A/N: Even though this short story contains elements from my now-deleted fic The Scorpion King, it has no connection and is self contained. A/N
Yet the wife of the Malfoy patriarch paid no mind to the minutes ticking by, nor to the crowds of parents and children reuniting, Mrs Crabbe and Mrs Goyle predictably rushing their sons out of there before the blood traitors took notice and gave looks; like her Lucius, their husbands had been taken prisoner by the Ministry.
Narcissa was not soft on Muggle borns or the Muggles whose filthy blood they carried. While the Malfoys did not practice inbreeding unlike her birth family, the Blacks, they carried the notion of pureblood supremacy as strongly as anyone with proper Wizarding pride. It was unproud families such as the Weasleys that were proving to be a cancer in the body of the magical population, Narcissa bore no illusions about that.
However, unlike her sister Bellatrix and her beloved master, Narcissa had never until Lucius' recruitment thought of actually exterminating the dirty populations, merely keeping them contained. She had little sympathy for Mudbloods, they were unworthy of attending the same school as her Draco, to be sure, but she did not entirely understand how Bellatrix was capable of casting the Cruciatus curse and laughing at the same time.
At last, the thin, blond boy had recomposed his appearance to present himself to his mother, and hobbled shamefully through the barrier pushing his luggage trolley. His face etched with humiliation, Draco immediately made eye contact with his mother and strode towards her.
Narcissa knew better than to wrap her son in a tight hug in the middle of the train station, but it pained her greatly not to. The only thing more agonizing was thinking of her husband Lucius, having fallen from grace in the Ministry and locked in Azkaban, having failed to complete his mission.
Yet Lucius' public reputation was the least of his worries, Narcissa realized, and the worries of the family. Lord Voldemort's reaction to Lucius' failure would be beyond harsh, and Narcissa had seen enough to know exactly who the Dark Lord would target to punish his former right-hand man.
As Draco drew near his mother, Narcissa settled for putting a hand on his shoulder as she assisted in removing his luggage from the trolley. Draco looked down at his boots, then returned a nasty look from a boy named Seamus Finnegan.
"Gotten hexed lately, Death Eater?"
"Fuck you, blood traitor!"
"Draco," Narcissa admonished her son gently and quietly as she took a hold of a suitcase.
Draco clutched the other suitcase as Narcissa drew her wand. Her son tightly gripped her arm as she Apparated them from King's Cross Station back onto the front porch of the stately Malfoy Manor.
Oddly, the mansion now possessed a grim, forbidding aura, perhaps because of the fate of its master.
Trembling, Narcissa let go of the luggage and opened the door to the manor. She stepped back in shock at the tall, domineering figure of Bellatrix Lestrange standing at the entryway.
"Bella," Narcissa said breathlessly, "You're here."
Draco gave a barely perceptible whimper and slid slightly behind his mother, who was nowhere near big enough in frame to hide him.
"Cissy, I'm afraid this is very serious," Bellatrix told her. Evidently, she had been in tears, crying wildly like she only did when her master was cross with her. She had an obsessive need to please the Dark Lord, to a far greater degree than another given Death Eater.
"Is it about Lucius?" Narcissa inquired, terrified to the bone of what was to come.
"It's about Draco," Bellatrix squeaked, and another figure emerged from the sitting room to join her.
Narcissa had hardly seen Lord Voldemort the first time Lucius had served him, and Draco never had. Yet for the junior Malfoy, there was no questioning the identity of the bald, towering man glaring at him. He gave out a gasp and a slight gag as Voldemort spoke.
"Narcissa Black, I am certain you know of your husband's... unfortunate fate."
Narcissa had no idea where to begin in speaking to this man, so she settled for a nod of the head that could have been translated as a bow.
"Lucius was such a fine servant for so long," Voldemort went on in that trademark high, cold voice of poison, "It is a shame that when it mattered the most, he proved to be unable to fulfill his most crucial task."
Narcissa wanted nothing more to cover Draco with her body and hide him from the monster in their home. She could feel her son's sheer terror, his urge to run, hide, cry. There was no pretending anymore, no escape from the ruthless reality they were all doomed to. Lucius had sealed their son's fate as soon as he had sworn allegiance to Voldemort, years before Draco had been born.
She was very reluctant to think of her own sister Bellatrix as a sick, twisted person, but in the end, there was no other type of being who would carry such a fanatical devotion to the most feared wizard in memory. Had Lucius known what he was getting into back then, when he'd been a young, idealistic man carrying on the beliefs passed on to him from past generations, the same beliefs Narcissa and Bellatrix had learned, and had somehow passed over their estranged middle sister? How had Andromeda resisted the indoctrination, the same one that defined Narcissa and her family's existence?
"However," the reptile-like man was saying, "I am pleased to report that the damage dealt here is not without repair." As soon as he had spoken, Narcissa knew exactly where he was going with it, and it took all her willpower and self-control not to grab Draco and Disapparate far away, away from the Ministry, the Death Eaters, and her sister Bella.
"Mrs. Malfoy...may I call you Cissy...I would like to speak to Draco alone, if you please."
Narcissa turned and glanced at her son, fighting back a desperate cry. Draco's face was nearly the same color as his hair as he let out a small squeak. His body was shaking as if he was having a seizure, and his facial muscles were twitching without restraint. Narcissa's hand moved to her robes concealing her wand, but Bellatrix grabbed her wrist.
"Draco, you must realize it is a great honor in itself to speak with the Dark Lord alone!" Bellatrix exclaimed, her enthusiasm barely masking her intense panic, fear of her master's certain disapproval, "I am sure you will do us all proud by serving him, doing whatever he asks!"
Draco looked at his mother pleadingly, silently begging her not to leave her with the man who had cast a lingering shadow on the family for as long as he could remember. Narcissa gazed back tearfully as Bellatrix gripped her arm, pulling her towards the dining hall.
Once the two women had disappeared from the room, Voldemort casually sat himself down on the armchair facing the empty fireplace as if it were his own.
"Sit down, Draco," he said, maintaining his calm demeanor.
Draco was not foolish enough to believe this was a request. With a glance at the doorway through which his mother had exited, the teenage boy crept over to the couch opposite Voldemort and sat down, unable to look directly at him.
"As you must have guessed, the responsibility to amend for your father's failure in the Department of Mysteries falls onto your young shoulders, Draco, as his sole heir and child." The Dark Lord had spoken his NAME, while talking directly to him! Draco wished he was an innocent first year again, not fully understanding the Death Eaters and their ideology beyond what his father told him, his biggest worries being getting a racing broom and beating Granger on the Potions test.
Gone were the days where he could enjoy his days at Hogwarts, embracing Slytherin culture and taking part in the rivalry with Gryffindor. Quidditch meant nothing now, as did trips to Hogsmeade and House points. This was life and death.
"While you admittedly are young, and perhaps not as trained as I would like for a new recruit, these are desperate times, young Malfoy, desperate times that require serious action to be taken."
Draco listened, taking in every word and replaying it in his mind.
"What I have to say is a great honor for you, Draco. You will be the envy of your friends at Hogwarts, you will receive far greater experience than any student of Dumbledore can hope for. I would like to declare you as an official Death Eater."
The last two words were drawn out for dramatic effect. Draco still did not dare speak or look Voldemort directly in the eye. Once upon a time, this would have been a dream come true. The Death Eaters of the First Wizarding War had always seemed to be heroes, figures of legend out to preserve traditional values and magical heritage.
Draco had believed it, and to some extent, still did. Yet now he had seen exactly the affects of the war, the tragedy, the deaths of many, including young people like himself. Once, he had dismissed these casualties as unimportant, in comparison to the ultimate goals of the Dark Lord. Now, however, Cedric Diggory had died, one moment a Hogwarts student like Draco, Quidditch star, champion, leader, the next the first casualty of war. It could have been me, Draco had realized. This was no game. It could have been him, or anybody who had merely been in the way.
"While this is certainly cause for celebration, I have a task for you already, one only a Hogwarts student such as yourself can complete." Voldemort paused and leaned in towards Draco, prolonging every syllable.
"You must kill Albus Dumbledore."
Draco remained silent, taking in every word as he stared at the linen below him. His life was changing, so fast, speeding towards a ledge and preparing to crash.
True, Draco held no respect for the aged headmaster, despising his Muggle and Mudblood-loving ways and obvious favoritism towards Gryffindor, especially famous Potter and his friends. He would not feel sad if Dumbledore died, Draco had to admit.
Yet Dumbledore also served as a symbol to Draco, becoming clearer over the last several days. He was the last line of defense between Draco and the horrible reality he was forced to reckon with now, the burden of his birthright.
"Everything depends on the old fool's death," Voldemort informed the terrified boy beholding him, "Only then can I advance my plans for the larger Wizarding World... and only then will your family's safety be insured."
Draco understood this very well, instantly catching the not-so-veiled threat. Inwardly, he was falling apart. His father, helpless and locked away, his mother, here at home and as scared as he was, emotionally fragile without her husband...
"I am unconcerned as to what methods you use in your mission, as long as they are effective. Everything, as I said, depends on your success in killing Albus Dumbledore, everything..." the Dark Lord spoke at a whisper now... "Including your own life."
Draco could not stop himself from letting out a squeal. His skin was clammy and his hair was pouring with sweat. Tears burned his eyes as his youth ended in his own sitting room, at that very second.
Voldemort took note of this and, with a satisfied smile, stood from the armchair and stepped towards Draco. "One more thing, before I relieve you of my presence. Something to solidify your loyalty to me, the highest honor of a servant of Lord Voldemort. Your sleeve, please."
Voldemort gestured to Draco's arm, concealed by his Slytherin uniform. Draco knew exactly what was coming next, he had seen it on his father and Aunt Bellatrix. Shaking uncontrollably, Draco slowly drew back his sleeve to expose his pale forearm.
"Excellent," Voldemort knelt down beside the seated, cowering boy and took his arm in his white hands, pressing flesh against bone.
"Welcome to the Order," Voldemort declared, "You shall now be bound to me for life." He gave a hiss, his haunted, face inches from Draco, his scarlet eyes piercing into Draco's terrified soul.
As Voldemort pressed his hand onto Draco, an intense burning sensation came over his arm. Draco at last let out a loud, excruciating wail as the Dark Mark was engrained into his skin.
Having been listening from the kitchen, Narcissa, unable to bear it any longer, started out towards the exit, but Bellatrix blocked her path. "Cissy, no!"
She grabbed her sister's arm as Narcissa tried to push past her, Draco's screams of pain echoing throughout the manor.
"My only son," Narcissa sobbed as she tried to wrestle her sister, Bellatrix now holding both her arms, "My only child."
"Shut up!" Bellatrix whisper-screamed as Narcissa managed to catch her wrist and pry her arm loose. Bellatrix forced Narcissa against the wall and said fiercely, "Do you want to make it worse for us all?" Her terror of her master's displeasure could not have been more evident.
Narcissa continued to sob as Draco's shouts ceased, the Dark Mark shining fresh on his arm, permanently a part of his physical being. A crack indicated that Lord Voldemort had left.