The Girl Who Lived (Draco Malfoy x OC)

The Wrath and The Dawn

January 4th 1997

It was a funny thing returning to Hogwarts after the Christmas break, the school that Draco spent the majority of his time at in the past six years. Nothing had changed, it was still the same large, seven-story castle with huge oak doors. Looked the same. Felt the same. Even had that same smell. That was when he realized what had drastically changed was him.

He sat defeatedly on his bed, the faint sound of his friends laughing down the Slytherin corridors. He had no energy to pretend an inkling of that joy was in him right now. The Christmas break had been nothing short of Salazar's hell for him. If only he could go back to a few weeks ago when he was desperate to see his parents, be in the loop and be trusted. How naive and foolish that mentality was.

Now that he was on the opposite side of his desires, he realised the reality of what he was asking for.

The Dark Lord was not what Draco expected. As a result of undergoing dangerous magical transformations, he looked far from human. What should have been human flesh looked waxy and reptilian, skin absolutely devoid of colour and the sclera of his eyes took on a perpetually blood-shot appearance. He'd struggled to look into them when his father introduced him. Instead he focused on the abnormally long, sharp, pale blue fingernails, telling himself not to make a big deal out of the Lords absent hair and lips.

That hadn't even been the worst part. Nothing could have prepared Draco for the way his voice hissed; as if he had permanently taken on the vocals of a snake. So high and shrill, Draco clenched his jaw to keep from wincing at the sound. He was thankful at that moment for his aunts Occlumency training, hoping he successfully kept the Dark Lord from hearing any of those thoughts circulating his mind. The last thing he needed was for him to hear Draco think he looked horrific. That wouldn't help his father's situation at all.

And Merlin, his father was in dire need of aid.

It was worse than what Draco imagined. His failure at the Ministry left the Dark Lord to torture the wits from him. Now, he was a shell of a man. It hurt to watch the man he looked up to shrink in the presence of the Lord. It hurt even more to watch him cower as the Lord threatened him. And it hurt the most to see his mother struggle to keep face amongst it all. His family was in wuthering pieces like rained on paper lanterns, strung up tight by the Dark Lord.

Laughter filtered down the hall again and he felt a relentless itch strike his inner left forearm. He scratched at it, tugging the sleeve up for some relief from the fabric. He swallowed hard as his eyes took in what was branded there. A new jet black brand with a stark contrast to his ivory skin.

The Dark Mark.

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January 5th 1997

The air in the Great Hall was electrifying with the excitement of students returning from Christmas break. Though it sizzled with laughter and squeals, Draco was ultimately unaffected. He took in a deep breath, placidly looking over his untouched breakfast. His appetite was nonexistent, the weight of his parents affliction stripping him of feeling anything more than hollow. Then there was an even worse shadow gripping him by the bones. The task the Dark Lord bestowed upon him. He looked one more time at the cold eggs, a surge of nausea pushing at him.

"Are you going to eat that, mate?" Crabbe asked.

He merely shook his head.

The chatter of everyone at the table around him blurred, everyone a meaningless faceless fog of colour. It was replaced by a high pitched whistle in his right ear. He closed his eyes, inwardly meditating the sound away. Then it came, that aggravating piece of shit itch on his inner left forearm. His mother had told him it was all in his head, the mark shouldn't be itching, but it constantly irked at him and he constantly felt compelled to scratch his nails into the ink.