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+ Infest: A Harry Potter Song Fic by Canarde +
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+ Chapter One: Infest +
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Author's Note: This will be confusing. The point of it is not to tell a continuous story, but to attempt to delve beneath the cold surface of Draco Malfoy. Much of it does pertain to the Draco/Lucius relationship in a strictly father/son way; however, I have also explored the possibilities of Draco/Ron and Draco/Blaise. Hopefully I'm proving some sort of point in all of this, but if not, just enjoy it for what it is.
If you have not heard Papa Roach's album Infest, I suggest finding and listening to it. Each chapter is based on a song, and it would probably be easier to follow if you've heard the songs. The album is very much the soundtrack of the piece.
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"Now that I got your attention,
Did I forget to mention
All the heads we'll be infesting?
Hope you people learn your lessons,
'Cause the game of life is crazy.
Got all the people guessing
What is wrong with the world today:
The government, the media, or your family.
Would you cry if I died today?
I think it would be better if you did not say.
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"First, they shackle your feet,
Then they stand you in a line,
Then they beat you like meat,
Then they grab you by your mind.
We will infest, die like the rest;
People are the problem today."
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+ From the Memoirs of Lucius Malfoy +
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+ Corruption +
I never meant for my son to be witness to this. This, the mess of my life and of so many others just like mine, has been ground to a pulp by a man who isn't.
It baffles me that these young people - children - can watch the sort of gruesome tortures we are all witness to on a near daily basis and still come out of it relatively unfazed. Naturally, they have always expected to see things like these because of what they've been taught - by their own parents, by their friends, by their professors. How someone can teach their own child, a part of themselves, to hate as some of these kids do is beyond my comprehension.
A perfect example of a child corrupted from birth is Pansy Parkinson, daughter of a former classmate of mine, who has never known anything other than the drive to kill innocents. I pride myself on being a loyal Death Eater, but the things this particular little girl - who, at first glance, is bubbly and happy and the complete opposite of what is sought after in a proper Death Eater - speaks of as though she is not affected by them in the least make quite a formidable list.
At the Quidditch World Cup when Draco was fourteen, several unmentionable members of the elite society I have known only as the Death Eaters decided to have a bit of fun with those innocents who owned the campground. I will admit to having recruited a sizable amount of witches to the Dark Lord's service, and I will even go so far as to admit that I have tortured wizards to gain information for the Dark Lord; but never - never - have I preformed an Unforgivable Curse on another human being in all my years of service, especially on an innocent or Muggle.
And I have never been asked to do so. The Dark Lord does not know many things; but of the greater many things he does know is the fact that a Malfoy will not kill another person, even if said person might very well deserve death. I have been firm in teaching Draco this; for, if he chooses to join our ranks, I do not want him to become an assassin, murderer, cold-blooded killer. There are a great many people who would eagerly kill any number of wizards for the single word of congratulance given by the Dark Lord himself. I do not want Draco to be among them.
I have made it quite clear to my son that if - and I am leaving the decision up to him alone - he joins the ranks of the Death Eaters, he will most certainly be welcome. But if he so much as threatens a man with death, he will no longer be considered a Malfoy.
+ Morals +
Death does not frighten me. I would not betray my morals even when staring death in the face, and I have done so a great many times. I suppose that this proves to the Dark Lord that I am loyal to my beliefs and am not quick to betray. He must admire it, because of my high status within the Death Eaters.
I am confronted on a daily basis by jealous others within the ranks of the Dark Lord, all of whom threaten me with death, torture, monetary loss, and revealing of information to the Lord. They want my position as near right-hand man to the Dark Lord himself. They claim that they can feel the evil while in my presence - something which radiates only from very blackened souls. But I ignore them all. Their threats fall upon deaf ears, for there is only one thing in this world and the next which would make me hand over my status in a heartbeat: harm to my boy, and those who threaten me are too stupid to realize this.
Since he was a baby, Draco has shown an extraordinary amount of talent as a wizard. By the age of four, he could recite as many incantations and spells as a fifth-year at Hogwarts, and at the time of his first year of Wizarding School, he was more talented with a wand than many of the Death Eaters I have met in my time in the ranks.
But even more than the extent of his talents, more important that his ability to project a Dark Mark or preform a decent hex or curse, is the love I have for him. It is difficult for some to believe that I, Lucius Malfoy, would be capable of such strong emotions that are not of the Dark Arts at all, but rather that which represents good and light in the world. I don't even love my wife half as much as I love Draco, and that's the honest truth.
+ Advice +
Recently I took Draco to a meeting of the Death Eaters in London. He did well in masking his feelings on the matter as mere boredom, because I could not decipher if he was nervous, excited, anxious, or dreading. He took it all with a dutiful and respectful silence.
On the train into the city, I told him that this was the last meeting he had to go to if he wanted nothing to do with the Dark Lord. He looked at me thoughtfully before saying, "But you aren't expecting me to turn it away, are you?"
"I have no expectations, Draco," I said. "The choice is completely up to you - and don't let anyone else influence you, either. It's got to be your own decision." He nodded and looked out the window.
"How did you decide to become a Death Eater?" I smiled; he did not. I doubt he has ever trusted me, even as a very young child. "How could you trust the others enough to not turn you in to the Ministry?" I answered his question in a lesson I often repeated to him.
"You can never trust too much or too little. Never trust a man until you know he will not betray you, and never trust anyone enough to tell him your true intentions until you know he'll keep the business your own." He seemed unimpressed.
"Draco," I asked, "do you trust me?"
"Sometimes more than others," he said simply. I nodded, leaning back in my seat.
"And when you do trust me, why?" He caught on rather quickly, but I had expected him to.
"Because you leave my business to me. You know how to keep a secret."
"As well I should."
Later that evening, he asked me to supervise as he practiced a new lesson from one of his new texts for the coming school year. It was a simple charm, really, a levitation spell to use on larger objects to move them about the room. He set about practicing in my study, where he could lift desks, chairs, bookcases, and the like.
He was quite talented at lifting the objects a safe distance from the floor, but controlling the movement proved a bit more difficult. The furniture wobbled through the air before plummeting or shooting off and hitting a wall. After several failed attempts, he slumped into an unused armchair and sighed heavily.
"You're giving up?" He scowled at me, and I cleared my throat disapprovingly. At this he sat up straight and gave a proper answer.
"Yes, I'm giving up," he said. "Obviously it's too difficult for me; I'll try it again when Professor Flitwick gives the lesson."
"Draco, you're only having problems because you aren't listening to your instinct." He raised a skeptical eyebrow, but said nothing. "Always listen to your instinct," I continued. "Instinct never let a man die unless he deserved it. Remember that, and you'll be able to move any desk you want."
This seemed to brighten his outlook, and he got to his feet. Pointing his wand at the armchair, he narrowed his eyes and muttered the spell; the chair lifted from the floor easily. Tensing slightly, he glanced at me.
"Relax," I said. "Trust me."
And he did. The armchair sliced the air and landed neatly at the other end of the room. Soon after, the desks, bookshelves, and chairs followed suit, and my study had rearranged itself nicely.
+ Decision +
Narcissa and I have never loved one another.
Her father, a wealthy edition to the newly-formed society of the Death Eaters, and my own made an agreement that, if his new daughter and I were to wed, our family would never again know financial troubles. Having monetary troubles at the time, my father sold me and my life to the Dark Lord, who in turn has treated me well; he has always known of the deal they made so many years ago and, I suppose, pities me. I fancy pity over spite any day.
Because I have grown up in the Death Eaters, it has never been something I've lived without - and that is why I gave Draco a choice in the matter of joining. I was a bitter child because of the blackened tattoo on my arm, and anyone who went through Hogwarts with me knew me as a terror, a boy who spat insults and frightened other boys into being my friend. The name Malfoy is a loathed name, and it is my own fault that Draco now has to endure that loathing.
I would take it back if I could. Now, Draco believes that I willingly became loyal to the Dark Lord and it's destined for him to join the ranks as well. He told Narcissa and me of his decision one innocent night at supper.
"Mother," he said, his spoon hovering over his soup bowl. She looked up; a glance to me, a glance to the house-elf at the door, who disappeared promptly, and her gaze was fixed on Draco. I followed suit, studying his face. He's a good-looking child, with pale hair and a sharp eye - quite as I was at his age. "Father."
"Yes, dear?" Narcissa said. I shivered; the very purr of her voice is colder than the snow in London.
"I've decided to join the Dark Lord." He sipped his soup neatly, avoiding his mother's fond eye as she teared up and my lingering glance. I was heart-broken. If given the opportunity, I would give up my position as a Death Eater in a heartbeat.
"Very well," I said coldly, tossing my napkin onto the table and getting to my feet. "I'll send an owl at once."
He looked to me for approval as I left the room, but I did not grant him that satisfaction. I had to do my best to mask my disappointment as solemn and dutiful stone.
+ Shackles +
I watched Draco become a Death Eater, against my wishes. The induction ceremony is a simple one; the Dark Lord and four others come together with the wizard to be inducted, recite several lines to which the inductee vows his allegiance to the Dark Lord, and burn the Dark Mark into his left forearm. The Dark Lord never speaks at these ceremonies; rather, he has one of his chosen four recite, one guide the iron, and the remaining two hold the child down as the Mark is seared into his flesh.
Draco hardly needed the two men to hold him. He pledged to follow the Dark Lord loyally throughout his reign, et cetera, and accepted the Mark without a word. He blinked back tears and bit his lip, merely grunting as the red-hot iron pressed against his arm, but at sixteen he considered himself a man. He was a Malfoy; he didn't feel pain.
The Dark Lord had me guide the iron. I was forced to brand my own son like he was a bull, the property of another man.
I heard his stifled sobs and cried as though I had been marked with skull and snake that night.
+ Freedom +
The Dark Lord, though powerful, has yet to regain the impressive looks of his youth. His dark hair and fair skin have long since given way to the leathery, shriveled creature he has become. The only feature which remains as it was when Ton Riddle became the Dark Lord are his sparkling crimson eyes.
Soon after Draco's induction, I visited the Dark Lord in the poorly maintained flat belonging to Peter Pettigrew. I suppose it serves its purpose and remains inconspicuous, but it is obvious that the Dark Lord is not much impressed by its shabby wallpaper and chipped mantle.
He was seated in a large and winged armchair, facing a sweeping fire. I bowed low, but refused his request that I stand.
"Lord, I am not here to report on disloyal members of your great ranks at the Ministry as I often am," I said.
I knelt before him a long moment before he said in his low and rasping voice, "You are here to receive permission to be free." I nodded, glancing into his crimson eyes.
"If it pleases you, Lord." He nodded thoughtfully, steepling his fingers and bringing the tips of his protruding fingers to his thin mouth. Pettigrew fidgeted nervously in a corner, his tiny eyes flicking from me to the Dark Lord.
"Lucius," he said, finally, "I understand that you have been loyal to me in all your years of service." His eyes looked past my bent figure, peering straight through my flesh and into my true intentions. "You and your son have been a worthy addition to my Death Eaters."
"Yes, my Lord."
He leaned close, lowering his voice; now Pettigrew craned to hear him before the snake came into the room and startled him into attendance.
"If you were any other man I would have you cut down for daring to request leave," he said in a tone very much like the purr of my wife's. "But you were brought to me against your will and have not betrayed me all the same." He paused again, watching me with those eyes, and added very quietly, "I will grant you your freedom."
"Thank you, my Lord," I said. I returned to my feet, but did not step away. The Dark Lord had closed his eyes, and the shadows from the fire cast eerie patterns across his face. "Lord?" His eyes opened, already focused on me.
"Yes, Malfoy," he nodded, "should young Mister Malfoy ever request his own freedom, it will be granted."
"Thank you, Lord - Lord Voldemort."
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Thank you to Justin Tussing, Ben Doyle, and Thisbe Nissan, director and professors of the University of Iowa Young Writers Studio 2001, for their time, efforts, talent, and humor.
It's an inspiration to Seventeen magazine to find a story written by a former professor in print.
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All characters used in this piece of fiction are property of J.K. Rowling and copyright Warner Brothers.
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Song lyrics are property of Papa Roach and copyright Viva La Cucaracha Music.
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Chapter Two coming soon to a fan fiction archive near you.
