Unforgiven

For a second there was no sound in the room, except for Lucius' splintered sobs, and Draco's ragged breathing, and the crackling of the fire. No one moved. They all remained frozen in place, like wax models in shop windows. Even Lord Voldemort seemed shocked into stillness.

However, as the extended moment faded away, it was he who broke them out of their statue-like condition.

"Well well," he murmured, a twisted smile beginning to play over his subhuman face. "This is most unexpected."

Draco fought the impulse to shiver with every fibre of his body.

"I have received news of a most important development," the Dark Lord continued, moving slowly, predator-like towards the man and the boy, "and so I have come with all due haste to the house of one of my respected Death Eaters. But what have I found?"

He took another step towards them, his eyes glinting red like fresh-spilt blood. He was a parody of humanity. His voice was so eerie - Draco had always imagined it to be deep, resounding in the very bones of the listener, but it wasn't. It was high, and cold, but above all, completely and irrevocably Evil.

"Well?" he hissed. "What have I found? For I imagine young Draco here should not, in fact, be here - and yet he is. And not only is he here," the voice took on a hard, mocking edge, "he seems to be making his presence fully and utterly known."

Another step. He was so close, thought Draco, dazedly. Close enough to reach out and touch...

"So?" the Dark Lord whispered. "Which one of you would care to explain?" The fiery eyes gleamed, and darted, snake-like, to the man snivelling on the floor. "Lucius?"

Lucius Malfoy grovelled further, kissing the Dark Lord's robes.

"Of course, Master," he whimpered, trying to reassert his normal arrogant confidence. "Although I'm afraid there is little to tell. I was unable to help Draco in some Hogwarts business, and I regret that he lost his temper. It is of little consequence -"

"Liar," Draco said quietly. With a shock, he realised that he was trembling with rage and adrenaline. He had never felt so angry in his life.

Lord Voldemort gave a soft, cold laugh.

"I see," he hissed, reptilian. "It seems this is something of great consequence, Lucius. You lied to me." And all of a sudden, all traces of humour were gone. "I hope you are not forgetting the consequences of the last time you lied to Lord Voldemort."

Involuntarily, Draco's fists clenched. The Dark Lord stared. And then, suddenly, the most terrifying light entered the crimson eyes, as he looked from Draco to Lucius, and back to Draco again.

There was silence for a second. And then he smiled. "Oh," he uttered, softly. "Now I understand."

He turned his attention fully onto Draco.

"However did you find out?" he asked, a sudden disquieting hunger settling over his face. "Lucius couldn't have told you, he could barely tell himself...Narcissa? Was it Narcissa?"

"I found the remains of a diary he wrote on the subject," Draco said. His voice was quavering with suppressed emotion, but otherwise toneless. "I performed a Reversal Charm on it, which removed the Ageing Curse which he'd used. That told me all I needed to know."

There was a pause, and then the Dark Lord laughed. "Well," he said, "you certainly underestimated your son, Lucius. That was a mistake." His face darkened. "And you know that I do not tolerate mistakes," he whispered.

Lucius threw himself at Lord Voldemort's feet once again. "Master no, please," he gabbled, "I have learned now, and it was a mistake I made a long time ago, I -"

"Silence!" The voice had become hard, and steeled. The Dark Lord's terrible eyes blazed, revealing the wrath they aimed at Lucius. "I am aware of when you made the mistake. As for learning, you have learnt nothing. Have you not already tried to lie to me again this evening?"

He smiled cruelly down at the cowering Lucius Malfoy. "However," he said silkily, "it is fortunate for you that I have a slightly more pressing matter to deal with."

He looked up at Draco, and smiled.

"Your son," he murmured.

Draco tensed, as Lucius gasped. "My Lord -" he began, but stopped at the sight of the wand pointing at him.

Lord Voldemort turned, and strode to the fire. "I assume, Draco, that you know by now of your father's promise concerning you?" he said, almost conversationally.

Draco swallowed. "I found out a few minutes ago," he said, quietly. "I have until I am eighteen to decide whether or not to join the Dark Side; if I don't, I will be destroyed."

The Dark Lord turned around to face them again. His expression held nothing but hunger and malice.

"Yes, that was the deal," he drawled. "However, you were never meant to find out about it at all, even at the point we killed you - or not..." he added. "The situation has obviously changed now." He angled a hungry glance at Lucius, before looking back up at Draco.

Draco automatically flicked his gaze down towards his father. Lucius was crouched in obvious terror, staring pleadingly up at the Dark Lord. A wave of contempt washed over Draco, and he looked back up at Lord Voldemort once again.

"Therefore," the Dark Lord continued, his eyes ablaze, "I am redefining the deal."

The sentence hung in the air.

Smiling, Lord Voldemort strode quickly over to Lucius. Seizing the man's forearm, he tore back the sleeve to expose the ugly tattoo embroidered upon the pale flesh. Swiftly, one long finger was pressed to the Dark Mark.

Lucius cried out. Draco turned away, contempt and shame of his father making him feel sick.

Lord Voldemort straightened, and moved to the middle of the room. "Behold, Draco," he whispered. "Behold your witnesses."

And suddenly, the room was filled with a ring of Death Eaters.

The Dark Lord glanced at Draco, and laughed at his expressionless composure. "Very good, Draco," he called. "Very good."

He turned back to the masked ring. "My friends," he hissed, "you whom I consider family, I have summoned you here for a very special reason. You are to be witnesses to the decision of a young man who could become our newest addition."

A murmur sprang up which quickly silenced itself.

Lord Voldemort turned back to Draco. "Should you accept us, Draco, these will be your family," he said. He seemed almost friendly. "I believe you know most of them, but probably not our most valuable addition."

He turned to a Death Eater to the right of Draco, who stepped forward at his signal and removed her mask. A fall of impossibly blonde hair fell to her shoulders, neatly framing the perfect face.

"Verity Lestrange," he breathed. "Her parents were two of my loyalist members. I had hoped to honour them above all others when I took Azkaban, but by the time I reached them, they were dead to the world. But then I learned of their daughter, and so I set out to find her. But faithful Verity came to me first."

He looked at Draco again. "She is now one of my elite, through her exquisite service to me. Should you join us also, I hope you can rise as she has."

He turned to Lucius. "On the other hand...even bloodlines as pure as that of Verity Lestrange do not always give the best results." Lucius flinched.

"Anyway..." Lord Voldemort drew himself up, and moved so that he was standing directly in front of Draco. "The deal, as I said earlier, is being redefined. By the original terms, you would still have another year. However..." he smiled unpleasantly.

"You will have to choose now."

Internally, Draco struggled for control. This couldn't be happening, it just couldn't...okay, so he had never been a particularly nice person, but was he a killer? Could he take someone's life? But then...

All his life, all he had done was live up to one stereotype after another. He had grown up in a rich background, and so had become spoilt. He had been put into Slytherin, and so had obligingly, become as spiteful as he was capable, and had never questioned that they all seemed to be ugly, and lived in a dungeon. He had gotten the obligatory retarded henchmen to be a bodyguard around him. What was going one step further? He came from a pure-blood family with a deep prejudice toward Muggles. He was expected to join the Dark Side.

And so what if he did? What was killing a few Muggles, really? It was a sort of purifying, a cleansing - the wizards weren't born gifted, really, it was Muggles born defective, lowering evolution. As were the Muggle-lovers. Muggles would persecute wizards, and they always would. Muggle-lovers allowed that threat to grow. That could not be allowed.

There was nothing dark about the Dark Side. Alright, the magic they used wasn't - civilised, exactly - but they used it for the right reasons. It wasn't Dark, as people said. That was just ignorance. They weren't evil. They were just clearer minded than the rest. They were just trying to save their race. Why was that so wrong?

Without ever noticing, Draco realised that he had always thought this way, deep down. It was a pre-programmed decision. He had never had any choice.

Calmly, Draco looked up into the glowing eyes, eyes that held the only sensible emotions. Eyes that were just trying to do the right thing.

"Of course I'll join you, my Lord," he said, clearly.

Voldemort smiled.

"Excellent," he murmured. "However, and I'm sure you understand, I have to be wary of you, with your family's reputation."

Sensible, Draco thought.

"Your father has not been faithful, Draco. You are his son. I need some form, some gesture of assurance that you will not be another Lucius Malfoy. That you will be another Verity Lestrange, and a credit to your Mark."

The eyes gleamed with reason.

"Just a sign. Just to say that you will not betray us, as he did."

The eyes gleamed.

"Our cause is so important, Draco," he whispered. "Can you see?"

Draco smiled. "Of course," he answered. "I understand."

And before them all, before the Death Eaters, Verity Lestrange and the Dark Lord himself, he made that pledge of faith.

He turned to Lucius Malfoy, took his head in both hands, and snapped his neck.

It had to be done, Draco thought, dreamily. It was better this way. As long as his father lived, the Dark side would have been in danger, and therefore so would the entire Wizarding World. This way, he could eliminate the threat. And let Lucius die a Muggle way. It was...appropriate, somehow.

Draco looked up, and into the curiously alive eyes of Voldemort. "Is that sufficient, my Lord?"

Voldemort smiled again. "Perfectly," he whispered. "Hold out your arm."

As he did so, all around them the Death Eaters began to chant. Draco tried to concentrate, but he couldn't...the chant drew him in, a gloriously interwoven tapestry of words that surrounded him and soothed him. He didn't notice himself as he chanted along, despite not knowing the words. He didn't notice as Voldemort branded him with the Dark Mark. He didn't notice as Voldemort poured three drops of blood onto the still gleaming Mark, where they shimmered for a moment before sinking in, binding the seal to his skin.

And at first, he didn't notice when they left, leaving the fire extinguished and the torches out.

But then, at last, he noticed.

He noticed Narcissa's screams, as she came home and found her son standing silently in the darkened Drawing Room, surrounded by the bodies of House-elves, with a fresh Dark mark imprinted on his arm, and the sightless body of her husband staring accusingly up at him with lifeless eyes.

But it was the last scene she ever saw.