disclaimer ; *sigh* i don't own harry potter.

- set at the sixth book, with my own little spin on it. i hope you like it ! review without hesitation : )

BEAST

PROLOGUE

He was making his way throughout his home, his feet stumbling over one another—his arms reaching out to the walls surrounding him. His hands did his best to balance him as he kept walking. A small hissed voice in his head speaking violently to him. The voice getting louder with each step forward, a pain in his head began to pour in as he kept walking. He gritted his teeth at the pain, doing his best to walk out his home throughout the lack of light. He breathed in deeply, allowing the sound of his heartbeat pound against his ear drums. He breathed loudly, stomping his feet and slamming his fist against the wall. All this noise—to escape that voice in his head. The louder it got, the louder he walked off.

His body was tired—energy draining with each thought, each step and each breath. He shook his head and refused to stop, he needed fresh air. He needed to breathe easily. Smoothly. Naturally.

"The Dark Mark is now yours to keep, Draco."

"Shut up!" He screamed as he pushed forward.

"Feel him in your veins, feel him watch you."

He licked his lips and balls his fist, hitting the walls louder and stomping his feet harder. The noise making pops, smacks and it caused the house to slightly shudder.

"You must do as the Dark Lord says, Draco. You must fulfill his needs. You must exceed his expectations of you. He chose you Draco. You are the chosen one."

Voices began to mix with images. The noise he was making doing little to help him. He caught his breath and reached the doorknob. His energy was slowly being used up as he used his strength to open the door. He was never this weak. He was never this fragile. However the images were causing pain. The voices were causing pain. The dark mark resting silently on the back of his forearm was causing him pain. It stung as if he was burned for hours. The images and voices hurt more. They were so crisp and vivid. They did not fade. He came into realization that watching his mother become tortured and speak against her will—that vision will never fade. He will never wash out the way her lips moved in a non-familiar movement or the voice that slipped passed her lips. It wasn't her voice. It was cold, crisp and snake-like. It was processed.

"You must help him come into view. You must make people fear his name. You must make people fear you."

"Shut up," he said weakly.

The door opened and the cool summer breeze washed over him. His gray eyes were foggy as he exited his home. His vision blurred the sun began to fall and the dark sky began to return to its rightful spot. He kept his eyes forward as he made his way down his porch and through his front yard. Moving forward and taking breaths; it was as easy as that. Out of the house. Away from his mother. It was all he wanted. And he had it. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision, however it did very little. He passed the gates that surrounded his large home, gates that locked him inside that specific piece of land. A piece of land he was happy to step off of.

He began to make his way onto the road. Crossing it without a care to look left and right. If he was to be hit by a car—all the images and voices would just fade. He would die. He would be gone.

However he made it across the road. He watched straight forward, forward to the woods—thick tall trees and leaves hung above him. He could feel his breath slow down as he got farther and farther away from his home. Despite the distance, the images and voices remained their intensity in his head. Clear as if they were happening right in front of him. Clear as if Narcissa Malfoy was speaking to her son all over again.

"You must trust the Dark Lord. You must obey."

Images of his mother floating before him, her hair wildly moving and her blue eyes turning a deep black. Her skin, paler than ever—and her breath sounding as if a snake was hissing at him. She seemed as if she was about to attack him. He was scared of his mother as she moved swiftly around him, her feet not touching the floor and her eyes watching his every movement. The two were alone, and he wasn't sure whether to run away our watch as his mother spiraled out of control. However he held a certain courage watching his mother that way. He held a protective trait. He held his wand up at her and tried to reverse the Imperius Curse she seemed to be under. There was no spell or charm he could remember, there was no way another thought but his processed mother would cross his mind. So instead he watched and listened. He watched as she gripped onto his left arm and scratch her nails down his forearm—blood trickling down and slowly taking the form of the Dark Mark.

He couldn't pull his head on right—he couldn't wrap around the idea he was in the woods and away from his home. All he saw was her. But he kept moving. He had to. He pushed away several low branches of trees.

"You will forever obey to the Dark Lord. You must say it, Draco. You must give him your body, your soul, your life. Draco you must swear."

"SHUT UP."

Slowly he felt his body collapse in front of a rather large leafless tree. His knees hid the ground and the images came to a stop as his vision blurred even further. With one blink, tears began to rapid fall. His vision was clear for seconds before more tears formed—the last thing he saw clearly was the snake and skull on his forearm. Tears fell again as he fought his way to breathe through his sobs and shaking body. He was now a beast.