A Type of Revenge

 

A Type of Revenge

 

Chapter Two: Discovery

 

“Very well then,” said Jeraiboam Hahkansda, “We are gathered here today for the reading of the Last Will and Testament of Salem Elizabeth Wiley.”

 

They were all silent for a minute honouring Salem’s memory, in accordance with the ancient wizarding tradition of being silent for one minute to honour the dead. This meant that for some mass killings, you could have over half an hour of silence. In the first war against Voldemort, there had been some silences of well over two hours at one time.

 

“This is my Last Will and Testament. I was of sound mind and health when this was

written, as is evidenced by the Certificates of Sanity and Health attached. This Will was not done under duress, but of my own free choice. The Executor of this Will is Jeraiboam Hahkansda. It has been witnessed by Albus Dumbledore and Poppy Pomfrey.

 

Firstly, to Master Dharinel Lithsaydrian Compeltioson of the Seleighe Sidhe, I leave my original compositions. There is a copy of all of the finished works in my vault at Gringotts. Any incomplete works can be summoned by holding out your hand and saying: ‘Sumaterum compositatum’ three times. The music is yours to do with as you wish, although naturally I would appreciate it if you didn’t burn or otherwise destroy them. You will understand the meanings in the music, and I trust you to reveal them at the right time.

 

Secondly, to Bill Weasley, I leave the Patternus Talisman. I made this for you, so you can have greater ability and more protection in your curse-breaking job for Gringotts. I never told you that I would do this, but it was something that I promised myself when I learnt what job you would do when you left Hogwarts. It has taken me a long time to do this, which is why you haven’t received it before. The activating charm for some reason that I never quite worked out, is: ‘Impatiens’. The Talisman is in my vault at Gringotts. You can collect it once this will reading is over.

 

Thirdly, to Draco Malfoy, I leave my flute. I know that you cannot play this, but it holds good memories for you. Perhaps one day you will be able to play it....”

 

Jeraiboam broke off abruptly, aware that Dharinel and Bill were staring in amazement at Draco, who looked shocked. Bill whistled.

 

“She left you her flute?”

 

“What were you to her?”

 

“Humph. If I may continue with the reading please?”

They settled back down into their chairs.

 

“...Perhaps one day you will be able to play it, and then I would have you play ‘A Cheerful Melody’ over my grave. Master Dharinel will give you the music when it is time. You can summon it by using the charm: ‘Cumana ahi’. That charm is a method of instantaneous translation from one place to another, and is similar to apparition. It will always work on the flute, as long as it belongs to you. If you wish to sell it, and the new owner also wishes a similar charm to be put on it, they will have to do that themselves. It is not sold until you say: ‘This flute no longer belongs to me, finitus.’

 

Those are the important things that I have to leave to you. By this time, all of the smaller bequests will have been dealt with, so the following is how I am dividing up the remainder of my property.

 

All of the money that I have left is to be divided up equally between Bill Weasley, and Draco Malfoy. I have left Master Dharinel out of this equation because he has no need of such money. The money is to go into accounts that are separate from the rest of your families. One of you may keep my vault if you wish. I certainly have no need for it any more, and it belongs purely to me, not the Wiley family. You can sort out the cost of the funeral and grave and headstone between yourselves. I would like to be buried where the sun will shine, and the stars sing.

 

Last of all, but certainly not least, I have left a letter for each of you in the care of Jeraiboam Hahkansda. This is to be given to you immediately after the will reading, for you to read at your leisure.

 

Know that I love you very much, and did not wish to leave you.

 

Yours always,

 

Salem.”

 

The tall Sidhe held out his and said “Sumaterum compositatum,” three times in a row. A pile of neatly stacked scrolls and parchment landed in his outstretched hands. He started flipping through them immediately. His face was neutral and expressionless. “Is that all?”

 

“Mage Dharinel sir,” said the lawyer hastily, “The complete works are in Vault 1026 at Gringotts. We will need to go there after we are finished here, so you can collect what has been left to her, and arrange the transfer of vault between you.”

 

“Thank you,” said Dharinel, although what he was thanking Hahkansda for was uncertain.

 

Draco wasn’t going to summon the flute for a while yet. He would do that on the train home, in the private Malfoy carriage, where no one could see him.

 

Bill leaned over towards him. “Do you want her vault, or should I take it?”

 

“You can have it,” said Draco sounding bored, “I have no need for it, and you could do with having such expenses paid for you already.”

 

Bill scowled, but he couldn’t deny the truth in Draco’s words. “Very well,” he said. “Thank you.”

 

Draco turned to the lawyer. “Could you please tell me,” he said in his most mercenary tone, “How much money has Salem left me?”

 

Jeraiboam made a small tick on his list. In order to prevent him from having any unpleasant surprises while doing the will reading, and sorting out everything, Salem had written down a list of predictions of how the meeting would go. The next one on the list was Bill telling Draco not to be so mercenary.

 

“You are a mercenary bastard.” Bill told him. “She left you her flute, and you want to know how much money she left you. No amount of money is worth that flute.”

 

“I know,” agreed Draco, “But I still want to know how much she left me.”

 

“There is approximately 5, 342, 691 Galleons for each of you.”

 

Bill’s mouth fell open. “Where,” he asked slowly, sounding decidedly dazed, “Did she get that amount of money from.”

 

Draco smiled coldly, he knew the answer to this.

 

The lawyer hastily explained, “The Bard was left a considerable sum at the death of her parents, and her great-aunt Mere. Once she came into her majority, she invested it wisely until it reached the amount you see today. There was also money from the private Wiley holdings, which reverted to the family upon her death.”

 

“Was that part of the smaller bequests?” asked Draco intently.

 

“No. A certain amount of money is given to a Wiley upon their birth for them to use throughout their lifetimes. Upon their death, it reverts back to the family trust.”

 

“I see.” Draco frowned.

 

“You mentioned letters,” said Dharinel. “I would like to be given mine, and go to Gringotts, so I can return to Sanctuary before the sun rises again.”

 

“Certainly sir.” He made another small tick on his list, and brought out three letters, sealed with Salem’s wax seal, and made of heavy parchment. “Here you are.”

 

The letters had their names on the front, written in Salem’s neat and careful handwriting. It was actually her handwriting, although the messages inside them would have been dictated.

* * * * *

Bill Weasley walked out of Gringotts in a state of mild shock. Being told that you had been left a fortune was a lot easier to handle than actually seeing that fortune in gold, silver and bronze. He would invest some of course, perhaps paying Percy to handle that. He would be able to support Fred and George in their joke shop business, and request that they get a business manager to handle that side of the affair, while they concentrated on inventing. He would be able to fix the roof of the Burrow, and donate some of it to his parents to do with what they wished, and the same for the rest of the family as a present. It would take some of the weight of his responsibilities as the oldest Weasley son off his shoulders - financially anyway.

 

And there was the Patternus Talisman. He wondered who Salem had got to make the actual Talisman. It was a pendant on a long silver chain, and the silversmith’s work was unfamiliar to him, so it was probably a new designer.

 

Dharinel had left as soon as he had the Salem’s compositions. The iron in this area made him very uncomfortable, and he didn’t trust the humans not to reveal any of his skin to the sun. He absently wondered how Lady Taranquil Grey coped with a human husband. Dharinel didn’t like humans. They were silly, short-lived creatures that had an almost unerring instinct for trouble. They were petty and cruel, and feared anyone who was not the same as them. This was why the wizarding community was secret from the rest of the muggle world, and why Faerie had withdrawn from the human world. The Seleighe and the Unseleighe might be more powerful than the humans, but there were more humans than Faerie creatures, and they bred at a greater rate than the Sidhe, who were well known throughout Faerie as being the least fertile of all. He would go to the Forbidden Forest, as the nearest place where he could access a Portal to Faerie, and from there he would go to Sanctuary, and study all that Salem had left to him.

 

Draco left Gringotts at the same time as Bill. They had sorted out all of the details regarding the transfer of the money, and he had withdrawn some from his other vault, which would be reported to his father. He requested that the goblins keep his new vault secret from his father. Weasley was useful in this. He worked for Gringotts, and was thus able to soothe the path of transfers and other complicated details pertaining to Salem’s instructions.

 

“Well,” said Bill to him as they left. “It’s now 1:30 pm, and I don’t know about you, but after sorting out all that mess, I’m quite hungry. Do you want to go and have lunch?”

 

“With you, Weasley?”

 

“Yeah. I thought that we might be able to talk a bit about Salem. She never revealed herself fully, you know. I saw the friendly side of her, and some of the music. We may have been closer friends than she was with others, but we didn’t end up being that close.”

 

Draco completely surprised himself by saying yes “But not in wizarding London. I can’t be seen with you in public.”

 

“Sounds like you’re asking me on a secret date.” teased Bill.

 

“That was not my intention Weasley.”

 

“Pity,” murmured Bill, so quietly that Draco didn’t hear.

 

“I have no idea why I would even want to date you to begin with. No this is a business lunch between two acquaintances to talk about....”

 

“Someone we both cared about.”

 

“Yes,” agreed Draco.

 

They changed their money, and left. Bill had a vague idea of how much everything was worth in muggle London, and sort of understood how their money worked. He made Draco take off his robes to go out, so they wouldn’t get strange looks, and be recognised.

* * * * *

On the train back to the Manor - it was no more ‘home’ than Lucius was ‘father’ - Draco summoned Salem’s flute. It came instantly, like she had said it would, and his fingers caressed the cool metal, as he opened the letter that she had left for him.

 

Dear Draco,

 

I am going to start this letter in a completely unoriginal way. If you are reading this, I am dead. Knowing what I do about you and your family, I presume you are reading this either on your way home from London, or in your room at the manor. I imagine you are probably holding my flute too.

 

No, you are not that predictable. I know you well. That is all.

 

You have now met the other two people in my life that I care for as much as I care for you. You can trust them. Master Dharinel will act annoyed if you ask him for help, but if you do so in my name, he will help you for the sake of my memory. Bill Weasley will do exactly the same thing. I do not expect you to help them for any reason, as it is not in your nature to do such a thing without another reason behind it. Perhaps you could help them if they ask, if only because I loved them.

 

There is something else I have been meaning to tell you. I refuse to commit such news to a letter so long as I am alive. If I have already told you this, you will know what I am referring to, and you can skip the next few paragraphs. If not, then it is vital that you read it.

 

You must have heard by now of the rumours about my mother, Heather Wiley. The ones about her oh so charming sleeping arrangements. Well I did some math recently, and I worked out that there is no way that I can physically be Alexander Wiley’s daughter. This is because he had been in Azkaban for a month then at the approximate time of my conception, and committed suicide there shortly before I was born, without ever knowing that Heather was pregnant. So I read Heather’s diary. I was given it for my twenty-first birthday, but had been studiously avoiding reading it. Heather was not an entirely stupid woman, although she certainly acted like it. She kept a record of all the men that she slept with in far too much detail. For the month and a half to either side of the possible days that I could be conceived, she was sleeping with the same three men - not at the same time numbskull. Get your mind out of the gutter. The men were: Severus Snape, Hindel Gore, and Lucius Malfoy.

 

I thought about the possibilities. I do not look in anyway like Snape. He is tall, and is supposed to have dark greasy hair, and has dark eyes.

My eyes come from my mother, I am not particularly tall, and I have pale blond hair, or so you tell me. Therefore it is unlikely that Severus Snape is my father.

 

Hindel Gore is a thickset man, has absolutely no ear for music, and is rather... is on a similar level of intelligence to Lucius’s minions.

 

I am petite, cannot live without music, and was top of most of my classes at school. I am not sure if Gore even finished school.

 

You are not stupid either Draco. You can see what conclusion I am leading up to here.

 

Lucius Malfoy. While he may act like an utter bastard, he is certainly not stupid, as we have found to our costs. He is blond, not too tall, and has grey eyes.

 

I am blond, much the same as you, not too tall, and as I have already said, my eyes were inherited from my mother.

 

Lucius Malfoy therefore is my father.

 

I was shocked at my conclusion. I would have thought that someone would have said something previously, besides those rumours about Heather. Then, when I calmed down enough to think about it, I realised that there was no real point in people doing that. After all, if I am disinherited, there is no Wiley heir. I understand that since you are reading this now, it is irrelevant to you, but it was relevant then.

 

I didn’t want this to be true, so I got samples of him, and samples of me, and I sent them off to a muggle thing, called a DNA test (Deoxyribose Nucleic Acid), which tests the genetic relationship of things, especially mammals. If you want to know more about genetics, look it up in the Hogwarts Library. They do have some stuff on it. I also sent it to the Wizarding Relationship Factory (WRF) to check the magical relationship. Both places came back with the clear answer that Lucius Malfoy is my father.

 

In a way I am glad of this. It means that we are truly sister and brother, as we long ago decided that we would act in such a manner.

 

Draco, please don’t be angry with me that you found out in such a manner. I was going to tell you when you came home for the summer holidays.... But I guess I didn’t see you in the summer holidays after all.

 

You know that I love you, I hope brother dearest. Keep up with the piano playing. I would be disappointed if you don’t. I know you enjoy it, and it’s a great stress reliever. Also, if you want to teach yourself to play the flute, there are books on it in the school Library.

 

Yes. Well.

 

I find myself growing unbelievably soppy as I dictate this to you. Makes me glad that I am not doing it in my own hand, as this parchment would be well smeared with tears by now.

 

There are some further instructions for you, as per usual. They are very similar to what I usually tell you, but this time, I hope my death has made you think.

 

Draco, get your head out of your arse, and start paying attention to what Lucius really stands for. Then tell me that you do not believe in a right or wrong. Believe that all have a right to freedom and happiness.

 

No, I am not going to request that you help the Light to fight the Dark. That is not in your nature to do so, and I would be overstepping the boundaries of our relationship if I did that. I will ask that you not do anything stupid that will get yourself killed. You are a wonderful person, my brother, and I would not have you die over something as stupid as Voldemort.

 

You know love, it feels really weird dictating my own death letter to you, when I feel as if I will be seeing you in a few short weeks when school finishes for the year. However I am nearly twenty six now, and I am doing things that grow increasingly dangerous, so Dumbledore suggested that I get my affairs in order in case of a sudden death, and this letter is part of that. Dumbledore will support you if you need help, as will many others if you mention my name. That does not give you license to do anything stupid you realise, or betray people. I will not stand for people being betrayed in my name Draco. It is pure and honourable, even if it is Wiley, and I would not have it tarnished in their eyes. The people need a martyr Draco, and if I die soon, I will provide that for them.

 

Whatever you do though, don’t you dare blame yourself for my death, or challenge your father over me. I am not worth it, and dueling is a stupid custom anyway.

 

There is nothing more left to say really. I wish that I could have spent longer here on this earth with you, and Bill and Master Dharinel.

 

Know that I love you, have always loved you, and will always love you.

 

Your sister,

 

Salem

 

Draco folded the letter, and put it away along with the flute as the train pulled into the station near the Manor. Rinsol was there to escort him and his luggage to the Manor house.

 

Lucius was waiting for him. “Draco. Get into your darkest clothes, and get a mask. I have been telling you about our activities, and now it is time for you to watch. You are not a full Death Eater now, and we do not have enough time to make you one before school starts. Besides, your mother wishes to be present at your inauguration. It will be a great pleasure for her. I have not yet decided when this will be held. It all depends on the wishes of our Lord. Well, what are you standing there for boy? Get moving.”

 

Draco hurried up to get changed. They didn’t have time to eat dinner before they left, and by the time they gathered in the dark, near a muggle loving wizards place, Draco was glad that the last time he had eaten was with Weasley, in London. He was not the only future Death Eater there. He recognised Pansy Parkinson as well as Crabbe and Goyle, both near their respective fathers. Pansy was the only one of the four of them that seemed to be enjoying herself. Crabbe and Goyle were too stupid to fully understand what was going on, and he just wanted to be back at the Manor, studying what Salem had written, and mapping out a plan of revenge on Lucius. He was starting to work out the details in his head, when the meeting was called to order.

 

“This is the plan of action,” said a wizard that Draco didn’t recognise. “Study it carefully all of you. Students, you are only to observe. I know that you must wish to strike a blow in the name of He Who Must Not Be Named, but it must wait until you are fully in His service.”

 

The irony in that sentence appeared to escape all of the wizards present thought Draco. He wondered how Voldemort had managed to survive for so long, if these were the sort of people he had working for him. The plan of action had quite simply read:

 

One third in the front door.

One third in the back door.

One third through the windows.

Kill everyone there who is not a Death Eater.

 

He supposed that for people of Crabbe and Goyle’s intelligence it was necessary to have it in those terms. He’d expected more... detail to be put in.

 

Draco watched in bemusement as the crowd of Death Eaters managed to barge into the wizard’s house, setting off most of the wards, yet managing not to have anyone on their side killed. They were not quiet, and most of them seemed to have trouble telling one end of their wand from the other. He could do a better job than this.

 

The raid was successful. They left with the Dark Mark hanging over their heads as they made their escapes, each one back to their own place. As they were leaving, both the muggle police and the Enforcers were arriving.

 

Draco tumbled into bed, utterly exhausted by the events of the day.

 

The following few days passed quietly. Draco studied Salem’s letter, started planning his revenge for her, and spent time at her grave. He also had his usual Dark Arts practice, in which Lucius was harsher on him than usual. And somehow, he found the time to get organised for school, and do some piano practice. Although Lucius had destroyed his first piano, Salem had given him one, which they had put in a soundproofed room, and had keyed to open only for him. Draco had further refined the charms that they had put there, until the sound of Lucius’s voice was the only thing that would permeate the room. And that happened only if he was summoning Draco.

 

Still, he was glad when the time came to go to London to catch the Hogwarts Express to school. He went through the barrier to platform Nine and three quarters, and had Goyle and Crabbe load his trunks onto the train. He then went to see if he could hassle Potter and his friends.

 

To his surprise they were sitting in the end carriage talking to a teacher. Why did they want to talk to a teacher?

 

“Sucking up to the teachers are you, Potter? Can’t pass your N.E.W.Ts without it?”

 

“How dare you say something like that to him, Malfoy! He’s done far more for the world than you ever will.” Hermione leapt on to her feet in a heated defence of Harry.

 

“Why would I want to do anything for the world?”

 

Hermione fell silent.

 

“Perhaps because you would be dead if it wasn’t there,” said Ron angrily.

 

“So would you, weasel, and that would make it worthwhile.”

 

“Malfoy, you are such a a... prat.” snapped Hermione, “You think the world revolves around you.”

 

A calm, cold smile. “Doesn’t it?”

 

“Malfoy.”

 

Harry watched in mild amusement as Hermione and Ron angrily started to defend him. After the events of last year, and the summer, this petty feud no longer seemed as worthwhile.

 

“All right, you lot,” said the professor irritably. “That’s enough. I don’t need to hear any more of this. You are supposed to be seventh years, and role models for the rest of the school. With all that has happened so far, your petty squabbling is not of any use, and is something that we can do without.”

 

They stopped and looked at her startled.

 

“And who are you?” sneered Draco.

 

She smiled pleasantly at him. “I am the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.”

 

“Another one.” sighed Draco.

 

“Yes. I’ll be here for this year only.”

 

“Do you know what you’re talking about?”

 

“Malfoy! You can’t say that to a teacher!”

 

He smiled unpleasantly. “I just did.”

 

“Calm down,” she told them. “After some of the teachers that you’ve had in the past it’s a reasonable question. The answer is yes, I do know what I’m talking about, as you will see when you’re in my class. Now did you come here for an important reason, or was it purely to annoy Potter and his friends?”

 

“That is an important reason.” Draco said nastily.

 

“To you maybe. I do not consider it so. However, if you want to argue, please do it out of this carriage, and conduct yourselves in a way that is appropriate to your age and status in this school. The first years do not need to see you all screaming at each other.” Sarai opened the book that Remus had given her to read on the train.

 

They all left, including Harry. He wasn’t particularly interested in this feud any more, but he couldn’t abandon Hermione and Ron to Draco. If only Ron would learn to keep his temper....

* * * * *

The timetable had been somewhat rearranged this year. Gryffindor no longer had DADA alone, but were combined with Slytherin. Most of the classes were combined now. This was to enable the professors to do some research into Voldemort, and methods of defeating him. Sarai spent her spare time writing letters to her loves, and designing better equipment for the Aurors.

 

For the first class, Professor Sarainail Grey had informed them all that she was here for only one year, and... “I have been in touch with all of the living professors that you have had in the past four years, so I know where you should be up to in your work. As part of this, I have spoken to Professor Lupin, and he has helped me design the course work for this year. Some of you, after having Lockhart, and Rogers for a professor have expressed concerns about whether or not I know what I am teaching about. Although I have not been trained as a professor, like Professor Lupin was, and was never formally recognised as an Auror, I have had much practical experience in fighting the Dark Arts. I was trained as an Auror, although I never finished the course because other events intervened. As I was part of the circle that made up the friends and allies of Lily and James Potter, I gained first hand experience. To my mind, actual experience is just as important as book learning is, because with practice, you grow better at assessing a situation, and reacting to it. I have never taught before, so I hope you will bear with me, if I get your names wrong, or do something that a teacher shouldn’t. Before I start, are there any appropriate questions?”

 

Lavender Brown held up her hand.

 

“Yes Miss....?”

 

“Brown Professor, Lavender Brown. I was wondering what events prevented you from completing the Aurors course?”

 

Professor Grey’s face went still and expressionless. When she spoke, her voice was as cool as ice. “That is not an appropriate question Miss Brown. I can assure you that it wasn’t because my marks were too low for me to pass.”

 

She started the lesson, but somehow the cheer that had been there to begin with has disappeared.

* * * * *

Draco studied what Lucius had written, trying to determine if the raid he talked about was real, or a trap. If it was a trap, Draco would not let any one know about it. If it was for real, he would have to decide whether or not he should tell any one. He had requested Lucius to send him information on the planned raids for the Death Eaters, so he could send it anonymously to Potter. He had been doing this since the beginning of the school year. It was written with Salem’s old Dictator Quill that Draco had found shortly before he left for Hogwarts. It was also sent with one of the school owls. Draco always included a note to warn against contacting him, as it would be too dangerous, and the supply of information would dry up.

 

He had watched Potter, as he started receiving the letters, to see what Potter would do with them. At first, Potter had not used the information provided, but had checked to see if the raids really happened.

 

They had, and Potter now passed the information on to another contact. Draco was not quite sure exactly who the contact was, but knew there had to be one, since the raids that he passed information on, were now stopped.

 

Lucius didn’t know that Draco wanted the information to give to Potter, and his allies. He thought that Draco was eager to become a Death Eater, and thus wanted to be kept up to date on what was going on in the Dark Lord’s camp. Draco was careful not too pass on the details of every raid. He didn’t want Lucius to suspect that there was a spy, and he was the one giving the information away. If Lucius found out, Draco was dead - Malfoy heir or not. He chose the raids carefully, studying the Light side for it’s weaknesses, and passed those comments along with the details of a raid.

 

This one appeared to be a trap. Draco considered the options carefully. He could tell of the fact that it was a raid, so the Aurors could spring the trap, and perhaps catch some of the Death Eaters. He looked at the information again. Would You Know Who miss any of these very much if they were caught? The names on the list were that of the stupider of Voldemort’s Death Eaters, and while they should be caught, Draco didn’t think they were worth compromising his cover.

 

He got out his ink and quill, and started writing a reply full of the appropriate questions that he would ask if it was a real raid. It was a well-planned trap, and Draco didn’t want Lucius to know that he could see through it. He also commented on anything unusual at school, and on Potter’s activities (no change). Then he chucked Lucius’s letter in the fire, and went to the owlery to get his owl and reply to the letter.

 

He continued studying Potter, and the other teachers, trying to decide which one would be the most appropriate to be his contact on the Light side. McGonagall was out of the question of course, being a Gryffindor, and Lucius would question him, if he found that Draco was suddenly spending a lot more time with her. Snape still worked for Voldemort and Lucius as far as Draco knew, so he wasn’t of any use. None of the Slytherins would be. Dumbledore would be all right except for two things. They were the same problems as McGonagall. It would be too obvious if he suddenly started spending a lot if time with him, and he was too... Gryffindor-ish for Draco’s comfort. So, the contact had to be one that Draco saw regularly. That cut out most of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Any way most of them wouldn’t believe him. That went for most of the Gryffindors too. They were the House that Slytherin spent the most time with, but also their bitterest rivals. The only person that Draco could think of in Gryffindor who might believe him was... Potter.

 

Potter was the one receiving the letters, so Draco had something that he could use as proof if he wasn’t believed. Potter had a habit of trusting where no one else would think to trust, and Draco thought that he could make Potter believe him - as long as the weasel and Granger weren’t with him. Weasley would never trust him, and Granger was a mudblood, so she was out of the question. Besides with her brains, she wouldn’t accept his reason for the sudden change of heart in private.

 

So Draco studied Potter as intensely as he could without letting his marks slip. Lucius was never pleased that Draco came second to a mudblood, but Draco had to maintain that position or he would be in serious trouble. It would not be Cruciatus - that was reserved for the really serious transgressions, but maybe Torturus.

 

He was about to make contact with Potter when the Christmas holidays interrupted his plans. He wrote to Lucius and requested permission to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays, so he could get some uninterrupted study done for his N.E.W.Ts, and attack Potter further, but Lucius denied him. They’re only two weeks long after all, Draco thought to himself while packing. It would be time that he could use well in further planning his contact with Potter, and he might even be able to discover more of the Death Eater’s plans to pass along.

* * * * *

Lucius greeted him pleasantly enough when he arrived home. Draco wondered where the normal recriminations were for not doing as well as mudblood Granger, but said nothing of his marks. If Lucius wasn’t going to mention them, then neither would he.

 

Over dinner that night, Lucius told him that the time was now set for his induction into Voldemort’s circle of Death Eaters. Narcissa, who was back from France by now, smiled proudly, and told him that he would be the youngest inductee ever.

 

Draco swallowed.

 

“And of course, you’re a Malfoy. Even if you are the youngest, you must do the best, and up hold the family name,” said Lucius.

 

He managed a cold smile, and asked when the ceremony would be.

 

“We’ve planned it for Christmas Day,” Narcissa said coolly. “I trust you are grateful for this unexpected Christmas present. It was a lot of work to organise it safely for this day.”

 

“Thank you very much for the time and effort you put in, Mother. Both of you,” hastily amended, “You’ll never know how much this means to me.” And that, he thought grimly, is the perfect truth.

 

Draco practiced the Dark Arts under Lucius’s watchful supervision as Christmas Day neared. They might scorn the reason for this muggle holiday, but everyone joined in it, as a midwinter festival rather than a celebration of some muggle kid’s birth.

 

Finally, it was time.

* * * * *

Lucius stood in the center of the Large Drawing Room, waiting for Voldemort to arrive, dressed in his best Death Eater robes. Draco stood behind him, and to one side. He was also dressed in Death Eater robes, apart from the hood, as part of the ceremony.

 

The Dark Lord entered without fanfare. He had his snake with him, and Peter Pettigrew. Narcissa showed them in, and went to join Lucius in the center of the room. They all knelt.

 

“Sso,” said Voldemort in what was almost a hiss, “Thisss iss yourr sson, Luciussss. Do you offer him to me?”

 

“Yes Master,” said Lucius, head bowed.

 

“Why?” Voldemort asked as he stalked around the room, the snake following him as he moved through the group that they made, kneeling on the floor.

 

“I wish to give you that which is most precious to me Master.”

 

Draco felt something flick out and touch his chin, and knew that the snake was testing him. Voldemort hissed something to the snake.

 

“You arre nervousss boy.”

 

“Yes Master,” said Draco. Tell no lies to him, he can smell them, Lucius had instructed.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because you are powerful Master, and can kill me if you choose, and there would be nothing that I could do about it.”

 

“You arre telling the trruth.” hissed Voldemort in surprise.

 

“Yes Master.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I was told that you could smell a lie, Master, and would destroy me if I lied to you.” Draco was nearly shaking. He hadn’t lied yet, but if he was asked if he wanted to ruin Voldemort....

 

“That iss trrue. Anotherr quessstion child.”

 

Draco remained silent as Voldemort stalked around him. The evil of his presence was nearly overpowering.

 

“Ssso, you have mannerrss enough to wait for your betterrss to sspeak to you beforre you ssay anything. Luciusss you are to be congrradulated.”

 

Voldemort made another circle around Draco and stopped in front of him. Draco fastened his eyes on that ever so interesting point on the carpet and mentally willed himself hundreds of miles away. Voldemort put his hand under Draco’s chin, and squeezed the trachea gently. His hand was dry, and almost scaly to the touch. “I could kill you now,” he observed.

 

Draco very carefully said nothing, and concentrated on breathing calmly. Voldemort stank, and some distant part of Draco’s mind that was purely observing without being a participant noted that if Voldemort bathed more often, he might be more attractive to the youth, who objected to smelly old men. Voldemort abruptly forced Draco’s head up until he was staring straight into those slit pupilled eyes.

 

“Ssso, you can ssstand being thisss nearr me. The quessstion iss thiss: Do you sseek my place in thisss worrld, and in my orrganissation? Rrememberr that I can sssmell a lie, and you will die a traitorrsss death if you lie to me.”

 

He wouldn’t let Draco look away from him. Trying not to drown in those strange eyes, Draco said slowly and carefully: “No Master.”

 

Voldemort let go of his chin and dropped it with a twist that hurt. “Good. You ansswerr well boy. Do you think that you arre worrthy to rrecieve my marrk?”

 

“No Master,” he said truthfully, “I am not worthy.”

 

“You arre right whelp. You arre not worrrthy forr the honourr of my marrk. But sssince yourr fatherr hasss vouched forr you, I will accept yourr offerrring.”

 

“Yes Master.”

 

The snake slid up his back and wrapped around his neck. Draco couldn’t quite stop himself from swallowing convulsively. The snake squeezed slightly tighter at his movement.

 

“Ssstand up whelp.”

 

Draco stood, managing to stay balanced with the snake around his neck. It was heavy, as if it had fed recently. He tried not to think of what it may have eaten.

 

“Ssstrip.”

 

Draco was startled. No one had said anything about this in all that he had read, or been told about by Lucius. It was one of the few things that Draco had actually gotten Lucius’s help for. How he did here would also affect Lucius. And although he was tempted to fail, Draco managed to resist. He wanted his revenge to be a lot longer and more drawn out. He stripped with difficulty, balancing with the snake on his shoulders, and drawing his robes off from under it. He stood there quietly, waiting for Voldemort to do with him what he would, a slight, pale figure with blond hair and grey eyes. Voldemort’s slit pupilled eyes assessed him measuringly. He hissed something to the snake, who twined all around him. The touch of the scales on his bare skin was strange and discomforting, yet sensual at the same time.

 

“You can bearrr Nagini’sss touch all overr yourrr ssskin. But can you bearrr mine?

 

Without anyone saying anything, Peter Pettigrew moved behind Draco and tied his wrists together with a bit of shed snakeskin. He then kicked Draco’s feet out from under him, and he landed hard on the carpet. Voldemort bent down beside him, and ran his soft, scaly hands over his body. Draco shivered. He was seriously doubting the wisdom of surviving this. There was no way that he could escape now, unless it was through the almost divine intervention of the Lords and Ladies of the Wild Hunt that Salem had sworn by. And if he escaped, he would be unable to complete is revenge. He put most of the thinking part of his mind into the detached part of his head, which merely observed, not participated. Then he thought of the music that Salem had played to him, and of his own compositions to distract himself from what Voldemort was doing to his body. Salem would have told him that this clinical detachment often happened in times of great stress and pain, but it would all catch up with him at a later date. For now, he watched Voldemort rape him as if it was something vaguely interesting to watch. Eventually it was over.

 

“You arrrn’t bad boy.” the Dark Lord said.

 

Draco wasn’t sure if a response was expected, and anyway, he was still in that nice detached state where nothing could hurt him, so he said nothing.

 

“Hold out yourrr arrm.”

 

Obediently he did so, and screamed as a white-hot pain lanced through his arm. None of his father’s preparations, or the beatings had prepared him for this. When he could see again, through the stars that danced in his vision, Voldemort was dressed again, and the Dark Mark was on his arm. The skin around it was all burnt, as if his very body wanted to reject the Mark, but the Mark itself was in clear detail.

 

“I will messssage you boy, thrrrrough Luciussss.” Voldemort’s voice sounded sated and lazy. He was hissing the s’s a lot more than he had been previously. “Get drrressssed.”

 

Draco did so. He could use his arm, and it didn’t hurt. The pain had all been in his mind then, he noted clinically. Once in the robes, he knelt down again, and Voldemort invested him with the hood, and he swore an oath of service to him. He almost meant it.

* * * * *

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