Author's Note:

You may read any chapter in any order. This fanfiction is a collection of one-shots that flesh out stories that are either alluded to have happened, or are inspired by a quote or passage from the books. They are all strictly canon so you can think of them as the deleted scenes. I hope you enjoy.

Chapter labeling explained: 7th (the book the story is associated with), Dark Lord Ascending (the chapter it is associated with): Branding (the topic of the story).

7th, Dark Lord Ascending: Branding
Catty Engles

The high hedge curved with them, running off into the distance beyond the pair of impressive wrought-iron gates barring the men's way. Neither of them broke step: in silence both raised their left arms in a kind of salute and passed straight through…

The iron bars before Snape that only a second ago were firm and solid, swirled away, reduced to inky suggestions. The brand that had granted him passage burned black on Snape's forearm. It triggered a memory earlier that summer, little over a month ago… June 5th. Like tonight, Snape had been responding to a summons from his master. The dewy air had hung heavy around Malfoy Manor that day as Snape pushed open the heavy wooden door of the drawing room.

It had been a gathering of Voldemort's closest supporters, similar to tonight, the largest since the disaster at The Ministry. Lucius Malfoy, the master of the house in name only, overlooked the scene from a giant portrait over the barren fireplace. The real Lucius Malfoy was imprisoned in Azkaban after his capture at The Department of Mysteries a few weeks ago. To add insult to ignominy, Lord Voldemort had taken up residence in Malfoy's vacated home. Lucius's wife and son sat in fearful silence near the bottom of the table. Narcissa lightly smoothed her the pale young man's hair with a shaking hand, until he shook her off. Draco was staring down at his empty plate, still gripping his fork as if he would have preferred it were a wand. It was obvious why when Snape turned his attention to the scene around him.

There had been an odd air of frivolity on this day in early summer. Voldemort's mood was light, despite recent setbacks. Tonight, he allowed laughter and cruel banter to flow freely. A recent foray into the cellars of the Malfoy's house had turned up a few casks of costly elf-made wine, and since it was in vogue to embarrass the Malfoys, the entire assemblage was making a great show of drinking it.

Yaxley was regaling Selwyn and Rowle with a tale of how he had tormented a Muggle family earlier that day in West Sussex. Bellatrix Lestrange and Alecto Carrow were using the Malfoy's fine china as target practice. Aiming just so that pieces of porcelain would shower Wormtail who took the humiliation in angry silence. Travers and Goyle were muddling their way through a nasty and meandering drinking song that included a mermaid rejecting suitors of all races for one suggestive fault or another. It was a rare time that Voldemort allowed festivities such as this, so the celebrations were rabid.

Snape took his seat near the head of the table, and had been only half-listening to Yaxley when he caught the danger in the air. Lord Voldemort was regarding Draco Malfoy with an intense, electric gaze. The whole room must have felt the shift in their master's attitude. Bellatrix's cackles turned to shrieks, Selwyn and Rowle's guffaws grew frenzied, and the drinking song escalated from a dirge to a shouting contest. Draco's hackles rose at the rising energy in the room.

"I had thought one of you would have asked by now," spoke Lord Voldemort, cutting clearly over the uproar. His voice neither loud nor commanding, and yet, all conversation snuffed out. Travers and Goyle's song ended on an unresolved note, leaving an uneasy expectation hanging in the room.

"What are we celebrating? It occurs to me that we have not yet acknowledged the object of our soiree," smirked Voldemort, rising at the head of the table. Confused glances passed between Death Eaters. Narcissa Malfoy's hand grasped Draco's wrist. He stiffened. The air had become tight.

"I must extend my deepest congratulations to… Draco. I do believe today is your… birthday."

Amycus and Alecto snorted. Yaxley gave a little grunt of surprise. All eyes were trained on Draco. Only after the silence pressed down upon him did Draco drag his gaze towards Voldemort.

"Thank you, sir," Draco said warily. Snape wondered if this was the first bit of direct conversation that had passed between Voldemort and the boy. The Dark Lord certainly had not paid Draco much attention before.

"And who has brought gifts?" Voldemort looked around, almost gleefully hopeful at his followers. The silence reigned as his Death Eaters ducked their heads.

"Bellatrix," Voldemort extended a long-fingered hand to her, and Bellatrix's entire body seemed to incline towards him. "Have you no trinket for your nephew?" Bellatrix made a sputtering sound, starting an excuse, but Voldemort cut her off. "No matter. Any other gift pales in comparison to that which is imparted from mother to son… Narcissa? I daresay you have something for the boy? I believe presents are in order on this happy day."

White shown around the irises of Narcissa's eyes, but her gaze was steady and her voice unwavering. "Yes, my lord, I do have something for Draco."

"Well," Voldemort pressured, "on with it."

Narcissa spared a moment to glance at the portrait of Lucius, and Snape realized that they were about to witness a scene Narcissa had hoped would have been a private and important moment. It had never occurred to her that the Dark Lord would take notice of her son's birthday. Nevertheless, Narcissa produced from inside her sleeve a black lacquered box with silver inlay and handed it to her son. Draco took the box wordlessly and set it on the table before him. His fingers followed the curve of the box's lid then popped the clasp with a sound that echoed around the dining hall. Upon drawing open the lid, there, nestled on a bed of green silk lay a heavy silver pocket watch with a cover embossed with the phrase Sanctimonia Vincent Semper.

"Ahh," sighed Voldemort, "a watch. How fitting. Draco has come of age." A nervous tittering circled the room. Draco closed his fist on the watch and held it in his lap, his eyes resuming their intense gaze at his plate. "Tonight does not seem a festive enough affair for such a notable event. And so unfortunate that your father could not be in attendance." The laughter grew stronger and crueler.

"I would hazard… that a gift from The Dark Lord would elevate the occasion. Draco?"

The boy raised his eyes, not sure if this was an invitation to speak. He hesitated. His adam's apple working jerkily in his throat as if he was trying to swallow but his mouth had gone dry.

"Join me." Voldemort's sinisterly easy air had lifted, and the gaze that he leveled at Draco brooked no kind of appeal or hesitation. Without a glance at his mother, Draco hurried to the front of the room. He gave an awkward bow, but caught himself before completing it, obviously not sure of what decorum he was expected to use.

"My gift is one that many witches and wizards, some even at this very table would count the most valuable honor ever bestowed upon them. And I have decided it is time to pass the mantle from father to son. You are the new head of household. Your mother must be so pleased. Narcissa, aren't you pleased?"

Draco dared to glance at his mother. His eyes were a battlefield of confusion and fear. Narcissa nodded bracingly at Draco, but no smile touched her lips as she gave a calculated response to her master, "pleased and proud, my lord."

"Proud!" The Dark Lord crowed, "I am glad to hear it. Watch and be proud. Draco, kneel." Draco knelt as one being led to the executioner's block.

"Extend your left arm." Only in that moment did Draco understand what was to occur. He extended his arm as if in a trance, his hand still gripping the watch his parents had given him. Voldemort seized his wrist and pried the fingers open to get a look at the gift. He gave an almost imperceptible nod, then jerked Draco's hand so that his robes fell back and the tender inside of the boy's forearm was exposed to the gathered crowd.

Voldemort drew his wand and with the other hand smoothed back Draco's sleeve almost lovingly, then slapped the skin sharply with his open palm, bringing a bright blush of blood to the surface. Draco hardened under the pain instead of flinching away.

"Severus," commanded Voldemort, not taking his eyes off the boy. Snape rose, fetching an embroidered towel from a side table and placed it at Draco's knees. Draco's teeth were bared in a grimace as Snape passed him. Even in this moment, Snape felt a newfound resentment flowing from Draco directed toward him.

"Draco Malfoy," intoned Voldemort, never taking his eyes from Draco. "Do you swear to take me as your one and only master? To uphold the ideals of the Knights of Walpurgis? To seek purity above all else?" Voldemort's wand crawled across Draco's skin.

Draco exhaled and met the Dark Lord's gaze, then said clearly. "I will."

"And do you swear to answer to my bidding? Put no man, beast, or ideal before our new order? Take me as your divinity?" Dark energy filled the dining hall in crackling bursts of power. Squalls of wind had picked up though no windows were open. Voldemort's wand traveled inexorably along its path.

"I do." At Draco's words, the fireplace burst into flame, fanned by the unnatural gale howling around the room. The table at which the Death Eaters sat started to tremble and bounce.

"And will you carry out my bidding to the greater good of all wizardkind?" screamed Voldemort.

"My lord, I shall!" At these words, the wind died, the fire retreated, and the table steadied. The Death Eaters cheered, raising glasses, and toasting the newest in their ranks.

"It is done then. Behold!" Voldemort dragged Draco to his feet by his left arm, raising it so all could see, "This wizard, of age, comes to me willingly to pledge his wand to his master. I christen thee with the mark of your loyalty." Voldemort's wand punctured a spot in the middle of Draco's forearm, as he pronounced, "Protea Morsmordris."

From the tip of Voldemort's wand, a snake head seemed to bite its way into Draco's flesh, making a painstakingly slow circuit on his arm, following the path Voldemort's wand had forged. Draco's could not tear his eyes away from his arm, held aloft by Lord Voldemort. The mark began to bleed. The snake's jaws worked endlessly with no heed to its host's distress. Draco began to struggle. Fangs tore through skin and yet were also a part of skin. Draco dropped to both knees, clawing at his arm. Voldemort had released him.

The blood began to pool onto the towel at Draco's feet. The serpent, its trail now cut, was emblazoned on Draco's flesh, but that was not the end of it. His skin rippled and boiled, turning a deadly black. The death's head, was swimming into being, and from Draco's expression, it was excruciatingly painful. As the skull burned brighter, the other Death Eater's Dark Marks became painful and hot, though Draco's suffering was enormous.

"And your first task, as a Death Eater, Draco Malfoy, will be to bring glory back to your disgraced family." Draco's only reply was to scream in torture, blood streaming from his wound.

Voldemort only smiled, then raised his wand, as if conducting this symphony of pain. The Death Eaters raised their arms in a salute as Draco collapsed to the floor, howling in agony. Narcissa had jumped to her feet in anguish for Draco, but Bellatrix had a hand around her waist, restraining her. Bellatrix screeched her ecstasy to the ceiling, and her cries mingled with Draco's wails and Voldemort's laughter.

Voldemort flicked his wand and the towel now soaked in Draco's blood vanished. "Narcissa, Draco. A word." Voldemort drifted to an office attached to the drawing room. Narcissa dashed forwards to assist her whimpering son to follow the Dark Lord.

Snape paused to collect himself outside of the door to the drawing hall. That was weeks ago. He brought his mind back to the present, and the news he must deliver.

…hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, then Snape turned the bronze handle."

A few notes:

The timeline's a bit off. The Battle of The Department of Mysteries occurs on June 18th, but I'll admit, I started thinking of this story before I researched the timeline, and was going by the American school year that ends anywhere from the middle of May to beginning of June, so in that estimation, the encounter at the ministries could have happened in May, and Lucius been in Azkaban for a few weeks before Draco's 17th birthday rolled around on June 5th. I just loved the touch that it was Draco's birthday, that I left it. So the timeline's a bit bent, but don't hold that against me.

Draco feels that Snape has usurped his father's place, and this feeling informs all of HBP as Draco constantly turns away Snape's offers of assistance. That informed the grimace that passed between them.

Lord Voldemort is about to assign Draco the task of killing Albus Dumbledore when he calls Narcissa and Draco into the office (which in my head used to be Lucius's, to play on the father/son imagery of Voldemort/Draco).

-Cat