Dark clouds. Dirt. Headstones. A dead Muggle that he had to step over, unseeing brown eyes staring up a him. Draco Malfoy only caught bits and pieces of his surroundings. His brain felt as if someone had packed it with gauze, and he could not focus on anything other than the dark form of his mother in front of him.

Even as his terror reached its peak, with his heart hammering against his ribcage, Draco couldn't make himself ask questions. Despite his mother dragging him off without a word, the young Malfoy was smart enough to realize that sometimes being in the dark was better than knowing the whole truth. Right now, he knew, was one of those times.

As they walked on, it seemed to grow darker, while the air thickened to the point where it felt as if though they were walking through mud. He could feel it dragging him down. It crawled across his skin, and clogged his mouth and nose. Every breath was a challenge, and impending doom washed over him as he trudged forward. Darkness seemed to slowly replace the blood that ran through his veins, until his face had subconsciously arranged itself in a frightening glower, and his soul had seemed to become completely extinguished. Yet, despite this, there was no anger in the boy. Even his fear had left, sucked from his body by something unnatural. Seconds later, when his mother had stopped, Draco vaguely realized, as if he were thinking through a haze, just what had caused the feeling.

"Narcissa," a snakelike voice hissed.

"My Lord," his mother said. Her voice held traces of fear, but also a forced respect. She bowed to the ground and Draco followed suit.

"I am pleased to see you again, especially after your hard work," Voldemort said, his dark, snakelike eyes looking from Narcissa to her son. When Draco glanced up, his stomach managed to twist just slightly when he noticed that the look was almost like one that a proud father would give his son.

"The pleasure is all mine, My Lord," Narcissa said, shooting her son a meaningful look.

"Anything for you, Master," Draco uttered, his voice low and soft, but steady. Fear was hiding somewhere in his chest, but it was muted, indistinct.

"Quite the contrary, my faithful servants. Today, I am truly excited to have you in my presence, for I have splendid news to impart to you." The pale creature took an eerily graceful step forward, so that he was standing directly in front of the younger Malfoy. It was almost calming, Draco thought. His emotions dulled more and more, until he could feel nothing but a faint hint of the intense fear that the very back of his brain knew he harbored for the Dark Lord.

"Draco Malfoy," he breathed, his foul breath tickling Draco's face. "You have served me well, without hesitation, and with loyalty that I have rarely seen."

"It has been my honor," the young man said.

"You are brave, Draco," Voldemort told him, putting an icy hand under his chin, tilting his face up so that he could peer into Draco's cold, unflinching eyes. "In fact, I do believe, that you have earned yourself a spot among my closest followers."

"My Lord," he muttered, utterly shocked, "I would be honored." Somewhere, in the confines of his bugged down brain, he knew this wasn't true. He knew very well that this was a death sentence. But with Voldemort touching him, looking into his soul, taking away his ability to think and feel, the words that were coming out of his mouth seemed to be perfectly logical.

"Then, Draco Malfoy, I do believe that it is time. You, are my newest Death Eater." Then, he reached a long, bony hand into his robes and pulled out his wand. Lifting Draco's left arm, he pointed the wand to his pale forearm and mumbled something. Before Draco could comprehend exactly what was going on, stabs of fierce pain shot up from the place where the Dark Lords wand had touched, as if someone had lit his skin on fire. He grit his teeth and closed his eyes in an attempt to prevent himself from crying out, but a single sob wrenched its way out from his lips.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the fiery pain was gone, replaced by eerie cold. Draco immediately looked at his arm in fear that it'd been burned off, but instead, he was meant with a sight that made his already pale skin turn ghostly white. Tattooed on his inner left forearm was a skull with a fierce black snake winding out of its mouth. Suddenly, even the effect of the Lord Dark couldn't keep terror from suddenly seeping into his heart.

"I-I am honored," Draco choked out, keeping his silver eyes trained on the ground.

"You have earned it," Voldemort said, a dark kind of pride seeping into his voice. It wasn't so much pride as it was the knowledge that Draco was an immensely powerful young wizard who had been raised to become a Death Eater his entire life. Voldemort had plans for the boy, great plans. But first, he had to truly test the boy's loyalty.

"My Lord, my son and I thank you for your kindness," Narcissa Malfoy said, her face glowing with actual, true pride, unlike the twisted, selfish version that Voldemort felt towards the boy.

"He deserves it. But now, I am afraid that he has to prove his true loyalty towards me, to prove that this decision hasn't been a… fatal mistake."

Draco looked up at the heinous creature that was standing in front of him.

"Anything, My Lord."

"First, the time has come. Harry Potter is getting stronger, and taking him down soon is an utmost necessity. Now, however, with all those opposing me, I'm afraid that taking no one except for him down is simply not an option. Draco, I believe that in addition to Potter, we must first get rid of those close to him. Draco, you need to get his two friends out of the way. Granger is powerful, and Weasley is pigheaded, and I have a feeling that they could cause problems for us if we left them to do what they pleased."

The task made Draco truly sick, and he could feel his heart beating faster.

"Does that mean that I must kill them?" he asked shakily. The evil wizard laughed.

"That would be…preferable, but as long as they aren't in my way when the time comes, you will be fine." His mother gave him a gentle, encouraging look, and Draco nodded his head, the tight feeling in his chest loosening just slightly.

"Yes, My Lord. I will get it done. Is that all?"

"That is my lesser task for you," Voldemort hissed, his eyes gleaming with what could only be considered joy. "What I truly want you to do, is get rid of a bigger nuisance for me. I'm afraid that, at the present moment, it would be easier for you to take care of this task, simply because it is much easier to kill those who trust you. And yes, I said kill. Getting rid of this person simply will not do. He must be in buried deep the ground for your task to be considered completed."

Draco's mouth suddenly went dry, and his eyes reflected the crazy dread that was burning away the last of the fog that had been enshrouding his head. His mother, seeing this, took his hand and squeezed it gently. That gentle squeeze reminded Draco of just why he needed to do this, what he was fighting for.

"Who, may I ask, do you wish for me to take care of?" Draco inquired. His voice was steady, and his face was composed from years of practice. He wondered if Voldemort could read his mind, could feel what he was really feeling. He glanced at the Dark Mark, which was cold enough that it almost burned him. How deep was the connection that it had given him to the Dark Lord? Could that heinous snake possibly know what was running through his head? He shook the possibility away.

"Albus Dumbledore," Voldemort said, a happy sneer in his voice, as if he found happiness in turning sixteen year old boys into monsters. Draco suddenly felt even colder. He wondered if his blood would freeze. If he was going to get frostbite. Maybe he'd die from it. Maybe this cold would just kill him, and get all of this weight off of his shoulders. If he were dead, would Voldemort still come after his family? Would he lower the guillotine that was hanging over his mother's neck, or would he let her go, realizing that there was no reason to keep her.

He'd still kill her, even if it was just for fun, Draco told himself in an effort to extinguish the horrible thoughts of suicide that had sprung into his mind.

"I would be glad to," Draco said smoothly. Voldemort stretched his papery thin lips into something that if they looked very closely, a person may read as a smile.

"Very good. Now, go, and get started. You have until the end of the year at Hogwarts to complete these tasks, because that is when I plan to strike. I can only hope that you do them well. If you fail," Voldemort said, his thin fingers squeezing Draco's chin, "your fellow Death Eaters will enjoy eating your entrails for breakfast. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly," the young Malfoy said.

"Good. Then I shall be seeing you soon. Don't forget, Draco." There was a cool breeze, a flash of light, and the Dark Lord had disappeared. He hadn't apparated, but had merely just vanished.

Draco turned his attention to his mother, taking in her watering eyes and deep, ragged breathing.

"Draco," she said.

"We have to go," he told her. She swallowed and grabbed his arm, apparating back to Malfoy Manor.

There, she immediately collapsed onto a thick leather sofa, now letting her tears flow freely. She knew that Malfoys shouldn't cry like that, but she couldn't help it. She may not have truly loved Lucius, and her own life wasn't very precious to her either, but that of her son, her dearest son, was more important to her than anything else in the world, and now he was put in a horrible position.

"Mother, it's going to be okay, I can do this," he told her, although his words were forced.

"You aren't a killer," she told him softly. He sat down beside her and leaned his head on hers while holding his mother tightly, trying to hold her together. She was the strongest woman he had ever met, and he didn't want to be the one who caused her to break.

"For you, I can become one," he insisted, trying almost as hard to get himself to believe it as her. Neither one of them bought that, however, and both of them knew that no words could convince them. So they just ditched the promises, and held each other, both of them trying to keep it together when everything felt so much like it was falling apart.

"I want father home," Draco finally spit out. "I want that bloody bastard here, so that he can see what he's done to us!" Narcissa shook her head.

"The Dark Lord had twisted his mind," she said firmly. "He didn't know what he was doing."

"I know," he mumbled to his mother. "I just wish that I didn't have to pay for what he did."

"I wish you didn't either," she told him. "But is there another choice." Draco sighed. He knew that. He knew his duty.

"Maybe, maybe now I can prove myself," the young boy said hopefully. "If I can succeed, maybe he'll forgive our family for Father's mistake." Narcissa smiled sadly.

"We can only hope," she said, holding her son more tightly. They stayed like that for a long time, hoping and praying that they could survive this. Other than Narcissa, no one cared about Draco, and vice versa. They were all each other had, and neither one of them wanted to lose the other. Despite that, both of them doubted that their family would survive this in one piece. Those thoughts weren't voiced, of course, and instead were left inside them, to grow and wreak havoc on their minds.

That night, Draco sat in his room and thought about the task that he'd been given. Not the one that included killing Dumbledore. That one, he'd pushed completely to the back of his mind. The one that he spent his time contemplating was one that didn't have to end in death. He just had to figure out how to get the Weasel and Mudblood out of the way for a while, towards the end of the year. There had to be some kind of plan or solution, he thought, and he'd find it if there was.

He liked figuring things out, that'd been evident since a very young age. As he grew, he started attempting to develop his own potions and spells, or to find different ways to do things than everything else. In class, because his father had taught him most of the information at an early age, he'd attempt to think up different ways to do things in attempt to fend off boredom, and was often successful. There seemed to just be something in his brain that could look at things in a different way, and come up with answers.

That's the approach that Draco used when faced with the problem of getting rid of Potter's friends. His first thought was to threaten them and hopefully get their parents to send for them, but he tucked that away as a last resort because there were so many other things that could go wrong. He could get easily caught, for one thing, and he knew that they'd have to be on Death's door to leave that school anyway.

He also realized that maybe he could gain their trust, and try to convince them to leave for their safety, but that wouldn't work. First, there was no way in hell that he was going to spend that much time with them, and it isn't like they'd trust him anyway. He thought of a few other options, but couldn't settle on anything that'd work.

Then, as he was about to give up, he thought of the perfect thing. He didn't necessarily need to get Granger and Weasel out of the way. All that was really necessary was to keep them from interfering, and if they weren't Potter's friends, then they wouldn't. If he could disband the Three Musketeers, his task would be accomplished. They wouldn't interfere with the Dark Lord's work. He smiled to himself, pleased when he felt a miniscule piece of the heavy weight leave his chest. It wasn't much, and it didn't help his more difficult plan, but it was a start.

That night, he fell asleep easily despite the fact that the place where his Dark Mark had been seared into his skin seemed to be chilled to the bone.

He was pleasantly surprised, until he realized that just because he fell asleep quickly, didn't necessarily mean that he was going to stay asleep. Once he was immersed in dreamland, and his thoughts were no longer under his strict control, all of his worries slipped into his dreams. He dreamt that he had Dumbledore cornered, a wand at his neck, but that he broke down and couldn't do it. Then Voldemort's snake-like face appeared, sneering at him, his eyes dancing with amusement at Draco's failure. He saw him raise his wand and kill his father, and then, because he knew that Draco truly loved his mother, he wasn't even decent enough to murder her. Instead, the Dark Lord performed the Cruciatus, and Draco was forced to watch his mother writhe in what he knew to be the worst pain imaginable. Then, after watching that for an agonizingly long time, he killed her. He dreamt of rushing over to her, and seeing nothing but a blank, blue stare.

With that, Draco jolted awake. His throat was hoarse, so he knew that he'd been screaming, but he also was positive that no one heard him in the vast house. He was drenched with sweat, and everything felt cold. Too cold. For a second, he imagined that everything, even him becoming a Death Eater, had been a dream. Then he looked at his arm and saw the Dark Mark, and felt his stomach twist terribly.

"Lord, help me," he muttered, laying his head back down and squeezing his eyes shut, as if that'd make it all go away.

Later that day, Draco had dragged himself out of bed, and was sitting in his library, a thick volume resting in his lap in a desperate attempt to bury himself in words, when one of their many house elves popped into the room. He jumped slightly at the sudden appearance of the bug-eyed creature, but recovered just as quickly.

"Master Malfoy," the small elf said. "Your mother wishes for your presence in the dining room as soon as possible. She insists that you dress formally, for someone very important has come, and she has had a fabulous supper prepared."

"I will be right down," Draco told the elf, which then disappeared with a loud 'crack'.

The boy, fearing that someone had figured out what he was and was planning on harming him and his mother, rushed out of his library and hustled through the many pristine marble hallways of Malfoy Manor with the utmost urgency in his step.

He knew that his mother had guests over all the time, and that there was no reason to worry, but worrying for her had become his full past time. He knew that Voldemort could kill her whenever he saw fit, and he knew that Voldemort's enemies would kill her whenever they got the chance. She was the one person he cared about, and she was safe nowhere.

That thought propelled him to clean up quickly, simply ordering a House Elf to grab something nice for him while he hastily combed his hair and scrubbed his face. Then he quickly changed and jogged through the hallways, fixing the buttons on his jacket as he stumbled into their grand dining room.

His gray eyes scanned the room, taking in every little detail. The long oak table was covered in a silken emerald cloth. There were three white china plates set out, with silver napkins underneath. The heavy chairs were all empty, although the brilliant diamond chandelier was shining with light, indicating that people were expected soon. A tall, dark haired butler stepped forward when he saw the young Malfoy enter the room.

"Please, have a seat. Your mother and her guest will be here shortly."

"Who is it?" Draco asked. He tried to order the answer out of him, but he was too worried to put the right amount of venom in his voice.

"The Mistress wishes to surprise you," he said. Before he could ask anymore questions, his mother walked gracefully into the room, a tight smile pasted onto her face. Her eyes were nervous, and when the next person stepped up behind her, Draco knew why.

"I appreciate your hurry," Narcissa said, brushing a loose strand of blonde hair from her pale face.

"What is she doing here?" Draco growled, glowering at the woman who was standing behind his mother in obvious distaste. She was tall and thin, and actually may have been strikingly beautiful if she hadn't appeared to have been a likely candidate for Voldemort's wife. Her features were elegant and flawless, her pale white skin smooth as ivory. Even her black eyes could have been good-looking an exotic way. That is, if they weren't filled with such a crazy, psychopathic hate. It made Draco feel as if he were nothing but a child. Just a foolish child that could never do anything with his life.

Her hair flew around her head in a wild black tornado which made her look slightly un-stable, especially when paired with those crazy eyes. Then there was that unmistakable sneer. Draco knew her. His aunt. Bellatrix Lestrange. He'd never met her in person, but there was no mistaking just who is was. Voldemort's best buddy.

"You have certainly grown," the dark witch said, playing the part of a normal, friendly aunt.

"Shit, I thought they would have caught you by now. I truthfully wish they would have. Azkaban is the one place where you belong." His aunt's eyes flared dangerously, and she slid her wand out of her pocket, not pointing it at him, but simply allowing him to see it, as a warning, perhaps.

"Draco," Narcissa snapped at him, shooting him a warning glare. He couldn't help but roll his eyes at her. He hated his aunt, even though he hadn't met her. She'd left his father to fight for himself at the ministry the past year. His failure there is what led to Draco's position now. Sure, his father was stupid for ever becoming a Death Eater, and he shouldn't have let himself get caught like that, but it was also her fault. She could have saved him. Instead, she ran like a coward. There were so many people to blame for Draco's father's imprisonment, but none were quite as easy as Voldemort's right hand man, or woman, or whatever the miserable thing standing before him was.

"Watch yourself," Bellatrix warned.

"You could've saved him," Draco hissed at her. The witch's high, piercing laughs cut his ears, all while making his blood boil with fierce anger.

"Your fool of a father shouldn't have needed saving. If he wasn't as pathetic as a wizard as he was as a Death Eater, then he could've gotten out of there." Draco's hand automatically reached into his pocket, where his wand was. Bellatrix, seeing this, raised her own in the air.

"Don't even think about it." Narcissa's eyes pleaded with her son, begging him to think about what he was doing. He was too angry to care. The boy was miserable. He hated his life. He had an impossible task laid out before him. Now, some stupid bitch had just showed up and started rubbing all of this in his face. He didn't care that he'd started it. She was in his house, and he hated her.

"Do your worst," he taunted, quite foolishly actually. Most witches would have sent him a final glare and put the wand away, trying to end the impending fight. But she was a Death Eater, and one of the fiercest. Never had she walked away from an opportunity like this, even if she was to curse one of her own flesh and blood., even one who was another Death Eater.

"Crucio," she said with a maniacal smile. Draco didn't think she was serious, not at first. Then he felt it. He felt his organs getting eaten away with acid, the burning that went bone-deep, the way his skin started to rip and tear and his brain shook back and forth in his skull, banging around in an effort to get free.

He stayed standing, barely, leaning against the wall for support. A vein was bulging out of his forehead, and he was biting his tongue hard enough that it was bleeding, the salty taste of blood bursting through his mouth. Of course, he hardly noticed it. He was too busy burning, too busy trying not to show weakness, trying not to scream in complete and utter agony.

It was painful, but he'd experienced it before. His father had done it to him, many times in fact. He'd cursed him whenever he wasn't happy with him, as early as second year, when he learned that Granger had gotten better scores than him. So it wasn't the first time he'd felt it. It was, however, the first time that he wouldn't let himself succumb to it. It was the first time that he allowed no screaming, that he locked the pain inside of him.

"Scream," she ordered, "or I won't stop." Draco's brain begged him to just scream. He wanted to scream. He could hear his mother, distantly, order her sister to stop it, but despite the pain this was causing her, he wouldn't allow himself to give his aunt what she wanted. Instead, he started laughing hysterically, as the pain had gotten to the point where it was almost funny. He leaned against the wall, hunched over, his face twisted into an unrecognizable mask, but he was laughing as though he'd never stop, even though so much as opening his mouth caused more pain to bubble up inside of his stomach and creep out his throat.

"You're bloody crazy," he choked out between his psychotic laughter. The pain in his voice almost knocked his mother to the floor. She begged him to stop, or at least he think she did, for he couldn't really hear the words. He was slipping away, the pain driving him into unconsciousness, or maybe even insanity. Just as he felt himself falling into a sweet bed of beautiful nothingness, the edges of his vision turning black, his sweet auntie decided that he'd had enough. She stopped. Draco's laughing stopped as his stomach squeezed and bile rose in his throat. His brain was fuzzy, he couldn't see straight, and he was sick. So he shook his head, blinked a few times, and swallowed the bile.

"May we eat now?" he asked, perfectly composedly, although inside, he wasn't composed at all. The pain had messed with his head, and his thoughts were flying around like hundreds of golden snitches, and he wasn't able to grab on to any of them.

"Impressive, Boy. No wonder our Dark Lord is so impressed with you. You've got potential."

"I'm honored that you think so," he said, somewhat sarcastically. Okay, his voice was practically oozing with sarcasm. His aunt, who wasn't revered for her stupidity, noticed.

"Of course you are," she said in a very similar tone. Narcissa Malfoy simply watched nervously, her eyes barely ever leaving her son's ghostly white face. That bugged Draco, but he knew she was just worried. Why wouldn't she be? Her psychopathic sister decided to drop in for a cup of tea, and her only son was soon to be knocking on death's door unless he could think up a brilliant plan to kill one of the greatest wizards of all time, and relatively quickly. It was almost worse for her than it was for Draco. Almost.

The happy family sat down to eat then, although Draco couldn't choke anything down. The curse had made him queasy, and he didn't feel anywhere near normal. He tried to force some chicken down his throat, but simply couldn't do it.

"Am I needed here, or may I return to the library?" he asked his mother cautiously.

"You may go. I just need to talk to your aunt."

"Now, Cissy, I think that Draco should be part of this conversation as well." Cissy. What a nickname. It disgusted Draco. Something like that creature should not get away with calling his mother something so disrespectful, especially when it made them sound like best buddies.

"Let him go," Narcissa pleaded, wanted her son away from her sister as soon as possible. In response, Bellatrix raised her wand. If she'd pointed it at Draco, he would've kept his mouth shut, but when its tip happened to end up in the direction of his mother's throat, well, he decided he sure as hell wasn't leaving her.

"I'm staying," Draco said quickly, not wanting his mother to get hurt. Besides, if he stayed, maybe Bellatrix would be less likely to harm him later on as well.

"Fine," his mother said.

"Don't worry," the dark witch assured her. "This is going to be very quick. I just wish to talk about a request of the Dark Lord. He believes that my young nephew should be….trained." Draco felt cold again. Narcissa looked at her sister in disbelief.

"I hate you," Draco spat.

"I hate you, too," Bellatrix said in the same tone that one would use to tell a family member that they loved them, not the opposite. Then, her pealing laughter ringing through the hall, she got up and left, stopping at the last second and yelling, "See you tomorrow, Draco," before leaving the Manor.

"Mother," Draco said, trying his hardest not to whine.

"Are you okay?" Narcissa asked, putting a hand on his arm.

"It's not like I'm not used to the curse," he told her dryly.

"Your father did it for your own good," she said, weakly defending the wizard who'd gotten them in this sticky position in the first place.

"I hate him, too." His mother leaned toward her son, trying to brush his messy blonde hair out of his face. Draco, not appreciating the gesture at all, shrugged out from under her hand.

"You have so much hate," she told him softly. "It isn't healthy." He simply snorted.

"My father's a Malfoy and my mother's a Black. What else would you expect?" Narcissa smiled sadly and let out a quiet sigh.

"It isn't the blood," she told her son wearily. "It has more to do with the way you've been raised." Draco shook his head.

"You're blaming yourself. What you need to do is point your finger at my stupid arsehole of a father, if anyone." She tried to fix his hair again, but he shook off her hand in protest.

"Maybe you're right, but it's my fault as well. I let him do that to you, I let him do everything. If we could've gotten out before this mess-"

"The Dark Lord would have tracked us down and killed us for running away," Draco finished for her, his tone indicating that there was no room for argument. She looked down.

"You're right, you're right. Sometimes, sometimes it's just hard to deal with the cards you've been given, and right now, I'm having that problem."

"Don't worry," Draco urged her. "I'll do what I'm supposed to, and everything will be fine. I'm sure of it."

Then she sighed again.

"You're right. It isn't over yet." Then Draco departed to his library to spend the night reading (he couldn't go to sleep, not with the nightmares), and his mother sat at that table staring into thin air until a butler urged her to get some rest.