Author's Note: Not that anyone cares much, but I'm sorry this chapter took so long…I've been rather distracted. Well, read on!

Chapter 9

The Dark Mark

A sparkling golden Snitch twinkled only inches in front of Draco's face, its tiny wings fluttering madly. Suddenly, it sped off to the right and Draco dove after it on his Nimbus 2001, the wind whipping a few of his slicked blonde hairs slightly out of place. The fleck of gold gleamed in the bright sunlight and darted through a goalpost at the opposite end of the field. Draco sped towards it, but as soon as he reached the goalposts, it had disappeared again. He stared around at the empty stands and field, soaring around on his broom, his eyes keen for signs of gold. He needed to catch the Snitch. If he didn't, he was going to die; his family was going to die.

And then he saw it again, hovering near the Ravenclaw portion of the stands, not too far from him, and Draco took off as quickly as he could, flying after it. It was only a few yards in front of him…A few feet…Only a few inches…Finally, Draco took a hand off of his broomstick and reached for the miniscule golden ball. But as soon as he was about to close his fingers upon it, it was not a ball anymore, but a pair of pale long-fingered hands followed by a flat, snakelike face with blood red eyes. Draco's heart jumped into his throat as Lord Voldemort laughed mercilessly and gripped Draco's wrist with his hand. Voldemort's touch burned and burned so badly on his wrist and on his left forearm, and he, Draco, was screaming at the top of his lungs, tears streaming down his face—

"Draco! Draco!"

Draco Malfoy awoke to hands gripping his shoulders tightly and shaking him hard; his mother's face was bent over him as he opened his eyes, gasping for breath. He had been gripping the sides of the bed he was in so hard that his fingers and knuckles had lost all feeling. His mother released him, and Draco sat up, still breathing hard, hurriedly wiping wetness from his face. What had his dream been about? For he had surely been having a dream…all he could remember was a pair of pale white hands, gripping him…Suddenly, almost compulsively, he gripped his left wrist which still tingled in the aftermath of pain. He slowly moved his hand up to his inner forearm, massaging the place where he knew a serpent-tongued skull had been burned into his skin. This also felt as though it had been burning, and Draco's heart began to speed up. It doesn't mean anything, he told himself forcefully, removing his hand from his arm. Just a stupid dream, that's all.

"I said, are you alright honey?" Narcissa was bearing down upon Draco. He looked up at her. He had not realized that she had been talking.

"Yeah," said Draco hoarsely. "Yeah, I'm fine, mum. Just a…a nightmare, that's all."

His mother looked at him worriedly, but Draco turned his face the other way, and peered out of the small window. Tiredness was started to seep back into his brain, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. It was nearing dawn, anyway, judging by the fact that the sky outside had a faint light to it. The moonlight was fading slightly. He wondered vaguely how long that they would have to stay here, something he had been wondering very often over the past two days. He was starving; all they had eaten during this time had been increasingly stale sandwiches conjured by Narcissa, who didn't seem to be able to conjure anything else with her wand. As if just to confirm this fact, Draco's stomach gave an insistent grumble.

He had not brought up Dumbledore's offer since the first time he had awoken in this dingy, god-forsaken place. Neither had Narcissa, and so, they had remained here, "just for the time being" insisted Draco's mother. He wondered again how long "the time being" would be. He watched as his mother buried her face in her hands, and heard her being to weep softly. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I don't know what we're going to do, Draco," she whispered through her tears. "I don't have any sort of plan. I'm so sorry, Draco, I'm so sorry…I've probably led us to our deaths."

Draco was silent. He could not see how they were going to escape their situation; the longer they lingered here, the more they risked being killed by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. A sickening feeling replaced the one of hunger in Draco's stomach as he thought that once he had considered himself one of them. Or rather, he realized now, had been forced to be one of them. He had been so eager to join, so honored that he would be the youngest Death Eater ever, that he hadn't used his brain. He hadn't seen that his induction had been part of a bigger plan; that it hadn't been some huge honor. His hand moved once again to the Dark Mark burned into his skin. As long as that remained there, he still was one of them, which made him feel even more nauseous. He watched his mother and her sobs became even more pronounced. Everything was his fault. He deserved to die, and maybe even his father did, too, but not his mother. He wondered whether if and when the Dark Lord arrived to kill them, he could persuade him not to kill his mother. Tears streamed down Narcissa's face, and Draco felt the corners of his eyes burn, but suppressed the feeling. Malfoy men did not cry.

But Draco was saved from slipping deeper into his whirlwind of dejected thoughts by a distraction. As he glanced towards the window, something caught his eye, something that made all of the air leave his lungs. A sickly greenish tinge was shining in, making a square patch of green light on the moldy cabin floor. Instantly Draco jumped out of the bed as though an electric shock had been sent through his body. There was no need to look outside the window and check; he already knew.

"Mother," he croaked, and Narcissa looked up at him through her bloodshot eyes. "We have to leave. Now."

Draco's mother gazed at him for a moment through bloodshot eyes, frowning. But as she stood and walked over to where he was, he watched her glance out of the window, a look of horror spreading over her pale face. He knew she saw the ghostly green skull hanging straight above the tiny cabin, a serpent protruding out of its mouth, like some horrible travesty of a tongue. Draco felt his heart pounding madly in his chest as he watched his mother, who had stumbled backward and was gripping the rickety bedside table, her knuckles turning white. He had no idea how they were going to escape, and the longer they lingered, the larger the chance grew that they would die. He watched his mother for some sort of clue, but for a few moments she seemed as though she was frozen.

Suddenly Narcissa made a move swiftly across the room and bent down to the middle of the floor. For a split second Draco didn't comprehend, but he watched her wrench open the trap door that he had forgotten about, its hinges squealing loudly as dust rose up into the air.

"Get in," she whispered fervently.

Draco hurriedly strode over to the trap door. It was a pitch dark hole, dust swirling up from it; he had no idea how long the drop was to the floor. He hesitated for a moment.

"Go," hissed Narcissa, her face contorted with fear. Muffled noises and voices were now to be heard outside. Draco's stomach gave a huge jolt, and he abandoned his vacillation, jumping down through the trapdoor and into the hole.

The floor was a dirt one, and was only about six feet from the trap door; Draco landed on his feet, though barely. His knees buckled, threatening to give out, and he staggered backward precariously, finding a spongy cement wall and leaning against it. The air was icy cold in the dark room, and Draco immediately started to shiver, his teeth clattering together. He looked up, expecting to see his mother following right away, but instead she was closing the door.

"Mum!" shouted Draco, terror rising in him. "Come on!"

"I can't Draco," Narcissa said to him, a deeply saddened expression appearing on her face to mix with the dread already upon it. "I promise, I'll be okay. I'll get you once I've gotten rid of them."

With that she shut the door, eliminating all light from the musty-smelling room. Draco stood there in the pitch blackness, shivering horribly. He was sure that if there had been any light, he would be able to see his breath come out in misty puffs, it was so cold.

"Colloportia," he heard his mother's muffled voice mutter from above him, and he knew that she had removed the trap door from the floor so that it was solid wood paneling above him.

Draco felt as though he couldn't breathe. He opened his eyes as wide as he could against the pressing darkness, but to no avail. His wand was sticking out of his pocket, but his mind was so muddled that he did not even think to light it as he slid down the moldy wall. This couldn't be happening. They were supposed to be able to escape, the Dark Lord wasn't supposed to have caught up with them so soon. He had developed a thundering headache in his whirl of thoughts, and he clutched his stomach as it flip-flopped uncomfortably.

There was a sudden pounding noise on the door, and Draco heard it swing open, several pairs of footsteps hammering above him. He held his breath and strained his ears to listen, his heart beating wildly in his chest. There was silence for a few seconds, and then –

"Narcissa, Narcissa, Narcissa." A cold, high-pitched voice filled the room above. "Where have you been, Narcissa? You disappeared mysteriously without a moment's notice. One would even go so far as to say that it seemed as though you were…avoiding me."

"You bastard," Draco heard his mother say in a voice so quiet that he could barely hear her through the floor. His insides writhed with dread. "All because you believe it to be Lucius's fault, what happened at the Department of Mysteries...If you had not wanted revenge on our family, you wouldn't have forced Draco to do something you knew he would fail at."

"Ahhhh, yes," Voldemort hissed, and a cold shiver made its way involuntarily down Draco's spine. "But I'm sure you know by now that Lucius has already gotten what he deserved."

"What are you talking about?" spat Narcissa, but Draco could hear the fear in her voice.

Voldemort laughed a cold, mocking laugh. "Of course. I was silly to assume that any news reaches your ears in this rat hole."

"You didn't…you couldn't have…" Narcissa's voice was trembling. "Avada Kedavra!" She shouted loudly, and there was a rushing sound, followed by a crash and splinter of wood, then silence penetrated only by Voldemort's laugh.

"You think you can match the powers of Lord Voldemort? You think you can murder me when so many others have already fruitlessly tried? No, Narcissa!" Voldemort laughed his merciless laugh again. "And surely you didn't expect me to let your brainless fool of a husband live, did you?"

The bottom felt as if it had dropped out of Draco's stomach, and he seemed to forgotten how to be able to breathe. His father was…dead? He swallowed. Of course his father had never been what one could call loving. He had been demanding and severe, never accepting anything less than the best from Draco, and when Draco failed to live up to expectations, he had always received hard whacks on the back from his father's walking stick, or a slap across the face. But of course, he had always deserved it…and the bruises always faded. And now…he was dead. Draco's head spun with incomprehensible thoughts as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Yes, Azkaban has been broken into, I have many of my faithful followers back, and Lucius Malfoy is dead, along with countless other betrayers. And I assure you, his death was nice and slow…just like yours will be…and Draco will suffer the same fate once we find whatever foolish place you've hidden him."

"You won't," Draco's mother said quietly, her voice shaking.

Voldemort laughed malevolently once more, and Draco heard footsteps. He held his breath, praying, hoping desperately for a miracle.

"Crucio."

Narcissa's shrill screeching filled the room above, and Draco was paralyzed, horrified. On his knees in the middle of a freezing, grimy, mildew-covered cellar, he sat frozen, listening to his mother's tortured screams. It went on forever, it seemed. Draco would have given anything for it just to stop, or to be able to clap his hands over his ears, but he couldn't move. His eardrums felt numb as he sat there, feeling utterly helpless as Voldemort tortured his mother.

What seemed to Draco like hours and hours later, it finally stopped. His head was still ringing with the sounds of his mother's screaming. Please, please let her still be alive, Draco pleaded. I'll never, ever ask for anything ever again, if only she's still alive…

And then he heard it, a small, barely audible whimper from above him. His heart leapt. She was alive.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Voldemort's high, icy voice filled the room once more, and his words pierced Draco's very heart, feeling as though the spell had been cast on him.

No…he thought. Please…no…let this be a nightmare…

"She must have hidden the boy elsewhere…," hissed Voldemort. "Not much else can be accomplished here. We leave."

And sets of four or five feet walked loudly out of the cabin door, leaving Draco alone once more, crouching and shivering in the freezing darkness, forgetting that Malfoy men don't cry.

Author's Note: Poor Draco. :( Well, read and review: the good, the bad, and the ugly!