Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters or elements
(though I wish I did). They belong to the fabulous J.K. Rowling.
A/N: I hope that if you read this story you like it. Please review, it would make me happy! ( ( (
Chapter One
Draco Malfoy received the letter from Hogwarts the same day his father informed him of how he could make him proud. The letter from Hogwarts arrived first, via a large, brown barn owl that swooped into the bedroom with its wings spread wide. Draco hurriedly tore open the envelope and read a letter, written on thick parchment in emerald green ink.
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
It is our pleasure to inform you that you have been selected to be one of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's prefects. You will be informed of
your duties as a prefect upon arriving at school one the first of
September.
Please be aware that the professors have the right to suspend
your privileges
as a prefect if you exhibit in any form inappropriate behavior.
Included in this delivery is a list of books and supplies you
will need for your fifth
year at Hogwarts, and your prefect badge.
Have a good summer!
Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Draco sneered proudly as he finished reading the letter. He was a prefect. Ha! He only hoped that perfect little mudblood Granger wasn't Gryffindor's prefect. He fumbled with the envelope for a moment until he pulled out a shiny, silver badge. In it Draco could see his own reflection. His blonde hair, framing his face with its pale features perfectly and his gray eyes hiding hidden depths. You could see why most girls couldn't stop ogling at him. He didn't deny to himself that he was good looking, he didn't mind being so. What he did mind was how much he resembled his father. He longed for the day when Lucius Malfoy's hair would turn silver and his face would become so wrinkled that an outsider couldn't tell that he was even remotely related to Draco.
Draco sighed. Speaking of Lucius, he should probably go and tell him about being made a prefect.
* * *
Draco trudged down the marble staircase in his family's manour. His footsteps echoed and reverberated throughout the house. At the bottom of the stairs he turned down a long, dark corridor and halted in front of tall, black double doors with large silver handles molded into the shape of mouths with thick fangs. Draco knocked, not wanting to walk in on anything, and waited a moment before hearing his father's voice.
"Come in."
Draco entered and looked around. Lucius Malfoy's office was in the shape of a semi circle and everything seemed to be made of black marble. It had been a while since Draco had been in here, he had been avoiding it, and nothing had changed.
"I'm over here," Lucius' irritable voice called.
Draco spotted his father in the far corner of the room, sitting in a black, leather easy chair, and a book on his lap. He was dressed in his usual attire; black and silver wizard's robes with a black cloak slung over the back of the chair. On the table next to him lay his wand, and a long black cane with an engraved silver M, surrounded by a serpent that was regurgitating six stars. Draco had always been told that the silver stars represented the six most valued Malfoy traits; powerful, proud, malicious, malignant and pure.
"I'm glad you stopped by," Lucius commented without looking up as Draco approached. "I've been wanting to tell you something."
Draco nodded. "I have new, too. Today-" He was cut short. Lucius made a noise of disbelief and was suddenly glaring at him with extreme anger.
"What have I told you about wearing muggle clothing in my presence?!!!" Lucius spoke in barely more than a whisper but revealed his wrath all the same.
Draco swore inwardly. Damn, how could he be so careless and stupid? He knew of his father's dislike for muggle clothing and here he was, wearing a fitting white shirt and blue jeans. He liked them, but how could he be so forgetful as to wear them in front of his father?
An enraged Lucius was slowly rising from his chair, the book that had previously been on his lap falling to the floor. He took a few steps towards his son until he was so close that they could feel each other's hot breath on their skin.
Before Draco could do anything Lucius slapped him with full force. Draco backed away, his ear ringing and a single rivulet of blood trickling down the side of his face. Another slap came, firm and unrelenting. Draco whimpered.
"You deserve this!" Lucius told him fiercely, pushing Draco to the floor. Draco swallowed, feeling slight pain beginning in his lower back and ardent hatred creeping into his heart. The hatred grew ever deeper as he watched Lucius sit back down, pick up his book and act as if nothing had happened.
Draco picked himself up, breathing heavily, and wiped blood from his cheek. He wanted nothing more than to curse his father, to scream and swear at him, but he knew better.
"Now," said a composed Lucius. "You said you had some new?"
"I've been made a prefect," Draco said, glaring at his father.
Lucius ignored the glare. "Good, good. I suppose you don't know who the others are, do you? No doubt that smart, little mudblood is the prefect for her house. What's her name? Hermione Grader?"
"Granger," Draco corrected. "And I'm sure she is."
He headed toward the door.
"I'll tell you my news later. I want your mother to hear," Lucius called after Draco's retreating back.
Draco didn't care about the news. He probably would despise it anyway.
* * *
Draco, now wisely dressed in dark blue wizard's robes, made his way down to the drawing room. He took as long as possible, dreading what news Lucius might have in store for him.
The Malfoy drawing room was not a particularly pleasant place. It was done up in mostly black and silver, with a black marble floor and some dark green accents here and there. The room was filled with couches and chairs, but the most noticeable thing was the mantle piece above the hearth. It was of black marble and on it were a variety of things, bottles containing dark potions, books of spells both light and dark and various magical objects like clocks and things. The most noticeable thing on the mantle, however, was an eerie sculpture, made of shining silver. A sculpture of the Dark Mark, Voldemort's sign. Draco hated it; all it seemed to do was watch you out of its scrutinizing ruby eyes. The sculpture was one of Lucius' most prized possessions, showing his eternal faith to his master, Voldemort. He spent more time admiring and polishing the sculpture than he did with his own family. However, having a sculpture of the Dark Mark in your drawing room, while putting up the pretense of being against Voldemort, was not the brightest idea. Therefore, Lucius had a secret storage room underneath the drawing room floor, a place where he kept his "suspicious" and "embarrassing" items when certain guest came to call.
Draco entered the drawing room in time to hear is father shouting at his mother.
"Narcissa, I forbid you to interfere. This is not-"
Lucius stopped abruptly as Draco made his presence noticed with a loud, fake cough. Lucius nodded to him to sit down while his mother jumped up to embrace him.
"Draco, darling! How are you?" Narcissa cooed. She had not seen him for a few weeks as she had been away on some sort of business she never spoke about.
"Fine, fine," Draco muttered, pushing her gently away. Narcissa took no notice of the spectacular bruise blooming on the left side of her son's face, a result of Lucius' slaps.
Draco slumped into a velvet-covered chair and looked pointedly at his father.
"What? You said you had news."
"You are precisely correct," Lucius put on a simpering smile. "As I am sure you are aware of, Draco, you turned fifteen last week."
Draco grunted.
"So, I spoke with my Lord," Lucius continued. "And he informed that you are of an appropriate age to become a death eater. I wish, and so does Lord Voldemort, that you become accepted into our inner circle. It is your chance to make me proud, Draco. Very proud."
Lucius finished and looked at his son, a younger image of himself. Draco stared stolidly back, gray eyes meeting gray eyes. Narcissa looked timidly from her husband to her son, wringing her hand nervously.
Draco wasn't sure how to react. His father's statement was still sinking in. This was a shock. Draco had expected, at some point, to be welcomed into Voldemort's inner circle, but not now. It was his Lucius' absolute dream for his son, but was not Draco's dream in the least.
A flood of emotions boiled up inside him, threatening to erupt at any given moment. He breathed deeply, becoming more irate with every passing second.
"No!" Draco screamed. Lucius started.
"What did you say?"
"I said no!" Draco said it with more vigilance this time, causing his father to let out a small, horrified gasp.
"I refuse," Draco said after a moment's silence, watching Lucius' face change expressions with some amusement.
Are you refusing to become a death eater?" Lucius growled with painstaking slowness. "Are you refusing the best opportunity ever presented to you? Do you understand what an honor this is? To be Lord Voldemort's servant should be what you have always been waiting for, and you say no!!"
Draco nodded his head. Lucius gasped again, this time with rage.
"How dare you refuse!" Lucius was trembling with fury. "How.dare.you!!"
He lunged at Draco. Draco swerved. Narcissa screamed.
"Stop! Stop! Lucius, let him make his own decision!"
"I will not allow my son to associate himself with mudblood filth!" Lucius snarled, turning to face his wife. "By refusing the Dark Lord's offer he his doing just that."
"I would rather live with mudbloods and muggles than become a servant of Voldemort! Than be forced to obey someone every second, no matter what they tell me to do," Draco spat.
Lucius' eyes widened, his fists clenched. He lunged again at Draco, this time catching him by the arm. He gripped tighter and tighter, turning Draco's forearm a brilliant pink. With his free hand, Draco searched frantically through his robes for his wand, before remembering that he had left it in his room.
Lucius flung his fifteen- year- old son across the room and advanced on him. He began hitting him with all the strength he could muster. Draco curled up in an effort to protect himself, but Lucius was strong and full- grown, easily able to hurt Draco.
"Lucius! No!" Narcissa was screaming shrilly, trying to pull her husband away from Draco.
Lucius turned, glaring murderously at Narcissa. He smacked her across the face, leaving red welts on her cheekbone. Narcissa let out a faint cry.
"That should teach you not to interfere," Lucius snapped, before turning back to Draco.
Draco gasped for breath as his father continued to hit him. He whimpered, but that only compelled Lucius to hit harder.
What seemed like hours later, Lucius finally ceased to beat Draco. The only sounds were Draco's ragged, uneven breaths and Narcissa's sobs. Lucius remained emotionless. He could have been wearing the same expression while commenting on the weather.
* * *
Later that night, Draco examined himself in his room. Dark purple bruises covered his heck, shoulders and some of his chest. His cheek was swollen and puffy and he discovered a long cut on his arm, from where he had been shoved against the corner of a coffee table.
Draco ignored the stabs of pain throughout his body and slid into his bed. He shut his yes but found that he couldn't sleep. A wavering image of Lucius' face kept appearing in his mind, the epicenter of his thoughts.
Draco turned over in bed, pulling the sheets closer for warmth. He thought about what his father had said, "It is your chance to make me proud, Draco. Very proud."
Draco admitted that not long ago he wanted badly to impress his father in any manner. He was young and blinded, seeing none of his father's faults. Now he saw all of Lucius' faults. He would not let himself become like his father, he would not let himself be controlled and manipulated and ordered by someone more powerful than himself, as Lucius as by Voldemort. Draco couldn't have said, at this moment, what side he was on, the dark or the light. All he knew was that he refused to be controlled by a higher being, to be considered lower and weaker. It was then that Draco was hit by an interesting thought. Lucius had always taught his son that the Malfoy's were dominant, powerful and higher than others. He taught him to look down on everyone that was not an equal, and few were equals. In Lucius' opinion, the Malfoy's were the greatest, were undefeatable. Yet, here Lucius was bowing down to Voldemort and obeying his every command. Putting himself below someone else, something he urged his son never to do.
Draco mused over this thought for a while, with a sort of mild amusement. He, Draco, would never put himself below anyone, least of all Voldemort. Draco gritted his teeth as he thought this. Never, he promised himself before drifting to sleep.
* * * Throughout the summer, Lucius Malfoy's temper worsened. He thought that if he kept pressing
Draco, he might finally give in and become a death eater. Draco had no such plans, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore his father's taunts and bribes; the anger inside him often boiled over.
"Draco," Lucius began one day. "You can always change your mind about my offer, I hope you know."
Draco glared and looked away, concentrating on an ugly, scarred tree outside the window. He didn't need to ask what offer his father was talking about.
"If you do change your mind, the Dark Lord has his initiation ceremony prepared," Lucius smirked and turned back to his coffee.
When Draco remained silent, Lucius started to go on about what happened when you became a death eater.
"And at the very end of the ceremony, you kneel down before the Dark Lord and he burns the Dark Mark into the flesh of your left forearm." At this point Lucius glanced down at his own arm which held a black image of the mark and then at his sculpture on the mantle longingly, before he continued,
"Some weaker people might scream while being branded by Voldemort, but death eaters are not weak. We fancy ourselves as brave, powerful and strong. Perhaps this is why you refuse to join. Are you too weak to be a servant of the almighty Voldemort?"
"I'm not weak," Draco said, and then in an undertone added. "Try me!"
"What?"
"I said try me!" Draco nearly shouted.
"If you wish," Lucius sighed delicately, looking down on the blonde boy in front of him.
Lucius pulled his wand out of a pocket in his silver vest. A long wand, made of oak, and fingered it lovingly.
Draco had not idea what to do. He braced himself for what was to come, and thought momentarily of reaching for his wand but didn't have a chance to. Lucius was pointing his own wand at Draco.
"Crucio!"
Draco's screams filled the room, it felt like white- hot irons were covering every inch of him and scorching flames were licking his body. The pain he felt was unimaginable. He writhed and squirmed but the pain never ceased or relented. Draco soon found he couldn't scream it hurt so badly.
Finally, Lucius raised his wand, smirking cruelly. Draco gasped for breath, clutching his sides, moaning in agony.
"Wha-what..are.. you doing?" Draco cried.
"Oh, just giving you a small taste of pain," Lucius said mildly. "It shouldn't have hurt much." He grinned evilly and left the drawing room through the double doors.
Draco rolled over on his back, cursing his father through gritted teeth. His breath came in shallow blasts. He struggled to sit up and found it much too uncomfortable. He lay back down; waiting for the strength that would enable him to stand. Draco didn't know how long he lay on the floor, taking deep, exhilarating breaths, but after a while he sat up. His blonde hair was tousled and his body ached. He grabbed onto a green chair and pushed himself up. He staggered to his room and collapsed onto his four poster.
"God damn you, Lucius!" He swore into his pillow before exhaustion took over.
* * *
Draco thought that Lucius would have given up on persuading him to become a death eater after the spectacle with the cruciatus curse. He was slightly wrong.
There was about a week left before Draco would return to Hogwarts. The evening previous to when he was planning to visit Diagon Alley, for school supplies, he was treated to a series of punches, slaps and a few hexes, performed by Lucius. This was followed by an announcement.
"I am hosting a death eater party tomorrow night," Lucius said. "The death eaters know nothing of your refusal, therefore it would be better if you were not present."
Draco brightened slightly at this. He wanted nothing to do with the party, and Lucius usually made him participate.
"Fine," Draco said vaguely.
"Good, good," said Lucius. "And of course, if you change your mind about becoming one of us, your presence is welcomed graciously." He sneered and walked out of the room.
Draco sighed. He couldn't wait to go back to school, something he had never wanted before. To be out of his father's grasp (or at least almost out of it), would be a huge improvement.
* * *
Draco left for Diagon Alley early the next day, dressed in simple muggle clothing. Before he went he prepared and drank a potion that hid the purple bruises on his face, neck and arms; he didn't bother hiding the ones on his chest. He didn't wanting anyone knowing what his father was doing to him. His peers would ridicule him and adults would think he couldn't take care of himself, when he knew that he was perfectly capable of dealing with whatever his father threw at him.
He left a hasty note to his mother, explaining where he had gone, grabbed his moneybag and threw a handful of Floo powder into the marble fireplace.
"Diagon Alley!" Draco called, stepping into the emerald green flames. He had considered going to Knockturn Alley first, but decided against it. He didn't want to be seen there without his father in tow.
He also decided that he wasn't going to think about his father today, he was going to try to enjoy himself.
Author's Note: I hope you liked it and that it was long enough. I'll update soon. Please review, suggestions, encouragement, compliments and flames are all welcome(.
Great spirits have always encountered violent oppositions from mediocre minds.
Albert Einstein
A/N: I hope that if you read this story you like it. Please review, it would make me happy! ( ( (
Chapter One
Draco Malfoy received the letter from Hogwarts the same day his father informed him of how he could make him proud. The letter from Hogwarts arrived first, via a large, brown barn owl that swooped into the bedroom with its wings spread wide. Draco hurriedly tore open the envelope and read a letter, written on thick parchment in emerald green ink.
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
It is our pleasure to inform you that you have been selected to be one of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's prefects. You will be informed of
your duties as a prefect upon arriving at school one the first of
September.
Please be aware that the professors have the right to suspend
your privileges
as a prefect if you exhibit in any form inappropriate behavior.
Included in this delivery is a list of books and supplies you
will need for your fifth
year at Hogwarts, and your prefect badge.
Have a good summer!
Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Draco sneered proudly as he finished reading the letter. He was a prefect. Ha! He only hoped that perfect little mudblood Granger wasn't Gryffindor's prefect. He fumbled with the envelope for a moment until he pulled out a shiny, silver badge. In it Draco could see his own reflection. His blonde hair, framing his face with its pale features perfectly and his gray eyes hiding hidden depths. You could see why most girls couldn't stop ogling at him. He didn't deny to himself that he was good looking, he didn't mind being so. What he did mind was how much he resembled his father. He longed for the day when Lucius Malfoy's hair would turn silver and his face would become so wrinkled that an outsider couldn't tell that he was even remotely related to Draco.
Draco sighed. Speaking of Lucius, he should probably go and tell him about being made a prefect.
* * *
Draco trudged down the marble staircase in his family's manour. His footsteps echoed and reverberated throughout the house. At the bottom of the stairs he turned down a long, dark corridor and halted in front of tall, black double doors with large silver handles molded into the shape of mouths with thick fangs. Draco knocked, not wanting to walk in on anything, and waited a moment before hearing his father's voice.
"Come in."
Draco entered and looked around. Lucius Malfoy's office was in the shape of a semi circle and everything seemed to be made of black marble. It had been a while since Draco had been in here, he had been avoiding it, and nothing had changed.
"I'm over here," Lucius' irritable voice called.
Draco spotted his father in the far corner of the room, sitting in a black, leather easy chair, and a book on his lap. He was dressed in his usual attire; black and silver wizard's robes with a black cloak slung over the back of the chair. On the table next to him lay his wand, and a long black cane with an engraved silver M, surrounded by a serpent that was regurgitating six stars. Draco had always been told that the silver stars represented the six most valued Malfoy traits; powerful, proud, malicious, malignant and pure.
"I'm glad you stopped by," Lucius commented without looking up as Draco approached. "I've been wanting to tell you something."
Draco nodded. "I have new, too. Today-" He was cut short. Lucius made a noise of disbelief and was suddenly glaring at him with extreme anger.
"What have I told you about wearing muggle clothing in my presence?!!!" Lucius spoke in barely more than a whisper but revealed his wrath all the same.
Draco swore inwardly. Damn, how could he be so careless and stupid? He knew of his father's dislike for muggle clothing and here he was, wearing a fitting white shirt and blue jeans. He liked them, but how could he be so forgetful as to wear them in front of his father?
An enraged Lucius was slowly rising from his chair, the book that had previously been on his lap falling to the floor. He took a few steps towards his son until he was so close that they could feel each other's hot breath on their skin.
Before Draco could do anything Lucius slapped him with full force. Draco backed away, his ear ringing and a single rivulet of blood trickling down the side of his face. Another slap came, firm and unrelenting. Draco whimpered.
"You deserve this!" Lucius told him fiercely, pushing Draco to the floor. Draco swallowed, feeling slight pain beginning in his lower back and ardent hatred creeping into his heart. The hatred grew ever deeper as he watched Lucius sit back down, pick up his book and act as if nothing had happened.
Draco picked himself up, breathing heavily, and wiped blood from his cheek. He wanted nothing more than to curse his father, to scream and swear at him, but he knew better.
"Now," said a composed Lucius. "You said you had some new?"
"I've been made a prefect," Draco said, glaring at his father.
Lucius ignored the glare. "Good, good. I suppose you don't know who the others are, do you? No doubt that smart, little mudblood is the prefect for her house. What's her name? Hermione Grader?"
"Granger," Draco corrected. "And I'm sure she is."
He headed toward the door.
"I'll tell you my news later. I want your mother to hear," Lucius called after Draco's retreating back.
Draco didn't care about the news. He probably would despise it anyway.
* * *
Draco, now wisely dressed in dark blue wizard's robes, made his way down to the drawing room. He took as long as possible, dreading what news Lucius might have in store for him.
The Malfoy drawing room was not a particularly pleasant place. It was done up in mostly black and silver, with a black marble floor and some dark green accents here and there. The room was filled with couches and chairs, but the most noticeable thing was the mantle piece above the hearth. It was of black marble and on it were a variety of things, bottles containing dark potions, books of spells both light and dark and various magical objects like clocks and things. The most noticeable thing on the mantle, however, was an eerie sculpture, made of shining silver. A sculpture of the Dark Mark, Voldemort's sign. Draco hated it; all it seemed to do was watch you out of its scrutinizing ruby eyes. The sculpture was one of Lucius' most prized possessions, showing his eternal faith to his master, Voldemort. He spent more time admiring and polishing the sculpture than he did with his own family. However, having a sculpture of the Dark Mark in your drawing room, while putting up the pretense of being against Voldemort, was not the brightest idea. Therefore, Lucius had a secret storage room underneath the drawing room floor, a place where he kept his "suspicious" and "embarrassing" items when certain guest came to call.
Draco entered the drawing room in time to hear is father shouting at his mother.
"Narcissa, I forbid you to interfere. This is not-"
Lucius stopped abruptly as Draco made his presence noticed with a loud, fake cough. Lucius nodded to him to sit down while his mother jumped up to embrace him.
"Draco, darling! How are you?" Narcissa cooed. She had not seen him for a few weeks as she had been away on some sort of business she never spoke about.
"Fine, fine," Draco muttered, pushing her gently away. Narcissa took no notice of the spectacular bruise blooming on the left side of her son's face, a result of Lucius' slaps.
Draco slumped into a velvet-covered chair and looked pointedly at his father.
"What? You said you had news."
"You are precisely correct," Lucius put on a simpering smile. "As I am sure you are aware of, Draco, you turned fifteen last week."
Draco grunted.
"So, I spoke with my Lord," Lucius continued. "And he informed that you are of an appropriate age to become a death eater. I wish, and so does Lord Voldemort, that you become accepted into our inner circle. It is your chance to make me proud, Draco. Very proud."
Lucius finished and looked at his son, a younger image of himself. Draco stared stolidly back, gray eyes meeting gray eyes. Narcissa looked timidly from her husband to her son, wringing her hand nervously.
Draco wasn't sure how to react. His father's statement was still sinking in. This was a shock. Draco had expected, at some point, to be welcomed into Voldemort's inner circle, but not now. It was his Lucius' absolute dream for his son, but was not Draco's dream in the least.
A flood of emotions boiled up inside him, threatening to erupt at any given moment. He breathed deeply, becoming more irate with every passing second.
"No!" Draco screamed. Lucius started.
"What did you say?"
"I said no!" Draco said it with more vigilance this time, causing his father to let out a small, horrified gasp.
"I refuse," Draco said after a moment's silence, watching Lucius' face change expressions with some amusement.
Are you refusing to become a death eater?" Lucius growled with painstaking slowness. "Are you refusing the best opportunity ever presented to you? Do you understand what an honor this is? To be Lord Voldemort's servant should be what you have always been waiting for, and you say no!!"
Draco nodded his head. Lucius gasped again, this time with rage.
"How dare you refuse!" Lucius was trembling with fury. "How.dare.you!!"
He lunged at Draco. Draco swerved. Narcissa screamed.
"Stop! Stop! Lucius, let him make his own decision!"
"I will not allow my son to associate himself with mudblood filth!" Lucius snarled, turning to face his wife. "By refusing the Dark Lord's offer he his doing just that."
"I would rather live with mudbloods and muggles than become a servant of Voldemort! Than be forced to obey someone every second, no matter what they tell me to do," Draco spat.
Lucius' eyes widened, his fists clenched. He lunged again at Draco, this time catching him by the arm. He gripped tighter and tighter, turning Draco's forearm a brilliant pink. With his free hand, Draco searched frantically through his robes for his wand, before remembering that he had left it in his room.
Lucius flung his fifteen- year- old son across the room and advanced on him. He began hitting him with all the strength he could muster. Draco curled up in an effort to protect himself, but Lucius was strong and full- grown, easily able to hurt Draco.
"Lucius! No!" Narcissa was screaming shrilly, trying to pull her husband away from Draco.
Lucius turned, glaring murderously at Narcissa. He smacked her across the face, leaving red welts on her cheekbone. Narcissa let out a faint cry.
"That should teach you not to interfere," Lucius snapped, before turning back to Draco.
Draco gasped for breath as his father continued to hit him. He whimpered, but that only compelled Lucius to hit harder.
What seemed like hours later, Lucius finally ceased to beat Draco. The only sounds were Draco's ragged, uneven breaths and Narcissa's sobs. Lucius remained emotionless. He could have been wearing the same expression while commenting on the weather.
* * *
Later that night, Draco examined himself in his room. Dark purple bruises covered his heck, shoulders and some of his chest. His cheek was swollen and puffy and he discovered a long cut on his arm, from where he had been shoved against the corner of a coffee table.
Draco ignored the stabs of pain throughout his body and slid into his bed. He shut his yes but found that he couldn't sleep. A wavering image of Lucius' face kept appearing in his mind, the epicenter of his thoughts.
Draco turned over in bed, pulling the sheets closer for warmth. He thought about what his father had said, "It is your chance to make me proud, Draco. Very proud."
Draco admitted that not long ago he wanted badly to impress his father in any manner. He was young and blinded, seeing none of his father's faults. Now he saw all of Lucius' faults. He would not let himself become like his father, he would not let himself be controlled and manipulated and ordered by someone more powerful than himself, as Lucius as by Voldemort. Draco couldn't have said, at this moment, what side he was on, the dark or the light. All he knew was that he refused to be controlled by a higher being, to be considered lower and weaker. It was then that Draco was hit by an interesting thought. Lucius had always taught his son that the Malfoy's were dominant, powerful and higher than others. He taught him to look down on everyone that was not an equal, and few were equals. In Lucius' opinion, the Malfoy's were the greatest, were undefeatable. Yet, here Lucius was bowing down to Voldemort and obeying his every command. Putting himself below someone else, something he urged his son never to do.
Draco mused over this thought for a while, with a sort of mild amusement. He, Draco, would never put himself below anyone, least of all Voldemort. Draco gritted his teeth as he thought this. Never, he promised himself before drifting to sleep.
* * * Throughout the summer, Lucius Malfoy's temper worsened. He thought that if he kept pressing
Draco, he might finally give in and become a death eater. Draco had no such plans, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore his father's taunts and bribes; the anger inside him often boiled over.
"Draco," Lucius began one day. "You can always change your mind about my offer, I hope you know."
Draco glared and looked away, concentrating on an ugly, scarred tree outside the window. He didn't need to ask what offer his father was talking about.
"If you do change your mind, the Dark Lord has his initiation ceremony prepared," Lucius smirked and turned back to his coffee.
When Draco remained silent, Lucius started to go on about what happened when you became a death eater.
"And at the very end of the ceremony, you kneel down before the Dark Lord and he burns the Dark Mark into the flesh of your left forearm." At this point Lucius glanced down at his own arm which held a black image of the mark and then at his sculpture on the mantle longingly, before he continued,
"Some weaker people might scream while being branded by Voldemort, but death eaters are not weak. We fancy ourselves as brave, powerful and strong. Perhaps this is why you refuse to join. Are you too weak to be a servant of the almighty Voldemort?"
"I'm not weak," Draco said, and then in an undertone added. "Try me!"
"What?"
"I said try me!" Draco nearly shouted.
"If you wish," Lucius sighed delicately, looking down on the blonde boy in front of him.
Lucius pulled his wand out of a pocket in his silver vest. A long wand, made of oak, and fingered it lovingly.
Draco had not idea what to do. He braced himself for what was to come, and thought momentarily of reaching for his wand but didn't have a chance to. Lucius was pointing his own wand at Draco.
"Crucio!"
Draco's screams filled the room, it felt like white- hot irons were covering every inch of him and scorching flames were licking his body. The pain he felt was unimaginable. He writhed and squirmed but the pain never ceased or relented. Draco soon found he couldn't scream it hurt so badly.
Finally, Lucius raised his wand, smirking cruelly. Draco gasped for breath, clutching his sides, moaning in agony.
"Wha-what..are.. you doing?" Draco cried.
"Oh, just giving you a small taste of pain," Lucius said mildly. "It shouldn't have hurt much." He grinned evilly and left the drawing room through the double doors.
Draco rolled over on his back, cursing his father through gritted teeth. His breath came in shallow blasts. He struggled to sit up and found it much too uncomfortable. He lay back down; waiting for the strength that would enable him to stand. Draco didn't know how long he lay on the floor, taking deep, exhilarating breaths, but after a while he sat up. His blonde hair was tousled and his body ached. He grabbed onto a green chair and pushed himself up. He staggered to his room and collapsed onto his four poster.
"God damn you, Lucius!" He swore into his pillow before exhaustion took over.
* * *
Draco thought that Lucius would have given up on persuading him to become a death eater after the spectacle with the cruciatus curse. He was slightly wrong.
There was about a week left before Draco would return to Hogwarts. The evening previous to when he was planning to visit Diagon Alley, for school supplies, he was treated to a series of punches, slaps and a few hexes, performed by Lucius. This was followed by an announcement.
"I am hosting a death eater party tomorrow night," Lucius said. "The death eaters know nothing of your refusal, therefore it would be better if you were not present."
Draco brightened slightly at this. He wanted nothing to do with the party, and Lucius usually made him participate.
"Fine," Draco said vaguely.
"Good, good," said Lucius. "And of course, if you change your mind about becoming one of us, your presence is welcomed graciously." He sneered and walked out of the room.
Draco sighed. He couldn't wait to go back to school, something he had never wanted before. To be out of his father's grasp (or at least almost out of it), would be a huge improvement.
* * *
Draco left for Diagon Alley early the next day, dressed in simple muggle clothing. Before he went he prepared and drank a potion that hid the purple bruises on his face, neck and arms; he didn't bother hiding the ones on his chest. He didn't wanting anyone knowing what his father was doing to him. His peers would ridicule him and adults would think he couldn't take care of himself, when he knew that he was perfectly capable of dealing with whatever his father threw at him.
He left a hasty note to his mother, explaining where he had gone, grabbed his moneybag and threw a handful of Floo powder into the marble fireplace.
"Diagon Alley!" Draco called, stepping into the emerald green flames. He had considered going to Knockturn Alley first, but decided against it. He didn't want to be seen there without his father in tow.
He also decided that he wasn't going to think about his father today, he was going to try to enjoy himself.
Author's Note: I hope you liked it and that it was long enough. I'll update soon. Please review, suggestions, encouragement, compliments and flames are all welcome(.
Great spirits have always encountered violent oppositions from mediocre minds.
Albert Einstein