Chapter Text
June, 1996
Draco Malfoy was sure he’d never felt as much hate and disgust directed at one person until he laid eyes on Lord Voldemort. The man, if you could even call him that, was surrounded by a putrid smell of decay that had Draco constantly biting back a gag. The Dark Lord’s appearance however, was even worse than his signature scent of death, his skin had a grey pallor and the texture similar to that of his beloved pet snake when it was shedding. His nose was flat against his face that formed into slits, even further progressing the theory that he was more demon than human.
But despite all of Voldemort’s inhuman features, it was his eyes that unsettled Draco the most. Over his eighteen years of life, Draco had constantly heard the saying ‘The eyes are the window to the soul'. A stupid saying if you asked him, but as he peered into the Dark Lord’s, he could tell that the window was empty, devoid of any soul to be held. The only thing Voldemort’s eyes contained were rage. Rage at mudbloods, rage at Harry Potter, and most importantly: rage at the Malfoy family. As Draco stared into the soulless pits called eyes, he found it was no surprise the man before him had attempted to kill a defenseless baby over a decade ago.
This was not the same handsome and charismatic man that Draco’s father had boasted about previously serving, but a beast wanting to rip the Malfoys apart. Not that the man's previous looks mattered to Draco though, he would’ve hated the Dark Lord no matter his horrid appearance. Looks and false promises did nothing to sway Draco’s already formed opinion of the snake, he wasn’t a fool like his father.
One look at the Dark Lord sitting upon a throne perched upon a small dais in Draco’s own house was enough to show Draco what he already knew: this man didn’t care for anyone but himself, and he’d kill and maim anyone if it got him what he wanted. He’d seen the behavior from Lucius his entire life. Merlin, Draco himself had implemented the superior attitude upon his own Hogwarts classmates! Unfortunately for Draco though, it didn’t matter what he thought of Lord Voldemort.
The snivelling mess, commonly known as Lucius Malfoy, had promised his only son's service to the Dark Lord as a bargain for his life after he had been thrown into Azkaban. Though Draco would’ve been an idiot to not expect this sooner than later, he’d just hoped he’d have until his Hogwarts graduation before he’d be inundated into the Death Eater ranks. That had been the only thought that had kept him steady fifth year, the knowledge that if Voldemort had been as bad as Potter claimed (trusting the git was a nearly impossible feat but Draco had never trusted his father fully either), Draco would have time to come up with a plan of escape.
But Lucius had gone and fucked that up for his son too, so now Draco was cornered in his own home. The doors and wards of Malfoy Manor locked down, figurative ropes tying his hands of any chance of fleeing. The perpetual resentment and disappointment Draco had constantly felt for his father had multiplied by ten fold in that moment. Not only had Lucius sold his child's life away, but he had attempted to harm other children. Children Draco had gone to school with since he was eleven. Children who had nearly died at his own father’s hand.
When Draco had returned home at the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts, he had immediately been introduced to his Aunt Bella, who could only be described as the Dark Lord’s maniacal lapdog, as well as other high ranking Death Eaters that had been broken out of Azkaban. Along with his son’s service, Lucius had also given the Manor to the Dark Lord to use as a headquarters. An honor, his father had said in a letter sent home to him and Narcissa.
Draco had sat with his mother in her room while she relayed everything that happened over the past couple of weeks and how Voldemort had been ruling as the supposed Lord of the Manor now. It had been a herculean effort to stay in his seat and not go hexing Death Eaters left, right, and center upon hearing how his mother had been treated in her own home, terrified of being beaten or sexually assaulted. For a minute Draco really considered if his father dying would’ve been better than the situation they now faced. If Lucius had died then at least he and his mother could’ve made a run for it, shacking up in some safe house in Italy or France until this all blew over.
And as Draco held his mother in his arms as she delivered the news that he would have to bear the punishment of his father’s crimes in the form of taking the Dark Mark, forever chaining him to a master who was more an enemy than a savior. Narcissa sobbed into his shirt and Draco clung onto her robes, his fingers cold and stiff as he tried to process the events that would happen soon thereafter. However, it hadn’t been until this moment, stripped to nothing but his trousers and standing in front of the Dark Lord, that Draco Lucius Malfoy knew he was absolutely, without a doubt, irrevocably fucked.
He didn’t support his father’s sentiments about blood purity and Lord Voldemort's rule. How could he when their supposed prophet was a power hungry succubus(metaphorical of course, it would be an insult to succubus otherwise)? Even further, when Draco truly looked at the ‘ruling class’ of Purebloods, he hated most of them. They were so self absorbed and stuck up their own arses that they couldn’t tell you any events happening outside of their gossip circles. Plus, any twits that produced Crabbe and Goyle didn’t need to be boasting about ‘proper breeding’, at least not when witches like Hermione Queen-Of-The-Swots Granger existed.
Draco had tried to believe, oh how he had tried. For the better part of his life he wanted to be just like his father. Believing he was special because of his birthright had become second nature; something that was as factual as the grass being green. He’d had the same stick launched up his arse just the same as every other Pureblood: everyone was beneath him, especially filthy muggles and the mudbloods they produced.
Then he met Hermione Granger on the Hogwarts Express. He would have never guessed she was a muggle-born when they met. She was undeniably intelligent, and as hard as he had tried, she had bested him in almost every class. She had manners and never acted in any way Draco could deem as ‘filthy’. In fact, when he looked at other Muggleborns or even Halfbloods, such as Blaise Zabini and Tracy Davis, they never acted disgusting or barbaric as his father had told him either. And to take it a step further, Draco knew many Purebloods that were dumber than garden gnomes(as stated earlier). IE: Crabbe and Goyle(also as stated earlier).
But now it was apparent that Draco was no better than any Mudblood, Halfblood, or idiot Pureblood as he was being sworn in as another mindless follower for the noseless git who made sworn enemies with a child. He’d tried to refuse when he had initially been told, but Aunt Bella had severely punished him and openly threatened his mother. Since her husband didn’t give a flying fuck for his wife or son, it was up to Draco to protect Narcissa Malfoy and himself.
They had suffered multiple punishments from his father together throughout the years and he wouldn’t let yet another man harm her. Draco might hate his father for many, many mis grievances, but laying a hand on his mother was his number one for his hatred towards the man.
“Draco Malfoy bring yourself to me and bow before your lord to receive my mark” Voldemort drawled in a lazy tone, one that portrayed how little he cared for the events taking place. Draco stepped forward, shivering with suppressed rage while sweat slicked his recently scarred torso. He slowly went down on one knee and presented his left forearm just like his aunt had told him to do, at least Bella had made herself somewhat useful in directing Draco beforehand. Lord Voldemort grabbed his arm and slowly started to run his long, ungroomed fingernails across the presented limb.
“Such pretty skin, just like your fathers” Voldemort said, almost like he was in a reverie of some type, “It is a privilege to serve me, boy. Despite Lucius’ repeated failures I have decided to give you the chance to return your family's name to the honour it used to hold. I am giving you the chance to atone for your mistakes, starting with allowing you to bore my mark” he stated as he slowly clawed into the younger wizard's arm, a warning.
Voldemort alerted two of his henchmen to come forward and two sets of hands found a strong hold on Draco’s upper body, rooting him in place as Voldemort brought his wand up. “Let’s get started shall we!” his face filled with glee at causing the pain that followed after receiving the Dark Mark. The Dark Lord muttered a cutting hex and a fairly large slice formed in Dracos upper forearm, the blood slowly trickling down to his wrist. “Evig Slaveri”, the Dark Lord whispered in a harsh tone while slashing his wand in the air.
Draco waited for the pain as the Dark Mark started to form on his arm, born out of his own blood. His eyes slammed shut, not being able to stare at the magical tattoo for fear he’d end up accidentally screaming or crying. Showing any signs of weakness in front of the Dark Lord was bound to make things significantly worse.
Only the pain never came. Confused, Draco peeled his eyes open to look at the newly branded skin, but his arm sat untouched, the only pain radiating from the initial cut made a minute ago.
Chancing a crucio, Draco looked up from his forearm to see what had happened. He could’ve sworn that was the proper spell for the Dark Mark. Lord Vodlemort was looking at Draco as if he was trying to kill him with a wordless avada, any thoughts of torture skipping straight to murder. What in the bloody seven hells was going on?
“Little Malfoy, what kind of mockery do you think it is to block my mark? What spell do you have that is rejecting my graciousness to allow you servitude?” the enraged man spoke in another barely suppressed hiss. Draco looked to his weeping mother in the corner. He had been avoiding her tear filled eyes since entering the room, knowing he couldn’t hold it together while looking at her.
Not knowing what Voldemort was speaking of, Draco wished he would have had the foresight to write his mother a final goodbye letter. Surely the Dark Lord would kill him now. Nobody had ever heard of a Dark Mark rejecting and he didn’t even have answers himself.
“I don’t know of any spell you speak of my lord” Draco said, his eyes sweeping down. Any feelings of fury had gone to nervousness and were finally landing on terror. He could only pray his mother would find a way to flee without Draco protecting her, maybe Severus would help her once he was gone.
Lord Voldemort looked Draco up and down before pushing his wand into the cut, still openly bleeding on his arm. Yelping in surprise, Draco tried to pull his arm away from the deranged wizard, but Voldemort’s henchmen only grabbed him harder.
The Dark Lord closed his eyes in focus, his wand digging even further under Draco’s skin, the invasion making his blood feel dirtier than any Muggleborns could be claimed to be. “I see, you’re already bonded in servitude to another” Voldemort said, almost clinically.
Bonded? In servitude? To another? Draco would certainly remember taking another Dark Mark from some other megalomaniac.
“I-I don’t know what you speak of my lord. I have not promised my-myself or s-servitude to anyone but you”, Draco stammered trying to save face and praying to every deity he knew that they would allow him and his mother to make it through this nightmare. Voldemort finally drew his wand out from the wound, his hand now squeezing the flesh instead, causing more blood to gush from the cut.
The Dark Lord looked at Draco as if he was a puzzle yet to be solved when his face began to form a look similar to a grimace. It was as if being in contact with his blood was causing him pain. Voldemort leaned forward, so close to Draco's face he could feel Voldemort's hot, rancid breath on his cheek, “No worries Little Malfoy, we will find out who the bond is with in due time. Unless you would like to send mummy there in the corner to an early grave, I have a mission for you.”
Drawing in a deep breath, Draco pushed his shoulders back, “Of course, my lord, what is my mission?” His voice came out surprisingly clear, and Draco took that as a sign that throwing himself behind half formed occlumency walls in a last ditch attempt to hide any emotions was a success.
Voldemort then stood to his full height while Draco was still held down on a bent knee when the Dark Lord announced to the inner circle in a booming voice, “I have made a last minute change of mind on Little Malfoy, here. He shall assassinate Dumbledore upon returning to Hogwarts for his sixth year. Having an inside spy, it shall not do to have him bear a Dark Mark that could give him away to the bumbling headmaster. It will also make him earn the mark just as you all have” there were small cheers around the room. It seemed even psychopaths didn’t like people getting things ‘unearned’.
Voldemort motioned his hand down and the crowd silenced. Draco swore his heartbeat could be heard by everyone. “If Little Malfoy here is successful he will be honoured into our ranks. Think of this as a test. Carrows, Yaxley, and Greyback here will help you with this plan, Little Malfoy. Don’t disappoint me”, and with that Draco felt the door to his metaphorical cell swing shut. He was a dead man living on borrowed time now.