Alright, people, a new chapter. I can't believe I'm at 27 chapters already. I got such good feedback on the last chapter! Thank you guys! Just as a side note, I always give lots of hints and clues about what's going on in the story. But there remains one really big clue and I'm going to tell you where to find it. It's back in Chapter 2 and it's the Sorting Song, which I did write myself. Just to let you know, that's the biggest clue so far.
And I hope you like this chapter because it doesn't end cheerfully at all.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of this.
Chapter 27: Draco's Test
When Draco stepped off of the Hogwarts express, he shielded his eyes from the bright light that greeted him. He pulled his gleaming black trunk behind him as he walked through the barrier at Platform 9 ¾ and looked for his ride, which would be the Malfoy's butler, Hampton.
During the last few minutes of the train ride, Draco had changed into more common clothing that wouldn't be so conspicuous to the Muggles. His cloak was in his trunk along with the rest of his belongings and Draco now wore a pair of jeans and a large, black sweatshirt, under which was stashed his wand. Going anywhere without his wand now would be too dangerous to risk.
After he had walked through the platform, he waited. So far, he didn't see Hampton anywhere.
"Oh, Ginny!" Draco heard to his right. "Ron, Ginny, over here!" Draco turned and saw a heavyset woman with red hair waving at Ron and Ginny Weasley. He watched as Ginny went running up to her mother and hugged her, receiving a breath-squelching hug in return. Ron, his ears pink, was hugged as well. And then, to Draco's annoyance, he saw Harry Potter walk up with Ginny and Ron and receive another warm hug from Molly Weasley. Draco looked around for Weasley and Potter's bookworm, Hermione Granger, but he didn't see her anywhere.
A throat clearing behind Draco diverted his attention. Turning, Draco saw an elderly man with thinning white hair and a wrinkled face standing directly behind him. Despite himself and his standards, Draco couldn't help but relax his face –he most certainly did not smile – at the old man, who's silent, constant presence Draco had grown accustomed to ever since he was a child.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy," Hampton greeted in a guarded tone. Draco handed his trunk to Hampton, whose gloved hand gingerly wrapped around the handle and started dragging it off.
"Where's the car, Hampton?" Draco asked, looking around. So far he didn't see one of their family cars in sight.
"It's just around the corner, sir," Hampton huffed, now using both of his hands to haul Draco's heavy trunk along. Draco turned an eyebrow at Hampton and watched as the old man struggled to deal with the weight of the trunk; Draco now noticed how much smaller the man seemed that just that summer, the way his skin seemed to hang off of the bones as if his insides had shrunken. Even his eyes had lost the warm glow they had once held.
Trying to appear disgusted at how slow Hampton was moving instead of sympathetic, Draco took the trunk back from the butler and started dragging it along with one hand. Hampton, after a stunned look at Draco, sped up to catch up with him.
"Really, sir, I can -" he started to protest.
"I've got it," Draco said, not meeting Hampton's eyes. "Let's just go."
Hampton looked at Draco regretfully, almost in shame at his own weakness. "Th-thank you, sir," he mumbled before speeding up and walking in front of Draco, leading the way. Draco thought for a moment about whether he should've helped the butler or not. If his father found out, Draco would be in trouble. Lucius looked down on Hampton and bullied him when and wherever possible, for any reason whatsoever. To Lucius, Hampton was just a piece of garbage that was hardly worthy to scrape the muck from their shoes. Draco had always pitied Hampton; the man never seemed to have the nerve to quit his job though.
"Here we are," Hampton said, opening the door of a black sedan for Draco, who left his trunk on the walk and slid into the backseat. He waited as Hampton hefted Draco's belongings into the trunk of the car and then entered the driver's seat.
With a rumble, the car jumped to life and they began the long drive towards Malfoy Manor, located in the middle of West Sussex.
Ginny smiled as she entered the familiar kitchen of the Burrow. There was something cooking in the oven that smelled deliciously like roast beef, and she could see two pies sitting on the counter, steam emitting from their centers. Ron and Harry lumbered in behind her, lugging all of their trunks inside. Ron dropped Ginny's on the floor near her feet and started hauling his own towards the stairs.
"Come on, Harry," Ron said. "This way." He and Harry then disappeared up the rickety staircase to deposit their trunks in Ron's room.
"What a gentleman," Ginny muttered, taking care of her trunk herself. As Mrs. Weasley checked on the food in the oven, Ginny started up the stairs, heading for her room. Her trunk made a Phwump as it landed on each step, but Ginny ignored the racket she was making. Right as Ginny passed the twins' room, Fred poked his head out the door to see who was making the noise.
"Oh, it's only Ginny," he said glumly as he disappeared back into the room, shutting the door.
"Glad to know I'm loved!" Ginny shouted over her shoulder, wrinkling her nose. She pushed the door to her own room open and sighed in contentment as she sat on her bed, leaving her trunk sitting in the middle of her room. The disgusting pink lace curtains from when she was a baby still hung on the one lone window on the left side of the room, and her bedcover still was the same matching pink with tiny white and yellow flowers on it. Ginny really hated pink, but her family had never had the money to update her room. Most of the floors were hardwood, dusty and cracked in places, but there was an old, large rug that covered up most of the floor. Off to one side was an antique, claw-foot dresser that Molly Weasley had said used to belong to her when she was a girl. Ginny had always been fond of the wooden dresser with its curved drawers and vanity above. It was old and dented in places and the bottom drawer stuck a bit in hot weather, but Ginny wouldn't have traded that dresser in for all the money in the world.
For the next few days, it would just be the Weasley family together again. Well, the Weasley family plus Harry. Hermione had been invited to stay, as she always was, but she had declined, saying that her parents wanted her home for Christmas. She had seen Hermione drag Ewan over to meet her parents. In her experience, which was very little, Ginny knew that if a girl brought her boyfriend to meet her parents, it was serious. Hermione still wouldn't admit that Ewan was her boyfriend, but Ginny was sure that Hermione was just in denial that she was actually dating. For years, Hermione and Ginny had scoffed at the girls in Hogwarts who threw themselves at boys. One day they'd be going out with one boy, the next they were swearing their love to another. It was an ongoing source of amusement between the two girls.
The past few days have been…interesting, thought Ginny, looking at herself in the mirror. The last time she had been standing in this very spot, she had been daydreaming about Harry Potter and when and if he'd ever ask her out. Now, however, it wasn't Harry invading her thoughts, but Draco Malfoy. What does that mean? Ginny wondered. She was pretty sure she didn't like Draco. At least, not in the way she used to like Harry. It was impossible that she could like him; it just couldn't happen. Lately Draco hadn't been quite as horrible as he usually was though. Ginny had even found herself enjoying his company, something she still couldn't quite stomach with a clear conscious.
Ginny reached into her pocket and pulled out the notes that Draco had given her. There was the note that Quidditch Supply Plus had written him, and then the note that Draco had written saying that she could have the broom. Ginny rubbed her thumb gently over where Draco's name was written.
I, Draco Malfoy, hereby give sole ownership of the Nimbus 2001 that I won to Ginny Weasley.
- Draco Malfoy
Ginny almost laughed. It sounded so short, so professional, so unlike Draco. Ginny's smile vanished off her face. If she thought that it sounded unlike Draco, then that meant that Ginny knew what Draco normally was like. Ginny had a strong feeling that she hadn't even scratched the surface of Draco's personality.
Ginny turned around and looked at her room, a sinking feeling in her stomach. She wondered what Draco was doing right now. Surely he was at home, lapping up his luxurious surroundings and reveling in the fact that he could have anything he wanted.
But no, Ginny thought slowly. He has to deal with his father. The last time Ginny had heard of Draco and his father, they weren't doing so well. When Ginny had seen Draco after his meeting with his father, he had seemed more dead and torn up inside than ever.
At least Ginny had family to look forward to and to come home to every holiday. Something told her that Draco didn't quite have that.
Dinner that evening was a quiet, if tense, ordeal. Draco sat as still as he could and tried to attract as little attention as possible. His father sat directly across from the rectangular, mahogany table and shot stony looks at Draco all evening. Draco considered himself lucky. Since he had gotten home, he hadn't seen his father yet. Not until now at dinner, and even now, Lucius hardly spoke to Draco. Similarly, Narcissa, who sat to Draco's left, spoke little if at all. This was her normal attitude, but now Draco knew the real reason behind it.
And that reason was sitting straight across from him.
He couldn't help but hate his father. Draco felt robbed of something so special, so precious…he should never have been deprived of his mother.
For the most part of the meal, Draco ignored his father and stared at his plate. When he thought it safe enough, he'd quickly glance at his mother, now seeing her in a new light. No longer did he see her as the stuck up woman she'd been all his life. No longer did he see her as some timid woman who was terrified of Lucius. On the contrary, Draco thought her the bravest woman he'd ever met. Anybody who could risk Lucius's wrath and almost throw off the Imperius Curse just to let him know the truth was surely not timid.
As soon as Draco was done eating, he pushed his chair back from the table and rose from his seat. Lucius's steel gray eyes were locked on Draco.
"I think I'll retire for the night," Draco announced. "Goodnight, Mother," said Draco as he walked by her, "Father." Narcissa, without moving the rest of her body, gently raised her head and watched Draco as he walked away. However, with a sharp glance from her husband, she turned her face back to her plate in silence.
Draco woke later than usual the next morning, but as soon as he opened his eyes, his stomach erupted in a flurry of butterflies. Tomorrow was a day that he should have looked forward to, a day to be spent merrily with family and friends, but tomorrow was the day he'd meet the Dark Lord.
As of yet, Draco still didn't know what he'd do. He could always try running away, but he'd only be tracked down. Where would he go, anyway? Nobody was willing to take in the son of a Death Eater. Nobody was willing to even consider him as anything other than that.
No, Draco would have to stay. But if he stayed, he'd surely be doomed. Draco couldn't possibly fight against Voldemort, not if he wanted to come out alive.
Draco's thoughts all of a sudden flew to Ginny. He could see in his mind a picture of her laughing, walking through the halls of Hogwarts with her friends, carrying her school books, her red hair bouncing with each step. Despite his situation and his former hatred of her, he found himself smiling. Though she didn't know it, Ginny was becoming one of the only things that caused Draco to smile these days. A year ago if he had known that he'd one day be smiling at the memory of Ginny Weasley, he would've done his best to never lay eyes on her again.
Lying on his bed, Draco turned his gaze to the nightstand beside his bed. He had lain the ring Ginny had given him on it, thinking it would probably just get stashed in a box and thrown in the closet soon enough, but he picked the silver ring up and looked at it. Again and again he had wondered why she would have given it to him, of all people, but he couldn't figure it out. Why didn't she just give it to her brother, Harry, or Seamus even, her boyfriend. At the thought of Seamus Finnigan, Draco's blood boiled. The thought of himself being jealous over Ginny terrified Draco, but he couldn't help but feel that way. He couldn't stand the way that they held hands in the hallway, sat next to each other at every meal, laughed in the hallways. But why was he jealous? Draco himself didn't want to be with her. No, that could never happen. So why shouldn't she be with Seamus?
Well, why shouldn't she? Draco thought, punching his pillow into shape. It's not like I care what she does or doesn't do with her social life.
Draco stopped manhandling his pillow and looked back at the ring. Frowning, he got off his bed and started rummaging through the bottom drawer of his dresser where he threw odds and ends that had no proper place in his room. Years ago his grandmother –Narcissa's mother – had given him, before she had died, a necklace for Christmas that held a glass miniature of broomstick. Draco had worn the necklace until he was nine, but the broom had fallen off and shattered one day, ironically when he was flying, and he had tossed the silver chain into his dresser drawer, not knowing what else to do with it.
Now, Draco searched for the chain. He found it tangled up with an old shoestring that he had been too lazy to throw away. Draco shook and pulled at the knotted mess until finally the chain fell away from the shoelace. Walking back to his bed, he looked at the links holding the chain together and the ring sitting by his bed. There were no breaks in the links; obviously the chain hadn't been meant to hold anything other than the broom it had come with, but Draco could easily fix that.
With a simple spell and swish of his wand, he snapped one of the links loose so that he could slip the ring onto the chain. When the ring was safely on the silver chain, Draco said, "Reparo," and the chain soldered back together. He held the chain up in the air, admiring the look of the ring dangling in the air, twirling one way a bit and then the other.
Satisfied, Draco slipped the chain around his neck and tucked the ring under his shirt so that nobody could see it. He'd be in a world of trouble if anybody, especially his father, ever saw the ring or figured out how he got it.
Ginny woke bright and early to a thumping on her bedroom door.
"Go away," she mumbled, turning over and burying her face further in the pillow.
"Come on, Ginny!" Ron hollered. "It's Christmas! Presents!" Ginny could hear Ron's footsteps continue thudding down the stairs until she could hear them no longer. No matter how old Ron got, he was still as excited as ever when it came to Christmas morning.
Peaking one eye out from under the covers, she saw that the sun had hardly risen; tiny tendrils of light were snaking through her curtains, but there was a gray cast still about the room that explained just how early it was.
"Oi, some people have no sense of decency," Ginny muttered to herself, dragging her feet out of bed. If Hermione had been staying with them for Christmas, Ginny would have had to share her bedroom like everybody else was, but at the moment, Ginny was quite comfortable with having her room to herself. Harry was, as usual, bunked up in Ron's room, and Charlie, who had arrived the day before, had his old room back. Charlie had been the only other member of the Weasley clan who could make it back for Christmas. Percy still wasn't speaking with the family and Bill and Fleur had gone off to spend the holiday with Fleur's family.
Ginny scratched her head and squinted around her room. Where had she hidden the presents? Ah, yes, that's right. She had shrunken them again and stuffed them in her sock drawer. Nobody except Ginny ever went in there.
Hurriedly she got dressed and grabbed her shrunken gifts before going downstairs, where the smell of cinnamon buns greeted her.
"Happy Christmas, Ginny," her father said, coming around the corner with a cup of steaming coffee in his hand.
"Happy Christmas, Dad," Ginny said, hugging her Arthur Weasley. "Morning, Mum," she said, walking into the kitchen where Molly Weasley was sitting at the table.
"Good morning, Ginny," Mrs. Weasley said warmly. "We're just waiting for Fred and George and then we can open presents. Ron is so anxious, you know," she added, taking sip of coffee. Ginny smiled. Without even going into the living room, she just knew that Ron was shaking all of the presents addressed to him and trying to guess what was in them.
Indeed, when she walked into the living room, Ron was standing next to the tree, which the family had decorated the day before, with his hands on his hips and staring down at the brightly-wrapped presents below, not seeming to notice how few there really were. Harry was standing off to the side, watching Ron bemusedly, and Charlie was sitting on the couch with his eyes closed and legs crossed.
"Happy Christmas, everybody," Ginny said, approaching the tree. She received a chorus of "Happy Christmas, Ginny," in return and she smiled as she changed everybody's gifts back to their normal size and placed them under the tree.
"We're coming, we're coming," said George and he, Fred, Molly, and Arthur Weasley all came into the living room from the kitchen.
"Why'd we have to – get up this early?" yawned Fred. "Was Ron all excited again?"
"Shut up, Fred," muttered Ron, going pink in the cheeks.
"Oh come now," said Mrs. Weasley, not wanting any arguments on Christmas. "We're all here now. Harry, dear, why don't you open a present first since you're the guest."
"Oh, no, that's ok, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry. "Ron can go first."
Ron grinned and said, "Thanks, Harry," before he started tearing the wrapping off of a present of his.
"Forget that," Fred said, his sleepiness now forgotten. He grabbed a present, tossed another to George, and Ginny watched as the three boys acted like children again; each had delighted smiles on their faces as they opened their gifts.
"A sweater, thanks, Mum," said Ron, setting aside with a bemused smile a blue sweater with a large gold "R" on the front. Every year each of the Weasley boys, and Harry as well, now, received a handmade sweater from Mrs. Weasley. This year Harry received a red and black sweater, Fred and George received matching purple and gold sweaters, and Charlie got a blue and black sweater. Ginny soon discovered, upon opening her gift from her parents, a sweater as well. Some years she got a sweater like her brothers, other years she got something different. They must be tight on money this year, Ginny thought sadly. Her sweater, however, was much more feminine than her brothers', and Ginny found herself admiring it greatly. The sweater was slimmer, more form-fitting than anything her parents had ever bought for her before and was a beautiful shade of emerald green. On the upper left-hand side of the sweater, several inches below the shoulder, was a tiny gold "G" in curling script. Ginny's mouth slowly curved into a smile as she looked at it.
"Do you like it?" Mrs. Weasley asked, a note of apprehension in her voice. "I went with the green because I thought it went nicely with your hair, and I think the gold was a nice accent to it, don't you think? I was going to make you one of the usual sweaters, but I thought that they really were getting too big and baggy and that you would like –"
"I love it!" exclaimed Ginny, hugging her mother quickly. "It's gorgeous. I'm going to go try it on right now."
And off Ginny went to try on her new gift. Just as she had suspected, the sweater was much slimmer in the waist that her usual clothes were and hung half a foot past the top of her pants. Ginny turned to her right to get a better look. She decided she liked wearing something that actually fit her. Her mother had outdone herself this year.
When Ginny walked back into the living room, Ron was staring open-mouthed into a box. "Thanks, Ginny!" he said, grinning. Ginny smiled. She had gotten her brother a box containing all sorts of little Chudley Cannon memorabilia. Harry she had gotten an assortment of sweets from Honeydukes, and she already saw him biting into a chocolate frog.
As Ginny opened a few more of her presents, she discovered that Harry and Ron had both gotten her the same assortment of sweets from Honeydukes that she had gotten Harry. This is going to last me a while, thought Ginny happily as she dug through the Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, licorice wands, chocolate frogs, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, and many other of her favorite sweets.
Hermione had placed in Ginny's care, before the older girl had gotten off of the train, both Harry's, Ron's, and Ginny's presents, saying that she didn't trust Ron or Harry to keep them till Christmas without peeking. Ginny had placed those under the tree as well as with her own, and she found, upon opening hers and watching Harry and Ron open theirs, that Hermione had gotten them each the same thing. Ginny stared at the parchment in her hands, which, to her, looked like her gift.
"What's this?" Ginny asked. "Hermione's gone and gotten us parchment for Christmas?"
"That's not just ordinary parchment," said George, stopping from tearing the paper mercilessly from the gift Ginny had given him. "I saw some of that advertised when I was going through Hogsmede; it's new, if it's what I think it is. Turn it over and look at the wrapper."
Ginny did as her brother said and read the instructions. Typical Hermione, thought Ginny with a laugh when she was finished. Her friend had gotten them parchment that resisted blotching, would not let any word be spelled wrong, and shouted if a grammatically-incorrect sentence was written. Harry and Ron looked back and forth between themselves and the parchment Hermione had gotten them before shrugging and setting it aside carefully.
"Woah!" exclaimed Fred suddenly. He and George had just opened their gifts from Ginny, and if Ginny wasn't mistaken, they seemed to like them. "Thanks, Ginny!" Both twins shouted at the same time, pulling out of their boxes two white, lab robes.
"What is it?" asked Ron, turning his attention to his brothers. "Coats?"
"Not coats, dear Ronald," said George, putting on his own robe. "They're called Little River's Calamity-Proof Robes."
Ginny saw Harry and Ron exchange a puzzled look and she smiled, though she couldn't blame them for being confused. The gifts she had bought the twins were relatively new on the market. She herself hadn't even known what they were; she had just come across them and thought they'd make perfect gifts for Fred and George, though they were more expensive than Ginny would've liked. All of her money was completely gone, and she'd had to barter with the sales clerk for a solid ten minutes before he lowered the price, albeit slightly. These would come in good use for her brothers, however.
"What are they, though?" Harry asked.
"While you're wearing this here robe," said George, holding up the white robe for all to see, "No sort of magic can touch you. At least no accidental magic."
"Like if a potion just exploded all over you," said Fred, flailing his arms for emphasis, "and even if it landed on you, you wouldn't get hurt."
"But now if somebody tried to jinx you, then the robe wouldn't stop it," George continued, donning the robe. "Because it wasn't an accident."
"Yes, well," said Ginny, clearing her throat, "I thought you two could use them, seeing as you're always testing new stuff out for your joke shop. Now none of your unfinished products can hurt you."
"Bloody brilliant gift, Ginny," Fred said, crossing the room and picking Ginny up, giving her a big hug. "Bloody brilliant."
"Yeah, thanks, sis," George said.
"Your welcome," replied Ginny.
"Well," said Charlie, getting up from his seat on the couch, "it's high time old Charlie boy opens a present." The second-eldest of the Weasley family, Charlie Weasley, strode over to the tree and bent down to rest of his knees. Charlie had inherited the shortness of his mother yet had a lean body with tight muscles. His hair was longer than it normally was, but Ginny liked the way it curled around his ears.
"Let's see…" mused Charlie. "This one is to me from Ginny." A bit more gently than any of the other boys, Charlie tore the paper off of a brown box. Charlie found, after undoing the lid, a pair of brown leather gloves inside.
"They're fire-resistant gloves," Ginny explained. "That way when you're working with the dragons, there's one less thing to hurt you."
"Oh, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, placing a hand on Ginny's shoulder, "you're giving such practical gifts this year." There was a very proud look in Molly's eyes as she gazed at her daughter.
"Thanks, Gin," Charlie said. He slipped the gloves on and flexed his hands. "They fit great."
Good, though Ginny with relief. The gloves had also cost a pretty penny, but she had bought those before she had found Fred and George's gifts, which had been the last for her to buy. But when she had seen the gloves in the store, she couldn't help but buy them for her brother; they would be so useful.
The red-head girl watched happily as the last few gifts were opened and the last "thank-yous" and "your welcomes" were said. Her father had loved the assortment of Muggle magic tricks and trinkets that she had bought from Fred and George's shop. She had owled them a week before Christmas for some things for dad, and they had even given her a discount, her being their sister and all. And for her mother, Ginny had bought a new apron. While simple and not magical in the least, her mother had loved it all the same.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Weasley called everybody into the kitchen for breakfast and Ginny's mouth was still watering over the cinnamon rolls an hour later when she, Harry, and her brothers all went outside for a pick-up game of Quidditch.
In all of the joy at being back home with her family, Ginny was almost able to forget the pricking feeling at the back of her mind that this was only the calm before the storm.
Draco sat on his bed staring at the door. His cold hands, sweaty and heavy, were clasped together, resting on his lap. He leaned forward slightly as if waiting for the door to burst open with a bang. His breathes came labored; he'd take in a deep breath, and then in his anticipation, Draco would subconsciously hold it until his lungs felt ready to burst. Then all of the oxygen would rush out of his body and he'd start the process over again. To a bystander, it may look like Draco was hyperventilating. Maybe he was.
The reason for Draco's nervousness was clear – Lord Voldemort would be arriving shortly for his "visit", as Lucius kept calling it. Draco wasn't sure if he'd even make it through the night. If Voldemort asked him if he was ready to become a Death Eater, there was no way that Draco could deny him and live through it. At one point Draco had vowed that he'd rather die than become a Death Eater, but now he was wondering if there was a third option, one that allowed him his life and his freedom. If there was, Draco would never stop searching for it.
So Draco's plan at the moment was to nod his head and say "yes" to everything the Dark Lord asked of him and just hope he'd go away before he made Draco do anything truly horrible. After he was gone, Draco would figure a way out of this whole mess, a way for himself and his mother, whom he had not even seen yesterday, Christmas Eve.
In fact, Draco hadn't seen either of his parents yesterday. Lucius had left early that morning, probably on Death Eater business, and Narcissa had, no thanks to Lucius and his Imperius Curse, stayed up in her room the entire day. Draco had spent his days as he usually did when he was home, flying around the Malfoy grounds, shut up in his room reading – which was how he became so good at all his studies, reading every book in sight over the summer and holidays– or just being plain bored. This morning that been no different, except that Draco was able to add nerves to his boredom. Every time he had opened a book to pass the time until Voldemort came, his hands had shaken so bad that he had finally given that pursuit up. Once again his mother was nowhere to be found and Lucius had locked himself in his study, ordering everybody not to disturb him or else.
A rumble of thunder outside his window caused Draco to jump from his stiff position, his heart pounding. When he realized that it was just the storm outside, he willed his heart rate to slow back down. Whatever happened this night, Draco must keep his cool. Without it he was dead.
The lightning continued to flash outside as the storm grew in ferocity. The sky was so dark it almost seemed like night; it had been raining all day, casting a gloom about this Christmas as none had ever had. Today didn't even feel like Christmas, not even for Draco. Nobody had wished him a Happy Christmas, given him a present, or even acted like this day was more special than any other. It was as if the holiday had ceased to exist.
More thunder sounded outside. Then another clap. And another. Draco turned and stared out the window behind his bed and saw sprays out rain splatter over his window in waves, the wind rocking the trees back and forth. The whole room lit up brightly and was succeeded almost immediately by another loud boom of thunder. The roar lingered in the air, seeming reluctant to let go of its hold on the storm.
Again and again the thunder kept coming until it sounded as if someone was trying to kick Draco's door down. A new crack suddenly sounded from the other side of the room. Startled, Draco fell from the bed only to leap back up again, his wand drawn and pointed towards the equally scared face of a House Elf.
"S-s-s-Sir," squeaked the House Elf, her blue eyes much larger than normal, "Master requests your company down in the foyer immediately, Sir."
Draco breathed deeply, very much relieved to see only one of the Elves. He looked at Rilla, a young female Elf who'd been sent to work in the kitchens only a few years ago, and noticed her ears trembling. "Oh, relax, Rilla," he said, lowering his wand. "I'm not going to curse you," he said scornfully.
Still trying to appear debonair instead of a nervous wreck, which he was, Draco said, "Next time don't sneak up on me so." He opened his door and took one step out, but stuck his head back in. "I don't like it." With that said, he left his room and the frightened House Elf behind.
When he got downstairs, Draco looked around warily. So far there was nobody in sight. At the entryway of the house, Lucius was pacing back and forth, his hands behind his back.
"There you are," he snarled, having noticed Draco. "What took you so long?"
Draco ignored his father's question; Lucius always became agitated when the Dark Lord's presence was near. Instead Draco straightened his robe and pocketed his wand, making sure that it could be easily-grabbed. Lucius looked Draco up and down to see if he was presentable, but Draco, having had all day to prepare to his father's standards, had no imperfections in his appearance this night.
Lucius curled his lip and looked scornfully at his son, not seeing anything with which to fault him. He stood against the wall next to a large mirror and Draco stood directly opposite him, watching him carefully.
"Fix your hair," Lucius sneered, needing something with which to degrade his son. Draco, inwardly seething, complied by brushing a few hairs on his forehead to the side. He glared at his father, who gazed back in satisfaction of having aggravated Draco.
"What do you want?" Draco asked through clenched teeth.
"The Dark Lord will be here soon," Lucius replied. "We must be waiting here to greet him. It is a great honor to have him come to us in our own house and we will not be insolent hosts."
Some of Draco's previous anxiety returned and he felt a lump form in his throat. He was just mere minutes away from the moment that could very well determine what his future was to become. He was just mere minutes away from the moment that would define him as a human, that would judge his strength, weakness, and spirit. Here was the place where either a hero would emerge or a soul take flight.
Now was the time that Lucius Malfoy had been joyfully awaiting since the moment Draco had been born.
Now was the time that Draco had anticipated all his life.
Slowly, creaking in its hinges, the door opened and a gust of wind entered the house, disturbing Draco's hair and knocking the flaps of his cloak back. The rain swept inside and dampened the wood floor; Draco shielded his eyes and squinted to get a better look. Silhouetted in the doorway was the figure of a man, tall and slim, standing there, his fingers crooked and abnormally pearly white. A flash of lightning illuminated his features and Draco saw under the hood of a cloak an oval-shaped head in a tone to match his hands, slits where a nose should've been, red eyes sunk deep within their sockets, and a leering mouth that made Draco's skin crawl.
"Aren't you going to invite me in, Lucius?" Lord Voldemort asked slowly, his lips curling into a dangerous smile. "Or have you forgotten your manners?"
"No, no, my Lord," stammered Lucius, snapping into action. "Do come in." As Voldemort swept into the room, his cloak trailing after him, Lucius sunk into a deep bow. Draco looked quickly from his father to Voldemort and, though it made Draco's blood boil with indignation, he bowed as well.
The door shut automatically behind Voldemort but Lucius and Draco still remained bent low. Draco, not moving his head, raised his eyes to see what was going on, only to see that the Dark Lord was staring straight down at him.
"You may rise," Voldemort said, and Lucius and Draco stood from the floor. "I see the boy lacks proper training," said Voldemort, his eyes traveling from Draco to Lucius. "We shall have to fix that."
"Yes, my Lord," replied Lucius. "He has always been headstrong and foolish, but that doesn't mean that with the proper guidance, he can't be -"
"Silence," Voldemort hissed. Draco was still registering the malicious way that his father had said "guidance", and thus he missed the frightened look on his father's face.
"My apologies, my Lord," he said, bowing his head again.
"I never said the boy was foolish or headstrong," Voldemort continued, circling Draco. "I merely said that he wasn't sure of how to act properly around me. Rather, I like the way he holds himself. Very commanding. Almost like how you used to be, Lucius," Voldemort said, turning his gaze to Lucius again. Lucius Malfoy swallowed.
"Let us go sit somewhere," Voldemort said. "Then we can discuss things further."
"Right this way, my Lord," Lucius said, leading the way down the hallway and into a large sitting room. Draco trailed after his father, not liking the way the Dark Lord kept glancing at him from behind.
Stiff and alert, Draco sat on the couch and Voldemort sat in the chair that Lucius usually sat in and his father took a seat in another chair. The atmosphere of the room was cold but had nothing to do with the temperature. Draco could feel his father's piercing eyes glued to his countenance and Draco stared at the floor. Voldemort looked around the room wearing an expression that might have been disdain, but Draco couldn't look at him for very long without having to look away.
"My Lord, would you care for something to drink, perhaps?" Lucius asked in a flowing voice. "Dinner will be ready shortly and then we can -"
"We won't be eating dinner," Lord Voldemort replied, gazing at Lucius. "We have plans." Draco noticed that the Dark Lord had a way of holding his head so that, even while sitting, he appeared as if he were looking down on them.
"Plans, my Lord?" Lucius questioned. "I was not aware that -"
"You, me, and the boy," Voldemort answered. Draco, caught between happiness at how much his father was being interrupted and fear of who was doing the interrupting, jerked his face towards Lord Voldemort at this news. What plans? What were they going to do? A cold stone of fear settled in Draco's stomach, spreading throughout his entire body until he seemed unable to breathe.
Lucius looked as if he wanted to ask questions, but Draco knew that he dared not. He himself wanted to know what was going to happen, but he didn't think he could speak even if he wanted to. Sitting here in his house was a person –no, monster– feared above all others, one who had killed many people, both innocent and guilty, and who knew no such thing as mercy.
"You see," began Voldemort, "my reason for coming here is simple. The more followers I have, the more work can get done and the quicker this country can be rid of the vermin that have tainted it. Lucius is one of my most valuable Death Eaters." Lucius tried to suppress a smile at this and Draco's mouth twitched in disgust. "It is natural, then, that his son would become what his father is, if not greater, one day, with the proper guidance, as Lucius puts it."
Draco's heart sped up again and he barely noticed the smile slide off his father's face, so intent was his gaze on Lord Voldemort. He wanted nothing to do with either man and he certainly didn't want to become his father, though part of him told him he already was.
"We must wait until the boy has finished his schooling before he can officially join me and mine," said Voldemort. "I will not deny that Dumbledore is a powerful wizard; there will be no sufficient lack of knowledge in the boy once he is out of Hogwarts, and once he is out, there will be no danger in making him a Death Eater."
Draco swallowed. So it was going to happen, then, but not this night. He still had time left to figure a way out of this mess. With time came hope.
"Both physical and mental training awaits you in order to become a Death Eater, Draco," sighed Voldemort, looking at Draco longingly. "Are you up to it?" He asked the question, tilting his chin back, in a way that set the hairs on Draco's neck on alert.
"I am," Draco said unflinchingly, "my Lord," he added.
Voldemort's left-side of his lip, followed by the right, curled up into a smile, revealing stubby, yellowing teeth that sent Draco's stomach churning. "Good, Draco, good," Voldemort said with what Draco supposed was the Dark Lord's version of a laugh. "I thought as much. You're just like your father, you know," he said quietly, lowering his voice. "Yes, you are just like Lucius."
After that statement from Voldemort, the room fell silent save for the thundering rain outside. Occasionally the room would be illuminated with lightning, followed shortly by a rumbling of thunder, but still the humans inside remained quiet.
"My Lord?" asked Lucius tentatively.
"Speak, Lucius," said Voldemort, waving his hand carelessly at the man.
"My Lord, if I may be so bold as to ask, what is it you have in mind for Draco this evening?"
"Anxious are we, Lucius?" Voldemort asked amusedly. "And are you anxious, Draco?" Voldemort asked, and Draco stiffened as two sets of eyes rested upon his face.
Anxious, yes, Draco was anxious, but not in the way that Voldemort was meaning. Draco swallowed again, wondering how he should reply. "I am eager to comply with my Lord's wishes," said Draco, lowering his gaze to his lap. He didn't like looking straight into Voldemort's eyes; it was unnerving.
"Look at me, Draco," said the Dark Lord quietly, dangerously. "Are you anxious?"
Draco raised his head slowly until his eyes were staring into the red depths before him. "Yes," he said heavily. Inside Draco was screaming "No" and it made him feel sick to see the look of pleasure on Voldemort's face.
"Well then, we shall get on with it," said Lord Voldemort, standing. Lucius and Draco hastened to follow suit. "Fetch your things, Lucius," ordered Voldemort. At a summoning charm from Lucius, his Death Eater mask flew into his hands and Draco's father put it on. All Draco could see of his father now was half of a skull covering the top part of his face; his black, pointed hood was pulled up, covering the sides of the mask. "Very good," said Voldemort. "Now let us go. We are about to begin Draco's test."
Draco was soaked within a few minutes after they Apparated at the end of a long dirt lane. Draco, not having taken his Apparition test yet, was forced to use Side-Along Apparition with his father; he had let go of his father's arm as soon as possible upon their landing on the road.
Draco looked around warily. The rain was still falling harder than ever and the lightning and thunder continued as well in the dark sky. There were barren fields as far as the eye could see; only one thing stood out from the dull landscaping around them, a house a hundred yards up the lane.
"We are on the outskirts of Kent," acknowledged Voldemort. "And this is where we see if young Draco here has what it takes to become a Death Eater."
Just looking at the house gave Draco a feeling of foreboding. Whatever to come surely would not be good. Not for the people inside nor for the people outside.
"Inside that house lives an ordinary Muggle family with no knowledge of our kind. We are about to change that," said Voldemort with relish. The hairs on Draco's neck and arms rose in warning, but there was nothing Draco could do to stop what was about to come. "They have displeased me and we must rid the world of their filth," Voldemort continued on with disdain. "This is how we will test Draco. This is something a Death Eater does every day. This is where we stand."
The thunder shook the ground and Draco knew what Voldemort wanted him to do. He wanted him to go kill the Muggles inside that house. Draco's heart turned to ice. There was no way Draco could do that, but he knew that if he didn't, he himself would be killed. Voldemort wouldn't think twice about killing him and Lucius would take certain pleasure in seeing him die.
"Come," motioned Voldemort, starting up the lane. Lucius gave Draco a vicious shove in the back when he remained in his place, and the two followed side-by-side behind the Dark Lord. With each step, Draco's heart started beating faster and faster. He felt like he was caught in a nightmare; everything was surreal. He was hardly aware of the rain streaking down his face or the way his hair fell into his eyes. All he could think of was what was about to happen. Part of him wanted to shout out to the Muggles to hide, but part of him wanted to hide himself.
When they reached the front door, Voldemort paused and put a bony finger over his smile, ordering silence. Looking to his right, Draco saw Lucius wearing a wolfish grin that was truly sickening.
With one swift motion, Voldemort threw the door to the house open and marched inside, his wand drawn. Lucius as well entered the house and raised his wand before him dangerously. Draco had yet to step over the threshold to the house; his feet didn't seem to want to move. He knew that if he walked into that house, he was accepting his fate as Voldemort gave it to him, accepting the task set before him. Draco looked over his shoulder. Voldemort and his father were busy searching through the bottom story of the house and had yet to notice that Draco wasn't behind them. If ever there was a chance of escape for Draco, it was now. All he saw though were empty fields and rain. There was nowhere for him to go; his only way out was through this house.
Heart heavy and mournful, Draco stepped through the doorway and into what looked like a kitchen. There was a table that still held the remnants of an early dinner, complete with a half-empty glass of milk. Draco choked back another lump in his throat at the sight of a stuffed bear lying on the ground and walked through another doorway, where he saw his father going through drawers and ripping out odds and ends, tossing them on the floor.
Maybe they're not home, Draco thought hopefully. Maybe they're not here and won't have to be killed.
A man yelled upstairs, shattering Draco's hope, and Draco looked up at the ceiling. He heard more screams and footsteps running across the room above him. Then he heard a woman crying. Draco couldn't hear what she was saying but the tone of her voice told Draco that she was pleading. Draco could only imagine what Voldemort was doing up there.
As if they had a mind of their own, Draco's feet started moving towards a staircase. He took a few steps up and paused, his hand on the rail. He could see a limp hand coming over the top of the stairs. A few more steps revealed the dead body of a man in his early thirties; his eyes were open and unseeing, his face contorted in a look of anguish. A bit of blood was oozing from just under his hairline, a cut from when his head had hit the floor. Dead as soon as the curse had hit his body, the man had not even felt it.
"No!" the woman screamed again hysterically. "Please! Not my Sara! Please! No!" Draco froze on the steps, not wanting to go any closer yet captured by a horrifying sense of awe of what was happening upstairs. "Please…" the woman whimpered, sobbing now. Not Sara…"
" No mistakes this time," hissed the Dark Lord coldly. "Avada Kedavra!" Puzzled by the former statement but still enraptured at what was going on, Draco heard a much younger, high-pitched scream of a little girl and the woman's screaming increased.
"No!" she screamed long and loud. Draco was just about to cover his ears, so loud her scream was, when it suddenly ceased with another shout of "Avada Kedavra" from Lord Voldemort.
There was silence then, and Draco's breath was coming out in short gasps. He heard a few slow footsteps across the wooden floor and then heard one of the feet collide with something. A dull thud landed on the floor and Draco cringed, sickeningly picturing the head of a little girl falling to the floor from her mother's cold, dead chest.
The silence lasted only a moment longer. When the next thunder boomed, there was a scurrying sound from upstairs and the small body of a boy shot around the corner of the stairs, leapt over the body of his dead father, and rocketed down the stairs, nearly knocking a stunned Draco down.
Draco turned wondrously as he saw the boy run through the open door and into the storm.
"Curse it!" hissed Lucius, seeing the boy run out. "There's another one!" he shouted up the stairs. Lucius dropped the metal box he was holding and made for the open door, ready to go after the boy.
"Leave him," came a hard voice from behind Draco. Draco whipped around and saw Lord Voldemort standing at the top of the stairs. He stepped over the body and started slowly descending. Draco backed away in horror. "He is Draco's. Let him be."
Draco stared numbly at the Dark Lord. His? Draco hoped that didn't mean what he thought it meant.
Lucius's grin grew wickedly. He grabbed Draco by the collar of his robe and yanked him backwards down the last few stairs, quite literally knocking Draco back to his senses. Draco landed painfully on his back and stumbled to his feet, throwing a hateful glance at his father.
"You heard the Master," Lucius said quietly. "Go. Kill the boy."
Draco looked from his father to Voldemort, who was standing nearby. Draco was repulsed by the look on the Dark Lord's face, a look of loathing, hunger, and manic delight. "What are you, Draco?" Voldemort hissed, his voice growing more and more dangerous with each syllable uttered. "Death Eater or coward?"
Turning to face the door, Draco looked out into the rain. The lighting flashed, and the thunder rolled once again, shaking this house of horror. He looked back at the two men behind him and Draco knew what he had to do.
"I'm no coward," he said, the first words out of his mouth since they had Apparated. Without another glance at either his father or Voldemort, Draco stormed out of the house.
You're also no murderer, what are you doing? he shouted inwardly. But Draco was long since past reasoning. This night had stripped him of all reason he ever possessed.
Draco raised his left hand to his face, blocking the rain from his sight. Lighting again touched down, this time not far from the house. The thunder cracked the sky and Draco felt the vibration deep within his chest. He raised his wand high. The dirt lane was fast becoming a muddy mess, and Draco took care not to slip.
Still shielding his eyes, Draco turned around, looking for the boy. There was a shed he hadn't noticed earlier off to the left side of the house, and Draco started that way. His feet squelched through the wet grass, which was starting to flood ever so slightly.
Draco reached the two double doors to the shed and tugged on them. They wouldn't open. Looking down, he saw a chain and padlock covering the doors, and he cursed. He was just about to open them with the use of his wand when he heard a squeak from the side of the shed. He paused and listened again, but this time he heard nothing. Slowly, Draco looked around the corner and what he saw both made his heart leap and sink, a strange sensation.
Crouching low in the grass, arms wrapped around his knees, was a small boy no older than ten years old. The boy's eyes widened when he saw Draco and he leapt up from the ground and rushed around the back of the small shed.
Still stunned at seeing the boy he was supposed to kill, Draco walked to the side where the boy was and followed his path. He turned the next corner just in time to see the boy's elbow disappear around the front again. Clenching his teeth, Draco turned and went the other way, almost smacking chests with the outsmarted boy.
In his fright, the boy fell back to the ground. This time he didn't run, didn't try to fight. He simply stared up at Draco fearfully. Whether the boy knew exactly what was coming or not, he seemed to have accepted his fate.
The resolution that Draco had had minutes ago started to dissipate at the frightened look of the boy. This is me, thought Draco. I was just like him. Hell, I still am him. This is the boy inside of me.
Draco blinked the water out of his eyes and brushed his hair aside. The thunder rumbled again and the boy cringed. His wand was still pointing straight at the boy, whose knees were bent and palms he was leaning back on for support.
Looking back towards the house, Draco searched for some way out of this for both himself and the boy. What he saw though made his heart plummet. Voldemort and Lucius both were standing in the doorway, watching him.
"Kill him!" shouted Lucius angrily. "Do it!"
Draco could hardly hear his father over the roaring of the wind and rain, which Draco noticed was slowly turning to ice with the drop in temperature, but he was able to hear clear enough. One look back at the boy told him what he had to do.
"Forgive me," whispered Draco, his lip trembling and tears forming in his eyes. "Forgive me."
"Avada Kedavara!"
Green light raced out of Draco's wand and collided with the boy's chest. Draco watched, horrified, as the boy's look of terror froze on his face. The light slowly faded from the boy's piercing blue eyes and the strength in his arms receded and ceased to support him. In what seemed like slow motion to Draco, the boy's back sunk into the wet grass, the rain pounding onto him. His arm flopped sickeningly to his side.
Shock numbed Draco's body, not releasing him from its deadly grip. His wand was still in the air, pointing at the boy's dead body, and Draco's mouth was parted. Tears and rain mixed together and ran down his face; Draco didn't even notice them slipping into his mouth. He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
With a roar, everything seemed to come back to life. All at once Draco was aware of the rain, his wet clothes sticking to his skin, the rough wooden shed with chipping paint that he was standing next to, the lighting cleaving the sky in two, the thunder seeming to pound inside his own heart, the figure of his father and Voldemort starting across the lawn towards him, the thunder, pounding, pounding, pounding…
Draco spun around, finally lowering his wand. With his other hand he pushed the hair out of his face and waited for his two companions to reach him. He looked back at the boy. The boy's eyes were still open, still unseeing, still haunting Draco. Those piercing blue eyes seemed to be watching Draco, watching him, watching, watching…
He shivered uncontrollably, but something told Draco it wasn't from the cold or the wet. This iciness crept from the very center of his being and spread to his very toes. This was some irreversible numbing and that Draco didn't think he'd ever be free from.
"Excellent, excellent," Voldemort said rubbing his hands together slowly. "We'll make a Death Eater out of him yet, Lucius."
Draco felt like the life was being sucked out of him. His breath came in short, desperate gasps, trying to get back something precious he had just lost. Draco looked to his father and saw, for once in his life, what might have been pride. Lucius opened his mouth to say something and he placed his hand on Draco's shoulder, but Draco jerked away as if he'd been burned. His eyes traveled to his father's face, to Voldemort's, and then back to his hands.
His wand.
Draco stared at his quivering hands, at the wand he held in them. With a revolting feeling, he tried to let go of his wand, to drop it and leave it behind, but his hands didn't seem to want to move. They were clenched around his wand in a death grip. Draco tried to loosen them, but it seemed his hands had made up their mind to keep his wand. Draco felt too drained to struggle with it much longer.
Voldemort raised his wand in the air and shouted in the most sinister tone Draco had ever heard, "Morsmorde!" A vision of a skull with a serpent emerging from its mouth flew into the air.
"Let's go," Voldemort said. Lucius's vice-like hand wrapped around Draco's arm and with a crack, they were gone.
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A/N: Told you it wasn't cheerful. I actually had a really hard time writing this chapter because I've been building up to it for so long; it had to be just right. And I think it turned out fairly well. What do you guys think?
Also, today is my birthday. And even though it's my birthday, and I'm giving you guys the present, which is this chapter. But you guys can give me a present as well, which would be a review!
Lauren
