1 Chapter One: The Outcast
"Hmmm…I see…we are incomplete tonight."
Lord Voldemort surveyed his Death Eaters under their cloaks and with the fondness of a child looking through a candy shop.
"Your leader…the young master…do you suppose he's late?"
Murmurs of confusion echoed through the crowd of one hundred fifty nine Death Eaters. The youngest of them, their leader, would always have been first to be called by the Dark Lord. He was the favorite, the core of the apple, and the most faithful to Voldemort in only two years. But why, why was he not standing obediently by his master's side tonight?
"Young Master likes full moon," quipped Voldemort. "Isn't the sky a dark blue on nights like these clearer than the black of a night of stars? That way he sees the Dark Mark easier."
More muttering went through the envelope of masked men.
"Maybe," he continued slowly in his silky, strangely high-pitched voice, "maybe he's slept late tonight. Wants a little peace. Some rest, to replenish his energy. I have granted him the favor of doing so, then. He will not be with us for now."
Full silence now crept under the night. Not a Death Eater stirred as they watched their master's mouth curl into a thin, sickly-humored smile under his long, blood red cloak.
"I have found information about his other whereabouts. We have been betrayed, my friends. So I have disposed of him."
Gasps were heard through the cemetery's juxtaposing forest. So their young leader was gone…Voldemort had killed him…?
"APPARATUS REVELICAT!" But a familiar voice sounded in a bunch of trees. A transparent blue portal formed in an open space near the pine grove, and out came a tall, muscular figure cloaked in rich black silk and wearing a mask of laughter and sick humor-the same expression of sick humor that Lord Voldemort wore when he saw who his special guest was. Several Death Eaters exclaimed in amazement, others kept silent in the shock dramatically opposing to the Dark Lord's words. The young man only bowed his head respectfully to his elders, and then trudged noiselessly to where his master stood smiling favorably at him. His mask shone ever so brightly in the deep silvery-white moonlight.
"Good evening, My Lord," said a cold, drawling voice. "What time is it?" He cheekily eyed the Death Eaters surrounding him, their own expressions hidden under their masks. "It appears I woke late from my nap? It was very refreshing, Master; I thank you very much for letting me rest. But seriously, sir, had you told me about the recollection tonight, I would have brought cookies for all of us."
Lord Voldemort only smiled at his young leader's insolence.
"I knew you might have been able to join us, little boy, but not as soon as this. And I would have asked for the cookies." The boy only bowed his head as respectfully as before.
"You see, my friends," the Dark Lord began, patting the boy on his shoulder meaninglessly, "Your young leader is a Healer."
This time, shocked cries were heard in every direction that the Death Eaters were. "Healer? He's a Healer?"
"That's right. A Healer. That's what I am."
"Take off your cloak. You won't be needing it anymore."
The cloak and the mask were swiftly removed. A flash of silvery-blond hair revealed the boy's identity.
"Go now, quickly. You have served me well."
The boy only smiled and kowtowed as a reply, and draped a sweater over his shirted back and checked his boots over.
"Remember, boy…set foot here again and you will be killed. We only let you live because you served us well over the past two years. But if we learn that you have been causing trouble that is not to our favor, we will get you, make sure of that."
"Yes, sir. Goodbye-Master." With that, the boy arrogantly walked over to the grove and summoned another blue portal. But before entering and disappearing out of the Death Eaters' midst, he made sure to kick over a tombstone that stood in a solitary and rather melancholy spot in the grove near the portal. The moon was able to shine light on the inscription before the marker suddenly vanished permanently in the cold, white mist:
DRACO 'DORMIENS' ALEXANDER H. MALFOY
NOV. 16, 1979-JAN. 6, 1997
Latin: The Dragon Sleeps
And so our fiery young dragon
Shall rest in peace forever
"Hmmm…I see…we are incomplete tonight."
Lord Voldemort surveyed his Death Eaters under their cloaks and with the fondness of a child looking through a candy shop.
"Your leader…the young master…do you suppose he's late?"
Murmurs of confusion echoed through the crowd of one hundred fifty nine Death Eaters. The youngest of them, their leader, would always have been first to be called by the Dark Lord. He was the favorite, the core of the apple, and the most faithful to Voldemort in only two years. But why, why was he not standing obediently by his master's side tonight?
"Young Master likes full moon," quipped Voldemort. "Isn't the sky a dark blue on nights like these clearer than the black of a night of stars? That way he sees the Dark Mark easier."
More muttering went through the envelope of masked men.
"Maybe," he continued slowly in his silky, strangely high-pitched voice, "maybe he's slept late tonight. Wants a little peace. Some rest, to replenish his energy. I have granted him the favor of doing so, then. He will not be with us for now."
Full silence now crept under the night. Not a Death Eater stirred as they watched their master's mouth curl into a thin, sickly-humored smile under his long, blood red cloak.
"I have found information about his other whereabouts. We have been betrayed, my friends. So I have disposed of him."
Gasps were heard through the cemetery's juxtaposing forest. So their young leader was gone…Voldemort had killed him…?
"APPARATUS REVELICAT!" But a familiar voice sounded in a bunch of trees. A transparent blue portal formed in an open space near the pine grove, and out came a tall, muscular figure cloaked in rich black silk and wearing a mask of laughter and sick humor-the same expression of sick humor that Lord Voldemort wore when he saw who his special guest was. Several Death Eaters exclaimed in amazement, others kept silent in the shock dramatically opposing to the Dark Lord's words. The young man only bowed his head respectfully to his elders, and then trudged noiselessly to where his master stood smiling favorably at him. His mask shone ever so brightly in the deep silvery-white moonlight.
"Good evening, My Lord," said a cold, drawling voice. "What time is it?" He cheekily eyed the Death Eaters surrounding him, their own expressions hidden under their masks. "It appears I woke late from my nap? It was very refreshing, Master; I thank you very much for letting me rest. But seriously, sir, had you told me about the recollection tonight, I would have brought cookies for all of us."
Lord Voldemort only smiled at his young leader's insolence.
"I knew you might have been able to join us, little boy, but not as soon as this. And I would have asked for the cookies." The boy only bowed his head as respectfully as before.
"You see, my friends," the Dark Lord began, patting the boy on his shoulder meaninglessly, "Your young leader is a Healer."
This time, shocked cries were heard in every direction that the Death Eaters were. "Healer? He's a Healer?"
"That's right. A Healer. That's what I am."
"Take off your cloak. You won't be needing it anymore."
The cloak and the mask were swiftly removed. A flash of silvery-blond hair revealed the boy's identity.
"Go now, quickly. You have served me well."
The boy only smiled and kowtowed as a reply, and draped a sweater over his shirted back and checked his boots over.
"Remember, boy…set foot here again and you will be killed. We only let you live because you served us well over the past two years. But if we learn that you have been causing trouble that is not to our favor, we will get you, make sure of that."
"Yes, sir. Goodbye-Master." With that, the boy arrogantly walked over to the grove and summoned another blue portal. But before entering and disappearing out of the Death Eaters' midst, he made sure to kick over a tombstone that stood in a solitary and rather melancholy spot in the grove near the portal. The moon was able to shine light on the inscription before the marker suddenly vanished permanently in the cold, white mist:
DRACO 'DORMIENS' ALEXANDER H. MALFOY
NOV. 16, 1979-JAN. 6, 1997
Latin: The Dragon Sleeps
And so our fiery young dragon
Shall rest in peace forever