Broken Skulls

Chapter II: A Very Bad Day

With an invitation to Goyles in hand, Draco took his things in hand and Flooed to the Goyle estate, where he stayed for two seconds, much less time than expected, where he immediately Flooed on to Pansys.

She was waiting there for him, since he had told her of his plan to get out of his fathers presence. She sympathized for him to the most sickening extents. Her father was a Death Eater, although not commonly recognized as such. He seemed harmless, quivering, defenseless, but under the masquerade rested an evil, masochistic soul deprived of happiness since the day his wife had died at his hands. The reports had said she had simply disappeared but he knew better.

"Draco," he said simply, avoiding his gaze as though Draco could harm such a monster.

"Mr. Parkinson," Draco replied flatly.

Pansy led him to her room where he would be sleeping, or maybe not. He dropped his bags and kicked the door shut behind him. He still was tensed from the torture and needed something to take his mind off of his problems.

She place her hand to the back of his neck before suddenly pulling him down. Shocked for a only a moment, he relished in the warmth of her mouth opening up to him. He complied and felt the worry slip away. Nothing like a little of this to take your mind off of things, he thought, drinking in the sweet tastes and flavors. She always tasted different. Today was a sweet honey and milk mixture.

Hours passed in pleasure. She really was amazing, but he would never dare to date her. She still was a complete snob when you weren't kissing her or banging her. Anytime else and you felt the need to slap her in the face.

So Draco passed the days, sleeping and kissing and screwing, all without the pain of Cruciatus. Life was good...

*    *    *

Days passed, and it was soon Draco's fifteenth birthday. It was June 30th, right smack dab in the middle of the year.

The two dunces, Crabbe and Goyle, showed up along with Blaise Zabini, a fellow fifth-year Slytherin. Theodore Nott was there as well, son of a bit-Death Eater-that he was. There were other pathetic excuses for friends, all looking up to him, he that was already said to be the next Dark Lord, Voldemorts right hand prodigy. It was in their well-being to suck up to him now, ahead of time.

The dull ceremonies proceeded, worthless present after present, things he could get any day with the unending wealth that was the Malfoy fortune. Just a formality, he thought. It was just their duty to do this.

Nearing the end of the formal party, there was a series of POP's heard downstairs and their was a murmur around the room as a group of about a dozen hooded wizards entered from the entrance hall. The foremost of the dark robed men lifted their hoods to reveal Lucius Malfoy. A red fire could be seen beneath the placid, cool composure that all Malfoys possessed. He was in the mood again, and Draco knew he would be punished.

"Come," he said.

They marched Draco to the entrance hall, the only Apparition point in the house, and his father grasped his arm.

A rushing noise filled his ears and he felt a pulling sensation coming from where Luicus had grabbed him. Forced Apparition, he thought. Never a pleasant thing. It was a very painful experience. Normally, it wasn't exactly legal to do Forced Apparition, but Lucius Malfoy was never one to follow the rules, specifically the ones that protect people from harm.

They landed in a graveyard, dusk just starting to fall on the town of Little Hangleton. Draco had been here a few times before, but he could never remember too much of what had happened.

Standing no more than a dozen yards away was a circle of people, all cloaked similarly to Dracos father. Death Eaters.

"Welcome, Draco," a cold, shrill voice called out. The circle parted to reveal a tall wizard, their leader. Even under the hood, Draco could see the Dark Lords red, slit eyes.

A push from behind and Draco fell to his knees, craning his head to look up to the tall wizard who was approaching him.

"Master, I am yours," Draco said. That was the only way to avoid more pain, to give yourself up.

"Do you know why you are here today?" the sinister voice asked.

"No, m'lord, I do not."

"Today you will prove that you belong with me. You are not aware of it, but this has been long planned, long before you were born. You were made for me. You were designed for this purpose. It is your fate, and you will follow your path. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. You are charged with the task to dispose of this trash." With a wave of his hand, a man stepped forward, hidden under cloak but obviously struggling against the bindings which held him.

"What must I do?"

"Oh, we have a spell that we need testing, might as well try that one." Voldemort showed Draco what to do and stepped back.

"Patesco Ile!" Draco shouted pointing his wand at the victim. The man kneeled down, screaming in pain and anguish. Draco was startled, but he held onto his wand, focusing all his energy into the spell. The yelling and shouting was unbearable, and Draco wished it would stop.

As if his wish had come true, the screaming stopped abruptly. The head of the man, still hooded craned upwards and the hood fell down. Karkaroff. The Durmstrang headmasters mouth was open in fury and pain, but no sound came out. His arm reached into his robes and grasped his wand. Draco waited to be cursed or hexed, but was surprised when Karkaroff took the wand and slid the tip across his stomach.

A knife would not have made a cleaner cut. Blood oozed out of the invisible cut that Karkaroff had created and the wound opened more. Red stained his robes and the ground was now tainted red. Now, accompanied with the blood that flowed freely, organs started popping out of the growing slice. A stomach, intestinal tract, other unnamed blobs. They each were much dirtier than the pictures showed in the anatomy books. More...red? Deformed?

The body that once lived flopped to the ground on its stomach. The stench of blood and pain oozed from the body. Voldemort walked casually up to the shell that was a man and reached into the cut. Draco winced as Voldemorts hand searched through the remnants that were left and almost retched when the hand was raised triumphantly, grasping what could be none other than Igor Karkaroff's heart.

"Now you see what happens to traitors and spies! Do not betray me!" His eyes were ablaze with fury, looking from each hooded figure to the next. He softened his gaze and turned to Draco. "Thank you, young Malfoy. Excellent concentration. I see that you have turned out just like I wanted. Cold, brutal, all of the above. Keep up the good work, Lucius," he said, never taking his eyes off of the blonde boy who now kneeled in front of him.

The silver gray eyes looked up to the reptilian face of the Dark Lord, narrowing slightly.

"Thank you, m'lord."