Secrets, Lies, and Decontamination

...I have a few missions I want to accomplish in my life. However, none of them are as pure as the one my father and our Lord have assigned me. After receiving my initiation to the Society during my winter holiday, I received my mark and returned to Hogwarts. After my return, I received a letter, one that contained very sensitive information and detailed instructions for my first mission. I hate to admit my participation in it now, but I did my duties and made sure they were fulfilled.

However, I believe that the truth is most important, and so, Mr. Dumbledore, I leave you with this Pensieve containing every memory of the incident, and my filed of logs that I kept during the duration of the operation. Please, sir, be frugal in who you share this with. The utmost security is necessary for my survival.

Yours,

Draco Malfoy

***

I looked over the letter, and made sure that everything that needed to be said was. I knew then that in no was the wizarding world ready for my confession; the confession of a thousand sins multiplied over. Not a single person on this earth besides Albus Dumbledore could have understood my dilemma at the time; could have understood why, exactly, I went into hiding halfway through the war that changed too many lives to count and then some. And so it is said that now is the right time to tell my tale, the right time to explain just how the Society works. And so I shall.

***

Five years ago, I was sixteen, carefree, and what could almost be considered joyous. However, the Malfoys are not joyous. Gleeful in sin, yes; proud in our unlawful triumphs, yes. But never joyous. There is never anything to celebrate that affects any of us so profoundly as to be completely and utterly happy; there is never nothing wrong. As my father once said, "If everything seems to be going according to plan, you're obviously blind."

During the winter holidays of my sixth year at Hogwarts, I received a wonderful present from my father and his companions. It may seem odd that I got a gift from my father and other men, yet do not think like that. Its just that they were all involved in the gift process as well. What exactly did they present to me, you ask? The utmost honour in my family, the one thing I had been hoping to obtain for years on end.

The ceremony was large, the company held in high regard by much of the wizarding world. It was held at my father's manor, a large estate known simply as Cronbrae. The place is more of a mausoleum without the bodies than a house; it is so large, the noise is overwhelmed by the sheer size even during the largest and rowdiest of parties. My mother had fitted me out in brand new robes of our family colours, black and a dark forest green. While everyone else was sitting around during the cocktail hour, I awaited the hour of seven, when I would make my grand entrance, announced at the top of the large stair case that led into the ballroom in the West Wing, on the first floor. At seven o'clock, I walked in, heard my name announced, and looked down the marble stairs to the people of the Society. I recognized a face from school here and there; Pansy Parkinson, Goyle, Crabbe. They were mixed into the Society crowd with everyone else, standing with their parents and holding tiny plates with hors d'oeuvres and other tiny bits of food stuck on toothpicks. I saw my parents awaiting me at the bottom of the steps and descended carefully, slowly... taking it all in.

After the dinner hour, our guest was to arrive and the Society men would join my father, the Lord and I in the library, for my initiation to the Society. Halfway through the entrée, my father joined me by my side unexpectedly, and I knew something was wrong. The Lord had arrived earlier than planned; he had other issues to attend to, but making sure his most loved serf's son was indicted to his service was something he would not overlook. So up to the library I went, preparing myself for the event. This was it.

In the library, the Lord closed the door softly, and withdrew his wand, holding it between to cold, white, long fingers. The man was tall, even though his years were numbered and already threatened more than once by his nemesis. His cloak was long, to the floor; sweeping and swirling about his long legs, and the blackest thing I'd ever seen--it literally seemed to suck the colour out of his surroundings. The hood was up, concealing his age-old face. I had never seen the Lord's face, only heard about it from the Society members. My father looked to me, and nodded, my cue to begin a short, prepared dialogue to the Lord.

"My Lord, I am ready to take you as my only Master. I will obey you at any cost, will assist you in every way possible. You are my Lord and my Master," I stated clearly and slowly.

The ancient man pulled his left hand--his non-wand hand-- from his cloak pocket, and lifted his hood, dropping behind his head. It was at that moment that I had my first good look at the Lord. His complexion was sickeningly pale, probably more so than an albino, and his hair was just as colorless. The Lord's face had an interwoven web of scars across it, stretching from one ear to the other, long red marks that were slightly shiny. His lips were thin and his cheekbones high, his eyebrows nonexistent and his eyes... His eyes were another story altogether. They had crimson irises and black pupils that were no larger than a pinpoint, even in the darkness where they should be dilated. The crimson colour burned bright, and pierced me like a thousand knives.

"You believe so, young Draco Malfoy?" The Lord replied, his voice high-pitched and slightly horrific in tone. He sounded as though he didn't believe me, as though he thought I was bluffing. And as I was about to snap and throw back a sharp retort, my father elbowed me in the side, jolting me back to reality and reminding me just what I was about to receive if everything went well.

"Yes I do, Lord," I told him shortly, without so much as an annoyed tone in my voice. The man's thin lips stretched into a wide smirk, his eyes glinted, and I felt a sharp pang in the very depth of my soul. The man raised his wand and his other hand, and stood for emphasis, looking quite like a figurine of Merlin.

"Come here, young Malfoy," he ordered, beckoning me forward with his wand. I adhered to his command, and stepped forward, one foot in front of the other until I was standing two feet from the man, him towering over me. The Lord took my left arm and held it out, making sure there that the sleeve of my robe was pushed back beyond my elbow. His fingers were bony and cold as ice, and he held my arm so tight, chills were shivering down my spine. He lowered his wand arm, and my eyes were fixated on his wand...

It connected with my skin, and I felt the scorching, fiery feel of a candle burning my left under forearm, right below my elbow, in the sensitive area. It's an area right over a major vein, and it almost felt as though the heat was spreading through my body by way of that vein.

The cruel voice resounded in my mind, slowly saying, "Morsmordre..." As I looked down upon my appendage, I saw black, inky ribbons sliding through my skin, eliciting a painful response-- it felt like millions of needles were stabbing me in that single spot, tingling and throbbing madly. The black moved around, settled in my skin, to form a mark feared by most people- the Dark Mark. The mark of the Society. It was a skull, with snakes entwined around it and snarling through the mouth, and as I looked at it, and noted that the Lord's wand had left my arm, I could almost sense that they were snapping at me, their jaws ready to clench around my neck. A most frightening thought, indeed.