The clouds bristled, scattering frigid rain across the frozen earth. The short scent of summer's end wafted over the world, silent. Abruptly, it rained harder, the pounding of marbles falling from the sky washing out everything else. Tall wisps of wind walked along the ocean shore, holding hands, ready to let go.
On this very cold day, a boy of sixteen sat on a beautifully carved myrtle wood bed, biting his lips raw. He was hovering in the realm between dread, nervous breakdowns, and pure joy. Suddenly, there came a sharp knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, the door swung open on expensive, oiled hinges.
"Draco, it's time to go."
Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stood stiffly in the doorway, shakily holding hands, as if they hadn't done it in a long time. Then, smiling encouragingly, his parents started down the hallway, motioning for him to come. Without a word, Draco followed.
The Malfoy Manor was a beautiful mansion, with elegant, enchanting architecture. There was something though, something. Always, even on the sunniest, most gorgeous days, there was something lonely, desolate, foreboding. But you couldn't ever put a finger on it.
Out of this house the family stepped, clothed heavily in warm cloaks and such. Lucius, in the middle, placed a hand on both his wife's and son's shoulders, preparing. In a swirl of black, they were gone.
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
They arrived near the end of a long, rocky spit, protruding into the ocean. There was no one, only the three of them. Unless...
Draco squinted, unsure of himself. A tall, black clothed figure stood in the distance. It appeared to be waiting for him. Then, to his surprise, more figures appeared, lining up near the first, each a wisp of ebony smoke. And Draco Malfoy knew, it was them.
Reluctantly, he started off down the shore, his heart pounding with adrenaline. He could see their skeletal, silver masks gleaming, even in the dim light. Finally, there was nowhere left to walk.
"Welcome, Draco."
The Dark Lord's malicious, high-pitched voice sounded like the clang of metal in Draco Malfoy's ears. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted his face.
"You all know," Voldemort addressed his followers. "This is the day. You are here, you know why. We are here to see a new beginning, a soul lifted from the earth to our level. Is that not why you've come?"
Draco's heart was climbing up his throat.
"Draco, give me your arm."
Gulping, he obeyed, raising his left forearm.
Carelessly, the Dark Lord made a slashing movement, a deep, angry gash appeared, pouring blood onto the ground. Then, he raised his wand lightly, almost as if it were some sort of vial. A black, luminescent liquid spilled out, washing around the cut. Immediately, it began to heal, pulling the dark liquid in with it.
For a moment his arm was flawless. Then, pain, excruciating pain. He doubled over, gasping for air. He couldn't fall though, anything but fall.
Horrible things, visions, flew by his eyes, just out of reach. Black, white, a flash of green. But suddenly, he felt joy. It was immense. The pain stopped, quickly as it started, and Draco straightened himself out, peering again at his arm.
Slowly, slowly, a silhouette of a leering black skull and snake appeared, darkening until it was opaque.
And it was done. Draco Malfoy victorious. Excitement coursed through his veins, making him dizzy. He knelt down at the Dark Lord's feet.
"Thank you, my lord."