A/N: Hey everyone! Here's a Dramione I've been cooking up for a while. Now, all you really need to know is that it's slightly HBP compliant, but not completely. As will become obvious, Draco never received the mission, and Dumbledore is still alive. It begins in their 7th Year at Hogwarts, and continues on.

Special thanks to my beta, PlonkersOnDaLoose, for her help. She's amazing! =) And my best friend, Zehra, for analyzing every single word she reads.

Anyways, read and enjoy! And don't forget to REVIEW!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Or Draco Malfoy. J K Rowling does.

Chapter One- The Dark Lord

(Draco Malfoy)

The slight movement next to me tugged the silken sheet off of my face. The light glaring down on my closed eyelids was disconcertingly bright. My jaw was slick with sweat– wait, sweat? Impossible. Malfoys never sweat. It was time to find out where I was, and who was snoring away next to me, in a very unladylike manner, might I add.

I cracked my eyes open and was momentarily blinded by the brilliant sunlight streaming in through a slit in the curtains. This meant I wasn't in Malfoy Manor; the house-elves knew, after sixteen years of serving me, that I did not take a gap in the drapes very well in the morning.

I could not see the face of my companion, but judging from the long, black hair splayed over the pillow and the general amount of pink in the room, it could only be Pansy. I sighed, trying to remember how I kept managing to end up like this, and slid out of bed, careful not to wake her. I was not a morning person in general, and was certainly in no fit state to deal with a squealing, nagging, lustful teenage girl.

I glanced at the alarm clock– pink, again– on Pansy's bedside table. It showed half-past eight. Good; I had an hour before the meeting. Stretching out the kinks in my joints, I loped away towards the bathroom, which, surprisingly, was not another violent shade of pink. In fact, I found I was rather fond of it; all the walls were plastered with full-length mirrors, meaning that wherever I went, replicas of my face smirked right back at me– most definitely a pleasurable sight. Once done with brushing my teeth, I realized that a shower was in order. Parkinson's sweat had left my neck uncomfortably sticky. I stepped into the bathtub and pulled the curtain round me before adjusting the water to the correct temperature.

My eyes closed as the hot water began running; nothing felt better than the sensation of the scalding water pounding on my back. Hazy images from the previous night drifted across my mind: an 'End of the Vacation' Bash at the Parkinsons Lodge … plenty of booze … Pansy's misled and drunken attempts at seducing me. She may have been successful at achieving her goal, but only because I realized that I had no other entertainment for the night.

Turning around, I allowed the water to drum on my forehead and I thought I could feel each individual drops of water hitting its target before making its way down my face. After another half hour or so, I shut off the flow of water, wrapped a towel around my midriff and stepped out of the tub. Looking around, I realized that I'd left my wand in Pansy's room. Damn it. I opened the door noiselessly, but no use– she was already wide awake, but apparently not any less delusional than she had been the night before.

'Draco,' she purred, turning her baby-blue eyes on me and lazily throwing the pink cover off her body in an obvious attempt to seduce me. 'Come, join me again…'

'Don't be stupid,' I said, sparing a glance at the clock before reaching for my wand, which had been abandoned on her dressing table the night before. 'Have you forgotten about our meeting?' I watched in amusement as her eyes expanded in alarm. She leapt out bed and ran, not so gracefully, towards the bathroom.

'Wait for me,' she said, winking through a gap in the door.

'Not likely,' I answered tersely. 'I'm supposed to go with Father.'

'Oh yes, of course,' she said, before shutting the door with a soft click. 'Well, I'll see you later, then.'

I did not bother with replies, but proceeded directly to drying my hair with a wave of my wand. Once finished dressing, I took a fistful of Floo powder from Pansy's mantelpiece, threw it into the dying embers of the fire and, stepping in, shouted, 'Malfoy Manor'.

Within a few, dizzying seconds, I was coughing on the dark hearth in front of the fireplace in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor.

'Finally home, are you?' sneered a cold voice, remarkably like my own. Looking up, I saw my father sitting in a winged armchair, tapping his wand against the armrest– he was impatient. Wonderful.

As he stood up, his features were thrown into focus by the light filtering into the room through the coloured glass of the high, domed ceiling. If people thought our voices were similar, then our faces would startle them. Both of us stood at the intimidating height of 6'2", yet he always exerted an innate command over me that I'd never been able to overthrow fully. He, like me, was already clad in flowing black robes and a matching cloak. His hood was thrown back to reveal hair the same colour and texture as mine, except that while his grew past his shoulders and was tied back with a piece of dark velvet, mine was shorter and let loose over my forehead, a constant cause of displeasure for my father, just as was my apparent "womanizing".

'For a moment there, I thought you may be late,' he accused, his eyes narrowed.

'Of course not, Father,' I said, trying to keep the impatience from my voice. Despite his powerful tone, I had been growing more resistant to it over the years. 'I know that that would be unacceptable, especially from a Malfoy.'

He nodded, apparently pleased by what I had said. 'Are you ready?' he asked, scouring my face with his grey, emotionless eyes, as though searching for signs of weakness. As ready as I'll ever be, I thought, but refrained from saying so, nodding curtly instead. 'Come. Let us not keep the Dark Lord waiting.' My father placed a white Death Eater's mask to hide his face and threw on his hood; I followed suit. He held out his left arm, through which I loosely looped mine. Shaking back his sleeve, he touched a finger to the Dark Mark burned on to his skin and we were enclosed on all sides by a crushing darkness. It lasted only a few moments before being replaced by a soothing, greenish light.

The thick crown of leaves of the tall trees of the forest to which we had Apparated provided shelter from the glaring heat of the mid-morning sun.

'Ah… our final guests.' I had never expected the Dark Lord's voice to be quite so high-pitched; nevertheless, it made you want to start running in the opposite direction and never stop. Fighting the instinct, I turned to face him for the first time.

I had spent most of my life trying to imagine what He would be like…but nothing could have prepared me for what awaited me. The Dark Lord stood before a semi-circle of cloaked and hooded figures. He was approximately the same height as me, I noticed, as he walked up to us, but it was the way he moved, the way he looked at me, that told me immediately that I had no choice but to bow down before him– his very aura exuded such arrogance, such pride and stateliness and sheer superiority that I had encountered in no one ever before. Never again would I curse my father for his egotism, I thought, as I sank to my knees before him.

'Lucius, I see that you have finally arrived. And brought your son…' There was a distinct tone of ownership in his voice as he spoke, as if he knew that he had the power to end our lives with a swipe of his wand. 'Lucius, take your place,' he ordered, pointing to a gap in the semi-circle. My father obliged with an almost indecent haste, but as I made to follow, he blocked my path. 'Not so fast, young one,' he said silkily.

'Draco Malfoy…' He pulled my hood off, exposing my face for further examination. 'He looks like you, Lucius,' The Dark Lord chuckled, and I felt a shiver run down my spine– but just one.

'Thank you, my Lord,' came Father's reply.

'So, Dra-co…' He drew out the first syllable on my name, which fell irregularly on my ears. I could not help but look up and those red eyes bored into mine.

'You have been named Head Boy.' It was a statement, not a question, so I remained quiet. The silence in the forest was unsullied– not even a bird chirped; no rodents rustled through the undergrowth. 'You have been named Head Boy by that Muggle-adoring fool, Dumbledore. Do you know why?'

'I– it is because of my skills as a wizard and my academic achievement, I believe, my L-Lord,' I tried to remain calm as I answered, managing quite well.

He raised his eyebrows. 'Oh… is that all?

'I beg your pardon?… My Lord,' realizing I had sounded rather arrogant, I added the last part in an attempt to seem more subservient.

He chuckled, quiet and deadly. 'So, you claim it is merely because of your marks and magical ability? You aren't– like­– him?'

'My Lord, I am quite sure that my son–' Father began, but the Dark Lord raised a hand to silence him.

'Let your son answer, Lucius. Now tell me boy, why would that old fool pick you as Head Boy when you are in the same year as his Golden Boy, the Boy Who Lived, and, as they now call him… the Chosen One… Harry Potter?'

'Potter?' I spat the name. 'My Lord, even, as you say, a fool like Dumbledore knows that I am far more worthy of a position as prestigious as Head Boy than that empty-headed, Mudblood-loving Potter.'

This seemed to invoke curiosity. 'So… you are not, as I feared, a traitor to our kind? You are not in sympathy with Potter?'

I snorted in spite of the danger I knew it may potentially put me in. 'My Lord, Potter is a mediocre wizard to the last fibre, and lives on merely due to dumb luck and the protection of other, more capable, witches and wizards.'

'My, my…Lucius, it seems I was severely mistaken about your son. He seems… promising.' An automatic smirk spread across my face. 'You will be a valued Death Eater, my boy, I am certain, and a fine heir to your father. Take your place.' As I strode over to stand next to my father at the centre of the semi-circle, I could feel the gaze of all the others on my back. I felt as though I had just passed the most difficult examination of my life. I probably had– and with flying colours.

Presently, the Dark Lord turned to address everyone else. 'Well, today, we have among us the… shall I say? – budding Death Eaters. All of you shall be coming of age within the coming year, am I correct?' There was a noise of general assent before he continued. 'This means that, once you have completed your final year of education, all of you will attend the Initiation Ceremony which is held annually and I shall personally brand you. Each of you will receive the Dark Mark, and will officially join the ranks of the Death Eaters. If any of you… disagree, now would be your last chance to… express your concerns.'

I looked around at my companions, none of them recognisable under the black hoods shrouding their faces, but I knew who was here: Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, and the twins Andrew and Ethan Selwyn, both of whom were in their last year at Durmstrang, but their father was a Death Eater who had been broken out of prison in our Fifth Year. As far as I knew, none of them were stupid enough to protest– they had the same upbringing as mine; in essence, we had had the same values instilled in us– that is to say, we lacked moral principles altogether.

It was the last figure, who had appeared without his father and of his own free will, who surprised me most– Zacharias Smith. I eyed him suspiciously, wondering what had caused him to switch over to this side; both his parents were working for the Ministry. I did not feel like I could trust him, but if he had proven to the Dark Lord that he could be trusted, then I was no one to question the decision.

Not even a muscle twitched in the semi-circle as the Dark Lord watched us in amusement for a minute. 'If you are sure, it is done. You may leave now.'

Slowly, in pairs of father and child, the members of the meeting began to Disapparate. Father grabbed my arm and, with one last bow, we turned on the spot.

We reappeared in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, where I immediately let go of my father's arm and made for the large oak double doors, but Father stopped me.

'Draco.'

I turned to see my father walking up to me. 'Yes, Father? Is there something you wanted?'

I could see my father's usually cold eyes bursting with as much pride as was in his voice as he spoke. 'Nothing, Draco. I had been concerned for you, but it seems foolish now. You have made me proud today, my son.' He smiled– something which I had not seen since I was ten-years-old and he watched Mother bend down to smell a rose in the garden. But it did not last long, and his usual cold formality returned as he bid me away. 'I'm sure you must have a great deal to prepare for your new school year. You may leave now.'

I turned on my heel and strode away, through the doors, the hallway and climbed up the marble staircase until I reached the third floor, which housed my quarters. Another set of oak doors opened into my room. The doors shut behind me and I walked straight across the white marble floor, ignoring the wooden four-poster with green hangings and the bottle-green sofas. I headed for the glass doors that led to the terrace and threw them wide open.

This was undoubtedly my favourite part of the Manor. The huge terrace itself had a mini garden, with potted flowering plants and a tiny lily pond set into the terracotta-tiled floor; but the best part was the view, overlooking the rose garden. Mother used to tend to it herself, growing roses of every shade and hue imaginable; the rose garden was easily her favourite part of the immense grounds of the property. There was even a wrought iron swing, set under the shade of a beech tree on which she used to sit for hours at a time, reading, listening to music or simply gazing out over the pond on whose bank the rose garden had been made.

I sighed, shaking my head, and re-entered my room, not wanting to allow my thoughts to continue down the lane of my Mother. But it was not easy, especially with a father who apparently knew nothing about my life. He evidently didn't know that I had nothing to "prepare" for my school year. The house-elves had already finished packing my belongings into my trunk; Leontes, my eagle owl, would be placed in his cage tomorrow morning after he returned from his night-time jaunt; my wand had already been polished the previous day; and I certainly did not have anything to study– the only time I found it necessary to study was before the final examinations, that only for revision. I was not like that Mudblood Granger who studied like a freak throughout the year. She practically lived in the library.

And that's when it hit me with the force of a rampaging hippogriff– who was the Head Girl?

Oh, surely not…

"I make them good girls go bad, I know your type- you're daddy's little girl, just take a bite, let me shake up your world; 'Cause just one night couldn't be so wrong; I'm gonna make you lose control."

Virtual brownies to anyone who can tell me the name of the song! Mmm, brownies, I love em!

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