Beacon of Light in a Sea of Darkness

Prologue

Draco Malfoy hurried from the dark, musty dungeons, his heart racing, his hands clammy, and his entire body trembling. His mind was set on one thing, and that was to flee as hastily as possible. Tonight had been too much. Too overwhelming. He could no longer take it. It went without saying that Voldemort had not been pleased with him in the slightest. He could swear there had been some kind of poison in the drink the Dark Lord had forced him to gulp down before dismissing him. He could swear there was a smug smirk on Pettigrew's face as he poured him his goblet of wine. The pain in his stomach did nothing but add to the growing evidence of his poisoning. He could feel his sight clouding.

As he burst through the wooden, double doors, he welcomed the chilly and refreshing night air. He took in this fresh air in large gulps, taking deep breaths, willing himself to calm down, and he shut the heavy doors behind him, sprinting toward the village, where he could finally Disapparate from this dreadful place. Tonight's meeting had gone worse than expected. His failure had once again reminded Voldemort of his incompetence in his Sixth year, and the numerous times after that. He had thought that he had gotten off easily by merely being at the receiving end of his Lord's Cruciatus Curse, but that was a terrible mistake. Whatever poison Voldemort had fed him ate painfully away at his insides. He stifled a groan of pain, feeling slightly disoriented, dizzy, and even nauseated. But he ran on, toward the village, where the Anti-Apparation charms no longer reached.

Soon after he Disapparated with a crack, he materialized in front of the gates of Malfoy Manor. The home of his childhood had never felt so ominous, its shadow looming before him, crawling menacingly toward him on the ground as if threatening to pull him into its infinite depths. He suppressed a shudder as he muttered the necessary charms to open the gates of his own home. His shaking fingers pulled off the cool metal latch of the gate, and pushed the gates open. They creakily swung open for him, allowing him to cross his familiar, well-kept front lawn toward the large doors marking the front entrance. When he finally entered his magnificent entrance hall, he let out a shaky breath, glad to be finally away from that dreadful place he had been only moments before.

Staggering, whilst cursing his weakness, he climbed up the grand staircase toward his lavish bedroom. All the hospitality, beauty, and elegance of his own Manor could not suppress the vicious monster within him; coiled, and threatening to strike when he least expects it to. He quickly undressed himself as he prepared for his cold shower to soak away his filth and maybe clear his head. He rubbed at his blurry eyes, even when he knew that the attempt to clear them was futile. It had to be the poison.

He stepped into his shower, and closed his eyes. The freezing water streamed down his smooth hair, over every feature on his face, and down his body. It was not nearly enough to fully cleanse him. He scrubbed at every part of his body until bright red patches appeared. He was oblivious to the pain. Filth. Must get rid of this filth... He continued to scrub vigorously, especially at his left forearm. The ugly Mark stood vividly against his pale skin, mocking him. No more. No more. He had had it for a few years now, but he had never gotten used to it. He scrubbed at the skin there until it was raw, but the Mark did not seem to faint in the slightest. He groaned. Scratching at the mark, his nails bit into his already raw flesh, drawing blood, oozing from the four long lines deforming the skull. But it was still there. No more. Get it off! The blood trickled down his arm, his hand, and dripped onto the bathtub, mingling with the clear water and tainting it pink. He watched the water further wash away his blood on his forearm. He watched the pink swirl down the drain. But it still wasn't enough. The Dark Mark was more vivid than ever on his forearm. Knowing that he was fighting a hopeless, losing battle, Draco turned off the tap, and stepped out of the shower.

With quick charms muttered under his breath, he stopped the bleeding on his forearm, but he still felt as tainted as ever. The things that the Dark Lord made him do tonight... He refused to think about it any longer, feeling as if he was already on the brink of insanity.

He changed his clothes, and approached the bed. His abdominal pain intensified. It was excruciatingly sharp, as if something were gnawing at his insides. His eyesight was not better at all. He felt strangely drunk even though he had only consumed one goblet of wine that night. His self-inflicted injury on his Marked forearm still stung, and he cursed himself for being so stupid. He slipped between his cold sheets, hoping that tomorrow would bring him more luck and better health. Before he closed his eyes, he could see the clock on his wall faintly glowed that it was a quarter to one. The last thought before he finally drifted off to a restless sleep was that he would have to fix the Luminescence Charm on his clock soon. It was getting strangely faint and unclear...

When Draco Malfoy woke up the next morning, all he could see was a darkness that stretched out indefinitely...