Written for The Houses Competition
Slytherin, Year 4
Prompt: [Event] Joining the Death Eaters / Getting the Dark Mark
Word Count: 784, per GDocs
Draco stalked down the corridors of Malfoy Manor like the condemned man he was, flanked on either side by his Aunt Bella and his godfather, Snape. He held his head high, shuttering the fear and shame behind a cold, proud mask. Bella was grinning madly, ecstatic to welcome her only nephew to the Dark Lord's side; Snape's face was frozen in his usual sneer, devoid of any emotion save contempt.
Entering the ornate drawing room turned throne room, Draco scanned the crowd gathered for his confirmation. All the members of the Dark Lord's inner circle were present, ready to see him initiated into their ranks. A few staunch followers outside of the inner circle, like Fenrir Greyback, stood in the back. Many wore looks of envy and anger, jealous of the "upstart brat" who was about to accept the coveted Mark that, for them, was a symbol of the highest status. Draco supposed they were allowed to watch the proceedings to remind him how many others would willingly line up for the "honor" of being Marked by Lord Voldemort. He had to hold back a snort at that thought; if there was a way out of this, he'd gladly have traded places with any one of the fools.
Standing tall and proud at the right hand of the Dark Lord was Lucius. Draco fought back a growl- it was the bastard's fault that he was in this situation to begin with. If his idiot father hadn't been so blinded by the promise of more money and power, none of the Malfoys would be in this mess. Instead, Lucius had rallied around the first powerful wizard to espouse the ideals of blood purity and "magic is might", forcing his family to walk that same path to their demise. If he lived through this, Draco would never forgive his father for ruining his life as well as his mother's.
To the rest of the room, Narcissa was standing inertly by her husband's side, not a trace of feeling on her face. But Draco could tell by her guarded posture and swollen eyes that his mother was and had always been vehemently opposed to his joining the Death Eaters. He was also sure that, beneath her long sleeves, her body bore the marks of her arguments with Lucius on the matter. When she'd realized she had no hope of dissuading her husband, Narcissa sat down with Draco and tried in vain find a way out of his conscription. Though they had been unsuccessful, he was grateful for his mother's expression of support and love.
There was one positive aspect of Draco's impending enslavement: he would finally know everything. The Dark Lord had already announced his intention to groom the Malfoy heir as his new right hand man, and such a position came with certain rights and privileges. Once he had proved himself to Lord Voldemort—Draco shuddered to think that would entail— he would have far more input on what the Death Eaters as a whole did. He would likely be able to plan his own raids and supervise those the Dark Lord instigated. He would have Lord Voldemort's ear about how to "send messages" to their opponents. Above all, he would be able to secretly get word out when Death Eater activity would put the one he loved in danger.
Draco closed his eyes and focused on conjuring her face in his mind. If he tried hard, he could remember the sweet smell of her hair, the warmth of her soft body against his, the feel of her gentle lips pressed against his own. The thought of her was the only thing that could give him the strength to do this; he would move mountains, tame the oceans, conquer continents for her. Hell, he'd destroy the entire world without a second thought if it would keep her safe.
With her loving smile burned into his brain, Draco stepped forward to be branded like cattle. Anything to keep her from harm, anything to keep her from harm, he chanted silently. As Lord Voldemort's wand pressed into his forearm, Draco felt every nerve ending in his body catch on fire, urging him to submit, body and soul, to his new master. With every ounce of strength he had, he fought the compulsion— the Dark Lord might now command his body, but she would forever own his soul.
After what could have been a second or a year, Lord Voldemort finally finished placing the Dark Mark, and Draco's head began to swim. As he collapsed in the aftermath of overwhelming pain, the last thing he saw were her bright eyes, her name a whispered prayer dying on his lips.