ATTENTION To see the unedited version of this chapter, please feel free to look me up on Skyehawke Archives (username is EmeraldDepths)

This fic has been planned for a while. I started writing this chapter last year and had just recently finished it. It is a response to a challenge on the Forever Fandom fanfiction website.

Challenge: This is a challege for the wonderful H/D writers out there. The story is simple; I read a story about Draco turning into a girl and I fell in love with it. So my challenge is this: In this story, Draco should be offered as a plaything to He-who-must-not-be-named by his father. The Lord prefers woman to men and he thought that Draco would make a beautiful woman. So he turns him into a girl. But before he could sleep with him, Draco manages, barely, to escape. Later on he is discovered by Harry or anyone you like. Your challenge is to make them fall in love somehow. If you wish for Draco to turn back to a guy that's up to you. As long as Harry fell in love with Draco as a girl.

So far, I am having a lot of fun writing this one.

Summary:Draco is changed into a form that pleases Voldemort, and one that he greatly regrets, although it is meant to help his family's name. He is then offered as a toy for the Dark Lord - how long will it be before he breaks?

Disclaimer:There is no way in any shape or form that I own Harry Potter. The credit should be given to one J.K. Rowling. The only thing I own is the plot.

Please enjoy!

Distorted Reflections

Chapter 1: Altered Image

"Hold still, Draco. The last thing I want is to botch this and have you turned into some kind of – "

Lucius Malfoy broke off with a shake of his head. "The Dark Lord would be most displeased if this does not turn out correctly." He narrowed his ice-gray eyes at his seventeen-year-old son and motioned with his wand for the boy to stop fidgeting.

"Yes, Father," Draco replied. He composed himself the best he could, letting the indifferent Malfoy mask slip back into place, hiding the turmoil going on within him. His thoughts were in a whirlwind; the young blonde could barely grasp one before it was whipped away and replaced with another. Draco could hardly bear to comprehend what was about to happen to him and what purpose it held. The nausea he was feeling increased in intensity with each passing moment. It almost reached a breaking point when Lucius aimed his wand directly at him; Draco had to fight to keep his gag reflex under control. Before he even realized it, his father was uttering the condemning words.

A very strange feeling overcame Draco as a rose-colored light engulfed him. His skin began tingling from his head to his toes. Shudders racked his body, closely followed by intense pain. Draco doubled over with a strangled yell as his bones began to shorten and lengthen simultaneously. Then, in a matter of seconds, it was all over.

With great difficulty, Draco picked himself up off the floor, though he did not recall ending up there in the first place. As he stood up straight, he could immediately identify some of the changes that had taken place: the added weight to his chest, the lengthened hair. His hands had lost the slight roughness Quidditch had given them. And when he looked up, Draco immediately saw that he had lost some of his height. Rather than meeting his father at six foot and being able to look him directly in the eyes, Draco found his gaze now meeting the man's shoulder instead.

"Now, Draco, we've talked about this," Lucius said, giving his transformed son an appraising look, making sure nothing was amiss. "You are to do anything the Dark Lord wishes of you. Do not refuse anything he wants. This is an excellent opportunity for the Malfoy name to shine again. He is sure to reward us lavishly while you remain his faithful little plaything. He will forget all about the incident with Dumbledore; the man is dead and gone. And next summer you will be initiated as a formal Death Eater."

Draco could only nod in reply, presently not trusting himself to speak. Surely this was just a nightmare. There had to be something else he could do in service of the Dark Lord, something other than being turned into a – a –

"You should get changed now," Lucius continued, nodding toward a pile of clothes on a nearby chair. "He will surely send for you soon. He is most likely feeling... impatient by now." Draco mentally shrank away from his father's sneer and the suggestive tone in his voice. "I will talk with you later to hear about how everything goes. And remember, refuse him nothing."

"Yes, sir," Draco replied. He immediately cringed at the change of pitch in his voice. Lucius nodded curtly and left the room.

As soon as the door snapped shut, Draco's composure and control slipped. He hunched over and vomited on the floor before falling to his knees, weeping, as dizziness overcame him. He sat there for a moment, shuddering and gulping frantically, not truly understanding the onslaught of emotions he was feeling. He had never gotten intense like this. That was when he remembered what his father had just done to him.

I am a Malfoy, he thought savagely. We show no weakness. The childhood mantra gave him strength. Draco got shakily to his feet, reigning in the normally perfect control he had over his emotions. Then with a deep, quaking breath, he finally turned to face the full-length mirror behind him.

A stranger stared back at him, a female stranger. Draco leaned in close toward the dusty glass, looking for any similarities between this face and the one he had known all his life. There was the slightly upturned nose, the gray eyes (though the lashes were now longer), the high cheekbones (now slightly more prominent), and the soft pink lips (which were presently fuller). His hair, which used to meet the top of his ears, fell to the middle of his back. With his face so close to the mirror, Draco felt that, in the semidarkness of the gloomy, dusty drawing room, he looked eerily like his mother. A shudder ran down his spine; Draco loved his mother, but she was cold, sometimes cruel and detached. He never personally had that side of her come out toward him, but he witnessed it all through his childhood. He felt that he could never live up that, would never be able to show that level of indifference, not with people like Potter digging under his skin.

With a scowl on his face at the thought of the raven-haired prat, Draco turned toward the pile of clothes his father had indicated. A feeling of apprehension welled up inside his chest as he lifted up the first piece of clothing.

At least they thought to provide the proper undergarments, Draco thought, eyeing the obviously feminine under-attire. He then set the garment down and began undoing his trousers. They were slightly difficult to get out of due to the wider hips, but he was eventually successful. He then did away with the boxers and shirt before hurriedly putting on the intimates with half-closed eyes, not wanting to see the extreme changes that have taken place on his body. Draco had a great deal of trouble with the bra, but he eventually prevailed. He picked up the last piece of clothing and slipped it over his head. It was a knee-length, dark red dress, one with a tantalizingly low neckline that made Draco cringe. He wished they hadn't taken his wand; he could have attempted to alter it.

He knew the reason behind taking his wand, though; they didn't trust him. They thought that he would try to change himself back. However, Draco knew better. His father would kill him if he messed this up in any way.

It's all for the advancement of the family, Draco thought angrily. But he couldn't care less, not if he was going to be used as a plaything by a psychotic half-blood. I would do anything to get out of this.

Draco was brought out of his musings by an impatient knock on the door.

"Come in," Draco mumbled. The door opened to reveal one of the Dark Lord's other henchmen, one whose name Draco couldn't remember.

"Are you finished?" the man snapped. However, at the sight of Draco, a leer crossed his face. "He wishes to see you now." Draco nodded in reply. The man turned, Draco following slowly in his wake. The nausea was returning.

This reminds me of King Henry VIII and how he would send for his mistresses, the blonde thought with a gulp as they passed a large window, from which he could see a starry night sky, cursing his father for educating him in Muggle politics (even though the scandals could be interesting...). I just hope this doesn't end like how it did for Anne Boleyn.A hand unconsciously went up to his pale, slender neck.

The sound of knocking drew Draco out of his irrational thoughts. His stomach flipped over when he realized that they were standing outside of the sitting room already.

"Enter."

The cold voice sent ice to the pit of Draco's stomach. He involuntarily shuddered as he stepped into the room. If the man's voice alone could disgust Draco this much, he didn't even want to think about what his fingers...

"Ah, Mister Malfoy," the Dark Lord muttered upon seeing Draco. An unpleasant expression crossed his pale, almost snake-like face. The predatory glint in his reddish eyes caused Draco to feel lightheaded with revulsion. "Or would you rather I call you Miss Malfoy?" He smirked at the young blonde, and cold laughter could be heard from the shadows where a few other Death Eaters lurked. At those last words, Draco noticed another reason behind this torture. It was a blow to his manhood. Not only was he meant to be this man's toy, but he was also going to be thoroughly degraded in the process. Bubbling anger welled up in him. I willnot stop thinking of myself as a male, he thought savagely.

Perhaps the Dark Lord had seen the resentment and defiance entering Draco's cold gray eyes, for he grinned maliciously and murmured, "Yes, I think that will do for now, until I come up with a fitting pet name." More cackles answered his statement. When silence fell again, the man got up from his seat before the flickering fire and closed the distance between him and Draco.

"My, my, you are quite the pretty little thing," Voldemort whispered. He reached out to touch the blonde, but he suddenly seemed to remember that they had an audience. "Leave!" he commanded his followers. He even turned toward his beloved snake and dismissed her in parseltongue. The spitting and hissing sent waves of disgust through Draco; it was the single most horrible thing he'd ever heard. When the door snapped shut, the sitting room became ensconced in an eerie silence. Voldemort brought a hand up to brush Draco's pale cheek. In any other situation and with any other person, the gesture would appear to be tender, loving. But this was Voldemort. His cold touch made Draco want to vomit again. He swallowed, trying to quell his nausea.

"Your skin is as soft as I thought it would be," the Dark Lord whispered. "You were such a handsome young man, Draco. Sadly, I prefer the fairer sex. I knew you would make a beautiful young woman, but this..." A hand wandered over the exposed skin of Draco's chest. "This is better than I had imagined. I like my playthings to be pretty, delicate, easy to bend to my will. And less likely to fight back." A twisted grin made its way onto the man's face. Draco choked on the bile rising in his throat, and he swayed slightly as his vision swam.

There's no way out of this...

A cold laugh passed through Voldemort's lips as he brought them toward Draco's neck.

I can't take it anymore...

Draco picked himself up off the bathroom floor, all of his extremities trembling violently. It took a great deal of energy to get to his feet and move in front of the mirror above the sink. The face that stared back was tinged an unhealthy gray and was covered in a fine sheen of cold sweat. He reached for the glass sitting next to the tap, filled it with water, and proceeded to drink it like a man dying of thirst. A strangled cry of pain left his lips and a hand flew up to his throat. After his most recent bout of vomiting, it was extremely raw and painful.

The young Malfoy ran a shaking hand through his unkempt blonde tresses. After spending several hours on the bathroom floor, he was rather filthy. His father would surely have his hide if he saw him like this. Draco didn't want to suffer any more than was needed. It was only a matter of time before Voldemort summoned for his sugar lump(Draco briefly closed his eyes against the thought of his newly acquired pet name); he had to be clean and presentable if he wanted to keep everyone happy.

As Draco bathed, he contemplated the last several weeks. Each day has been the same, from morning to night. He woke up, thankfully always in his own bed, and had breakfast in his room. The first half of the day he had to himself; Draco usually wandered the manor, hoping to stumble upon something interesting; he found the wandering a nice distraction from unwanted thoughts. Lunch was also taken in his room. However, dinner was another matter. Voldemort required his presence, and afterwards it was just the two of them together. Draco truly had issues with that part. Being alone with the man caused him to have constant shudders of disgust; luckily they went unnoticed.

As of present day, Voldemort has not gone too far. He actually had yet to bed Draco, for which the young Malfoy was extremely grateful. If it had already happened, Draco believed that his mind would be in incoherent shambles right now. That or he would be dead of his own hand. That is something he could not, would not, live with. He wanted his virginity lost to someone he actually cared about, not a raving megalomaniac.

Still, each day was getting progressively worse. It was only a matter of time.

Draco turned the water off and stepped out of the tub, cringing as his feet hit the chilled tiles. He dabbed his hair with a towel and got dressed. He peered into the mirror; he was glad to see the warm water brought some color back to his skin, but the reflection still startled him. He was still Draco, but the reflection was not.

A sharp knock at the door startled the young Malfoy.

"Hurry up, Draco," his father's voice called sternly. "The Dark Lord is expecting you for his evening meal." Brisk footsteps then faded down the corridor, echoing the sudden thumping of Draco's heart. Was it that time already? A look out the small window high up on the bathroom wall confirmed his fear. It was already twilight.

Draco hurriedly finished getting ready and threw his hair into a messy bun; he was sad to say he was getting used to acting like a girl. All the same, he still thought of himself as a young man, even when he went through the strictly feminine menstrual cycle.

Draco opened the bathroom door and walked out into the corridor. His feet carried him toward the dining room of their own accord while he was in an almost dream-like state. His blood was crying out to him with each pulse – Don't do it! Oh, how he wished he didn't have to. However, his family was at stake. So what if he had to suffer for the sake of his parents? He would do it, just to preserve their lives and name. This is what he was trained to do since childhood.

Draco realized where he was when his hand touched cold metal. He stared at the handle of the door for a moment before opening it and walking into the semi dark room. The door closed behind him with an ominous click.

"Thank you for finally joining me, my little plum."

The sickeningly sweet voice caused Draco to shudder. "Good evening, my Lord," he replied with a steady voice, making his way toward his usual spot on the opposite side of the table. He stopped dead when he realized his chair wasn't there, looking quizzically at the empty spot.

"Oh, I just thought that you might want to join me on this side, young Malfoy," the man whispered, placing a hand on his lap and rubbing one of his knees. The insinuation hit Draco like a sack of bricks and he blinked slowly, willing the sight to go away. His feet took him forward and before he knew it, he was on the man's lap, long-fingered hands on his hips. The blonde barely remembered sitting down.

"Now isn't that better? I'm sure you are very comfortable," Voldemort whispered, shifting Draco to lean farther back against him. Draco felt something stir beneath his buttocks; he bit his tongue at the thought of the dark desire pulsating beneath him. It was repulsive.

"It is very much so, my Lord," Draco muttered. Then, unbidden, an image of his father's face appeared before him, looking stern. He would probably be disapproving of Draco's monotonous, emotionless attitude toward Voldemort. Draco grudgingly realized he would have to work harder to remove the tarnish from his family's name. Not to mention get himself back to normal. He didn't want to have to go through his seventh year of school like this. If I'm even allowed to go back…

Hurrying things along would also mean losing his innocence sooner, possibly his sanity along with it.

Gathering strength from somewhere deep within himself, Draco tantalizingly shifted his weight on the man's lap. He purred when the Dark Lord's grip tightened on his waist and the stirring beneath him became more insistent.

"Well, aren't you the little vixen?" Voldemort whispered huskily. Draco felt lips brush the back of his neck and a cold breath feather over his skin. He shivered in disgust, then immediately hoped the man thought it to be a shiver of desire.

"Locke!" he then shouted. A loud crack was heard as a very old house elf appeared next to the chair. The creature bowed deeply. "Please hurry with the food. There are other activities I must attend to this evening."

Draco swallowed, a lump forming in his throat as the house elf disappeared. Tonight would be the night. It had to be. The Dark Lord's impatience and want were extremely tangible. The man sat rigidly, his heartbeat loud and fast. There was now a full hardness beneath Draco.

There was another crack as the elf reappeared with laden plates of food and a couple goblets of red wine. Voldemort took a sip of the wine before picking up a small cherry tomato from one of the plates and bringing it to Draco's mouth. The blonde opened his mouth and bit down after the small morsel was placed inside. The tomato burst, the juices trickling down his chin. Draco used his tongue to catch the traces of juice, watching Voldemort's eyes darken as he did so.

And so the meal went, until Draco sucked the last remnants of sweet cream from the Dark Lord's finger. He swirled his tongue until the taste was gone and then removed his mouth from the digit with a small pop.

"That is a pretty little mouth you have there, young Malfoy," Voldemort whispered. "I wonder what else you could do with it." He then gripped Draco's hips almost hard enough to hurt and ground the blonde down against his own, right against his aching hardness. Draco squeaked, but the Dark Lord didn't seem to notice.

Only one thought crossed Draco's terrified mind.

It's tonight.

Without warning, Voldemort stood. Draco thought he was going to be dumped on the floor, but he was caught before he went anywhere. Voldemort then started a brisk pace out the door, down the corridor, and then through another door.

It was a large lavish bedroom.

Draco was dropped unceremoniously onto the bed before Voldemort turned around and warded the door. He then faced Draco with a hungry grin.

"Undress."

The word was a hiss. Draco paused, hoping he heard wrong; he'd never had to get undressed before in front of the man. Voldemort laughed, dark humor laced within it.

"Come now, my little plum," he whispered. "I could easily enough undress you with a wave of my wand, but I would rather watch you do it. It would be a nice little show."

Draco's heart turned over, as did his stomach. All the same, he managed a flirtatious smile. "As you wish, my Lord."

The young blonde knelt on the bed and hooked his slender fingers under the hem of his blouse. With a teasing slowness, he lifted it up, revealing inch after inch of ivory skin. He then reached behind his back and unhooked the bra, allowing his breasts to fall free.

Voldemort's eyes all but popped out of his head. His gaze traveled the expanse of the blonde's pale skin. Draco then shimmied out of the skirt he was wearing, and then followed up with the underpants. He then sat on the edge of the bed.

Voldemort stalked over toward the bed, shedding garments as he went. Draco watched, trying to keep his dinner in place while managing a come-hither smile. Then Voldemort was standing beside the large bed in all his naked glory. Draco's eyes widened a fraction when he saw the Dark Lord's pulsing need.

Oh my God, he thought, his heart thumping wildly. He'll rip me in half.

"See what you do to me, young Draco?" Voldemort whispered, taking a step forward. His eyes traveled the length of the young Malfoy. "You have quite the body." A hand reached up and caressed the soft, pale skin. The desire in the Dark Lord's eyes darkened at the contact. His gaze leveled on the Malfoy's, a feral look stirring in its depths.

Draco's fear increased ten-fold as Voldemort leaned forward. Draco scuttled backwards until he almost fell off the other side of the bed.

"Playing hard to get, are you?" Voldemort chuckled humorlessly. "I guess I could be game for a bit of foreplay."

Draco saw this as his chance to stall; he wanted any chance he could have to keep his sanity just a little longer. He managed a teasing smirk as he rolled off the bed and landed neatly on the stone floor.

Voldemort was beside him in a flash. Draco's pulse increased and he darted sideways around the man. He had Voldemort chase him around the room and dodged the reaching hands. This went on for several minutes. An angry look settled over the Dark Lord's features every time Draco evaded him – the frustration was very apparent.

"Enough."

The growling voice caused Draco to hesitate. Voldemort found his opportunity and seized Draco by the waist. He didn't even bother going toward the bed. Draco cringed as his wrists were caught up in a hard grip and his back was slammed against the cold stone wall.

"I want you now," Voldemort hissed, his body as taut as a violin string…

There was only one positive to this whole ordeal. Voldemort didn't last long.

"Wasn't that pleasant?" the Dark Lord asked afterward. He had a languid look to him, now that he spent all his pent up tension. He waved his hand and all evidence was gone.

At this point, Draco couldn't think of anything to say or do. He just leaned against the wall, not even trying to put his internal ramblings together. His thoughts were torn asunder, just like the lower half of his body.

Voldemort looked ready to ask something, but a strange buzzing pervading the room prevented him. Someone was trying to get through the wards on the door. The buzzing got louder before it stopped suddenly, and loud knocking ensued.

"Master! Master!"

Voldemort roared.

"I said no disruptions after dinner! What could possibly possess you to defy my orders?"

"My apologies, my Lord." The voice sounded frightened, yet at the same time determined. "I have urgent news, master, regarding our mission! It cannot wait, or we will be in trouble!"

Voldemort went rigid. He gazed down at Draco, who was holding his breath. With a low growl, he pushed himself from the blonde.

"I will be with you shortly," he said to the man. Footsteps receded down the corridor. Voldemort got dressed in haste and strode to the door. He didn't even look back as he left the room.

Draco crumpled onto the floor as soon as the second set of footsteps echoed off into the distance. His stomach then contracted, purging its contents onto the stone in horrible, choking heaves. The choking then turned into sobs, and Draco curled into himself.

It was gone, the most prized of his virtues. Its absence left a yawning chasm within his soul. His mind had almost went along with it; any longer and it would have shattered into millions of pieces, and no one would be able to assemble them again.

But he had to leave.

That was one coherent idea he could comprehend. This room would hold dark memories, let alone the rest of Riddle manor. He suddenly felt claustrophobic, like the walls were bearing down on him.

He wanted out. He looked around the room, hoping to find something he could use to aid him, but there was nothing. No wand, obviously. He couldn't very well leave unarmed.

He was left with one choice. There was no time to stall. He hurriedly got dressed before he stalked over to the door, which was left ajar, and opened it, willing it to make no sound. Standing on the threshold, Draco held his breath and listened. Nothing could be heard. Either the Death Eaters were far enough away or they placed a Silence Charm on the room they occupied. All the same, he decided to start his search in the opposite direction that the footsteps went. Sobbing silently and filled with loathing, both for himself for partially enjoying the initial pleasure and the man that tore him apart, he entered the corridor.

Draco searched every room he passed; a salon, a few bedrooms, a sitting room. He became more frantic after every failure. New tears stung his eyes. Desperation overrode every emotion.

He eventually came across a study that looked to be well lived in. It was cluttered with odd objects and looked cleaner than most of the other rooms. Draco sifted through the piles of parchment and other various items. He moved around several piles of books. With every passing second his distress increased, along with his fear of being caught.

In his search, Draco came across a small wooden chest, one worn and chipped with age. He didn't think it looked promising, but at this point in time, Draco was willing to try anything. He lifted the lid, the only sound being a low squeak.

Inside there were several pieces of parchment, some of which were very old. There were a few quills and other objects he couldn't put names to. He sifted through all of these and reached the very bottom.

His heart skipped a beat.

There was a wand.

He carefully took it out and looked at it; his heart gave another skip. It was his. Of all wands he could find, it was his own. He dashed away his tears with one of his hands and then caressed the wood. It felt good to have it back in his hand again. He felt a little more whole than he had a moment ago, very little.

However, he had no time to stall. He hurriedly placed all of the contents of the chest the way they had been and fled the room. He paused outside of the door and listened. His heart fell; he could hear voices moving in his direction. He fled in the opposite direction, his feet soundless over the moth-eaten carpet. Moonlight shining through the tall windows illuminated the dust motes he stirred up.

As he ran, an image of his parents formed in Draco's mind. He halted for a brief second, guilt welling up quickly. He couldn't leave them. What would happen? Would Voldemort take revenge on Draco's desertion? Will he torture them, kill them? Draco gulped, trying to keep down his bile. He couldn't leave them behind.

But he had to.

There was no way that he would survive this. Draco wouldn't last much longer, and all he had done would all be for naught. He could either leave his parents to defend for themselves, or he could stay and go insane, probably eventually take his own life. Was either one worth it?

He made his decision, then, and hoped that it was worth it. With a thumping heart, he turned heel and fled away from the voices. His parents could disown him, Voldemort may track him down and have him tortured or killed. But he could find sanctuary somewhere. There had to be a place he would be accepted.

And he could find help and come back for his parents - if they were still alive.

Draco mentally cringed at the thought, tears jumping to his eyes once more.

He had no time for regret, though, when he reached the main foyer. He hurried over to the front door, listening for the voices. They were still a good distance away. However, once he set to escaping, wards would be set off, thus warning the other occupants of the manor. They would surely come running. He had to do this quickly.

It was at this point that he was grateful for his father teaching him how to break through wards.

Brushing the long hair out of his face, Draco set to work. At first there was nothing, but then there was a bright flash, followed by a loud crack. Draco stumbled backward – it had rejected him. A few surprised shouts could be heard down the corridor, followed by quick footsteps. Draco squeaked, panic-driven tears streaming down his face. He murmured a few incantations, prodding the brass handle with the wand. There was another flash of light. Draco anticipated the crack.

But there wasn't one.

Instead there was a sizzling sound as the ward dissolved. Draco pushed the door open and slipped over the threshold just as the first few Death Eaters burst into the foyer. Voldemort wasn't that far behind. He roared when he saw Draco attempting to escape. He issued a sharp order that Draco couldn't hear. Hexes were thrown at him from all directions. He dodged most, but one caught his arm. His vision went all fuzzy and he was momentarily disoriented.

In his short-lived confusion, Draco hesitated. It cost him. A Death Eater barreled into him, but the young Malfoy managed to twist away before being grabbed. He shouted a hex, not sure if it would meet its target. Another hand grasped for him, but Draco danced out of reach.

With his wand outstretched and his mind concentrated on a certain place, Draco turned on the spot and disappeared.

He was free.

Or so he thought…

Little did he know another hand had managed to grasp his skirt before he Disapparated.

To be continued...