Draco gulped as he slid carefully along the corridor, skirting the patches of moonlight streaming in through the high windows. The draft cooled the sweat on his brow as he pushed open the great oak doors. They groaned reluctantly on their hinges, voicing Draco's own protests and making him flinch at the grating sound. Swallowing hard again, he set off across the dark grounds. The looming treetops of the forbidden forest seemed to reach out to him, pulling him in no matter how hard he struggled to free himself. He knew what waited for him in the depths of those trees, he was the one who had shown them the spot for it, and how to get in. Now, as he fought down the urge to run for it, he was regretting it.

Nonetheless, willing his dinner to stay in his churning stomach, he forced his trembling legs to carry him through the undergrowth. The wan light from the sliver of a moon was blotted out almost instantly as he stepped beneath the canopy of tightly interwoven leaves and branches. The darkness seemed to swallow him whole, pressing in on him until he felt he couldn't breathe. He walked faster, but this only made him feel worse, considering what he was heading toward. He soon found himself in a large clearing. He would have thought it was beautiful, with the moonlight reflecting off of the leaves and flowers, just now beginning to part their soft new petals, if only it hadn't been for the clearing's occupants.

If only.

It was filled to the brim with Death Eaters, all masked and standing silently in a circle. Three men stood in the middle of the ring; his father, Severus Snape, and the Dark Lord, Voldemort himself. The Death Eaters surrounding them broke ranks and parted a bit to allow him entrance, mending the gap in the circle behind him as soon as he had stepped past them, pushing him forward slightly. He was trapped. No turning back now. Not that he had any say in the matter to begin with. None of this had been his idea or suggestions, he had just cracked under the pressure and agreed. How stupid of him, he was thinking now. Slowly, he approached the men, head down as his father had taught him was the proper respect for a "man" of Voldemort's stature.

"Hello, again, Draco," said the high cold hiss.

"My Lord," Draco replied, bowing slightly. He hoped desperately that none of the ever-vigilant Death Eaters noticed him shaking slightly.

"Are you ready to finally receive my mark, young Draco?" Voldemort asked expectantly. The boy tried to swallow the lump in his throat before he answered, but it wouldn't go away, lending a small quaver to his voice, as hard as he tried to suppress it.

"Yes, my Lord," he said, hardly above a whisper. It rebounded around the clearing, making him jump at how loud the comment had seemed in the oppressive silence.

"Good." The snake-man held out a hand, so white that it shone brighter than the moonlight, and long and thin, almost frail looking. "Your arm, Draco."

Shaking harder now, Draco slowly lifted his left arm to his master's waiting hand, allowing it to be turned over. He flinched at the iciness of his touch, as cold as if he had no warmth in his body at all. He closed his eyes tightly as Voldemort touched his wandtip to Draco's forearm. Fiery pain shot up his arm, and he bit his lip hard to stop from crying out. Voldemort began to drag the tip across his kin, tracing the outline of the Dark Mark on his arm and leaving a sooty black outline behind it. The pain mounted as the mark got more detailed. Draco was breathing hard, his heart speeding up, his whole body shaking.

He screwed up his face with the effort of staying still as Voldemort lifted his wand away from his abused skin, but the pain wasn't gone yet. The wand plunged back down into the hollow center of the brand. He yelled as the blackness spidered out to fill the outline. His flesh was burning, sizzling away, excruciating. He could feel darkness gathering at the edges of his vision, it was almost unbearable, his knees were about to give it.

Then it was gone.

The pain receded, leaving his knees just as weak, maybe more so. He was winded, feeling dizzy, and a bit nauseous. He blinked bemusedly as his father's beaming face swam before his eyes. Snape clapped him on the back, nearly knocking him clean off his feet.

"That'll go away in a little while, Draco. You'll feel better after a few minutes, son," Lucius said, an undeniable hint of pride to his voice. It was the most he had ever heard there before, the happiest he had sounded addressing his son in a long time. Draco nodded, but he knew he wouldn't. He would never feel better. This guilt, this dread, would linger for the rest of his life. He knew it.

"You are now officially one of my loyal followers. I believe you are capable of joining us on our next mission. You would be involved anyway, but I think you deserve to know ahead of time," Voldemort said, looking at Draco almost excitedly, a sort of light flickering behind the usually dead red eyes. "Tomorrow, Hogwarts will fall at my hands! We will sneak in tomorrow evening and storm the place. We will not reveal your role in this until then. Just act normal and sneak over to our side when the fight begins."

Draco was in shock. Hogwarts will fall? Reveal his role? Fight? How had be not thought of that when he let them in? Fighting against his better judgment, he nodded. Voldemort smiled, a thin-lipped smirk of sorts, and snapped. All of the Death Eaters popped away, his father and Snape among them, but he was too dazed to try and figure out how they had done it on the grounds. It was late, the moon was beginning to sink below the tree-tips, stealing away what little light it provided, and he had to get back inside before the teachers did their second rounds.

Just once, he looked down at his arm. There it was. The Dark Mark. Burned, black and ugly, into his skin. It leered up at him, mocking him. He felt the bile rising in his throat again, but choked it back down. He turned and ran through the trees, not watching where he was going. He tripped and fell once on a root, but got up and kept going, paying no heed to the blood on his palms. He continued across the grounds, not stopping until the great oak front doors closed behind him.

He leaned against them, as he caught his breath. It caught in his throat. As it settled down again, he tried to force his heart to slow as well, but it would have none of it. It was pounding against his ribcage so fiercely that it kept him gasping. It wasn't the running that caused his heart so much panic, it was the whole situation. He was officially a Death Eater, He had just become a part of something so horrible, so vicious, and so against his own personal standards that he felt sick with shame at the thought.

But, he thought, I have to keep my cool. If I turn around now, I'll surely be killed, by one side or another. If I just keep my head down, I may come up with it still intact.

Giving a shaky sigh, he began the trek through the dungeons all the way down toward the Slytherin dormitories. He passed the door to Snape's office. Never before had it looked so foreboding.