I do not own any of these characters.

Draco stared out the window. It had been weeks since he had seen the sun. The day was so bright, the sky was blue, and not a cloud could be seen. From the way the trees were moving, a gentle breeze was blowing. He longed to feel the wind on his face. He sighed. At least he was clean now, and was no longer wearing the clothes he had been bleeding in for weeks. He looked down at his hands. They still hurt, but the swelling had gone down. He knew his fingers would stay in their mangled state. Perhaps a natural healer would have been able to fix them, but a natural healer would never fix the hands of a death eater.

I'm getting my mark tonight, Draco thought with a slight shudder. He knew this day was coming, and for the longest time he wanted it to come. Now he was not so sure. His entire life, he longed to be like his father, powerful and feared. However, the last few weeks taught him his father's power was meaningless, and only worked through fear. No one served Lucius Malfoy out of respect, and that was why he hesitated in killing Dumbledore. He knew that people served Dumbledore because they believed in his cause. Draco was going to dedicate his life to Voldemort out of fear.

"Draco, you have until sundown for reflection. Think about your failures, and how you can make them up to the Dark Lord," his mother told him in a high-pitched voice. She was so proud of him, finally coming into his birth right.

He wanted so badly to go outside. For some reason the pull of the light was too great. He was cold, so cold. He nodded to his mother, and walked away.

Avoiding being seen, he walked out into the sun. Warmth immediately seeped into him as he wandered over the extensive Malfoy grounds. He lay in the perfectly manicured grass, closed his eyes, and for the first time in months, slept without nightmares.

He awoke shivering. The sun had set and he was alone in the darkness. The ritual! He hoped he was not going to be late and rushed back to the house. It was even colder inside, and he made his way back to the dungeons where he had spent so much time.

He heard a scream split the air, and began to walk more quickly to the source of the sound. It was coming from another cell close to the one where he had spent so much of his time. He cautiously peered in. His father was in the cell with a young woman. She was screaming as the Cruciatus curse tore through her slight body.

Lucius cut the curse off as he realized his son was behind him. Draco felt fear consume him as he looked into his father's eyes. It was obvious his father was enjoying the pain he was giving to the muggle; he looked almost…aroused. He knew his father was fond of finding lonely young women to torture, but he had never actually seen it before.

Lucius smiled and in a cool voice said, "Would you like to try, son?" Draco didn't move, and couldn't speak.

"It's alright, I've just started with her; you won't kill her, yet."

Yet, what does he mean yet? Draco thought in a panic. I don't want to kill! The thought was unexpected. Since when did he balk at killing a mudblood? He had to force his mind to use the word. What was wrong with him?

His father suddenly winced and grabbed at his forearm. The dark mark was burning, and Voldemort was calling his supporters to him.

"Draco, it's time."

Draco nodded and turned to leave the room. Green light flared behind him, and the woman didn't even have time to scream before her life was ended in an instant.

Minutes later Draco was standing among a few of his peers who would be receiving their mark as well. He stood between Crabbe and Goyle, a familiar position, but now one that left him feeling anxious. All death eaters were present, having apparated to this secret meeting place. Only Voldemort knew where it was. His supporters went to him, wherever he was and did not need to know the exact location.

He watched as one by one the young men went to get their brand. He watched as they said their vow, cutting into the spot where the mark would be to seal in blood. The blood dripped into a goblet and Draco knew Voldemort would drink after all vows were said.

Crabbe went, stumbling over his vow. Goyle went next. Draco was last. Sweat began pouring down his back. He was scared; scared of the life he would be entering into. He remembered the woman who was now lying dead in his house, and became sick to his stomach. His head began to pound. Goyle was finishing his oath, blood flowing from the wound on his left forearm.

Draco walked forward, each echoing step spelling out his doom. He stopped in front of the Dark Lord, rolled his sleeve up, and sliced his forearm open. The blood of those who went before him still stained the Kris dagger. The wavy blade shimmered with blood.

Draco started to recite the oath all death eaters must swear, but no sound came out. His voice was not working. Fear flooded him; he felt it in his very soul. If he couldn't speak, he couldn't say the oath. If he didn't swear to the oath, he would die. Becoming a death eater was the only way Draco could prove his loyalty. He tried harder to speak, but it was to no avail. Suddenly he was thrown to the ground. He looked into his father's livid eyes and tried to explain with frantic gestures that he just couldn't speak. It was no use. His father picked his head up by the hair, and slammed his skull onto the floor. Everything went black.

When he came around, he was laying on his cell floor. He was no longer wearing the soft black robe of the ceremony, and the cold from the stones seeped into his bare skin. Blood still matted his blonde hair. He slowly got to his feet. The cot and blanket previously in the room could not be seen.

His cell door opened and his father slowly stepped in, banging the door behind him.

"You embarrassed me tonight Draco. You failed your family. The Dark Lord has been gracious enough to give you yet another chance. He feels you have not learned you lesson well enough. Apparently I am not the best teacher for you, so the Dark Lord has assigned a new tutor for you. Learn your lesson well Draco, there is no escape from the Dark Lord."

His father opened the door and let a cloaked figure in before leaving. A hood was lowered, and the executioner stood before him. She wasn't smiling. She never smiled. She did her job because she was good at it, not because she enjoyed it. It was actually refreshing to have someone torture him and not get pleasure out of it.

The executioner dropped a bag on the floor and removed her cloak, tossing it to the floor. With a wave of her wand, chains fell from the ceiling. Knowing what was expected of him, Draco lifted his arms, and the manacles snaked around his wrists. Abruptly, the chains tightened, and he needed to stand on his toes in order to reach the ground.

The executioner began her gruesome work, hurting him with magic, and often without. The chains cut into his wrists, blood streamed down his arms. His wrists were not the only place on his body blood flowed. The executioner used a strange combination of medieval muggle torture and magic to cause more pain than his father ever had. Tears streamed down his face.

"Would you like me to stop? Just say please."

Draco couldn't say "please" even though he wanted nothing more than this pain to stop. He couldn't utter a sound, not even a scream.