Author's Note:

This fic was written for queenkhaleesistark's Movie Quotes Competition. Writing it was good fun, even if the result is of dubious quality. I got a Wreck It Ralph quote and some prompts that essentially summed up to "write about the bad guys". I have to admit I've never actually seen Wreck It Ralph, so the line is taken completely out of context.

I didn't want to portray Voldemort as an Evil Master of Doom, so I played down the death imagery and went slightly AU. Grindelwald was a major inspiration in this.

Happy reading!

- Jazz

Warnings: Torture and scarring, though not in detail. Nothing worse than OotP.

Draco woke up at about half six to the screams of Henry Andrews. Instead of blocking the sound, he forced himself to listen. He got out of bed and to the bookshelf, from which he pulled out a leather-bound tome. It wasn't that old but unlike Draco's other books it was battered.

The fading silver letters on the cover read The Knights of Walpurgis. When Draco was a child Father used to tell him bedtime stories about the brave masked men. In these stories, the knights saved gullible witches and wizards from the mischief of all sorts of evil creatures and mechanical monsters. And every night after Father was finished telling a story he would take the book and write it down, so Draco could read it on his own later on. He even drew pictures, and the knights chased their ugly foes through the pages.

Draco remembered his walks in the park with Mother. It was a Muggle park but they went there anyway – the Manor gardens quickly got boring for the boy. In the park, he would often pick up a twig from the ground and wave it around like a wand, pretending to be a knight. Mother got very upset with him when he did so and warned him that they might be seen. Draco promised her that as a knight he would one day make it so she doesn't have to hide.

Ten years later it was time the young man fulfilled his childhood promise. What the stories hadn't told him was that a knight's life wasn't only glorious battles. In fact, knights often had to do what no one else would: bribe, coerce, ambush and kill in the silence of the night, and sometimes even torture – as a lesson or for information. Draco Malfoy considered himself to be a good man, and good men weren't weak. They knew what the natural order of things was and didn't fall victims of illusion. They weren't squeamish and didn't shy away from duty. So he kept listening to the screams as he went to take his morning shower.

Draco was still in the bathroom when the Manor finally went quiet. He sighed with relief and then immediately cursed himself for doing so. I'm better than this, he thought while buttoning his robes. As if on queue, there was a knock on the door as soon as he was finished dressing.

'Come in,' he said, assuming it was one of the house elves calling him to breakfast. It didn't even occur to him that no servant would dare risk waking him this early in the morning. Through the door stepped Auntie Bella.

'Draco, dear, you look marvellous!' she greeted cheerfully. Out of all of the peculiar things about her, he always thought her morning enthusiasm was the strangest. 'It's your big day today, how are you feeling?'

'Good morning, Aunt Bella. I was just on my way to get some breakfast.'

'Please, Draco, you need to stop calling me that! You're a man now. You have to stop thinking of me as your auntie – I'm a friend and I'll very soon be your equal too.'

Draco doubted he could ever see himself as an equal to his aunt. She was so... intense. From the little time he'd known her, he had learnt one thing: Bellatrix Lestrange excelled at absolutely everything she did. She was the loving aunt, a parent almost, since Father had been thrown in Azkaban. During their duelling and Occlumency lessons, she was a stern and demanding tutor – better than any Hogwarts professor. But above all, she was a strong and loyal fighter, fully devoted to the cause. No, the mere thought of being her equal sent shivers down Draco's spine. He was good, but he wasn't that good.

'Here, I've brought you something. I know the day before your initiation just drags on forever and I thought it would help remind you how far you've gotten.' She handed him a box carefully wrapped in black and green.

'Thank you... Bella. This is very kind of you. Should I open it now?' he asked, curious about the unexpected present.

'Open it whenever, just don't show it to anyone yet. You aren't supposed to have one of these before getting the Mark but I couldn't help myself. Besides, with Lucius away I wanted to make sure you get it from someone close.'

The box suddenly felt very heavy in Draco's hands as he realised what was inside it. He had the sudden urge to be alone and take his time with the box and everything else. Luckily, his aunt had other business to attend to.

'Anyway, duty calls!' Bella said, lifting her sleeve and exposing the burning Mark on her left wrist – the skin around it looked red and irritated. Before Disapparating she kissed him lightly on the cheek and whispered: 'You'll make us so proud tonight!'

She was gone with a faint pop, leaving Draco to his own devices. Instead of going to breakfast, he just stayed in his room, holding the box. A sense of fatality took over him – as if opening it meant irrevocably accepting what's inside it and sealing his fate a few hours early. It was an irrational feeling and he knew it – none of this was ever a matter of choice, it was about having to do the right thing. This anxiety only made him weak, and being weak made him bad. Eventually, he made up his mind. He needed to show himself and everyone else that he was, indeed, ready for this, so he lifted the lid.

Inside the box was a neatly folded black cloak. The fabric was a little rough but not unpleasant to the touch, and he immediately recognised it as elven cotton, which his father had a fondness of. It was heavy with magic and he traced the stitches of numerous protection charms, neatly disguised as decorative embroidery. Once he was done examining it, he left the garment on his bed.

Draco looked into the box again and a featureless white face stared back at him. That, he knew, was the real gift. He ran his fingers across the mask before lifting it up. It was intimidating, as it should be, but also beautiful. The inside matched the shape of his face perfectly, while the outside was completely blank, save for two thin slits for the eyes and a slight dent for the nose. It was made of some sort of white bone and was polished so meticulously he could use it as a mirror. This is who I am, he thought, looking at his distorted image. This is what I've always wanted, what I was born and bred to do. I won't fail. And in that moment he really believed it.

With the Manor being used as headquarters for the past year, Narcissa Malfoy led an extremely busy life. It was her job to maintain the family home in order and to ensure the undetected arrival and departure, as well as the pleasant stay, of each one of its many visitors. She also had her public image to take care of, which was a demanding and time-consuming task after her husband's incarceration. Still, Mother made a point of spending at least an hour every afternoon with Draco. Before Father had been thrown in Azkaban, he and Aunt Bella would often join them for tea but this was no longer the case.

'Hello, Mother. How are you? I haven't seen you all day,' Draco greeted. He was five minutes early and his mother snapped her fingers before answering him. A house elf immediately appeared, only to silently disappear half a second later. Draco was always amused at her ability to give orders without saying a single word. She didn't even need magic to do it.

'I'm good, dear. I've been busy organising the dinner party.' She didn't even bat an eye when halfway through her answer, the house elf appeared again carrying a pot of tea. She filled the two cups herself and looked at her son. 'How are you feeling about tonight?'

'Calmer than I did yesterday,' he answered truthfully. Narcissa nodded in understanding.

'Severus told me something you'll be very pleased to hear. He knows what your first task will be.'

'How come that man always knows everything?' Despite his mother's aim to please, Draco was irritated. He couldn't shake the feeling that the Potions Master tried to make himself look better at the expense of the family. He hadn't been involved in the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries and often reminded Aunt Bella of this little detail.

'Severus Snape has always been kind to us, which is an honour, considering how highly Lord Voldemort speaks of him,' Mother scowled. Draco decided not to argue and let her continue. 'As you know, there have been talks about infiltrating Hogwarts.'

'Yes, I was there on one of the discussions.' He could still remember the sneers of some of the men in the room when he offered his idea. 'What of it?'

'Well, according to Severus, Lord Voldemort had your suggestion looked into. He was, apparently, quite impressed,' Narcissa spoke in a level, eerily detached voice.

Struck by her words Draco asked tentatively 'Really?'

'He had the Montague boy in for questioning earlier today.'

Draco felt giddy, completely forgetting his frustration with Snape. There was a tickling, airy sensation in his chest and he couldn't help but smile. It wasn't just that he had done a good job – he did that most of the time anyway. This was something more, it was his very own idea that was not only not frowned upon but actually made an impression. He had done good, not by following the instructions of others but by trusting his own instinct and not backing down.

He couldn't concentrate very well for the rest of the afternoon tea. Mother didn't really know anything more, and he resolved to talk to Snape as soon as he could find him. In the end, he didn't even have to look for the Potions Master – he bumped into the man in the hallway outside the drawing room.

'Professor,' Draco greeted. Snape nodded in return and was about to walk the other way but Draco cut him off. 'Mother mentioned she saw you earlier today?'

'That she did, Malfoy,' the older man answered, not bothering to elaborate.

'She also mentioned that Montague came to be interviewed about his cabinet incident?' Draco refused to back down.

'Your... observation about the cabinets is being investigated further.' Snape was frowning now.

'My idea for breaking into Hogwarts, you mean,' Draco smirked. He would make the old bat admit his plan was good. To his surprise, however, Snape gave him one of the cold, full of contempt glares reserved especially for the likes of Longbottom.

'Mr Malfoy, while you may have made a very lucky discovery, you should be warned that the tasks Lord Voldemort graces his followers with can be extremely taxing. They are not meant for children.'

Snape left the hallway, and Draco gloated. If all the Potions Master had to throw at him were vague threats and insults then he was definitely doing something right.

The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully. Draco busied himself with rereading some of his favourite fairy tales until it was time for dinner. A house elf brought him his attire for the evening, and he could see his mother's handiwork. The new tailored dress robes were a lot more elaborate than his usual semi-formal clothing. While they looked very grown-up and undoubtedly Malfoy, there was something about them – something he couldn't quite put his finger on – that made them distinctly different from what Father would wear. They were perfect.

Sunday dinner with the Knights was a formal affair jointly hosted by Narcissa Malfoy and Lord Voldemort himself. It always took place at the Manor and while Mother was responsible for the exquisite food and accommodation, the Lord did everything else – from sending out the invitations to organising sitting arrangements and entertainment for the evening. Speaking of work or Knighthood business throughout the meal was, of course, bad manners, and people mostly talked about their families and where they last went on holiday.

Draco's left neighbour at the table quickly became the star of the evening. Her name was Emma Dolohovna, and she was a middle-aged witch with a calm and pleasant face, strongly resembling that of her brother. She was an unusual guest, having come from Russia to attend to some business in London. Draco couldn't help but notice that instead of being seated next to her, Antonin was very near the far end of the table. He didn't have the time to give it much thought though, because as soon as the coffee arrived, Lord Voldemort stood up and started his speech.

'Thank you for coming, everyone, and I hope you've enjoyed yet another delightful meal organised by Narcissa.' Voldemort turned to his left and applauded her quietly, the rest of the table following suit. 'And now, after we've satisfied our hunger and quenched our thirst, I would like us to yet again reflect on who we are and where we stand.'

When he started speaking again, the entire hall went quiet. There was a sombre note to his warm and captivating voice.

'Our enemies call us Death Eaters. They do so in a petty attempt to turn our own people against us, to make children fear us. Today, when we welcome our youngest, I want us to remind ourselves of who we really are – not the bloodthirsty criminals of made-up stories but vengeful knights and martyrs. For who else has sacrificed as much as we have? We were chased in the shadows, we rotted in Azkaban, we died – all in the hope that one day we can bring witches and wizards to their rightful place in this world.'

Their leader slowly looked around the table and so did Draco. Some were watching Lord Voldemort, entranced by his voice and eager to hear more. Most sat very still with their heads down, as if in prayer.

'This day, my friends – my Knights – is coming closer. But to seize it we must make sure that the youngest and most vulnerable of our kind trust us and believe in us. After all, we are here to create a better future for them, as well as for their parents. Draco will be, I hope, the first of many and I think it is befitting that he should be the one to let us in Hogwarts and in the hearts if his fellow students.'

It took Draco a second to fully process what the words meant, or could mean. Several other seconds passed before he noticed the now uncomfortable silence and realised he was supposed to speak. He took a deep breath, stood up, and told himself one last time that he was prepared for this, When he started talking, his voice didn't falter.

'Thank you,' he bowed slightly at Lord Voldemort, 'for the honour you have given me. I swear I shall open Hogwart's gates for you.'

Several of the people in the room raised their glasses. They were the chosen few who knew about the plan already – Mother, Aunt Bella, Uncle Rodolphus, and Professor Snape. However, Lord Voldemort motioned for them to stop. He wasn't finished talking.

'For this we are all grateful, of course. Especially since you have already proven yourself by showing us the key. But simply opening the school doors is a job for a schoolboy. Draco, it is time that you showed us you are not a boy any more, but a man. Only men – and women,' Voldemort nodded towards Bellatrix and the witch blushed, 'can wear the Mark and the Mask. They are not suited for children.'

'What must I do?' Draco heard his voice tremble and cursed himself for it. He wasn't expecting any other tasks. Wasn't the one he was given enough?

'You must eradicate the insect that pollutes the minds of your fellow students. You must kill Albus Dumbledore.'

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and then time suddenly stopped. Draco suddenly felt short of breath. The room spun and he was afraid he would collapse on the spot. He could hear Aunt Bella's almost manic laughter as if from far away. He thought he should say something but doubted that if he opened his mouth any sound would come out.

'I understand I'm asking a lot of you,' Lord Voldemort continued solemnly, his dark eyes examining the boy as if it were a curious animal. 'And I understand that you might not be ready for such responsibility – there is no shame in that. Others will come who can do the deed. You have one day to think about your task, Draco, and see whether you really are a good man, or merely a scared boy. I will not mark you now but tomorrow – that is, if you decide to join us.'

Draco collapsed in his seat. He couldn't bring himself to look at Mother. He felt utterly destroyed, overwhelmed by the reality around him. It was as if he had spent the last months building a wall to save Malfoy Manor from some terrible disaster – he used to dream about this as a child – but instead of being the hero of the day, he discovered the wall was made of thin glass that shattered at the mere sound of danger. It didn't matter that Draco never really knew Dumbledore. It didn't matter that the Headmaster was an old fool, who thought himself better than anyone and more than deserved to die. It didn't matter that the world would be a better place without him. When it came down to it, Draco doubted he could kill. He was weak and scared and that made him just as bad as Harry Potter and his friends. Worse, even, because they were stupid but they weren't cowards.

Eventually order was restored in the hall and Lord Voldemort spoke again, this time in a business-like manner that sent chills down what was left of Draco's spine.

'Now, I'm afraid we have more unpleasant business to discuss. It is rather urgent and extremely important that everyone hears about this so that we can deal with it promptly. I'm really sorry to do this at your table, Narcissa, but I'm sure you'll understand.' Mother nodded curtly. This was something they were all used to. 'Antonin, please share with the table your assignment for the past month.'

Dolohov emerged from his seat from the far end of the room. He had always been one of the most esteemed Knights, and everyone on the table shifted uncomfortably with the thought of him failing their cause.

'I was to locate Sabrina Darkwood, a Irish wandmaker known for her experiments with unconventional woods and cores, and escort her safely to the Manor.'

'And how did that go?'

'Darkwood was relatively easy to find but she attacked me as soon as I set foot on her land and we then duelled. She was heavily injured and didn't survive the Apparition.'

'An innocent woman and extremely talented witch lost her life because you weren't professional enough. You should have been prepared for her defensiveness. After all, we all know of the lies she was probably subjected to. Take your shirt off, please.'

Dolohov proceeded to undress, unbuttoning his robes painfully slowly. Everyone was so quiet they could hear every single movement. His sister's features were perfectly schooled into a mask of cautious interest. Once he was half naked in front of the entire room, the man turned his back to Lord Voldemort.

This offered Draco an all too familiar sight. Three deep, angry scars ran across Dolohov's back. Each was a mark of unforgivable failure. Father had one as well, and so did Aunt Bella. He ruefully noted he knew of no one having more than four.

'For negligence during your task,' Lord Voldemort lifted his wand and pointed it at the Knight's back, 'that has costed a human life and has been an unaffordable setback, your blood shall be spilt. May the scar remind you and everyone else in this room that it is only the worthiest that can make our dreams come true.'

As Voldemort sliced the air with his wand, Dolohov cried aloud in pain and fell to his knees. His blood, thick and impossibly dark, pooled on the floor.

Draco cried himself to sleep that night. He was far too exhausted and too numb to do anything else. It was past ten when he woke up the following morning and everything was really, really quiet. He didn't even consider getting out of bed, but just stared at the ceiling. He let his mind wander as far away from home as possible, recalling unimportant flying lessons and herbology classes, the bad jokes Theodore told at breakfast, the face of Pancy when he kissed her at the Yule Ball. Out of all the possible things he eventually caught himself thinking about Hermione Granger.

Every year Father was disappointed with him for not performing better at school than "that mudblood scum" Granger. He didn't always say so, not at first, at least, but he found it almost offensive that she was better than his son. According to Father, Granger was below him and it was only natural that it would reflect on their exam results as well.

Draco Malfoy hated Hermione Granger but not because she was below him; he hated her with a passion because she was so damn perfect all the time. She had some misconceptions, yes, and she clung on to her decadent Muggle world. But she was brilliant, she was just raw talent. Half the time people admired her and even when they didn't she still never wavered, not even for a second. She had these ideas about what was right and what was wrong and she always did what she thought was the right thing, even if it meant getting into a fight with her friends. Potter was lucky and as a result everyone kissed his arse. He could loose to Potter and at least have the consolation that he was drawn a poorer hand, in a way. He didn't have the same excuse with Granger.

Draco had been brought up in the best possible way his world offered. His parents had been extremely attentive – he breathed magic, knew it inside out, he could even fly before he first set foot in Hogwarts. He had been taught tradition, he had been taught history, he had been taught right from wrong. And what had Granger gotten? Just a letter saying that oh, by the way, magic exists, together with a list of school supplies to buy. Her parents probably loved her but they couldn't understand. They were just Muggles, after all. And she still managed to be so much better than him.

Sometimes, and this was not something Draco was very proud of, he would play a game called "Hermione Malfoy". He would imagine that instead of him, Mother and Father had a daughter – that Granger was their child. Then he would see her face the same problems he was struggling with, trying to figure out what a well brought-up Miss Perfect would do.

Draco stared at the ceiling and played the game. And he lost. He never thought it was the kind of game you can loose, but he did. Hermione Malfoy, Draco realised, would be a younger version of Aunt Bella – only one that was smart enough not to get herself thrown in Azkaban. Just as Aunt Bella, she would be talented, powerful and most importantly faithful to the cause. Hermione Malfoy would not be squeamish – she would lie, torture and kill, if that's what she needed to do. She would never doubt Lord Voldemort, not even for a second, and she wouldn't shy away from a difficult task. If she was told to kill Dumbledore, she would bow, look her master in the eyes, and thank him. Draco could never be that good.

Ultimately, this wasn't about deciding what to do. He had no control over any of this. He had to accept the task if he wanted to live – Voldemort didn't take kindly to weaklings, no matter what he claimed. Draco was no fool, the incident with Dolohov was a very clear warning. The Malfoys had already been branded as weak. On the other hand, however, he was painfully aware that he wasn't ready to commit murder. Not now and maybe not ever.

Draco was still in bed when at half eleven a house elf appeared uncalled in his room. Before he could fully understand what was happening the elf jumped onto his bed with one hurried, uncertain leap, grabbed him by the shoulder, and the two Disapparated.

Unprepared and sick to his stomach, Draco found himself vomiting thin bile onto the floor of an unfamiliar room. Still disoriented, he reached to the elf but was immediately distracted by something painfully hitting his hand. It was his wand, he realised, but as soon as he came to his senses the creature was gone.

Wand in hand, Draco set to explore the place. He had been transported to the living room of a small and cold cottage. There were also two bedrooms, some sort of empty storage space, what looked like a Muggle kitchen and a bathroom, all unattended and completely void of life. The lack of occupants and house elves made the house feel like an empty shell.

Not knowing what to do, Draco returned to the living room. He was hesitant to Apparate back without knowing what shielding spells might be triggered. Aunt Bella's training kicked in, and he told himself to breathe, have a seat and stay put until his head was clear. That's how he found the letter on the coffee table. It was dated from last September.

Dear Draco,

I couldn't possibly answer all the questions you may have, but I shall try to explain as much as I can.

After what happened at the Quidditch World Cup, your Father and I decided it would be best if we had a safe place. We bought this house near Mytholmroyd, in Yorkshire. We hoped we would never need to use it, and even if we did, that we would all be here together. If you are reading this, we were wrong.

If you are here on your own, your safety has been compromised and we are in no position to help, at least for the time being. This house is under the Fidelius Charm, which means it's safe for a while. Your Father and I are the only secret keepers. In the case of our death, anyone who we've told about the house would become a secret keeper in turn – hopefully, this is only you. We would never voluntarily reveal the secret but there are a lot of ways to make someone speak against their will. This is why I advise you to leave as soon as possible. You can find a one-way portkey that will take you to Paris above the fireplace – it is an old snow globe. Once out of the country, you'll be on your own.

Draco, we love you very much and hope to see you again soon.

Yours,

Mother

P.S. Please, burn this letter as soon as you read it.

He had to read the letter twice to completely comprehend it. His parents had given him an out. They loved him – he knew that, but suddenly it hit him with a new force – they would always love him no matter what he did. They loved him unconditionally simply because he was their son, not because he was smart, or brave, or clever. And he loved them, too, and wouldn't let anything happen to them.

Draco left the letter back on the coffee table and looked at his reflection in the window. He saw a scared little boy with tear-stained cheeks look back at him. A boy clinging on to dreams of bravery and knighthood but afraid to wield a wand. He could never be like Granger, nor like Aunt Bella. He would never have that gut feeling, that impossible illusion, that told them right from wrong. He would have to somehow live without it, for his parents. I'm bad, he thought, and that's good. I'll never be good, and that's not bad. There's no one I'd rather be than me. Because only I am the son of my parents. With that thought, he Apparated back to Malfoy Manor.

Draco Malfoy was pale, miserable and trembling with fear as he walked to the dining room of Malfoy Manor. During the formal meal he could barely stand the looks the Death Eaters gave him – some curious, some fearful and some full of contempt. He felt sick and didn't eat much. And when Lord Voldemort finally talked, he listened but he wasn't sure whether he saw real meaning behind the words or whether they were hollow. The grand wizard talked about family values and the importance of proper upbringing.

'Have you made your mind, Draco?' the Lord asked after the end of his speech.

'I have,' the boy answered and pulled up his left sleeve. 'My parents have taught me to never waiver and always do what is right. I may still be a student but it is time I grew up. You have my loyalty, my lord. I will complete the tasks you have bestowed upon me, and any others you may have.'

For the time, at least, he believed every single word.

Author's Note (again):

Funnily enough, while I was writing about Death Eater masks I had this weird image of Kaonashi (or No-Face) from Spirited Away stuck in my head. And yes, Voldemort made a pun. I bet only Snape noticed.