Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything to do with Harry Potter. All characters, spells, and everything else belongs to the brilliant J. K. Rowling.
Rating: It will be M later on. Please keep this in mind.
Warnings: None yet, but I am considering M-preg for later chapters or a sequel.
A Demon Still - Chapter One
People were yelling and laughing as the sun rose in the sky, illuminating their nightly work. Banners hung between wooden buildings, all brightly colored and waving happily in the light breeze that danced with them. Vendors lined either side of the single, dirt road, selling jewelry and clothe and carved masks. The townspeople walked from vendor to vendor, purchasing and admiring as they made their progress. Everyone wore bright colors of red and gold and shimmery white. They were enjoying themselves, celebrating before a time of dread.
Well, they had something to celebrate; didn't they?
A young man, only nineteen years old, turned grey eyes from the scene outside and to a woman sitting in the middle of the room. Her pale hair was pulled into a tightly woven braid that fell gracefully over one shoulder. Her eyes were shuttered and lifeless as she stared back at him, not really seeing him. Her mouth, usually relaxed into indifference or mocking joy was pinched and drawn thin. Her slender hands clenched one another, turning the pale skin white and causing veins to become more pronounced. The most striking feature about her, though, was her clothing. Unlike the rest of the town, she wore a muted green with black, lace trim. It was both grieving and sinister as it engulfed her small frame.
He could remember what she looked like every year before this. Normally, she would be out with the rest of the town, wearing some flowing, white gown made from the finest clothe. She would allow her hair to cascade freely, and she would smile a knowing, confident smile that promised both blessed and wickid things. He wanted that back, but he knew that he wouldn't have that luxury. It was probably the first thing he'd ever been denied in his entire life.
Gripping the hem of his silver tunic and pulling out wrinkles that did not exist, he wished that he could ease her worry. He wished that he could make his mother smile again, just one last time. He wanted her to smile slowly at him and tell him something damaging about their neighbor or about her latest shopping order or.. Anything. He wanted things to be normal.
"There are others," she whispered. If he had not been watching her when she spoke, he would have thought it only in his head, but her lips had moved. "You are not the only one that they could choose, and since we have no other children.. The Parkinsons, they have three girls between the two families. We only have you. Surely, that will disuade them." She seemed to be speaking more to herself, but he forced a smile anyway. They both needed the reassurance that everything would be okay by this time tomorrow.
She didn't return his smile. She just continued to watch him, as if making sure that she would never forget what he looked like. It made his smile fall, replaced by a brief grimace before he corrected himself and showed the world only indifference.
Finally, a knock at the door drew his mother's attention away from him. She, like himself, watched the door ease open and a man walk in. Like himself and his mother, the man had pale blond hair, but his eyes were like Draco's. A silvermist tinted with the sky, or that was what his mother always told him.
The man was as lifeless as his mother as he glanced first at her and then at Draco. He nodded once before saying, "The ceremony is about to begin. We cannot be late."
They were usually late, not caring about the person chosen because his father and his associates had done the choosing. Secretly, of course. However, this year was different. His father had no say in the selection, so it would only be adding fuel to the fire if they were late.
So, they filed out of their neat, immaculate home and towards the center of town where a platform was kept for special news and events. The town was usually quiet by this point in the day, no longer able to banish the knowledge of what was to come, but not this year. This year they were still talking and laughing as they gathered. Smiles were present among the majority of the people present. Very few were silent.
Along with the Zabini, Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott families, Draco and his parents lined up directly infront of the platform, as they had been instructed to do a few months ago. Blaise, a dark-skinned youth with sharp eyes, shifted places with Theordore Nott, a thin and tall young man, so that he stood to Draco's left while Draco's parents moved behind him. On his right was a girl with dark hair and a round face. Her eyes never left the platform, but she did reach out and grab his hand, holding tightly as she fought to keep the tremors from her body. Blaise said nothing, either. None of them did. There was nothing left to say, so together, they waited to see who would be sent to die.
Soon, the crowd grew silent. On the stage, an elderly man now stood. There were others behind him, but Draco paid them no notice. The man with the long, white beard was essentially their sentencer, so he paid him all of his attention, terrified as the man's blue gaze swept across them and lingered on Draco himself longer than the others. His blood ran cold, and he could feel Pansy's hand grow tighter even as another, firmer grip took his left hand. Two hands were placed on his back for support, and Draco drew strength from them to keep from crying on the spot.
That look was all they needed. The council had decided, and it seemed that their anger was greater towards his father than to the others. They had thought so. After all, his father had been maneuvering beneath his nose for years now. The man hated his father for his dealings, and in relation, he felt the same resentment towards Draco. Probably even more so since a Weasley child had been sent last year.
After raising a hand to silence the few people still chatting amongst themselves, he frowned in a sympathetic and pained fashioned as he looked dramatically over those gathered. He folded his hand together behind his beard and seemed to grow older as he looked from face to face.
Draco despised that man right then, more than he had ever loathed a person before.
"It is a sad tragedy that we must gather here again. Everyone here knows the same suffering as does each individual. Allow us to take a moment to remember those that have left our arms," his tone was soft, his words almost choked out, but he did manage to look at the front of the crowd for the second sentence of his speech. It was an omen, a promise, that they, too, would understand that suffering soon enough. "I have been given a great and terrible honor this year. After the discovery of tampering with previous selections, this year's sacrifice will come from only one of six families." A mutual mummur of agreement seemed to roll around him at that moment, making Draco sick.
The rest of the speech went unheard by this point. Breathing felt difficult, and his eyes stung as he tried to fight the urge to break down. They hadn't said the name yet, so maybe he still had a chance at life. But what would that mean? He would have to watch one of his friends go instead, and that would be just as bad. He didn't want to die. He wanted to live. He wanted to take over his father's work one day, to have a wife and kids, to watch his mother spoil them as she had done with him, but he also wanted his friends there. Theo was quiet but smart, and he could teach his children many useful things. Blaise was crafty and charming while Pansy was direct and too blunt. Even Crabbe and Goyle had their advantages. Crabbe knew over a dozen recipes for custard, and Goyle knew just how much salt could make you violently ill. He didn't want anything to change.
But things had to change, and as Albus Dumbledore drew up to the conclusion of his rattling, Draco knew that, too.
"And it is with a grieving heart that we have chosen Draco Lucius Malfoy as this year's sacrifice. With the giving of his life, may we all find peace for four more seasons."
He barely heard the anguished screams of his mother. He barely felt the arms of both his parents enveloping him. He didn't see the stricken faces of his best friends. He didn't notice Pansy being drug away by her own father, sobbing hysterically as she looked back at him. The only thing he knew at that moment was that he was not going to see tomorrow. He was going to be fed to a demon.
A/N: This is just the start of the story, nothing much yet. I'm actually hoping to get the next chapter out tomorrow. After that, I will update every Thursday. The plot is already set and plotted, I'm just typing everything out. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think thus far.
Reviews = a happy chimera