Authors Note: This is to be part two of five. I do not own anything from
Harry Potter nor do I pretend to. No warnings for this chapter. Many thanks
to those who reviewed - keep them coming, please!!!!
Part Two
Draco is sixteen and has changed greatly since he was young. No longer is he innocent, naïve and eager to please. Life has been very different these past few years. It has taught him many lessons, and not just those he has attended at Hogwarts.
Draco is on the Hogwarts Express at the end of fifth year coming home. Although he will return to Malfoy Manor after he steps off the train, the entirety of the summer will not be spent there. Voldemort has returned. Draco will follow in his father's footsteps and become the new right hand of his Lordship when he becomes of age and is worthy of so exalted a rank.
Draco is content with his future. Of course he is scared of serving the dark lord, but he knows if he plays his cards right and doesn't mess up then he will be fine and be able to indulge his darker nature. Four summers with MacNair have taught Draco not to mess up. In fact, one summer taught him not to.
He will stay at the Manor for the customary two weeks, then will travel to MacNair's for the duration. This summer is to be different, however. He is to attend upon Voldemort when he is requested and his measure is to be taken. Draco does not mind this. He is confident he will succeed.
The train pulls into Kings Cross Station and Draco neatly steps off the train, flanked on either side by Crabbe and Goyle, who are also to be in training for Voldemort's rule this summer. He walks idly down the platform, and recognizes the black car waiting for him at the end. As usual his parents are not there to welcome him. Draco is not hurt by this. He does not even care.
The car is of course magical and they arrive in the Malfoy estate within ten minutes. Draco waits for the door to be opened, then steps out and walks towards the doors. When in the hallway, he permits himself a leisurely study of his surroundings. Nothing has changed. The flowers still lie in oriental vases on the staircases and windows, a measure by one of the more imaginative house elves. The floor is still black marble, the drapes are still a deep purple. Draco snorts softly. His mother believes that any guests they receive will be impressed with such narcissistic frippery. She lives in her own little world.
He turns to mount the stairs when he is taken by surprise. His name is said softly in the well-known tones of his father. Draco nearly jumps, but catches himself in time. He turns, and cannot help the rush of excitement, the small amount of adrenaline that begins to be pumped through his body. His father hasn't changed; no matter how many years he goes and comes back again. Still is the long white blonde hair, left draped over his shoulders and down his back. Still do the pale sharp features and they ice grey eyes take in every detail, searching for flaws. Still does Draco long him to smile and praise him. Recognize him for becoming a son worth being proud of. A son worth loving.
Draco's lip curls with the thought. His father notices and raises an eyebrow. Draco hastily rearranges his features, then inwardly curses himself for doing so. Lucius inclines his head and Draco follows him. Being careful to show restraint in his speed. He wouldn't want to waste years of etiquette lessons, now would he?
They stand in the study, father and son, though more like master and pupil, for Lucius stands tall behind his desk and Draco, still shorter, to his consternation, stands in front, trying to force himself to act as arrogant as he does at school. The only problem is, is that at school it is natural, whereas here his father makes him feel young and foolish.
"You have done well this year," says Lucius. From any other persons lips it could be constructed as praise, or simply credit. From Lucius's mouth it sounds like a rebuke.
Draco says nothing. He is not required to, and anything he could say would not be appreciated. He stands, his face devoid of emotion, when inside, he feels the disappointment that is so familiar to him. He hates himself for feeling. Lucius has done nothing to deserve his devotion.
Lucius stares at Draco and sees him. It is as if he knows the thoughts that are running through his head, and merely stands there, studying. Lucius is proud of Draco, in his own way. He understands why Draco feels the way he does. But Draco's feelings are not Lucius's concern. His time is precious, and Draco will grow out of his adolescence sooner or later.
Suddenly Lucius snaps to business. "We have a formal dinner this evening. Make sure you are prepared. We have guests of importance." This is all he has to say. Draco now knows that this evening will include testing and Voldemort. Though how he is not sure - he is still underage and therefore must not use magic outside Hogwarts. Looking at his father he realizes it will involve pain. Though whether he is to be dealt it, or be the dealer is yet to be made clear. Draco nods, and leaves.
Later he surveys himself in front of his mirror. He sees a handsome young man or good breeding and bearing. He does not see Lucius in himself. He sees the physical similarities in his coloring and stature but inside, in himself, they bear no resemblance.
He is hesitant to descend the stairs. It is not that he is afraid - it is of an unshakeable feeling that this evening will not turn out the way he expects. Draco hates being wrong. Especially in front of Lucius. Straightening his shoulders, he reminds himself he is a Malfoy, and then strides confidently through the manor.
Slowing when he reaches the dining room, his formal robes rustling as he walks, he is surprised, for there are more guests than he expected. Crabbe is here, so is Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson. He lets his face show no reaction, though inside he is horrified, for he has no desire to harm those dear to him. His attention is drawn away when a familiar cloaked figure steps out the gloom, and as Draco turns he sees with him Pettigrew, Snape and Lucius. Voldemort hisses and Draco's eyes snap to him, and he immediately sinks too his knee and bows his head. Voldemort runs his scaly hand over Draco's fine scalp and through his hair. He has to suppress a shiver, and is proud of himself for showing no reaction.
The hand that was gentle suddenly turns sharp, and Draco's chin is gripped and forcefully driven upward. His eyes open and they stare into the inhuman eyes of the Dark Lord. Voldemort smirks, a strange twisting of the lips that would most likely scare the wits out of any normal adolescent. But Draco is not a normal adolescent - he has seen many strange and terrifying things in his short years. And Voldemort means nothing to him. Voldemort can do nothing to him that someone else has not done already.
Draco rises, and is handed a glass of champagne. The atmosphere is charged, everyone is waiting on him, stealing a glance at his Father, he realises Lucius is waiting on him too. He finally turns back to Voldemort, suddenly unsure of what is expected. Before when he had meetings with the Dark Lord he was never in control of the situation. His mind begins to race. So too does his heart.
He nearly jumps when Voldemort speaks. Nearly. "Draco..." he purrs. "I have a gift for you."
Voldemort reaches into the depths of his cloak and brings out a wand. Draco's heart sinks, if possible, even further. "Do you know what this is? This is a Rumanian Deerlix wand, made from the hearts of dragons, the feathers of phoenixes and coated in diluted blood of a baby unicorn. Needless to say, these wands are extremely rare and extremely hard to come by." Voldemort pauses for effect. He does not have to. Everyone in the room already knows what else he is going to say. But they are wrong.
"I am not giving this wand to you permanently, Draco. Shall we say it is on loan? You may use it tonight, and if you demonstrate you have the will and the capability to wield it effectively, then I may consider lending it you on a more long-term basis. Obviously, this is a great honour, for one such as yourself. You should be very grateful Draco. This is your chance to prove yourself to those that are higher that you are a worthy heir to the Side of Darkness."
The room gasps. Even Lucius and Snape. The only exception is Draco. His mind is racing too fast for his body to take any notice.
"This wand is one of only three in the world, and I went to great lengths to get it. It has no magical signature, and cannot be detected by any methods available, to either the Light or the Dark. Since you are underage and cannot use magic outside Hogwarts, I will let you have the use of this wand. I cannot have you wandering about for two months doing nothing, and not practicing magic. We must take advantage of every opportunity that is available to us."
Draco's cheeks burn, and he knows it, and he can do nothing to stop it. Voldemort knows he did not do nothing every summer. He must know it. He must know the sacrifices Draco has made in his name. They must mean something to him. He needs to know they meant something.
Draco mentally slaps himself, and tries to school his features into something appropriate. Voldemort is watching him closely. So too, is everyone in the room. The wand is slowly held out to him. Taking it, a jolt of pure magic runs through him, startling him. Holding it, he begins to feel excited. Through this wand he can do anything. If only he can get through tonight and keep this wand, then the world is at his disposal. All his dreams can be made real. All his hopes will finally be realised. Looking up slowly at Voldemort, he nods, and says, "My Lord, I am very grateful for the honour you have bestowed on him. I give you my word I shall not disappoint."
Coming forward, Voldemort smiles. "You shall find yourself held to that, Master Malfoy."
Part Two
Draco is sixteen and has changed greatly since he was young. No longer is he innocent, naïve and eager to please. Life has been very different these past few years. It has taught him many lessons, and not just those he has attended at Hogwarts.
Draco is on the Hogwarts Express at the end of fifth year coming home. Although he will return to Malfoy Manor after he steps off the train, the entirety of the summer will not be spent there. Voldemort has returned. Draco will follow in his father's footsteps and become the new right hand of his Lordship when he becomes of age and is worthy of so exalted a rank.
Draco is content with his future. Of course he is scared of serving the dark lord, but he knows if he plays his cards right and doesn't mess up then he will be fine and be able to indulge his darker nature. Four summers with MacNair have taught Draco not to mess up. In fact, one summer taught him not to.
He will stay at the Manor for the customary two weeks, then will travel to MacNair's for the duration. This summer is to be different, however. He is to attend upon Voldemort when he is requested and his measure is to be taken. Draco does not mind this. He is confident he will succeed.
The train pulls into Kings Cross Station and Draco neatly steps off the train, flanked on either side by Crabbe and Goyle, who are also to be in training for Voldemort's rule this summer. He walks idly down the platform, and recognizes the black car waiting for him at the end. As usual his parents are not there to welcome him. Draco is not hurt by this. He does not even care.
The car is of course magical and they arrive in the Malfoy estate within ten minutes. Draco waits for the door to be opened, then steps out and walks towards the doors. When in the hallway, he permits himself a leisurely study of his surroundings. Nothing has changed. The flowers still lie in oriental vases on the staircases and windows, a measure by one of the more imaginative house elves. The floor is still black marble, the drapes are still a deep purple. Draco snorts softly. His mother believes that any guests they receive will be impressed with such narcissistic frippery. She lives in her own little world.
He turns to mount the stairs when he is taken by surprise. His name is said softly in the well-known tones of his father. Draco nearly jumps, but catches himself in time. He turns, and cannot help the rush of excitement, the small amount of adrenaline that begins to be pumped through his body. His father hasn't changed; no matter how many years he goes and comes back again. Still is the long white blonde hair, left draped over his shoulders and down his back. Still do the pale sharp features and they ice grey eyes take in every detail, searching for flaws. Still does Draco long him to smile and praise him. Recognize him for becoming a son worth being proud of. A son worth loving.
Draco's lip curls with the thought. His father notices and raises an eyebrow. Draco hastily rearranges his features, then inwardly curses himself for doing so. Lucius inclines his head and Draco follows him. Being careful to show restraint in his speed. He wouldn't want to waste years of etiquette lessons, now would he?
They stand in the study, father and son, though more like master and pupil, for Lucius stands tall behind his desk and Draco, still shorter, to his consternation, stands in front, trying to force himself to act as arrogant as he does at school. The only problem is, is that at school it is natural, whereas here his father makes him feel young and foolish.
"You have done well this year," says Lucius. From any other persons lips it could be constructed as praise, or simply credit. From Lucius's mouth it sounds like a rebuke.
Draco says nothing. He is not required to, and anything he could say would not be appreciated. He stands, his face devoid of emotion, when inside, he feels the disappointment that is so familiar to him. He hates himself for feeling. Lucius has done nothing to deserve his devotion.
Lucius stares at Draco and sees him. It is as if he knows the thoughts that are running through his head, and merely stands there, studying. Lucius is proud of Draco, in his own way. He understands why Draco feels the way he does. But Draco's feelings are not Lucius's concern. His time is precious, and Draco will grow out of his adolescence sooner or later.
Suddenly Lucius snaps to business. "We have a formal dinner this evening. Make sure you are prepared. We have guests of importance." This is all he has to say. Draco now knows that this evening will include testing and Voldemort. Though how he is not sure - he is still underage and therefore must not use magic outside Hogwarts. Looking at his father he realizes it will involve pain. Though whether he is to be dealt it, or be the dealer is yet to be made clear. Draco nods, and leaves.
Later he surveys himself in front of his mirror. He sees a handsome young man or good breeding and bearing. He does not see Lucius in himself. He sees the physical similarities in his coloring and stature but inside, in himself, they bear no resemblance.
He is hesitant to descend the stairs. It is not that he is afraid - it is of an unshakeable feeling that this evening will not turn out the way he expects. Draco hates being wrong. Especially in front of Lucius. Straightening his shoulders, he reminds himself he is a Malfoy, and then strides confidently through the manor.
Slowing when he reaches the dining room, his formal robes rustling as he walks, he is surprised, for there are more guests than he expected. Crabbe is here, so is Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson. He lets his face show no reaction, though inside he is horrified, for he has no desire to harm those dear to him. His attention is drawn away when a familiar cloaked figure steps out the gloom, and as Draco turns he sees with him Pettigrew, Snape and Lucius. Voldemort hisses and Draco's eyes snap to him, and he immediately sinks too his knee and bows his head. Voldemort runs his scaly hand over Draco's fine scalp and through his hair. He has to suppress a shiver, and is proud of himself for showing no reaction.
The hand that was gentle suddenly turns sharp, and Draco's chin is gripped and forcefully driven upward. His eyes open and they stare into the inhuman eyes of the Dark Lord. Voldemort smirks, a strange twisting of the lips that would most likely scare the wits out of any normal adolescent. But Draco is not a normal adolescent - he has seen many strange and terrifying things in his short years. And Voldemort means nothing to him. Voldemort can do nothing to him that someone else has not done already.
Draco rises, and is handed a glass of champagne. The atmosphere is charged, everyone is waiting on him, stealing a glance at his Father, he realises Lucius is waiting on him too. He finally turns back to Voldemort, suddenly unsure of what is expected. Before when he had meetings with the Dark Lord he was never in control of the situation. His mind begins to race. So too does his heart.
He nearly jumps when Voldemort speaks. Nearly. "Draco..." he purrs. "I have a gift for you."
Voldemort reaches into the depths of his cloak and brings out a wand. Draco's heart sinks, if possible, even further. "Do you know what this is? This is a Rumanian Deerlix wand, made from the hearts of dragons, the feathers of phoenixes and coated in diluted blood of a baby unicorn. Needless to say, these wands are extremely rare and extremely hard to come by." Voldemort pauses for effect. He does not have to. Everyone in the room already knows what else he is going to say. But they are wrong.
"I am not giving this wand to you permanently, Draco. Shall we say it is on loan? You may use it tonight, and if you demonstrate you have the will and the capability to wield it effectively, then I may consider lending it you on a more long-term basis. Obviously, this is a great honour, for one such as yourself. You should be very grateful Draco. This is your chance to prove yourself to those that are higher that you are a worthy heir to the Side of Darkness."
The room gasps. Even Lucius and Snape. The only exception is Draco. His mind is racing too fast for his body to take any notice.
"This wand is one of only three in the world, and I went to great lengths to get it. It has no magical signature, and cannot be detected by any methods available, to either the Light or the Dark. Since you are underage and cannot use magic outside Hogwarts, I will let you have the use of this wand. I cannot have you wandering about for two months doing nothing, and not practicing magic. We must take advantage of every opportunity that is available to us."
Draco's cheeks burn, and he knows it, and he can do nothing to stop it. Voldemort knows he did not do nothing every summer. He must know it. He must know the sacrifices Draco has made in his name. They must mean something to him. He needs to know they meant something.
Draco mentally slaps himself, and tries to school his features into something appropriate. Voldemort is watching him closely. So too, is everyone in the room. The wand is slowly held out to him. Taking it, a jolt of pure magic runs through him, startling him. Holding it, he begins to feel excited. Through this wand he can do anything. If only he can get through tonight and keep this wand, then the world is at his disposal. All his dreams can be made real. All his hopes will finally be realised. Looking up slowly at Voldemort, he nods, and says, "My Lord, I am very grateful for the honour you have bestowed on him. I give you my word I shall not disappoint."
Coming forward, Voldemort smiles. "You shall find yourself held to that, Master Malfoy."