A/N: Ack! That is exactly how I feel about life right now. I apologize
profusely for the long delay between chapters. I tried to tell Life that
it has to adjust its agenda to my schedule, but Life just wouldn't have it.
I would feel so much better if this chapter could be beta-read, but alas, SQ no longer provides that for pre-OotP stories. Usually I prefer to have the next chapter be finished as well before I send this one off, but since it's been a long wait, I will not keep you.
Also, this is the first time I've really ever had to write Draco Malfoy, and at a rather crucial point as well. He's very upset with me, because I am not a fan girl who dons him in tight, leather pants.
Chapter Nine
"Draco Malfoy's Test"
Draco Malfoy moved agitatedly around his lavishly furnished room. He had arrived early Monday morning, having crossed Britain under the cover of darkness, escorted by Nott and Lestrange back to Malfoy Manor. It had been ridiculously elaborate and showy, he thought, for them to escort the Malfoy heir to his own home. Draco knew how to bypass all the hexes and splinch walls. He could do it in his sleep. Had he not practiced all summer before returning to Hogwarts?
And what had been the purpose? The year had barely started and he was already back on his father's beckon call. Draco hadn't even had a chance to implement his appointed task before Weasley had gone and had herself kidnapped.
Draco paused in his movements to sweep his eyes appreciatively over his chamber. Despite the high ceiling, one was distinctly under the impression of being underground in a reverently crafted dungeon. The narrow windows that peered into the night were encased in wrought iron moldings, and the stone was a dark, marbled sort of stone that contradicted the usual cold dinginess of a dungeon. As every fireplace in Malfoy Manor was a wonder of its own, Draco's personal hearth was no less carefully crafted by the finest stone and carvings. On either side elaborate M's and the embossed Malfoy family shield seemed to glow from the stone. The same shield was carved into the heavy oak headboard of his bed.
The sweep of Draco's gaze paused on the audacious vanity mirror beside the wardrobe of his great-grandfather. Straightening his shoulders, Draco approached the mirror, his head held high.
Although he had never admitted it to anyone, Draco hated his appearance. Every year of his life, his father had criticized his short, slight stature, often referring to him as a runt. His ivory pale skin was a mark of his superiority, of his wealth; he was above laboring in or out of doors. But everything about him was pale; his skin, hair, and eyes all seemed weak when their fairness reflected in the mirror.
"Ha," Draco scoffed, jerking his wand hand up to smooth his hair. He was not a weak little runt. Anyone who had been on the receiving end of his sharp tongue or hexes would have known that.
Not that he had hexed many people . . .
Draco turned abruptly away from the mirror and crossed the expensive oriental carpet to his desk. His wand was the only object occupying the shiny, polished surface. All his schoolbooks were back at Hogwarts. He wouldn't need them anymore. Not even Dumbledore could pretend to be oblivious to his allegiance to the Dark Lord.
He would never see Hogwarts again, unless to attack it.
Trying not to let this sink in, Draco picked up his wand, letting it roll between his hands. Crabbe and Goyle were still at school, probably dumbly wondering where he'd gone. Anyone with half a brain cell would know where the Malfoy heir had gone in the night.
But why he was here, Draco wasn't entirely sure. His father had not seen him since he'd arrived, and only Nott had come to give him the order to stay in his chambers and not interfere. Ginny Weasley was somewhere in the manor with the Dark Lord and no one was to interfere. It infuriated Draco that he was not allowed any crucial information because he was not officially a Death Eater yet.
Only because I was still in school, where Dumbledore has control, Draco thought, lifting up his sleeve. His forearm was bare of any sign of the Dark Mark. It wouldn't be for long. Soon, very soon he was sure, he would be given his test and proudly brought into the Dark Lord's elite circle of loyal followers. Certainly he could skip some of the lowest deeds and ranks, being a Malfoy of purest, noblest wizard blood.
Just as his mind began to focus on his initiation, Draco quickly pushed it away, as he'd always done. He didn't like thinking about it deeply; it stirred too many . . . feelings in him.
"This is getting ridiculous," Draco snapped to no one, glaringly gazing out one of his useless windows. It was dark outside, but he could make out the darkened depression of earth behind Malfoy Manor. A light flickered in the night wind at the center of it.
A shiver passed down Draco's slight body. The Death Eaters would meet tonight.
Staring down at the flickering light, Draco felt another shudder pass through him. The meeting could be for anything, but that unsettled feeling in his stomach told him what his mind was stubbornly trying to ignore. Either the Death Eaters were convening to witness whatever the Dark Lord had planned for Ginny Weasley, or else they were here for him, Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's son.
"I hope it's Weasley," he muttered to the dark sky. He jerked away from the window, startled by his proclamation. If it was indeed Ginny Weasley, then he would be still waiting for the inevitable test. At Hogwarts he could avoid thinking about it by studying for his N.E.W.T.s and taunting Potter, Weasley, and Granger, but here he would not be able to distract himself. Not with his father and the Dark Lord here.
Draco ran an agitated hand through his hair, something he almost never did. Why would he want hair like Potter's? Scowling at himself and shoving the offending hand in his pocket, Draco began pacing around his room, his anxiety growing.
"Calm down, you prat," he admonished, throwing a scathing glare at the mirror, which had long since learned to be silent unless consulted. "This is a dead cert. They'll give you an easy task, because you're a Malfoy, and there's no question of your power and loyalty."
As he began his third revolution around his spacious floor, the door suddenly opened. Draco whirled around, accustomed to his father's unannounced entries, and felt his face slip into its self-confident smirk he always wore at Hogwarts.
"Good evening, father," Draco greeted calmly.
"Draco." His father stood tall and proud before him, his eyes appraising Draco with the utmost scrutiny. Draco had long ago learned not to flush under that sharp gaze, and he stood up straighter, trying to lend height to his small frame. "The Dark Lord has summoned you."
Something icy cold slammed into Draco's stomach and he flinched.
The door slammed shut behind Father. Draco briefly wondered if his father would threaten him, but the senior Malfoy did not step closer. Of course, Draco thought darkly, He wouldn't want to show any feeling. After all, I'm only his son.
"Tonight is the night I have prepared you for your entire life, Draco," his father spoke, chin raised high. "The Dark Lord expects the utmost deliverance from you. You will not disappoint him. Nor me. If you fail, you will be a disgrace to the Malfoy name."
"Yes, Father." Draco kept his expressionless gaze trained on his father. He had heard this speech many times before. His entire life. Do not fail; do not tarnish the Malfoy name. Or he would be cast out-if he was lucky.
"You will be summoned shortly. Prepare yourself." And with that his father disappeared through the door, leaving Draco alone again.
So. It was finally here. Draco stood stock still in the center of his chamber, listening to the spatter of rain on his window.
~*~*~
It had started raining, but Ginny could not here it. She stared unseeingly at the far wall of the study where she had been held prisoner for hours. Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy, and the other Death Eaters had left her with the Dementor; she had lost all sense of time when she'd plunged back into the icy grayness of her worst memories. At one point, Nagini, who was full and sleepy from her hunt, had replaced the Dementor.
Now the great snake was curled on her rug, sleeping soundly, or so it appeared to Ginny. Every so often a ripple would pass through the long, scaly body, the red tongue would flick out, and then Nagini would still again.
However, Ginny was barely aware of Voldemort's dozing pet. She had fallen into a sort of trance, the effects of the Dementor and Cruciatus Curse still lingering in her mind and body. Tom Riddle rose out of the diary before her, that odd red glint in his eyes. She felt his hand travel down her arm, invisible, his palm almost tenderly laying itself over the top of her hand, and then fiery coolness, a burning, as his hand slipped into hers.
She recalled everything so clearly, her body remembering how easy it was to be controlled, craving that blissful oblivion.
And then she would realize what was happening. Sharp, angry pain would jolt through her, but Ginny refused to cry out. Nausea would pass over her, but she could not retch with an empty stomach. Dizzy but aware, she would fight to stay completely conscious and watch Nagini for as long as she could, but then her eyes would slide to the wall and she could feel those invisible fingers caressingly moving over and through her body . . .
The door suddenly flung open, just as Ginny was slipping. Nagini hissed loudly, arching up, clearly angry that her sleep had been disturbed. Ginny lunged against her restraints.
"Bite!"
With a triumphant hiss, Nagini struck.
Ginny heard a loud shout of pain, and then, "Impedimenta!"
"No! Stop!" Ginny shrieked. Something like a whiplash sliced through her, but she ignored the pain as her eyes clearly saw what had happened.
Nagini was curling back, her fangs still dripping with venom, her ruby eyes staring, bewildered, at Macnair's fallen form. The Death Eater's wand had slipped out of his trembling fingers, and Ginny could see blood oozing from two identical wounds in his thigh.
"Nagini," breathed Ginny, her ears roaring over her pounding heart. "Back off."
The great snake's body shuddered and recoiled. She then turned to gaze quizzically at Ginny, as if asking what had just happened. Ginny stared into the mesmerizing, intelligent eyes, trying to grapple a sense of what had just happened.
Riddle . . . he'd been taking over her again . . . She shuddered at the dark impulses that had ripped through her body the moment she'd ordered Nagini to attack.
"It wasn't me, it wasn't me," Ginny chanted under her breath, her eyes darting from Nagini to the motionless Macnair. "It wasn't me, it wasn't me!"
"Macnair! Where is that fool?" someone was shouting, their voice getting louder. "Macnair! How long does it take to fetch-" The door was flung open as another Death Eater came rushing through the threshold. "What--?"
"It wasn't me! IT WASN'T ME! IT WASN'T ME!"
"What in the-LUCIUS! Get in here quick!"
"IT WASN'T ME, IT WASN'T ME, IT WASN'T ME!"
"Nott, what the hell do you think you're doing? What is it-bloody-well, check him!"
"He's . . . he's dead."
"IT WASN'T ME, IT WASN'T ME, IT WASN'T ME!"
"Get the Dark Lord-and shut her up!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Ginny's screams died instantly as her body was seized by the spell. Hysteria still consumed her as more Death Eaters clamored into the study, cursing under their breaths at the sight of Macnair's dead body and the lethal green pus forming around his wound.
"How did--?" questioned one Death Eater, a woman.
"The girl can speak Parseltongue," said Nott quietly, his wand pointed uneasily at Nagini's passive form. "She ordered the snake to attack him!"
"But that snake only obeys Master!" cried the witch.
"Obviously not!"
"What do we do?" mumbled a deep man's voice, although slowly and confusedly.
"I will tell the Dark Lord," Lucius spoke up, having kept his distance from Macnair. "Nott, bring the girl as Macnair was ordered to do. Don't revive her until Master orders it so."
Ginny, immobilized, could do nothing as Nott levitated her out of the room. She was unable to squirm away as she floated low over Macnair's dead body. I killed a man! I killed him, I killed him! It wasn't me, but it was! Riddle wouldn't have wanted a dark follower dead! I did it, I did it! I killed!
Unable to open her mouth, Ginny released her scream inside her, and hot tears spattered the dull black of Macnair's boots.
~*~*~
A slight wind had picked up with the rain. Draco gripped his wand tightly in his right hand as he stared out into the darkness, mesmerized by the flickering light at the very center of the deep depression in the earth. Black shadows swayed slowly in a semicircle, enclosing what had once been the manor's back garden. His mother had never vocally protested the destruction of her prized garden that she had orchestrated through the house elves. Draco knew his mother wasn't foolish; she was honored to host the Dark Lord.
It was time, Draco knew; time to prepare himself to become completely devoted to the Dark Lord, immersed in his power.
Draco rolled his tongue in his mouth. It was thick and dry and tasted foul. But he would not drink the water from the goblet on his bedside table. He had not eaten or drank anything since he had left Hogwarts. Appetite and thirst had left him.
The flickering light down below suddenly glowed brighter, and Draco saw small black shadows gathering around it.
It was time.
Draco broke into a cold sweat.
Why had he pushed this out of his mind for so long?
He wiped his sleeve across his brow. Just as he was about to turn away from the gathering Death Eaters, he pressed his nose closer to the window. A body was being floated across the grass.
A shudder passed through him. Draco quickly turned away from the window.
The door opened with an ominous draught. Rigid, Draco did not meet his father's eyes as the senior Malfoy beckoned him forward.
It was time.
~*~*~
Unable to scream or struggle, Ginny's hysteria mounted and gathered as she was levitated through Malfoy Manor, surrounded by black cloaked and masked Death Eaters. Then she was attacked with a sudden violent fear as cold rain splattered down on her face, an even colder wind biting her skin. She heard the soft rustle of the hem of her nightgown brushing the grass below her.
A strange glow seemed to color the air like smoke, but unlike any smoke Ginny had ever seen. It seemed to move of its own accord, not just drift; it was alive.
She was nearly in the center of a sort of bowl in the earth. She saw swaying trees and hoods towering over her. On her left side was a silent white-hot fire that shot out green sparks. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen; mesmerized, her eyes fastened on it.
The only sound was the wind and rain.
After long minutes of silence, Ginny sensed a sort of shudder ripple through the cloaked shadows around her. Her eyes jerked away, blinking, from the dazzling flames, but she could not see the very edge of the circle that faced Malfoy Manor, where the black ring was parting and bowing.
And then he was before her. Gazing hungrily down upon her, like a spider crawling down its web to its ensnared prey. Ginny snapped her eyes shut, a scream rattling her body, begging to be released.
With the a faint swish of a wand, it burst from her body until she could taste blood in her throat. Hovering above the wet grass, soaked through from the rain, Ginny screamed and screamed, her body arching with it, until every pore was filled with her terror. When nothing else exuded from her lips but the gurgling of blood at the back of her throat, Ginny went limp and lifeless.
"Have you quite finished?" said Voldemort quietly. Several Death Eaters chuckled uneasily. Ginny, dizzy and nauseated, felt her body turn upward, her toes just brushing the grass. Her head snapped up so she was staring directly at the glaring red eyes. "You killed Macnair. I am pleased that you have broken. However, I cannot overlook the loss of one of my most able-bodied men."
Ginny stiffened, expecting the Cruciatus Curse. Maybe it would kill her this time. She was already mad with pain.
"No, my little Ginny," whispered Lord Voldemort. "Not just yet. I have another purpose for you tonight. However, if you are cooperative, I promise you will only be tortured once."
Ginny had not the mind to think. A numbness was paralyzing her as she hung suspended in the air before Voldemort. She was filled with no emotion. All she wanted was to die . . .
"My Death Eaters!" Voldemort hailed. "Tonight I take another step toward immortality and absolute power! But tonight another may be welcomed into our midst, if he proves himself worthy of the honor."
The Death Eaters parted as two figures approached from the imposing shadow of Malfoy Manor. Ginny recognized the lean form of Lucius Malfoy, who strode purposefully just behind the shoulder of a familiar, slight figure. Not until the two had reached the edge of the circle did she realize who it was. Something sparked deep within Ginny, filling her vacancy with a blistering rush.
Voldemort released the spell holding her and she crumpled to the ground.
~*~*~
If Draco could be outside his body and mind, he would be presently shouting at himself to relax his body. But he could not. His mind was frantically blank as his father unceremoniously pushed him through the circle of Death Eaters and into the illuminating specter of the fire. In one swift glance he saw the Dark Lord standing tall and dark, the strange fire behind him, and Ginny Weasley suspended as a puppet with invisible strings.
He wanted to sneer in satisfaction at witnessing the pathetic fate of a Weasley. But his lips refused to move and his insides turned over.
"My lord," said Draco's father, his soft, reverent voice like a shout in Draco's ear.
Draco's pulse bolted as the Dark Lord turned with sinister grace to gaze upon the Malfoy heir. It was the first Draco had ever seen the Dark Lord so close and in his direct gaze. Coldness washed over Draco, but he did not shiver, could not shiver. An unspeakable, immeasurable power seemed to ebb from the snake-like eyes, a power that controlled everything, even him, at the simplest whim.
"Come forward," spoke the Dark Lord commandingly. At the moment he spoke, Ginny Weasley dropped to the ground with a soft thud; Draco knew this was deliberate, not a mere distraction of magic.
He stepped forward, fighting the urge to turn and run as fast and far as he could. When he was only two steps away, he suddenly dropped to his knees and kissed the black hem of the Dark Lord's robes. He knew not where the motion had come from, only that it had to be done.
"Stand, boy."
Draco stood. He still wanted to run.
His father swiftly kissed the Dark Lord's hem and robes as well. Then he dropped back to close the circle of Death Eaters.
He couldn't run now.
Cowardice, Draco scoffed, complete cowardice! Under that piercing gaze, Draco forced his shoulders straight, gripped his wand tight in his right hand, and raised his chin proudly. He was not a coward!
A small smile seemed to curve along the slit of a mouth. The Dark Lord nodded and then turned slightly away from Draco to address the silent but alert Death Eaters. However, he did not speak, but simply stared pointedly into each individual mask, as if confirming or enforcing a secret. Draco stood stock still, afraid someone would notice his pounding heart.
"Now." The Dark Lord had completed his survey and fastened his stare on Draco.
Father said he could read minds. Draco wanted desperately to look away, but knew that would be accounted as a weakness.
There was a long silence as the Dark Lord and Draco stared wordlessly at one another. Then the Dark Lord stepped to the side, sweeping an arm down to the crumpled, shivering form beside the dancing flames.
Draco's mind froze. Ginny Weasley lay curled and broken on the ground, her pale, freckled body visible beneath the thing, soaked cotton nightdress. He could see bruises like handprints forming on her arms and the shadows where her body curved at bent joints. He wanted to look away but could not. As she lay on her side, he saw too much; the ragged rise and fall of her chest revealed barely contained sobs that her down-turned face was trying to hide.
Finally, Draco looked away. What was he supposed to do? he wondered vaguely, staring anxiously around at the black wall of hooded wizards and witches. Risking a glance down at Ginny Weasley, he felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach.
Was he supposed to . . . to force himself on her?
Feeling a weakening in the knees, Draco stared down at the shaking body, slowly working the task through his mind. If he had to do it . . . she was not unattractive . . . and it would kill Potter . . . Wouldn't that place the Weasleys where they belong? Rubbish. He recalled how sharp Ginny Weasley's tongue had been whenever he had insulted Potter in her presence. She always treated him with indifference, except for when she gave him a fierce look of disdain. As if she were above him! No one was above Draco Malfoy, no one-especially not a Weasley.
He could have her. Force her to regard him with fear and anger. It would be so perfect. Hurt Potter, hurt the Weasleys. He could overpower her. She was small and slender, weakened by whatever the Dark Lord had done to her, and he was sure she would soon be submissive. Or come to her senses and realize they were surrounded by Death Eaters.
Surrounded by Death Eaters . . . Draco's eyes flew around the circle again, and his stomach gave another roll. He looked down at Ginny Weasley again, his brief moment of confidence and power quickly evaporating. He could almost get everything he wanted from her: revenge on Potter, trashing the Weasleys . . . but he would not dominate her. She was already broken and damaged.
How very weak and telling, Draco thought, trying to feel disgusted and disappointed. But something else was seeping in, threatening to overwhelm him.
Relief.
Shoving the emotion angrily away, Draco turned questioningly towards his father. There was no hint behind that dark mask.
"You are questioning what you must do," said the Dark Lord suddenly, making Draco jump and snap his head around. "A Death Eater must never doubt or question what I have appointed him to do." He paused. "Failure, Draco Malfoy, will be more painful than what you must inflict upon others."
Draco quickly turned back to Ginny. So, he must hurt her in some way. The idea of rape seemed unable to enter his mind again. How could he convince the Dark Lord he was powerful enough and ready to become a Death Eater? By inflicting as much pain as possible upon Ginny Weasley and showing his control over the Dark Arts.
Draco had never used the Cruciatus Curse before.
He had to mean the incantation with his entire being, take joy in the writhing agony of his victim. His father had described the euphoria of power before, inviting Draco to practice his skill on creatures to build his power for Mudbloods and Muggles. Only now did Draco realize what his father meant by preparation.
His wand hand began to tremble. Just do it! She's a Weasley, you hate them enough to watch them scream for mercy. And imagine how it'll just kill Potter!
Draco raised his wand.
Ginny Weasley's head snapped up as her body heaved itself up in one swift movement. She raised her chin defiantly, her torso raised on shaking arms as she stared Draco squarely in the eye.
His wand trembled before him, his fingers slipping on their grip. No one had ever looked at him like that, nor had he ever noticed how hard soft brown eyes could be. She glared at him with a contradicting mix of emotions. The disgust seemed to be fueled by anger, like coppery flames erupting around her pupils, but a ring of fear edged around the iris. What struck Draco the most was the pity.
Then her eyes seemed to grow redder and Draco fought the urge to back away.
You make me sick, her eyes seemed to say, boring into his as the Dark Lord's had moments before. You think hurting me will make you powerful? You think I will fear you? You are weak. You make me sick.
Draco gave his head a small, hard shake. He was not hearing that voice in his head, so sharp, so snake-like.
The vehemence in her face suddenly vanished as Ginny gave a small, convulsive twitch. Yet her eyes never left his, and he saw something else, something that should have empowered him. The fear was showing through her anger. She was staring at him, silently pleading, begging, but it wasn't for his mercy . . .
"Your pain will be greater than hers if you fail," whispered the Dark Lord from behind his ear.
Draco realized suddenly that his wand point had dropped several more inches. If he'd hexed Ginny, he would have only hit the grass in front of her. Feeling his grip slip in his sweaty palms, Draco clenched tightly to the handle, raising the point to Ginny's chest.
Her chin went up again and her body stiffened, but the eerie redness did not inflame her fierce gaze. She seemed to have recovered from herself, and he saw that disdainful pity and grim acceptance taking over.
Draco felt his insides stop churning and turn icy cold. He could not dominate her or cause her incredible pain. Not any that she had not felt before. She did not fear him, but something else. And even if she was unbroken or begging him for mercy, he knew, deep down, that he could not do it.
The rigidity of his body became weak and shaky. He breathed in quick, shallow breaths and felt the strength leave his arm. Ginny Weasley's large eyes widened as his hand dropped slack to his side.
Several voices cried out, but Draco barely had time to register the Unforgivable incantation before he was sent crashing, screaming to the ground.
~*~*~
"Your son is weak, Lucius."
Draco was acutely aware of the painful pricks raining down upon him and poking up from the ground. Voices echoed agonizingly in his ears as he gradually became aware of everything around him.
"Yes, my lord. He has often been a disappointment. However, he learns quickly with pain."
Anger rose above the ebbing pain, and Draco opened his eyes to a blurry, still glowing darkness around him. Feet away stood his father and the Dark Lord.
"He is awake," said the Dark Lord. "On your feet, Draco."
Making not a sound, Draco rose stiffly to his feet; he wanted to cry out against the throbbing of his body. Just as he straightened, he saw Ginny laying nearby, her body arched with her arms flung out, her neck twisted. She was unconscious, her face pinched in agony.
"You have learned your lesson," the Dark Lord spoke, drawing Draco away from Ginny's still form. "You must reflect on what you have learned. Tomorrow night you must prove yourself worthy of my, ah, forgiveness."
"Yes, my lord," Draco said huskily, his throat raw. He knelt down and kissed the robes and then turned to leave, again somehow knowing it was the Dark Lord's wish.
Just as the Death Eaters were parting for him, Lord Voldemort called, "Oh, and Draco," Draco turned towards him, feeling his insides writhe, "I do not let live those who I do not forgive."
A/N: Hopefully the next chapter will come to you before August 22nd, when I move into my dorm. If not, I'll just have to skip an orientation workshop and finish it! (
I would feel so much better if this chapter could be beta-read, but alas, SQ no longer provides that for pre-OotP stories. Usually I prefer to have the next chapter be finished as well before I send this one off, but since it's been a long wait, I will not keep you.
Also, this is the first time I've really ever had to write Draco Malfoy, and at a rather crucial point as well. He's very upset with me, because I am not a fan girl who dons him in tight, leather pants.
Chapter Nine
"Draco Malfoy's Test"
Draco Malfoy moved agitatedly around his lavishly furnished room. He had arrived early Monday morning, having crossed Britain under the cover of darkness, escorted by Nott and Lestrange back to Malfoy Manor. It had been ridiculously elaborate and showy, he thought, for them to escort the Malfoy heir to his own home. Draco knew how to bypass all the hexes and splinch walls. He could do it in his sleep. Had he not practiced all summer before returning to Hogwarts?
And what had been the purpose? The year had barely started and he was already back on his father's beckon call. Draco hadn't even had a chance to implement his appointed task before Weasley had gone and had herself kidnapped.
Draco paused in his movements to sweep his eyes appreciatively over his chamber. Despite the high ceiling, one was distinctly under the impression of being underground in a reverently crafted dungeon. The narrow windows that peered into the night were encased in wrought iron moldings, and the stone was a dark, marbled sort of stone that contradicted the usual cold dinginess of a dungeon. As every fireplace in Malfoy Manor was a wonder of its own, Draco's personal hearth was no less carefully crafted by the finest stone and carvings. On either side elaborate M's and the embossed Malfoy family shield seemed to glow from the stone. The same shield was carved into the heavy oak headboard of his bed.
The sweep of Draco's gaze paused on the audacious vanity mirror beside the wardrobe of his great-grandfather. Straightening his shoulders, Draco approached the mirror, his head held high.
Although he had never admitted it to anyone, Draco hated his appearance. Every year of his life, his father had criticized his short, slight stature, often referring to him as a runt. His ivory pale skin was a mark of his superiority, of his wealth; he was above laboring in or out of doors. But everything about him was pale; his skin, hair, and eyes all seemed weak when their fairness reflected in the mirror.
"Ha," Draco scoffed, jerking his wand hand up to smooth his hair. He was not a weak little runt. Anyone who had been on the receiving end of his sharp tongue or hexes would have known that.
Not that he had hexed many people . . .
Draco turned abruptly away from the mirror and crossed the expensive oriental carpet to his desk. His wand was the only object occupying the shiny, polished surface. All his schoolbooks were back at Hogwarts. He wouldn't need them anymore. Not even Dumbledore could pretend to be oblivious to his allegiance to the Dark Lord.
He would never see Hogwarts again, unless to attack it.
Trying not to let this sink in, Draco picked up his wand, letting it roll between his hands. Crabbe and Goyle were still at school, probably dumbly wondering where he'd gone. Anyone with half a brain cell would know where the Malfoy heir had gone in the night.
But why he was here, Draco wasn't entirely sure. His father had not seen him since he'd arrived, and only Nott had come to give him the order to stay in his chambers and not interfere. Ginny Weasley was somewhere in the manor with the Dark Lord and no one was to interfere. It infuriated Draco that he was not allowed any crucial information because he was not officially a Death Eater yet.
Only because I was still in school, where Dumbledore has control, Draco thought, lifting up his sleeve. His forearm was bare of any sign of the Dark Mark. It wouldn't be for long. Soon, very soon he was sure, he would be given his test and proudly brought into the Dark Lord's elite circle of loyal followers. Certainly he could skip some of the lowest deeds and ranks, being a Malfoy of purest, noblest wizard blood.
Just as his mind began to focus on his initiation, Draco quickly pushed it away, as he'd always done. He didn't like thinking about it deeply; it stirred too many . . . feelings in him.
"This is getting ridiculous," Draco snapped to no one, glaringly gazing out one of his useless windows. It was dark outside, but he could make out the darkened depression of earth behind Malfoy Manor. A light flickered in the night wind at the center of it.
A shiver passed down Draco's slight body. The Death Eaters would meet tonight.
Staring down at the flickering light, Draco felt another shudder pass through him. The meeting could be for anything, but that unsettled feeling in his stomach told him what his mind was stubbornly trying to ignore. Either the Death Eaters were convening to witness whatever the Dark Lord had planned for Ginny Weasley, or else they were here for him, Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's son.
"I hope it's Weasley," he muttered to the dark sky. He jerked away from the window, startled by his proclamation. If it was indeed Ginny Weasley, then he would be still waiting for the inevitable test. At Hogwarts he could avoid thinking about it by studying for his N.E.W.T.s and taunting Potter, Weasley, and Granger, but here he would not be able to distract himself. Not with his father and the Dark Lord here.
Draco ran an agitated hand through his hair, something he almost never did. Why would he want hair like Potter's? Scowling at himself and shoving the offending hand in his pocket, Draco began pacing around his room, his anxiety growing.
"Calm down, you prat," he admonished, throwing a scathing glare at the mirror, which had long since learned to be silent unless consulted. "This is a dead cert. They'll give you an easy task, because you're a Malfoy, and there's no question of your power and loyalty."
As he began his third revolution around his spacious floor, the door suddenly opened. Draco whirled around, accustomed to his father's unannounced entries, and felt his face slip into its self-confident smirk he always wore at Hogwarts.
"Good evening, father," Draco greeted calmly.
"Draco." His father stood tall and proud before him, his eyes appraising Draco with the utmost scrutiny. Draco had long ago learned not to flush under that sharp gaze, and he stood up straighter, trying to lend height to his small frame. "The Dark Lord has summoned you."
Something icy cold slammed into Draco's stomach and he flinched.
The door slammed shut behind Father. Draco briefly wondered if his father would threaten him, but the senior Malfoy did not step closer. Of course, Draco thought darkly, He wouldn't want to show any feeling. After all, I'm only his son.
"Tonight is the night I have prepared you for your entire life, Draco," his father spoke, chin raised high. "The Dark Lord expects the utmost deliverance from you. You will not disappoint him. Nor me. If you fail, you will be a disgrace to the Malfoy name."
"Yes, Father." Draco kept his expressionless gaze trained on his father. He had heard this speech many times before. His entire life. Do not fail; do not tarnish the Malfoy name. Or he would be cast out-if he was lucky.
"You will be summoned shortly. Prepare yourself." And with that his father disappeared through the door, leaving Draco alone again.
So. It was finally here. Draco stood stock still in the center of his chamber, listening to the spatter of rain on his window.
~*~*~
It had started raining, but Ginny could not here it. She stared unseeingly at the far wall of the study where she had been held prisoner for hours. Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy, and the other Death Eaters had left her with the Dementor; she had lost all sense of time when she'd plunged back into the icy grayness of her worst memories. At one point, Nagini, who was full and sleepy from her hunt, had replaced the Dementor.
Now the great snake was curled on her rug, sleeping soundly, or so it appeared to Ginny. Every so often a ripple would pass through the long, scaly body, the red tongue would flick out, and then Nagini would still again.
However, Ginny was barely aware of Voldemort's dozing pet. She had fallen into a sort of trance, the effects of the Dementor and Cruciatus Curse still lingering in her mind and body. Tom Riddle rose out of the diary before her, that odd red glint in his eyes. She felt his hand travel down her arm, invisible, his palm almost tenderly laying itself over the top of her hand, and then fiery coolness, a burning, as his hand slipped into hers.
She recalled everything so clearly, her body remembering how easy it was to be controlled, craving that blissful oblivion.
And then she would realize what was happening. Sharp, angry pain would jolt through her, but Ginny refused to cry out. Nausea would pass over her, but she could not retch with an empty stomach. Dizzy but aware, she would fight to stay completely conscious and watch Nagini for as long as she could, but then her eyes would slide to the wall and she could feel those invisible fingers caressingly moving over and through her body . . .
The door suddenly flung open, just as Ginny was slipping. Nagini hissed loudly, arching up, clearly angry that her sleep had been disturbed. Ginny lunged against her restraints.
"Bite!"
With a triumphant hiss, Nagini struck.
Ginny heard a loud shout of pain, and then, "Impedimenta!"
"No! Stop!" Ginny shrieked. Something like a whiplash sliced through her, but she ignored the pain as her eyes clearly saw what had happened.
Nagini was curling back, her fangs still dripping with venom, her ruby eyes staring, bewildered, at Macnair's fallen form. The Death Eater's wand had slipped out of his trembling fingers, and Ginny could see blood oozing from two identical wounds in his thigh.
"Nagini," breathed Ginny, her ears roaring over her pounding heart. "Back off."
The great snake's body shuddered and recoiled. She then turned to gaze quizzically at Ginny, as if asking what had just happened. Ginny stared into the mesmerizing, intelligent eyes, trying to grapple a sense of what had just happened.
Riddle . . . he'd been taking over her again . . . She shuddered at the dark impulses that had ripped through her body the moment she'd ordered Nagini to attack.
"It wasn't me, it wasn't me," Ginny chanted under her breath, her eyes darting from Nagini to the motionless Macnair. "It wasn't me, it wasn't me!"
"Macnair! Where is that fool?" someone was shouting, their voice getting louder. "Macnair! How long does it take to fetch-" The door was flung open as another Death Eater came rushing through the threshold. "What--?"
"It wasn't me! IT WASN'T ME! IT WASN'T ME!"
"What in the-LUCIUS! Get in here quick!"
"IT WASN'T ME, IT WASN'T ME, IT WASN'T ME!"
"Nott, what the hell do you think you're doing? What is it-bloody-well, check him!"
"He's . . . he's dead."
"IT WASN'T ME, IT WASN'T ME, IT WASN'T ME!"
"Get the Dark Lord-and shut her up!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Ginny's screams died instantly as her body was seized by the spell. Hysteria still consumed her as more Death Eaters clamored into the study, cursing under their breaths at the sight of Macnair's dead body and the lethal green pus forming around his wound.
"How did--?" questioned one Death Eater, a woman.
"The girl can speak Parseltongue," said Nott quietly, his wand pointed uneasily at Nagini's passive form. "She ordered the snake to attack him!"
"But that snake only obeys Master!" cried the witch.
"Obviously not!"
"What do we do?" mumbled a deep man's voice, although slowly and confusedly.
"I will tell the Dark Lord," Lucius spoke up, having kept his distance from Macnair. "Nott, bring the girl as Macnair was ordered to do. Don't revive her until Master orders it so."
Ginny, immobilized, could do nothing as Nott levitated her out of the room. She was unable to squirm away as she floated low over Macnair's dead body. I killed a man! I killed him, I killed him! It wasn't me, but it was! Riddle wouldn't have wanted a dark follower dead! I did it, I did it! I killed!
Unable to open her mouth, Ginny released her scream inside her, and hot tears spattered the dull black of Macnair's boots.
~*~*~
A slight wind had picked up with the rain. Draco gripped his wand tightly in his right hand as he stared out into the darkness, mesmerized by the flickering light at the very center of the deep depression in the earth. Black shadows swayed slowly in a semicircle, enclosing what had once been the manor's back garden. His mother had never vocally protested the destruction of her prized garden that she had orchestrated through the house elves. Draco knew his mother wasn't foolish; she was honored to host the Dark Lord.
It was time, Draco knew; time to prepare himself to become completely devoted to the Dark Lord, immersed in his power.
Draco rolled his tongue in his mouth. It was thick and dry and tasted foul. But he would not drink the water from the goblet on his bedside table. He had not eaten or drank anything since he had left Hogwarts. Appetite and thirst had left him.
The flickering light down below suddenly glowed brighter, and Draco saw small black shadows gathering around it.
It was time.
Draco broke into a cold sweat.
Why had he pushed this out of his mind for so long?
He wiped his sleeve across his brow. Just as he was about to turn away from the gathering Death Eaters, he pressed his nose closer to the window. A body was being floated across the grass.
A shudder passed through him. Draco quickly turned away from the window.
The door opened with an ominous draught. Rigid, Draco did not meet his father's eyes as the senior Malfoy beckoned him forward.
It was time.
~*~*~
Unable to scream or struggle, Ginny's hysteria mounted and gathered as she was levitated through Malfoy Manor, surrounded by black cloaked and masked Death Eaters. Then she was attacked with a sudden violent fear as cold rain splattered down on her face, an even colder wind biting her skin. She heard the soft rustle of the hem of her nightgown brushing the grass below her.
A strange glow seemed to color the air like smoke, but unlike any smoke Ginny had ever seen. It seemed to move of its own accord, not just drift; it was alive.
She was nearly in the center of a sort of bowl in the earth. She saw swaying trees and hoods towering over her. On her left side was a silent white-hot fire that shot out green sparks. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen; mesmerized, her eyes fastened on it.
The only sound was the wind and rain.
After long minutes of silence, Ginny sensed a sort of shudder ripple through the cloaked shadows around her. Her eyes jerked away, blinking, from the dazzling flames, but she could not see the very edge of the circle that faced Malfoy Manor, where the black ring was parting and bowing.
And then he was before her. Gazing hungrily down upon her, like a spider crawling down its web to its ensnared prey. Ginny snapped her eyes shut, a scream rattling her body, begging to be released.
With the a faint swish of a wand, it burst from her body until she could taste blood in her throat. Hovering above the wet grass, soaked through from the rain, Ginny screamed and screamed, her body arching with it, until every pore was filled with her terror. When nothing else exuded from her lips but the gurgling of blood at the back of her throat, Ginny went limp and lifeless.
"Have you quite finished?" said Voldemort quietly. Several Death Eaters chuckled uneasily. Ginny, dizzy and nauseated, felt her body turn upward, her toes just brushing the grass. Her head snapped up so she was staring directly at the glaring red eyes. "You killed Macnair. I am pleased that you have broken. However, I cannot overlook the loss of one of my most able-bodied men."
Ginny stiffened, expecting the Cruciatus Curse. Maybe it would kill her this time. She was already mad with pain.
"No, my little Ginny," whispered Lord Voldemort. "Not just yet. I have another purpose for you tonight. However, if you are cooperative, I promise you will only be tortured once."
Ginny had not the mind to think. A numbness was paralyzing her as she hung suspended in the air before Voldemort. She was filled with no emotion. All she wanted was to die . . .
"My Death Eaters!" Voldemort hailed. "Tonight I take another step toward immortality and absolute power! But tonight another may be welcomed into our midst, if he proves himself worthy of the honor."
The Death Eaters parted as two figures approached from the imposing shadow of Malfoy Manor. Ginny recognized the lean form of Lucius Malfoy, who strode purposefully just behind the shoulder of a familiar, slight figure. Not until the two had reached the edge of the circle did she realize who it was. Something sparked deep within Ginny, filling her vacancy with a blistering rush.
Voldemort released the spell holding her and she crumpled to the ground.
~*~*~
If Draco could be outside his body and mind, he would be presently shouting at himself to relax his body. But he could not. His mind was frantically blank as his father unceremoniously pushed him through the circle of Death Eaters and into the illuminating specter of the fire. In one swift glance he saw the Dark Lord standing tall and dark, the strange fire behind him, and Ginny Weasley suspended as a puppet with invisible strings.
He wanted to sneer in satisfaction at witnessing the pathetic fate of a Weasley. But his lips refused to move and his insides turned over.
"My lord," said Draco's father, his soft, reverent voice like a shout in Draco's ear.
Draco's pulse bolted as the Dark Lord turned with sinister grace to gaze upon the Malfoy heir. It was the first Draco had ever seen the Dark Lord so close and in his direct gaze. Coldness washed over Draco, but he did not shiver, could not shiver. An unspeakable, immeasurable power seemed to ebb from the snake-like eyes, a power that controlled everything, even him, at the simplest whim.
"Come forward," spoke the Dark Lord commandingly. At the moment he spoke, Ginny Weasley dropped to the ground with a soft thud; Draco knew this was deliberate, not a mere distraction of magic.
He stepped forward, fighting the urge to turn and run as fast and far as he could. When he was only two steps away, he suddenly dropped to his knees and kissed the black hem of the Dark Lord's robes. He knew not where the motion had come from, only that it had to be done.
"Stand, boy."
Draco stood. He still wanted to run.
His father swiftly kissed the Dark Lord's hem and robes as well. Then he dropped back to close the circle of Death Eaters.
He couldn't run now.
Cowardice, Draco scoffed, complete cowardice! Under that piercing gaze, Draco forced his shoulders straight, gripped his wand tight in his right hand, and raised his chin proudly. He was not a coward!
A small smile seemed to curve along the slit of a mouth. The Dark Lord nodded and then turned slightly away from Draco to address the silent but alert Death Eaters. However, he did not speak, but simply stared pointedly into each individual mask, as if confirming or enforcing a secret. Draco stood stock still, afraid someone would notice his pounding heart.
"Now." The Dark Lord had completed his survey and fastened his stare on Draco.
Father said he could read minds. Draco wanted desperately to look away, but knew that would be accounted as a weakness.
There was a long silence as the Dark Lord and Draco stared wordlessly at one another. Then the Dark Lord stepped to the side, sweeping an arm down to the crumpled, shivering form beside the dancing flames.
Draco's mind froze. Ginny Weasley lay curled and broken on the ground, her pale, freckled body visible beneath the thing, soaked cotton nightdress. He could see bruises like handprints forming on her arms and the shadows where her body curved at bent joints. He wanted to look away but could not. As she lay on her side, he saw too much; the ragged rise and fall of her chest revealed barely contained sobs that her down-turned face was trying to hide.
Finally, Draco looked away. What was he supposed to do? he wondered vaguely, staring anxiously around at the black wall of hooded wizards and witches. Risking a glance down at Ginny Weasley, he felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach.
Was he supposed to . . . to force himself on her?
Feeling a weakening in the knees, Draco stared down at the shaking body, slowly working the task through his mind. If he had to do it . . . she was not unattractive . . . and it would kill Potter . . . Wouldn't that place the Weasleys where they belong? Rubbish. He recalled how sharp Ginny Weasley's tongue had been whenever he had insulted Potter in her presence. She always treated him with indifference, except for when she gave him a fierce look of disdain. As if she were above him! No one was above Draco Malfoy, no one-especially not a Weasley.
He could have her. Force her to regard him with fear and anger. It would be so perfect. Hurt Potter, hurt the Weasleys. He could overpower her. She was small and slender, weakened by whatever the Dark Lord had done to her, and he was sure she would soon be submissive. Or come to her senses and realize they were surrounded by Death Eaters.
Surrounded by Death Eaters . . . Draco's eyes flew around the circle again, and his stomach gave another roll. He looked down at Ginny Weasley again, his brief moment of confidence and power quickly evaporating. He could almost get everything he wanted from her: revenge on Potter, trashing the Weasleys . . . but he would not dominate her. She was already broken and damaged.
How very weak and telling, Draco thought, trying to feel disgusted and disappointed. But something else was seeping in, threatening to overwhelm him.
Relief.
Shoving the emotion angrily away, Draco turned questioningly towards his father. There was no hint behind that dark mask.
"You are questioning what you must do," said the Dark Lord suddenly, making Draco jump and snap his head around. "A Death Eater must never doubt or question what I have appointed him to do." He paused. "Failure, Draco Malfoy, will be more painful than what you must inflict upon others."
Draco quickly turned back to Ginny. So, he must hurt her in some way. The idea of rape seemed unable to enter his mind again. How could he convince the Dark Lord he was powerful enough and ready to become a Death Eater? By inflicting as much pain as possible upon Ginny Weasley and showing his control over the Dark Arts.
Draco had never used the Cruciatus Curse before.
He had to mean the incantation with his entire being, take joy in the writhing agony of his victim. His father had described the euphoria of power before, inviting Draco to practice his skill on creatures to build his power for Mudbloods and Muggles. Only now did Draco realize what his father meant by preparation.
His wand hand began to tremble. Just do it! She's a Weasley, you hate them enough to watch them scream for mercy. And imagine how it'll just kill Potter!
Draco raised his wand.
Ginny Weasley's head snapped up as her body heaved itself up in one swift movement. She raised her chin defiantly, her torso raised on shaking arms as she stared Draco squarely in the eye.
His wand trembled before him, his fingers slipping on their grip. No one had ever looked at him like that, nor had he ever noticed how hard soft brown eyes could be. She glared at him with a contradicting mix of emotions. The disgust seemed to be fueled by anger, like coppery flames erupting around her pupils, but a ring of fear edged around the iris. What struck Draco the most was the pity.
Then her eyes seemed to grow redder and Draco fought the urge to back away.
You make me sick, her eyes seemed to say, boring into his as the Dark Lord's had moments before. You think hurting me will make you powerful? You think I will fear you? You are weak. You make me sick.
Draco gave his head a small, hard shake. He was not hearing that voice in his head, so sharp, so snake-like.
The vehemence in her face suddenly vanished as Ginny gave a small, convulsive twitch. Yet her eyes never left his, and he saw something else, something that should have empowered him. The fear was showing through her anger. She was staring at him, silently pleading, begging, but it wasn't for his mercy . . .
"Your pain will be greater than hers if you fail," whispered the Dark Lord from behind his ear.
Draco realized suddenly that his wand point had dropped several more inches. If he'd hexed Ginny, he would have only hit the grass in front of her. Feeling his grip slip in his sweaty palms, Draco clenched tightly to the handle, raising the point to Ginny's chest.
Her chin went up again and her body stiffened, but the eerie redness did not inflame her fierce gaze. She seemed to have recovered from herself, and he saw that disdainful pity and grim acceptance taking over.
Draco felt his insides stop churning and turn icy cold. He could not dominate her or cause her incredible pain. Not any that she had not felt before. She did not fear him, but something else. And even if she was unbroken or begging him for mercy, he knew, deep down, that he could not do it.
The rigidity of his body became weak and shaky. He breathed in quick, shallow breaths and felt the strength leave his arm. Ginny Weasley's large eyes widened as his hand dropped slack to his side.
Several voices cried out, but Draco barely had time to register the Unforgivable incantation before he was sent crashing, screaming to the ground.
~*~*~
"Your son is weak, Lucius."
Draco was acutely aware of the painful pricks raining down upon him and poking up from the ground. Voices echoed agonizingly in his ears as he gradually became aware of everything around him.
"Yes, my lord. He has often been a disappointment. However, he learns quickly with pain."
Anger rose above the ebbing pain, and Draco opened his eyes to a blurry, still glowing darkness around him. Feet away stood his father and the Dark Lord.
"He is awake," said the Dark Lord. "On your feet, Draco."
Making not a sound, Draco rose stiffly to his feet; he wanted to cry out against the throbbing of his body. Just as he straightened, he saw Ginny laying nearby, her body arched with her arms flung out, her neck twisted. She was unconscious, her face pinched in agony.
"You have learned your lesson," the Dark Lord spoke, drawing Draco away from Ginny's still form. "You must reflect on what you have learned. Tomorrow night you must prove yourself worthy of my, ah, forgiveness."
"Yes, my lord," Draco said huskily, his throat raw. He knelt down and kissed the robes and then turned to leave, again somehow knowing it was the Dark Lord's wish.
Just as the Death Eaters were parting for him, Lord Voldemort called, "Oh, and Draco," Draco turned towards him, feeling his insides writhe, "I do not let live those who I do not forgive."
A/N: Hopefully the next chapter will come to you before August 22nd, when I move into my dorm. If not, I'll just have to skip an orientation workshop and finish it! (