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What was a son to do without his father?
There were nights when all Draco Malfoy could do was to drown his sorrows with goblets of Firewhisky while the soft sobs of his mother reached his ears. When she was in his attendance her expression was always empty, her face tight and lips pursed with worry. It was in the nights when he heard her as she was safely hidden behind the large double doors of her bedroom while the tiny gasps and hiccups felt like a knife twisting in his gut.
It was Potter! Potter was to blame for the ruin of his family and Potter would be the bastard who needed to pay.
Draco knew he couldn't do it alone. He needed help; he needed the Death Eaters, his father's friends and confidants.
But, how to contact them? His father had kept him at arm’s length for most of his life no matter how much he had begged and pleaded to stand alongside him and fight for their kind. He knew no one he could trust to get a message through. But he did know a place where known Death Eaters were familiar with, a place that catered to their needs.
With excitement thrumming through his veins, Draco donned a dark cloak and stood in a dark alley opposite the well-known shop while blending into the darkness around him. Night after night he stood patiently not recognising the scoundrels that walked down that particular path of Knockturn Alley. Many were sellers; thieves and liars who tried to make a quick Galleon, but none who seemed like the type who would buy Borgin and Burkes' one of a kind artefacts. On the sixth day, he was stunned.
The first thing he was aware of when he was revived was the strong stench of filth that filled his nostrils. Blinking open his eyes, he was suddenly aware that he was kneeling, his arms being held tightly behind his back.
"Ah! Draco."
His eyes snapped open only to notice red slits staring at him in amusement. He gulped. He hadn't expected this. A sudden noise made Draco jump, a familiar face disappearing through a door he hadn't seen. Borgin.
"I'm so glad that you could join us." A string of laughter accompanied the thin smile that pulled on the Dark Lord's lips. It was all Draco could do not to turn his head to see who else was in the room with them.
"My Lord," a familiar voice said behind him. Snape. "Perhaps we should let the boy go. He is of no use to us."
The red eyes studied him. "I believe he could be very useful to us." He leaned forward, causing fear to turn Draco's stomach. "Your father said that you wished to join us. Was that true, Draco?"
"I-I want to help," Draco blurted out, the silence that followed his statement was almost deafening. "I'll do anything."
The Dark Lord's smile was feral. With a quick gesture, he told the Death Eaters to let his captive go. Finally able to move, Draco looked to the side where the stench was coming from and felt sick the moment he saw the blood.
"Hold out your arm, Draco."
Shaking, he held out his right arm. The Dark Lord shook his head in amusement before gesturing to his left. Realising what the Dark Lord meant to do took him by surprise. Draco hesitated.
"Your father disappointed me. Surely, you won't."
Gritting his teeth to stop the trembling, Draco pulled up his sleeve and held out his left arm. The Dark Lord looked at him with affection that didn't reach his cold eyes. His grin was radiant.
"You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?"
The pain that coursed through him was so violent that Draco jerked, a cry tearing from his throat as his skin felt like it was on fire. He writhed in pain that felt of a hundred knives breaking through his skin before he finally blacked out, the last thought being of saving his father.