Born Under A Bad Sign

Born Under A Bad Sign

Chapter 12: Journey We More Into the Nightmare

By Peeler

Sitting in a bunker, here behind my wall,
Waiting for the worms to come.
In perfect isolation, here behind my wall,

Waiting for the worms to come.

Waiting, to cut out the deadwood
Waiting, to clean up the city
Waiting, to follow the worms.
Waiting, to put on a black shirt
Waiting, to weed out the weaklings
Waiting, to smash in their windows
And kick in their doors.

Waiting, for the final solution
To strengthen the strain.
Waiting, to follow the worms.

Waiting, to turn on the showers and fire the ovens
Waiting, for the queers and the coons
And the reds and the [mudbloods].
Waiting, to follow the worms.
Tell me, would you like to see Britannia
Rule again, my friend?
All you have to do is follow the worms.
Tell me, would you like to see our coloured cousins
Sent home again, my friend?
All you need to do is follow the worms.

- Pink Floyd

"Until the philosophy which holds one race superior and another inferior is finally and permanently discredited and abandoned, everywhere there will be war."

- Bob Marley

"Avada Kedavra!" The dreadful words echoed throughout the suddenly quiet auditorium. Draco felt a new and unfamiliar power rise in him, lightening his limbs and numbing his fingers. His heart leapt into his throat and his stomach fluttered; he recalled seeing the brains in Professor Patterson's class, the black and purple storm clouds signifying dark magic, and that was what he felt now- a flickering storm of power, cresting in one single moment and flowing through him. The lightning flashed somewhere behind his eyes, blinding him, and a green burst shot from his wand at Percy, whose exhausted brown eyes rose to stare into Draco's own. An echoing emptiness replaced the flood of power in Draco's mind and body, as if he was coming back to himself after a long unconsciousness, and just as he felt a cold shock of feeling- the pain in his bleeding, lacerated chest and the pulsing of his stomach- Percy's brown eyes fell away. His body followed, slumping to the ground, still. For a single moment, nothing seemed real to Draco but himself and Percy, and as the spectators of the grisly battle faded away, the chilling aftereffects of his spell crept into him just as surely as the creeping chill of death must have been eating up the warmth of Percy's body. A hand gripped Draco's shoulder, shaking him from his reverie. Long, thin fingers slipped away, and Lord Voldemort whispered into his ear.

"Well done indeed, Draco." The Dark Lord's voice slid sibilantly into Draco's ear. "But he yet lives. There is no need to fear...even for the most powerful of us, the killing curse is never simple." Lord Voldemort removed a thin-bladed knife from within his robes. "Finish it." Draco peered at his wavering reflection in the elegant weapon; his hair had fallen down from its usual structure and lay swept about his temples like a tattered net pulled from the rocks. His face was scratched, dirty and pale, and when he removed his right hand from his chest, it was bloodied from the soaked front of his ceremonial robes. He murmured a quick Congealing spell, vaguely remembered from his childhood lessons. A wizard who cannot heal, cannot hex...but it did not ease the pain. Lord Voldemort raised Percy's body up with a jerk of his wand, so that it was supported by the wall of the auditorium. "Now, young one, kill him. It is best that it should be done like this...to finish it with simplicity. Go on, Draco, feel the blood running down your arms, and feel the spirit leave the body..." Draco nodded, and swallowed the lump in his throat that had been banished briefly by the action of the duel.

"Yes, my Lord." Gripping the dagger tightly with his left hand, he placed his right hand over Percy's heart; its barely perceptible quiver felt like a moth, trapped and fluttering under his touch. He moved his hand, gritted his teeth, and prepared to thrust the dagger forward.

"Keep your eyes open," ordered Lord Voldemort behind him.

Draco stared into Percy's face, but the red-haired wizard's eyes were closed. And then he thrust the thin knife forward. For a single terrible moment skin and flesh resisted the blade, and then it slid through everything, flesh, blood and bone. Draco felt momentarily sick, and as he heard Percy's near-inaudible breath slip out for the last time and vanish into the still air, Draco could feel the heart at the tip of the knife still in his arm. His stomach gave a wrench, and he pulled the knife back out. Blood, hot thick blood spilled down his fingers, trickling about his hands and running down his arms. He watched in silence as a single dark, rich drop left his hand and rolled down his left wrist and over the black lines of the Dark Mark, pooling with his own blood that Percy's last spell had wrenched from his body. It seemed to Draco as if every person in the auditorium had forgotten to breathe. Thoughts rolled within his head...was Snape here, watching him commit murder? What would Dumbledore do, what would he think, if Snape told him? What would the other Weasleys, Ron, the girl, think when they found out? Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine turn, making the green one red...Voldemort's voice broke into Draco's thoughts of death, rousing him from where he knelt clutching his arm next to Percy's body.

"Draco Erynn Malfoy, you have passed the test set for you by the Death Eaters," rang out the Dark Lord's voice as Draco stood shakily. "Come, return my dagger to me, and receive your Dark Mark again, for eternity!" Draco took three steps to reach Voldemort and opened his hand that clutched the dagger; he was surprised to see that his hand was bleeding where the engraved hilt had dug into his flesh. Voldemort looked down upon his weary face, stained with blood and dust, and took the dagger. Draco pushed his hair out of his eyes, streaking the white locks with red blood that was not his own. "Draco, you have made your vows to us," intoned the Dark Lord. "You have proven yourself through action to be devoted to us through trial as rigorous as only a few have before. Receive now the Dark Mark!" Voldemort raised his wand high above his head and brought it sweeping down in an almost magnanimous gesture, as he cried out "Morsmordre!" Draco looked down at his left arm, where the sharp burning he had felt before was returning; but it wasn't as bad, merely a sharpening of that old pain, as the black lines on his arm were a sharpening of the Mark. Then, as the Mark completed itself and the black lines were set, a hideous stabbing rent Draco's arm, muscle, flesh and bone, and though he tried to bite back a cry, it slipped out. To his surprise he thought saw Lord Voldemort wince as well, before the pain passed as quickly as it had come. The Dark Lord's face was as hard as it had ever been, and the Dark Mark shone like wet oil on Draco's arm. Voldemort's voice rang about the auditorium again. "Draco Malfoy, you are now a Death Eater! Go, and join your comrades." He then spoke more quietly into Draco's ear. "You may want to freshen up a little first. Go on."

Draco strode from the auditorium, his back straight, subconsciously exuding the ancient air of Malfoy pride; but inside his thoughts were a raging maelstrom of confusion and shock. He asked one of the heavily cloaked guards for directions to the washroom without really realizing what he was doing, and walked, trance-like, in the direction the guard had indicated. He had been standing in the bathroom for quite a few minutes, staring into the mirror, before he realized it. A deep stone basin sat in front of the mirror and a plush woolen mat collapsed at his feet. Draco blinked, passing from reverie, and looked clearly at his reflection as he turned the faucet to fill the basin. Blood crusted his face and hair where he had touched it; it had congealed on his hands and stuck the fingers of his right hand together. His wand, gripped tightly in his left hand, was clenched in his grip, and stained with red. His dress robes suddenly seemed unbearably heavy, perhaps with the weight of blood leaking from his chest; he threw them off in a single motion and left them lying in a simple mass on the floor; his bloodstained white shirt followed. Partially scabbed cuts crisscrossed the white skin of Draco's chest, crawling out from where Percy's curse had struck him just under his right nipple. He plunged his bloodied hands and arms into the icy water of the rapidly filling basin, and watched the tendrils of blood floating in lines off of his skin and through the water. Small, hardened particles clung to the hair on his arms, and he rubbed them compulsively to clean them. Contrary to his thoughts in the auditorium, his skin quickly regained its regular pale tint, and the water of the basin acquired only a slight reddish colour. Draco plunged his head into the icy water, pressing his hands to his face and rubbing the dried blood from that as well. He removed his head from the basin and shook out his hair to dry it, when he felt his stomach twist. It gave a vicious, compulsive dry heave, wracking his body and throat; then collapsed on the stone tiles. His gut heaved again, and a small stream of yellowish bile exited his body. As he sat huddled there on the stone floor, clutching his stomach with both hands, there was a pounding on the heavy oak door.

"Draco, is that you in there? Open up!" The pounding was repeated, and a voice called "Alohomora!" Arienne rushed in, followed by Erik and Jenna.

"Lestrange sent us to find you," said Arienne, regaining her breath. "She was worried when you disappeared like that. Can you walk?" Draco shook his head a few times convulsively, then stood up and turned around.

"Where did I put my robes?" he muttered, looking around. His three friends were looking at him aghast.

"Good gods, man, look at yourself!" said Erik. "You're covered in blood!" He had a point; Draco's arms and face were clean, but the blood from the cuts on his chest still covered his chest like an obscene tattoo, and had soaked into the waist of his silk briefs. Draco looked down.

"Er, shit guys, I don't know what to do....", he was talking so quietly they could hardly understand him.

'We've got to get you cleaned up, man," said Jenna, who looked a little scared.

"You're right," said Arienne. "Jenna, go find a towel. Draco, we're going to wash you up and see what we can do about your wounds. Try to stay still." Draco fell to his knees, and from there onto his stomach, grabbing Arienne about the ankles. She bent down and stroked his hair softly.

"It'll be alright, Draco, don't worry...try to turn over, okay? We have to clean up your cuts..." Her voice faded out, and Draco lost consciousness.

********************************************************

Liquid images flowed through Draco's mind. He saw his father, the time Draco had walked in on him torturing a young muggle-born witch.

"You must never be squeamish, Draco," his father had said, looking up from his work. "Anything you cannot do is a weakness that will be held against you, eventually."

The dream faded, and he saw Arienne washing his cold chest with a damp cloth; Erik held a drawn wand and was pointing it at him. What does he think he's doing? Draco wondered briefly, before losing consciousness again. He saw images from the night, Voldemort's unnatural face with its bloodshot green eyes and white skin; Percy's spasming heart beneath his hand, and then that same heart stopping; the Dark Mark burning his flesh, gracing his arm; he saw lightning flashing, heard a noise of deafening thunder, and saw Jenna waving a lighted wand in front of his face. Someone was rubbing the side of his head with a soft towel.

After regaining consciousness, Draco sat slowly upright and looked around. His cuts had been healed, and he had been wrapped in a thick white towel and a heavy new robe. He felt slightly lightheaded.

"Thank the gods you're awake, Draco," said Arienne, putting her arms around him. "You had us scared out of our minds, really." She gave him a quick kiss. Draco still felt a little dazed; his muscles felt weak and his eyesight was blurry.

"You know, I er...I really don't know what time it is..." said Draco quietly. "Can someone tell me?"

"It's 1:30," said Arienne softly into his ear. "Don't worry. The conclave's still going on, the Dark Lord gave two other people their marks."

"Did they have to...have to kill anyone?" asked Draco.

"No, they didn't. One of them was a woman, she looked about twenty-five or so. The Dark Lord put her in some sort of trance and just stared into her eyes, and when she came out of it, He said she'd proven herself worthy. And the other guy dueled with a smoky sort of apparition that He conjured; he went really pale for a long time but he snapped out of it all right. The Dark Lord said he would receive his mark, but he didn't say anything special like he did for you."

"Yeah Draco," said Erik softly, "I must say I'm fairly impressed with what you did there. Don't worry about this, you've just got a bit of traumatic stress, or something. I knew you should have eaten something today."

"Er, yeah...I'll be alright," said Draco almost in a whisper. "Right now, I really just want to get some sleep, you know. Just go back to the dorm and really sleep."

"I hear that," said Jenna, yawning, "but we really ought to get you back out there, just for a little while. You should see some people, talk to them. I know Lestrange wanted to see you, for sure. Hell, Voldemort Himself probably does right now." Draco nodded.

"Alright, come on then." He headed for the door and stumbled; Arienne caught him. "I told you, I'm okay. Let's go, people will wonder what happened to me."

***********************************

Though he still felt a little nauseous, and the taste of bile was strong in his mouth, Draco was able to stand straight and on his own to face Lord Voldemort and Amanita Lestrange. He inclined his head in greeting.

"My Lord."

"Draco," said Voldemort, attempting a soft voice with little success. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, my Lord." Lestrange looked into Draco's eyes.

"I meant to meet with you immediately following your test, Draco. In all honesty, I must say you did very well, considering your age. Before assigning this test to you, our Lord and I both agreed that one of us should be with you immediately following such an arduous task. Unfortunately, I was delayed by an unforeseen and terribly unfortunate development which we will not go into now. I must apologize for leaving you alone, Draco...it should not have happened." Lord Voldemort looked up, snapping out of whatever thoughts he might have been having.

"Yes, it is indeed a most regrettable occurrence. However, Draco, you seem to be functioning all right. Still, I must tell you...if you are feeling any emotional turmoil or difficulty, it would be in your best interest to talk about it...I am, after all, most probably the most knowledgeable wizard living in terms of the killing curse and its effects."

"No...no, I'm okay, my Lord. I think that it would probably be a good idea if I-" he looked back at Arienne and Erik, who were hanging around the door, "if we were to get back to Hogwarts fairly soon. I mean, we do have to be in classes, we wouldn't want to give the impression of anything out of the ordinary..." Voldemort nodded.

"Of course. As soon as the other students can be brought here, you may take a portkey back to Hogsmeade...Amanita, go and find a portkey." Voldemort turned and went back into his study as Lestrange left.

***************

The rest of the students entered, along with Lestrange, who held a silver urn.

"This is your portkey. It is set to activate in a few minutes and take you back to Hogsmeade." The students nodded. The others chatted idly to pass the time, but Draco found himself unable to speak. He felt profoundly nervous about returning to Hogwarts. What if Snape had done a bed check? Draco wouldn't have put it past him. They could all be caught, and arrested! He was shaken from his thoughts by the chiming of the readied portkey.

"Good luck," said Lestrange. "We ought to be seeing each other again fairly soon; the Dark Lord will likely offer more of you the opportunity to receive your Marks."

The students crowded around the portkey, each laying a finger on it. Draco's painfully empty stomach gave a lurch, and a few moments later he was on the outskirts of Hogsmeade.

"Ew, euck, I've landed in a puddle," said Danielle.

"Quiet. Come on, let's get back to the castle." Julia led the way, and the young Death Eaters hid in the shadows near Honeydukes. Erik unlocked the door, which to his surprise opened with a simple Alohomora. "Come on." Silently they trooped to the back of the store, and slipped into the secret passage. One by one, they climbed out through the statue of the one-eyed witch and into the Hogwarts corridor.

"G'night, everyone," said Angus pleasantly. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, good luck guys. Goodnight, Draco," said Arienne, giving him a quick kiss before starting down the corridor toward the Ravenclaw common room. The Slytherins headed back to the dungeons, checking carefully for signs of Filch or Mrs. Norris. They reached the Slytherin common room entrance.

"Catfish Green," whispered Draco, and the wall creaked open. He poked his head in and looked around. "It's all clear." Splitting up, the young Death Eaters went to their respective dorms.

Crabbe was snoring loudly in the fifth-year boys' dorm; Blaise muttered something as Draco entered. Before going to sleep, Draco murmured a series of rudimentary spells to push the killing curse into the back of his wand's memory. He lay his head on his pillow and fell immediately into a deep, untroubled sleep.

*****************************

"Draco." A hand clutched his shoulder. "Draco," again, this time louder. The hand was shaking him. "Draco Malfoy! Wake up!" He rolled over and looked up into the glittering eyes of Professor Snape. "Where were you last night? Were you drinking with the rest of those fools you call friends?" Draco shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs of a long sleep.

"Drinking? I, er..." he rubbed his eyes blearily.

"You missed Potions yet again! I can't explain it, Draco. You've always been such a good student, but this year, you've even fallen behind that fool, Zabini! I insist you shape up, and furthermore, I insist to know the reason behind your continued absences!" Draco's presence of mind was gradually returning.

"I, erm, I went to Hogsmeade, with some of the other Slytherins...we were having a bit of a party to celebrate our Quidditch victory a couple weeks ago...we decided we ought to wait for a while, after what happened the last time." Draco glanced down quickly at his left forearm; there was no sign of the Dark Mark. Snape caught the glance and looked hard at him.

"Drinking, then. I suppose that could explain it..." he sounded skeptical. "Who were you with?" Draco's mind was working a bit quicker now.

"Hmm...Danielle was there, and Simon...I think I saw Jenna too. It's all a bit fuzzy..."

"Yes, well, I suppose it would be," said Snape, unconvinced. "Rest assured, I will be keeping a close watch on your after-hours activities. You won't be able to sneak out at night anymore. And I will be speaking to the Headmaster again. You would do well to reform yourself." Snape pulled his robes tightly around himself and left the dorm.

It took Draco a moment to realize he was shaking, and he didn't think it was just the constant chill of the Slytherin dorms. He pulled on his thickest robes and searched futilely for his watch. If the others had spun the same story...if Snape had no real proof...that meant that he was going to be okay! The shock of the past twenty-four hours would wear off, of that he had little doubt...it was all, as Erik had said, post-traumatic stress. He'd deal with it, and everything would be fine. Draco ran his fingers over his left arm. The skin was even, and to the eye nothing unnatural could be seen, but he could feel the barely perceptible lines of the Dark Mark under his hand. It was there, and it had defined who he was. He walked over to the tiny square window cut into the massive stone wall of the dorm and hung his head outside.

"I am Draco Malfoy," he said softly. "I am a Death Eater."