Draceo and Hermionette:
Most Noble Ranks
"Draco! I've come to cheer you up!" the meticulous Lucius Malfoy said from the depths of the owlery, which Darco had wondered over to after a first year informed him his father was waiting.
"What makes you think I'm not cheerful?" Draco asked in his glummest of glum voices.
"Well, son, news travels fast in the Pureblood kingdom, as you know, and that horrible bint Pansy and her bastard of a fiance's engagement is no exception."
"Her fiance's a bastard?!?!?" Draco looked up, hopeful.
"Figuratively speaking, son, figuratively." Draco's eyes cast down again.
"But! My good piece of news! You are to be initiated into the ranks of the Dark Lord's servants today before the ball! Come, we must go to the ceremony quickly!"
"But..." Draco's voice trailed of softly and the momentary look of doubt vanished from his eyes.
Cloaks............hoods.................masks.
Bland dress and black clothes. They stood in a circle around him, silent, unassuming, unmoving.
In the middle... the Lord. Quiet, thin, majestic, his eyes ruby and the pupils slits, his face paler than Draco's own.
"Come, young Malfoy." The voice was soft, commanding, and strong, Draco was drawn to the Lord by more than his own will.
"Hold your palms flat before me and give me the Champions Of a Purer Tomorrow's promise." For of course deatheaters were not really deatheaters, that was just the name the stupid mudblood tabloids had given them. Draco looked up into the Lord's eyes.
"I vow to follow the every command of the Dark Lord in my search for a better, purer tomorrow, and a time when muggles will not know and scorn us, when we will be superior to all other humans. I vow to exterminate any who opposes the struggle against muggle encroachment upon our culture and to uphold the morals and values of the good and the pure, to be a champion for Wizard's Rights. I will never turn from this path."
The Dark Lord nodded and his sage, wise eyes were convinced, his cold, long fingers lightly touched Draco's left arm and he felt a shiver run through his body. It didn't hurt, it was nothing but a mere, cold touch and the conveyance of the Dark Mark, which, his father promised him, could burn like Hades' hell.
Suddenly the Dark Lord was holding a beautiful silver dagger in his hand. It was thinly and strongly wrought, probably by the ancient dwarves which muggles had so long ago destroyed. Smooth obsidian adorned its hilt and around the handle was wound black leather with a thin silver snake curling almost to the top.
"This is your gift of initiation" the Lord murmered, "you will participate tonight in the attack on Hogwarts, and you will finally become a complete member of our most noble ranks."
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A/N: So, what do you think? And is the "noble cause" of the Death Eaters plausible enough? And er...thanks Nelly, but our grammer problems are the faults of typos and the lack of Betas, so, yet again, Anyone want to Beta? Email me at
And, in case you didn't know: we do not own anything