and snowdrop petals over the child's torso. The parents began to chant. The mother watched with saddened eyes as an aura appeared around the baby, causing her blankets to flutter and reveal the crescent moon shaped birthmark on her ankle. The world around them fell silent. The rain slowed, even the human eye could trace the raindrop's destination to the ground. Lightning froze in its journey across the sky, a beautiful pattern of seared edges. With raised eyes, the mother felt as if the sky was tearing open, pushing the weight of ages onto her chest.

The words trickled from their mouths like poetry, like pain. She could hardly breath as her own life force funneled from her body and into a large sphere that hovered over the child's head. When their chanting ceased, the energy began to descend upon the child.

The mother flinched, wanting to hold her baby close to her chest just one more time. "No, for the good of the world," her husband whispered, holding her back. He placed a kiss on her cheek and whispered a confession of unconditional love. However, the words were distant, merely an echo before they even reached her ears.

The power settled inside the baby's chest, barreling out and slamming the parents to the ground. Once again, the rain resumed. Crashing around the bodies as if mocking them. Thunder and lightning screeched, drowning out the child's screaming. Screams that fell on the lifeless ears of loving parents.

Seventeen years later:

What happened to it all? Each year had slipped from his hands before he had even realized it was gone. They all seem to go like that, quickly and leaving behind a permanent stain on his life. What happened, he questioned again, to the life of kids? It seemed all an echo of a time long past. Was it even him?

He had always been what his father had asked him to be. Knowing full well the punishment if he had not, he dutifully obeyed every command. For seven years, he had kept an eye on Potter, Weasley, and their mudblood friend Granger.

He knew all these tasks would lead up to one moment: his own initiation into the Dark Ranks. From the moment he understood the contrast between good and evil, he knew that he would always, without doubt, know his place. The line had been drawn and he had been deemed unworthy to sit among the ranks of The Boy who Lived, brave Granger, and noble Weasley.

Despite the obvious path in front of him, Draco Malfoy felt doubt, from somewhere, rising in his mind.

It was always the cold that woke him. Despite the canopy bed, draped in a silk coverlet, which provided adequate warmth, nothing could subdue the evil that radiated from Malfoy Manor. After his mother had passed away, the house had grown only colder, as had the spirit that lingered somewhere in the dusty abyss of Draco's soul.

Draco pushed aside the cover, placing his feet on the icy stone floor. He was used to it by now, the ever-present numbness. Moving across the room, Draco paused to confront the man that stared at him from the mirror.

Draco smirked, smoothing a hand over his muscled chest. If there was one thing he could take pride in, it was his youth. He had grown into a man, one he suspected his father envied. He had cut his hair so that without large amounts of gel, it had the tendency to stick straight up. His eyes narrowed under perfectly curved eyebrows. His father's girls had told him that he had the most striking eyes of anyone they had ever seen. They were a deep, heartless slate grey that had developed from years of living in the Manor. Patrician cheekbones and pale porcelain skin added to the eloquently evil aspect of Draco Malfoy.

Behind this exterior, Draco molded himself into the perfect son of Lucius Malfoy. He could recite by memory many of the Dark curses and hexes and their counter-curses. Though he hadn't been initiated as of yet, he still went to every Death Eater meeting and had since he turned seventeen. His father had even allowed him to go on a few top-secret missions, during which he honed his skills at the crucio curse.

Draco slipped on a black tee, exiting his room. Downstairs, Draco could hear his father arguing with some whore. Upon entering the dining room, both sets of eyes snapped in his direction.

"Draco," Lucius snapped, warning his son with a hint of power.

"What?" Draco questioned, calling a house elf to his side. "I want to eggs – sunny side up – with a slice of toast and sausage." After ordering, Draco turned back to his father and the slut.

The girl was impatiently tapping her heels against the marble floor. The rapid noise grated on Draco's nerves. Finally, he snapped, "What the bloody hell are you still doing here?" Being that Draco had never even spoken to one of his father's hookers, let along yell at them, he was sure she was startled. "You are just something to pick up and throw away. He doesn't pay you for your conversational skills," Draco snorted. "Believe me, I can assure you of that. Go away. If he ever decides, for some reason God only knows, that he does wish to speak to you, then I'm sure he'll call."

The girl, who Draco had heard his father address as Lucy, was taken aback. She sputtered, an angry huff escaping her rosy lips.

"Well, you heard him," Lucius waved his hand in dismissal. Lucius had begun to read the Daily Prophet and completely ignored the dejected girl to his left. Once the girl had left, angered at being ignored by both Malfoys, Lucius began to speak to his son. "There is a meeting tonight. I expect that you will be there."

"Of course, Father." Draco picked up a fork and began to eat the meal that he had ordered. Without even a thanks from Draco, the house elf shuffled back into his corner.

Draco silently ate his food for the remainder of breakfast. When he finished, he laid down his fork and began to scoot back from the table.

"Oh, and Draco, tonight you will become a Death Eater. The Dark Lord has finally deemed you worthy enough to join the inner circle. This is a great honor." Lucius looked up from his paper. "A note came for you in the mail."

"Yes sir," Draco agreed. He rubbed his left forearm, glancing at the pale skin. Soon the dark skull would be etched there, snake slithering across his flesh. He pushed his chair back under the table. Leaving the dining room, he meandered into the foyer. The mail was thrown haphazardly on top of a round table in the middle of the grand room.

He picked up the letter addressed to him, noting the foreign crest at the top of the envelope.

Dear Mr Draco Malfoy,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Madame Monfrey's Finishing School. I, Madame Monfrey, specially chose you from a list of students provided by Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please note, that if you chose to attend, send a letter in advance so we know that you are coming.

If you do attend, be advised that owls and cats are the only creatures allowed here. It is still under debate where any form of Magical Creatures class will be offered. We offer classes that advance beyond the teaching of our Predecessors. It is a great opportunity to become friends with people that will stay with you through out the rest of your life.

If you chose to attend, please bring:

1 wand

1 standard cauldron

Quills

Ink

2 sets of plain black robes

1 winter cloak, black

All potion supplies and books will be provided up arriving to classes.

Respectively Yours,

Madame Monfrey

Draco lowered the letter, confused. Madame Monfrey? Had he ever heard of her before? He returned to his father's side, letter still clutched in his grasp. Before he had a change to express his confusion on that matter, Lucius spoke up. "I suspect you will be going. This school is a strange occurrence. I feel that it is a threat to the Dark Lord."

"To the Dark Lord?" Draco questioned. Of course, this would be about him. Draco could have ran stark naked through the halls of Malfoy Manor during his father's yearly Dark Wizard Dinner and Lucius would have exclaimed that the Dark Lord would be ashamed and offended. It never mattered to Lucius how Draco felt or acted, unless it was against Voldemort.

"You will attend the school as a spy. I will expect reports home from you every week. We need this Malfoy." Lucius stood, placing a hand on his father's shoulder. "After Harry escaping my grasp once again, the Malfoy name is tainted in the Dark Wizard Circle. Is this clear?"

Draco nodded, without speaking. As soon as his father left the room, the letter slipped from his grasp. He lowered his head into his hands and wondered at what he had become and what he was becoming. Tonight, he would become a monster. He had killed, tortured, maimed- all in the name of the Dark Lord, for the sake of his father. Though his conscious had never haunted him, something that constantly caused worry, his anger presided inside his soul, boiling.

His anger at being bossed around and used like some rag doll. Perhaps, he didn't have the conviction his father possessed for all things dark. It wasn't that he was angry at having to do it for the Dark Lord, it was that he was expendable that irritated him. It was he was ordered to do the dangerous or nasty jobs, and authority didn't sit well on Draco's shoulders.

-

Figures spiraled in on Draco, circling him like vultures ready for the kill. He could see the flash of their eyes underneath the skull masks. He smirked, hands clenching his wand tightly in his coat pocket. He knew what he was here for- to be marked. But the way they danced around him, the way they chanted their spells, he felt like a sacrifice.

And Draco wouldn't put it past his father to toss him up to the altar. Not if the Dark Lord demanded it so.

Suddenly, the figures parted, revealing in their place the Dark Lord himself. "So, young Malfoy, are you ready to be your father's pride and one of my Death Eaters."

"Of course, my Lord." He had been raised for this very moment. He was taught how to speak, how to address, and how to look at Voldemort.

Voldemort smiled and his snake-like resemblance was apparent. He waved his arm and Draco was unceremoniously shoved forward, his left sleeve torn away in the process. He stood before the Dark Lord, pride allowing him to hold his head high.

"I am giving you something to be proud of, boy." Voldemort placed his wand against Draco's flesh, whispering under his breath.

A tiny spark of pain shot up Draco's arm. It was followed by the most torturous moments of Draco's short life. Each line of the snake slithering its way onto Draco's flesh sent a searing pain up his arm. Each tooth of the screaming skull ripped a moan of agony from his lips.

When Voldemort had finished lacing the mark into Draco's arm, he released him. Draco stumbled to the ground, clutching his arm. Pain caused his vision to swirl. He could hardly make out the figure of his father, smiling broadly and talking with Voldemort.

"He leaves in a few days," he could hear his father's voice. It was a distant whisper. "He has been briefed on what I expect of him."

"Very good," the Dark Lord hissed.

Author's Note: I edited this chapter, added some scenes and made others longer. I hope you enjoy the revised version.

If you are reading this for the first time, please tell me how you liked it. I love to here comments on my work. It only takes a second and your input fuels my writing. I have plenty of adventures ahead, awaiting both Draco and Hermione and plenty of D/H goodness.

Much Love,

M.R.

marigold: pain/ grief

snowdrops: hope

clover: hope / luck