Chapter Text
The room was colder than Dracena had expected. She wasn't certain why that surprised her. The manor was enormous, and many of its rooms were difficult to heat in winter.
But this wasn't an ordinary cold. It seemed to settle beneath her skin. The chamber was lit by candles arranged along the walls. Their flames burned steadily, without flickering, despite the occasional movement of robes.
There were twelve people present. Several wore masks. She recognized some of the others.
Avery.
Nott.
Her aunt Bellatrix.
And her father.
Lucius Malfoy stood near the far wall, his silver-headed cane resting against his leg. He had been unusually quiet throughout the evening.
Dracena had expected him to be pleased. After all, she was finally joining the cause he'd served for so many years. She was proving herself worthy of the family name. Yet when she'd approached him earlier, he'd barely spoken. He'd simply adjusted the collar of her robes. A strange gesture. Almost tender.
"Stand straight." he'd murmured.
She did so.
He'd looked at her for a long moment, then he'd stepped away. Now she stood in the center of the chamber, waiting.
The air changed. Dracena felt it before she saw him. The conversations stopped. A figure emerged from the darkness at the far end of the room.
Tall. Thin. Almost skeletal. His skin was unnaturally pale, stretched tightly over a face that seemed to have forgotten what it meant to be human.
His eyes were red. His nose...
Dracena stopped herself from staring, and she lowered her head.
"Miss Malfoy."
The voice was high and cold. It carried a faint hiss. She had heard it before, through the study door a few days ago. It seemed like forever ago.
"Your Lordship." Someone nearby shifted. Dracena wondered whether she'd used the wrong form of address. Then the figure laughed softly.
"Such exquisite manners."
She kept her head lowered.
"Your father has raised you well."
"Thank you, my Lord."
"Look at me."
She obeyed.
Voldemort studied her.
His eyes moved across her face. Dracena had the unpleasant sensation that he was examining something he intended to purchase.
"Sixteen years old."
"Yes, my Lord."
"And already so accomplished."
She said nothing.
"Your father speaks highly of you."
Dracena's heart lifted despite herself. She glanced toward Lucius. He didn't smile.
Voldemort noticed.
"Does that please you?"
"Of course, my Lord. Of course."
He moved closer.
"Your family has served me for many years."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Your father has made great sacrifices."
Dracena looked toward Lucius again. Something in his expression made her uneasy.
"Yes, my Lord."
"And now his daughter wishes to follow him."
She straightened. "I would be honored."
Voldemort smiled. It was a terrible thing to see.
"Would you?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"Then let us see whether you are worthy."
He extended his hand. "Your arm."
Dracena hesitated for only a fraction of a second, then she offered her left arm.
Voldemort tilted his head. "The other."
She switched arms. He took her right wrist. His fingers were cold. Not merely cool, but cold in a way living fingers shouldn't be. He turned her arm upward.
Dracena stared at the pale skin of her forearm. She had seen the Mark before, on her father.
On others.
She knew what was coming. Knowing didn't help.
Voldemort raised his wand. "Do you swear loyalty to me?"
"I do, my Lord."
"Above all others?"
Dracena felt her father's eyes on her. "Yes, my Lord."
"Above family?"
Her heart stumbled. She looked toward Lucius. He stood perfectly still. Dracena returned her gaze to Voldemort.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Above friendship?"
Harry's face appeared in her mind. She forced it away.
"Yes, my Lord."
Voldemort's smile widened.
"Above love?"
For one terrible instant, she couldn't speak. Harry. His smile. His ridiculous hair. The way he'd held her hand beneath the table when he thought nobody was watching. The way he'd kissed her.
The way he'd said... I love you.
Dracena swallowed. "Yes, my Lord."
Voldemort watched her, then he pressed his wand against her arm.
Pain exploded through her. Dracena had never experienced anything like it. It was as though something had seized the bones of her arm and begun twisting them apart. Her knees threatened to buckle. She locked them.
Her vision blurred. The room tilted. She could hear someone breathing. A strange, ragged sound. It took her a moment to realize it was her.
She would not scream. She would not.
The pain spread upward, into her shoulder, across her chest. For a moment she thought she might faint. Abruptly, it stopped.
Voldemort released her wrist. Dracena staggered. She caught herself before she fell. Her arm burned.
She looked down. The Dark Mark lay against her skin.
Black.
Ugly.
Unmistakable.
A skull. A serpent emerging from its mouth.
She stared. It was real. She had done it.
She was now a Death Eater.
Voldemort watched her. "Well?"
Dracena raised her head. She smiled.
Not broadly. Not foolishly. A small, proud smile. The smile of a young aristocrat who had just received a tremendous honor.
"Thank you, my Lord."
Voldemort laughed. "Excellent."
He turned toward the others. "Behold. Another Malfoy."
There was applause. Dracena bowed her head. Her arm was still trembling. She concealed it beneath her sleeve.
Across the room, Lucius Malfoy began to applaud. Slowly. Deliberately. He watched his daughter smile.
She looked magnificent. Composed. Proud. Every inch a Malfoy.
He should have been pleased. He had spent sixteen years preparing her for precisely this kind of moment.
Yet something was wrong. He knew these people. Not the way Dracena knew them. He knew what they did when the masks came off. He knew what happened to people who disappointed them. He knew how quickly loyalty became a demand for sacrifice, and now his daughter stood among them.
His little girl was wearing their Mark.
He looked at Voldemort. For the first time in many years, Lucius Malfoy wondered whether he had made a terrible mistake.
Dracena made it back to Hogwarts without crying. She made it through the entrance hall.
Up the stairs.
Along the corridor.
Past a pair of laughing Ravenclaws.
She even managed to smile politely at Professor Flitwick.
She reached her dormitory. Closed the door and secured it
She pulled up her sleeve.
The Mark was still there. Of course it was.
She stared at it. The ointment Snape had given her sat unopened on her bedside table. She didn't want to touch it.
She didn't want to touch anything.
She sat on the bed. She thought of her father. She thought of Voldemort. She thought of the people who had applauded.
And then she thought of Harry. Harry, who had apologized to her in the entrance hall. Harry, who still believed she was merely being difficult. Harry, who would probably try to talk to her again tomorrow.
She imagined his face when he saw the Mark.
She imagined him asking why.
She imagined telling him. It was all a lie.
Her breath caught. She bent forward. For several seconds she couldn't move, then a sound escaped her.
A small, broken noise.
She clapped a hand over her mouth, but it didn't help.
She began to cry.
She cried until she couldn't breathe properly, until her throat hurt, until her entire body shook.
She wanted Harry. That was the worst part. She wanted him to come through the door.
To sit beside her.
To put his arms around her.
To tell her everything would be all right.
And she knew that if he did, she would tell him everything.
She would tell him about Voldemort. About Snape. About the Mark. About what she was trying to do. And then all of it would have been for nothing.
She curled onto her side. Her right arm lay across the pillow. The Mark stared back at her. She pulled her sleeve down.
Tomorrow, she would have to show it to Harry.
Tomorrow, she would have to make him hate her.
Dracena buried her face in the pillow. "Stupid Potter." she whispered. But there was no anger in it.
Not anymore.