VampLoverNight92

A/N: Hey, everyone. My first Harry Potter fanfiction. This story is mostly about Draco Malfoy though. 3 ferret. Hope you like. Review if you love me.

Chapter One:

Panting, I sprinted up the slate stone stairs that twisted upwards into one of the many Hogwarts hallways. When I reached topmost step, the dim, rosy light of the torches in their houses on the interior of a wide, dusty corridor welcomed me. I sighed tiredly. At least I was away from him. I shuffled quietly along the hall, seeking out an opening to the Room of Requirements at half past midnight on a school night. Just wait 'til the Dark Lord hears about this, I thought bitterly as a silver door appeared suddenly to my left. I opened the door, and immeadately thought, The Room of Requirements is at least improving. A large bed draped in green and silver bedding hung from chains on the ceiling, suspending the bed frame from the ground and swinging slightly. Flames tore at dry logs in the fireplace, and candles perched on its mantelpiece with antique armchairs nestled close to its warmth. I dropped my backpack with a thud next to the armchair I dropped into and gazed unseeingly into the fire's curdling blaze. With a look at my watch and the normal flames, I groaned. He was late. Its twelve thirty-five and no sign of Peter Pettigrew's disgusting face in the fireplace. Not that I don't like staying up all night to see that rodent's ugly head pop into the fire so I can report to the Dark Lord, but honestly! I don't have all night.

"Vix! Hello?" snapped me out of my thoughts. Peter leered at me out the grate of flames. I steeled myself to counter my first reaction to Peter—cringing in revulsion. His face seemed to have a shrunken quality, his nose looked snout-like, and his face was covered infrequently in stumble except for the top, balding spot above his head making him all the more similar to a rat.

"Pettigrew." I acknowledged. "It's Miss Cillurne to you."

"My apologizes, Miss, but I'm short on time—"

"Because someone was late—"I murmured loud enough for Peter to hear.

"Yes, yes." Peter agreed, cutting me off, and bowed his head. "Anything to report?"

"As a matter of face, yes. Pettigrew? You are aware of Mr. Malfoy?"

"Of course, Lucius is one of the Lord's most loyal servants—"

"No. The other Malfoy, the annoying one, Draco."

"Yes, I've seen him. He has great potential. He's already one of our Lord's devoted followers. Speaking of which, the Lord instructed me to tell you a message." Peter said, then went silent.

"Well?" I demanded after a moment's quiet while Peter turned his head side to side, checking my surroundings. He ignored me. "Peter! No one is here with me. You don't need to worry about eavesdropping."

"Oh, sorry—"

"Just tell me the message so I can get some sleep."

"He said that your initiation will begin in the winter, when you'll get your mark branded on your forearm. The Dark Lord demands that you seek out a mentor of sorts."

"Mentor? For what?"

"Miss, the Dark Lord expects no mistakes from his servants. He stresses that you find an older, experienced member to teach you."

"Like a babysitter?" I scoffed, rolling my eyes.

"Take him seriously, Vixen, or he'll skip branding you with the Dark Mark—"

"Big deal—"

"And kill you." Peter finished. My eyes went considerably wider, and I stuttered out, "But, I'm one of our Lord's most—"

"But when the Dark Lord has servants such as Bellatrix and the Malfoys, he won't have a dire need to keep you alive. Especially if you didn't listen to his orders…"

"Ok, ok." I hissed, and snuffed out the fire on Pettigrew's continuing dramatic warnings. So, I mused, where can I find a practiced Deatheater? Well, if my parents were still alive, that wouldn't be a problem…

My parents were the Dark Lord's mostfaithful and subservient followers. True Deatheaters. Which is why I was taken in by the Lord's other followers, for my parent's infamous accomplishments in the name of the Dark Lord. They perished when I was two, which explains why I have very little memory of them. Other members remember them well, and in result, I end up hearing recollections of my parent's past. Mina Cillurne was my mother. I hear I look just like her. I have pasty pale skin, layered chin length black hair, and grey-blue eyes. Jackson Cillurne was my father, and they were a few of the first Deatheaters ever as well as the best since. Back then, the Deatheaters didn't hide behind masks, but paraded in public under Voldemort's claim over the magical side of the world. That was all before he fell, before Harry Potter. Now, I'm fifteen, in my fifth year at Hogwarts, and there are very few Deatheaters left. Plus, not many students aspire to join the Lord as before because of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. So, I'm just an orphan, supervised by Deatheaters until I can join them after be branded with the Dark Mark. I think it'll look rather nice on my left forearm, but I've heard it burns viciously.

With Peter's face snuffed out of the fireplace grate, I turned to the suspended bed for a good night's rest. I flopped down on it. I fell asleep in full school uniform: pleaded grey skirt lined in Slytherin's silver and green, white colored shirt under a vest matching my skirt. I even slept with my stockings and Mary Janes on my feet. My dreams didn't make an appearance, and for once, I slept restfully. Without my parents fading faces peering in at me while I said my first words or first step.

.&.

"Ahh." I moaned. I felt comfortable, and in no mood to attend breakfast or even classes for that matter. All I wanted was sleep.

"All…I wan…ez..sleep." I mumbled, still not fully awake.

"Nice to know. Now get up! Wake up!" Blaise Zabini shouted, right next to my ear. "Vixen! GET UP NOW!" With that, Blaise grasped my arm and pulled me right off the bed and dumped me heavily on the stone floor. My head flared in pain when my skull cracked on the hard floor before I glared at Blaise as he laughed at my sour expression.

"Sod off, Blaise." I yelled at him from the floor.

"Get up, you git." Called another voice, and dread filled me when I could see him come closer out of the corner of my eye. Eww. Draco Malfoy. The only teenager that outranks me in the Lord's eyes. Can you believe it? I'm second best to him?

"Get out! Both of you! Leave! I don't know how you got in here, but I'm sure you can find your way out—"

"Not that hard," commented Blaise, "All we had to do was think of finding you. Room of Requirements isn't going to hide you from us, Vixen."

"What's the rush?'" I whined as Blaise issued a light kick to my side.

"It's breakfast time." Grunted a thick voice, and Vincent Crabbe's portly build hobbled into the Room of Requirements entrance. Great, I thought, just great. When did I ask for a party?! I stumbled groggily to my feet, swaying a little upright.

"Get the bloody hell out." I slurred. "I got to change. Accio uniform." My fresh uniform flew right out of my schoolbag, instructed by the tip of my wand, and into my hand. I turned to the boys. "Go on. I'll catch up."

Appeased, Crabbe hustled Blaise and Draco from the room and to the exit.