Dark Light

Chapter One: A Heir for the Dark

The dark air shimmered peacefully around the hill, accompanied by the gentle swaying of emerald leaves that seemed to glow under the moonlight.
It was midnight, and Lucius Malfoy stood passively amidst it all, waiting. But despite his silence, evidence clearly showed his rare feelings of anxiety. Every minute or so he would fidget impatiently, glancing down at the sleeping bundle he held in his arms.

It was not often the Dark Lord asked to see his followers' heirs, and especially not so soon after their births.

Indeed, it was this fact that gave Lucius his misgivings about his coming meeting with his Lord, Voldemort.

He shuddered, and involuntarily drew his cloak closer around his body.

It wasn't fear of his master that fueled his nervousness, actually. Granted, everyone except the rarest few held at least some fear for the evil wizard, and certainly, he and his fellow Death Eaters were no exception. Fear was something they'd discovered to be crucial to Voldemort's rule the day they were initiated into his ranks.

So no, his nervousness was not borne from fear of his master's wrath. It was his son.

Before, loyalty and success were all that one needed to gain status, wealth, and power under the hand of Voldemort. It was power that he had craved, earned, and been granted under Voldemort's hand. Those who failed suffered his Dark Lord's wrath, and Lucius knew that he was no failure. But now, his newborn Lucius had become something else to worry about.

Parental instinct told him that the baby he held in his arms was destined for power- it showed by the unusual quietness of the child soon after he was born, and the way his icy gray eyes held an unusual curiosity for the world, especially for someone as small as his age.

Lord Voldemort was renown for his capability to deal with anything he considered a threat quickly and successfully; Lucius only hoped that his son would be considered a potential ally, and not someone his master felt would endanger his position of power.

But his thoughts of worry were short-lived, as the dark shadow of another being suddenly emerged and fell menacingly over him.

Quickly chastising himself for allowing himself to show even the tiniest hint of weakness, Lucius forced his body to regain its impassiveness, and spun around to kneel at the feet of the dark presence.

"Master", the death eater whispered, and bent to kiss the helm of Lord Voldemort's cloak.

Lord Voldemort welcomed the expected action of welcome from his follower with what was almost a satanic grin. He obviously enjoyed his power.

"Lucius," was all he said in response. The word was uttered as a command, not a greeting.

Lucius knew it too, as he slowly presented the small bundle that was his son.

Red eyes gleaming, his master took it.

Voldemort smiled.

"Lucius, you have always been my most faithful follower," the Dark Lord stated evenly.

"Th-thank you, Master," Lucius replied solemnly. "I am honored, my lord." He masked his surprise at this rare compliment, and breathed an inward sigh of relief. Perhaps this was a first hint of an upcoming discussion full of good news- that is, his master wasn't displeased about anything.

But Voldemort was hardly there to notice his servant's sudden relief, for he was already intently observing the infant.

It was asleep. Pale, blond tufts of hair framed his small face, and despite his innocence, one could feel the powerful aura of magic contained within its spirit.

"Lucius," he spoke again with an air of genuine satisfaction. "It is as I thought. Your son is destined for power... for greatness!"

Lucius warmed under this second compliment.

"I will not fail you, my lord," he immediately straightened. "I will raise him well to serve our force, teach him the powerful magic of-"

"Silence!" his master hissed, interrupting him mid-sentence.

"Lucius, Lucius, Lucius," the Dark Lord tisked, "You jump to too many conclusions, my friend. Yes, I want you to raise him- and raise him well. But he will not have only the guidance of a follower. He will not be only your heir!"

Feelings of disbelief and pride raced through the Death Eater's mind. Was what his Master suggesting real? Voldemort had just chosen his son to be...

"What is his name?" Voldemort suddenly asked, before glancing amusedly at the astounded expression of his follower.

"...My son?"

"Lucius, hope that stupidity does not run in the family," his Master mocked wryly.

The man reddened and berated himself angrily for accidentally stating the obvious. Actually, his hesitation was borne from the fact that he'd never really thought of the name for his son yet. It was a tradition for Malfoys to be named officially exactly one month after their birth, and that was long from coming. His son was still at the most, only a week old.

"Draco," he finally gasped out. Though it was rushed, he immediately realized that it was the perfect name.

The Dragon.

"Draco," Voldemort said slowly, testing the name. Nodding, he acquiesced his servant's choice for the name.

Then he shoved the boy back to his father.

"Now, my follower! Behold! Hold out Draco's arm!" he instructed Lucius.

Instantly, the once calm trees began swaying with the wind, howling in unison with the dark forces soon to be observed by both mortals.

A bright, but eerily dark flame appeared, burned, grew, and smothered menacingly in the Dark Lord's hand. He held it directly above the arm of his future heir.

"Draco Salazar Malfoy Slytherin!" he hissed, and a satanic grin spread over his features.

At once, a flash of bright green light passed like electricity from dark wizard to boy, followed by one chilling scream, a baby's cry.

That marked the end, for suddenly, the winds were dying, and the dark magic that had just been witnessed passed softly away. The atmosphere remained as it once was, calm and serene- as if nothing significant had just occurred.

Both men bent to examine the baby boy as it howled its agony of its new mark. There, on his left arm, lay the simple sketch of a magnificent dragon.

It was still burning green.

*****

Chapter Two: Troubles for the Dark

"Lucius!" Narcissa Malfoy gasped as she fled down the stairs of Malfoy Manor. "It's almost morning, and you've been gone the entire night!"

Lucius sighed tiredly, but managed a smile and a small kiss to his wife.

Instead of answering her unspoken question, he hesitantly gave her Draco, and directed her eyes to the pale, flaming mark on her son's arm.

"Draco has been honored by our master," he murmured. "Our son ...has been chosen to be his heir."

Her eyes hardened. "You mean to tell me," she spat, "that you have disappeared for the entirety of the night so that our son could be scarred by that monster. You mean to tell me that our son is his heir?"

Lucius remained silent, though his anger was beginning to brew. Years ago, when Voldemort was just beginning to rise to power, Narcissa's family had been hesitant to join his ranks, and had soon been destroyed by the dark wizard. This he already knew when he proclaimed his love to her, and their relationship, though strained, had continued. While she allowed his service under the dark lord to continue, he'd successfully kept quiet the fact that his wife, though beautiful, pureblooded, and loving, was not a huge supporter of Voldemort.

But now, he thought, how could Narcissa not see that this mark was supposed to be cause for celebration? Their son had just been deemed the heir to the most powerful wizard in the world!

"Lucius? How could you have done this?" Narcissa cried.

"Woman, you fool!" roared Lucius. "Can't you see? Voldemort, my master, is the answer to the troubles of the Wizarding World! Narcissa, we are pureblooded! Too long have the mudbloods been allowed to taint our world! Can't you see? There is no good or evil, there is only-"

"Lucius, just tell me this," Narcissa hissed, interrupting him. Steadying her breath, she finally spoke out the question that she knew would decide all.

"Who would you rather have," she spat. "Me, or that cruel monster you call your lord?"

He answered slowly, staring her straight in the eye. "I would have... the best for our son, and that would be to allow him to fulfill his destiny. I would have him serve our master."

Her eyes filled up with tears, and with a small shake of her head, she sprinted up the stairs to her chambers, Draco still in her arms.

Lucius had not regretted his words for one moment. Seething with a massive amount of frustration and anger, he screwed his fists tightly, and stared at the retreating back of Narcissa Malfoy. How could the woman he loved not see his point of view?

An expensive glass statue of Slytherin, aligned beautifully at the entrance of his home, shattered into a thousand pieces.

It was this scene that Dobby the house-elf stumbled upon when he entered the main foyer of the Malfoy manor in a bustle of sound.

"D-d-dobby SORRY!" Dobby exclaimed, stuttering loudly.

Lucius growled frustratingly, and his already terrible mood deteriorated instantly. Grabbing his servant by the scruff of his tunic, the man spilt his wrath upon the poor house-elf's ears.

"What," the dark wizard hissed with deadly anger, "-have I told you about interrupting your master's businesses?"

This time, a painting shattered.

"Master!" wailed Dobby. "Dobby is really really really reeeaally sorry!"

Shaking free of its master's grip, it frantically began hitting its head hard against the marble floor, as if oblivious to all else. Remarkably, even as it was torturing itself, the house-elf still managed to be heard.

"Dobby saw auror wizards coming to Master's manor-" it said between painful gasps.

Lucius' eyes widened.

"Dobby! Make sure Narcissa and Draco are in their rooms!" he barked as full realization suddenly hit him.

He rubbed his head in sudden fear. If the Ministry had heard about his son's birth, and had wanted to see- all he knew was that Draco's newly attained dragon mark would cause more than a little gossip.

His manor was under too much risk of being searched, again.

But when he opened the door for his visitors, their expressions were that of grim satisfaction.

"Lucius Malfoy, my friend," greeted the top-auror coldly. A smile of almost smug satisfaction was etched onto his face, as one hand held up the rumpled newspaper that bore the bold headlines that would cause many wizards to celebrate that day.

"You-Know-Who has fallen. You are under arrest..."

*****

Chapter Three: Of Sacrifice and Sorrow

Narcissa was oblivious to her husband's troubles when she entered her chambers, distressed at the sudden turn of events.

Smiling grimily through her tears, she stroked the angelic face of her sleeping child, Draco.

Even though she'd never say it to her husband after what he'd done, in her heart she'd agreed that Draco was the perfect name for her boy.

Draco was supposed to take her husband's mind off of the hated Dark Lord, and make him more conscious of his growing family. She loathed the thought of how her son would now have to grow up forever dark, an heir and pawn of Voldemort. The dark mark of the dragon, etched onto his baby skin, was already filling her heart with anticipation for what dark deeds she knew he would soon be doing.

It was pathetic. She had absolutely no control over the future of her own dear child.

And for that reason, she hated the mere thought of You-Know-Who. The powerful, dark wizard had killed her parents when they'd shied from joining him, and was now threatening to break apart her next family too. When they'd married, she'd painfully bore her husband's involvement with Voldemort, never asking to know or speaking out against his activities. But this time, with the branding of her own flesh and blood, she knew that Voldemort had gone quite far enough.

"This time," the woman mumbled as she got up and paced the room, "I could not- would not stand it for herself to raise my family's own doom."

Finally the pacing stopped, and Narcissa knew what she must do. With grief etched into her heart, she grabbed some parchment and ink, and began to write.

To anyone whom this may concern, she scribbled. She paused, and then began the next line. This boy here currently has no home to go to. Out of the kindness of your heart, please let him stay with you and your family. He may be of some use there- At this point she broke off, sobbing. She was giving her own child away, away from evil, and for the good of the world...

Quickly finishing her letter, Narcissa placed her child into a light basket, and stuffed some golden coins in payment.

She took one last gaze at her son, kissed him one last time, and sobbed. Finally, amidst flowing tears, she finally called for her familiar, Moonlight.

A huge, white owl approached the sorrowed woman cautiously. Making sure that all was in place, Narcissa proceeded to whisper her intentions to her pet.

Then, with unbelievable courage, she opened the windows, and motioned the owl to go. Unhesitant, it set off, and was soon only a white speck in the dawning sky.

"Goodbye... my son," Narcissa whispered. She had done what she thought was best, but still, an anguished scream was filling her soul.

*****

Moonlight flew gently across the star-dotted sky, floating gently in the process as if he was really a white feather rather than a seventy-pound bird. The human whom he followed orders from had told him to set his package upon the doorstep of any reliable Muggle town, and he was intent on completing her wishes. After all, finding a smart, responsible, and caring owner was not common, and most of his fellow owl friends had ended up with cold humans whose only wishes were for them to deliver and return, a monotone process that not even the strongest of the owls could endure for long if they continued to do it endlessly.

It was only by luck and chance that he had found a loving owner; the rest of his friends might not have been so lucky... Moonlight had suddenly drifted deep into his owl-thoughts, not paying any attention to his surroundings and the task currently at hand.

So it came as a surprise for him when he was suddenly jotted out of his thoughts by a complete and un-owl-like bump on the head. His package was immediately jutted out of his talons, and sunk to the ground. The owl ruffled his feathers impatiently as he tried to regain from the dizziness of his crash. What was he doing, thinking in the middle of a flight- if his friends could see him now, they'd have a hooting fit.

But suddenly remembering the importance of his mission again, Moonlight flew awkwardly towards the ground to pick up the package again.

Then he looked up by chance, and saw the most homely thing that was ever imaginable: a neat, modern, medium-sized, home. He knew immediately that it was a Muggle one; the lamplights on the street beside it gave it away easily.

Happy that he had finally found his package's destination, the owl proceeded to place the bundle he was carrying near the front steps.

After several hoots of success, Moonlight took off and sailed into the air again, never knowing that the package he was carrying was actually a human boy, and he had dropped him off with one of the worst Muggles ever, the Dursleys of Privet Drive.

******

Chapter Four: Of Unexpected Tidings

The morning that Harry Potter was left on their doorsteps, Vernon Dursley was awakened by a loud shriek from his wife, getting the milk bottles from the front porch.

"Vernon!" she screamed. Groaning, Vernon turned and rolled over in bed. What was the matter with her? Couldn't decent people around here get some sleep? But he knew that whatever his wife was screaming about, it was probably important, and she would be after him if he didn't get up soon. So he got up.

Blinking, Vernon crawled out of bed and walked downstairs. He saw his wife standing there in the middle of the front door staring at some. She was still apparently shocked.

"Erhm, Petunia dear?" he tried.

Petunia didn't move. He moved closer, and saw a baby in a cradle lying on the doorsteps. It was a boy, wailing for his milk. But what was so strange about him, Vernon noted, was the mark of a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

"It's the Potters," voiced Petunia softly.

"Pardon, what did you say?"

"The Potters."

"What?"

"Vernon, for heavens sake, it's Harry, my sister's son!" Petunia finally screamed out.

He could only gape.

"Well, then! All we have to do is give it away!" he thundered.

Her expression turned to one of incredulous disbelief as she glared at him sternly.

"No."

"B-b-but!" he stuttered. "IT'S A FREAK!"

"Well, we've got to stamp some magic out of him sometime, of course," she replied. "After all, this boy is my sister's son, despite her abnormality."

Petunia then proceeded to carry the cradle inside, leaving a very bewildered and disgruntled husband.

"At least we're not going to get another one tomorrow", he muttered darkly. Little did he know how false that really was.

***

It was the morning after the Dursleys had discovered Harry Potter. Vernon Dursley woke up that day feeling refreshed, but immediately remembered the events of the other day and became angered quite a bit again when he finally realized that Harold- or something (he could never get the name right, as if he cared) was in his house too.

Suddenly, there was a shriek coming from the front porch of his home.

Vernon groaned. Was he to be tormented with a scream from his wife every single morning now? She had done the same thing when their nephew had been found.

"What is it, Petunia!" he yelled.

In reply he got a very exasperated yell of "VERNON!"

Like the day before, Vernon also decided to go and investigate. He managed to lumber across the hall and down the stairs, where he was greeted by a very shocked wife staring at a cradle.

"What!" Vernon bellowed, blinking hysterically.

He quickly rubbed his eyes, but the cradle that he saw in front of him was no illusion. A live baby, woken by his wife's cry, was crying softly.

"P-Pe-Petunia!" he sputtered. "What- Please, No, not another long lost freak!" he could only moan.

Suddenly, something shiny caught his eye. He reached forward, thrust his hands inside the cradle, and was rewarded with a handful of golden coins. Vernon's lumpy face immediately turned upwards into a smile. "Petunia!" he cried. "We're rich, we're rich!"

So it was then that Draco Salazar Malfoy Riddle, along with Harry James Potter, became part of the family. The ignorant Dursleys, who refused to read the letter that was sent to them carefully, called him Draco Potter.