There are some people who say that the journey is more important than the destination. Some say that the thrill of the chase is better than winning the prize. Draco Malfoy is not one of these people. And neither was Thriller in his last life, evident by him being content with a life of smoking, video games, comics, and the occasional Goth girl. Oh, and never talking to his father. Of course, Thriller threw all of that away for something greater, and despite his eventual death, he can't say he regrets it. The brotherhood he shared and the experiences he had, the fear he devoured…

There are very few things better than the feeling of terror emanating from prey. Killing people he dislikes, playing games, reading comics, smoking, and even sex don't compare. The only thing so far that has compared in both lifetimes is how Draco Malfoy, Slytherin King, Demon of Slytherin, and Dragon King feels at the moment as he sits by the side of his queen, of his girl, Ginny Weasley as they cuddle by the lake.

He's won. Finally, he has her. He knew it was only a matter of time, but it feels good to have it sooner rather than later. And while his eventual victory was assured, he couldn't predict just how amazing it was to truly experience Ginny Weasley, to touch, to feel, to be in the presence of whenever he wants, to kiss, to hug, to embrace, it really is better than anything he's felt before, just barely edging out his brotherhood with Ghost, Crane, Priest, and Khan. He would need to harvest fear from thousands of victims just to match it.

His arm around her shoulder, her head laying on his, the two sit in peace as they admire the view. His grin threatens to split his face, and her face is so bright and red, it's competing with the sun, and he couldn't wish for more, and can't think of anything better.

So amazing is his Ginny, that Draco Malfoy almost immediately ceases his collection of favors from the Slytherin girls. Not because of mercy or some feeling of betrayal or monogamy, but because they simply can't compare to his little Gin and Juice.

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Theodore Nott sits calm in his family home as he waits for his father's guest to arrive. This meeting was called on a whim, and he had no time to make up an excuse, nor to warn Draco or Blaise that it was happening. Part of him is terrified, having heard so much about the Dark Lord and his merciless ways, but another part is…intrigued.

BAM! He's jolted out of his thoughts as an ethereal, snake-like being floats its way through the halls of his home and to the dining room. His father, the usually serious, gruff, formerly muscular now portly, strict slave driver of a man that he usually is, is following along with a clear aura of subordination, an expression of admiration and groveling adorning his face.

"My Lord, he will be useful to you, I promise you that. On my house's honor!" Theo watches his father beg the Dark Lord, presumably to allow him, heir of House Nott, to join the cause, to become a Death Eater. With a flick of his wand, the snake-like being subjugates his father, forcing him to claw at his skin and bite his tongue to keep from screaming out.

"You do not tell me who will be ussseful to me." The man, Lord Voldemort hisses out. "I will decsside that for myssself." And then red, serpentine eyes meet Theo's own, and against all logic, Theo holds his gaze. Training with Draco, along with a few magical artifacts he made personally keep his thoughts his own, private, as the powerful wizard runs into an immovable wall, but this only irritates him further, causing his eyes to narrow.

"You think to tessst me, boy?" The pale-skinned wizard levels his wand at Theo's person. Theodore Nott feels his heart jump in his chest, despite his confidence in his own work. He gulps, steadying his heartbeat and his fear, as he addresses the Dark Lord with a measure of calm and control.

"No. I…Draco Malfoy has instructed me to tell you to bugger off if you ask me to join." He reveals candidly, his mind racing a thousand miles a second.

"Theo!" His father hisses out in horror and anger. Voldemort raises a hand, silencing him, as his wand remains trained on the young Nott scion.

"You tread a dangerousss line young Nott. But I sssense there is more to your thoughtsss. I advissse you to make do with what little time you have left." The Dark Lord threatens. Theo clears his throat, trying to calm the fear in his heart if he continues.

"Draco also said not to take the mark." He relays quietly, looking down. "I…I'm good at what I do, making magical artifacts, and I while I won't just join, I can help you." He stops to swallow, showing a slight crack in his façade for just a moment. "F-for a price." Lord Voldemort's eyes narrow to near slits, as he takes in the young boy's words.

"You think to negotiate with me, boy?" He hisses out, barely one second away from letting out a curse or ten. "On what groundsss? With what credentialsss, do you challenge Lord Voldemort, child?" He fires off a curse, narrowly missing the young Nott's head by mere centimeters.

"I…stand on my talent, and my work, Lord—" Theo stops and swallows. "My lord." He looks up, briefly and gets the go ahead to continue. "I've made magical artifacts that the ministry cannot match and I…I deserve to be compensated." Lowering his wand, the serpent-like man appraises the young boy.

"You talk big, lad, and I sssense truth in you wordsss. So, prove yourssself, young Nott. Claim your life with your own two handsss." He hisses out, floating closer to the boy, to get a better look.

"I will, my lord." Theo swallows down his feelings once more. "But before that, what can you offer me?"