If I Lose Myself

Chapter Two: Draco

Chapter Two: Draco

July 1996

The weather was dreary despite July's supposed summer heat. Draco already knew why that was so as he walked the halls in Malfoy Manor leading up to the drawing room. As soon as he entered the space, he tried to remain placid as his eyes flitted across the people standing there.

Narcissa, his mother, stood to the side dressed in black robes; looking disheveled as though she had just been crying. Next to her stood his aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, looking very exuberant as she stared at Draco hungrily. The next person he turned to did not ease his quelling discomfort.

Standing in the middle of the drawing room—just before the great fireplace adorned with the portrait of his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy—was the Dark Lord himself. He looked as menacing as ever, despite the pleasant look the pale man was sporting towards Draco. His red, snake-silted eyes bore into Draco's cold, gray ones expectantly.

"My lord," Draco's voice wavered as he bowed stiffly. "I've been told you've called. What do I owe the pleasure?"

"I am sure," Voldemort's raspy voice started as he began to pace away from the fireplace towards one of the ornamental vases placed upon the room. "You are aware of why I am here, young Draco. You are, I believe, aware, of your father's little... mishap at the Department of Mysteries."

"Yes, my lord," He said in a small voice, remembering briefly how his father sat behind bars during his visit in Azkaban. His eyes wavered towards his mother briefly but looked away just as the Dark Lord spoke again.

"He has failed to acquire what I need. The prophecy, if you will." Voldemort said with a nod, glaring at Bellatrix and Narcissa for a moment before returning his gaze towards Draco. "I fear your father will no longer be of quite proper use. A simpleton pawn. A waste."

Draco cringed, but he did not dare to meet the dark wizard's eye.

It might have been a trick of the light or a mere scrape of the wooden table, but he was certain that he heard his mother whimper from where she stood. However, Draco did not brave himself to check if it was really her.

"However, I am a man of second chances; despite what other people might think." Voldemort went on, finally stopping in front of him. His pale, cold fingers touched his jaw and forced him to look up. The slits of the Dark Lord's blood-red eyes narrowed. "I am prepared to offer you a deal you cannot refuse. A deal that will not only save your father from my wrath, but also your mother."

He swallowed what felt like rough sand as he nodded. "Anything, my lord."

Voldemort's smile looked more like a sneer as he pulled his fingers away and continued walking. "I am in need of your great service, Draco. But before I can do that, I must mark you. For you see, I will need your word before I can offer you such kindness."

"Mark me, my lord?" Draco asked, completely taken aback. A part of him felt as though something had awakened, perhaps a certain pride slowly mending itself once more. That pride, to which had been tarnished the moment his father was sent to Azkaban, built itself up now.

This is what his father would need. Finally, after years of trying to impress the man that never seemed to care for Draco's accomplishments, he's able to prove once and for all that he wasn't a complete waste of time after all. He never thought, however, that proving that would mean joining a legion of Death Eaters.