The stench of damp permeated the air, giving the whole room a rancid atmosphere, that attacked Draco's nostrils in a fiercely minded attack. Wrinkling his nose, Draco imagined the smell was fitting to the acts that had most likely been committed in the room.
His mother, stood to the side, resplendent in floor length ivory robes looked even more out of place among the dreary Manor dungeons then she had in Hogwarts. But the cool and slightly malicious expression on her face perfectly mirrored those around her. Draco looked around the men forming a half-circle about him. Their faces were shrouded in darkness but Draco could make out glints of cruelty in the shadow that he perceived as their eyes.
Fighting back the apprehensive expression that was aching to appear on his face, Draco fixed his attention on his mother. She turned to him, the planes of her face highlighted by the flickering lanterns her smile holding no humour and chilling Draco with it's malevolence.
"I trust that Avery and his companions will take good care of you," she said softly as though he was going to play quidditch with a group of boys, not be put through the rigours of Death Eaters training with a bunch of murderers. Leaning forward slightly, she brushed her bare hand along his cheek. Draco nearly started in surprise at the feel of her skin, so foreign to him. For an instant something shone in her eyes, something that Draco had imagined other mothers must look at their sons with.
But then it was gone and Draco was left facing his cool, familiar mother who with a nod towards the hooded figures, swept from the room.
Left to face the sinister figures, Draco felt a lump rise in his throat, his father's words echoing around his head. You are a Malfoy. Be a Malfoy. Do not disappoint me. Taking a deep breath Draco repeated the words as a mantra, his father's voice ringing in his head.
Avery stepped forward and regarded Draco through those cruel eyes. "So, young Malfoy, you wish to be a Death Eater."
A voice in the back of his head, that sounded suspiciously like Ginny was, screaming No! But Draco fought back his misgivings that had arisen at the sight of the dreary dungeon room, lit with flames like some Medieval torture chamber. Moving towards the older man Draco stared defiantly into his shadowed face. "Yes."
Avery nodded and gestured the other men away. They all nodded together and then left. Draco's look of surprise must have shown on his face because as Avery tugged his hood down he shared a smile with the young man.
"Just to scare you really," Draco managed a shaky smile, inside something was screaming at him to notice the type of men that he was getting involved with. Except, that he was that type of man. And so was his father. And all Draco had ever wanted to be was his father. Avery was still smiling at him, the effect, Draco supposed, was supposed to be comforting but the foreign expression on the man's gnarled face, merely put him on edge. "So, how's school doing?"
Draco bit back the sarcastic retort that was on the edge of his tongue, achingly aware that he wasn't the one holding the wand. "It's fine," he managed, inordinately proud of himself for keeping the waver from his tone.
Avery threw an arm around Draco's shoulder, apparently not noticing the stiffness of Draco's stance. To Draco the arm felt like nothing more than a shackle bolting him to the floor.
"What about girls?" Avery laughed, a sound that actually contained humour. The sound was so contradictory to the room around them that Draco started to relax. The good-humoured laugh echoing around the room, taking the edge of his fear. "God, I remember when you were just a baby and know I get to ask you about girls!" He nudged him conspiratorially, "So are there any?"
Draco was struck with an image of Ginny that he pushed away as soon as it appeared, and tried to answer something along the lines of Pansy when the pain that hit him drove him to his knees.
Agony. It was pure agony that blistered his very bones, turning his body to a writhing heap on the floor that was incapable of even uttering one comprehensible word. Draco felt himself start to lose a grip on his thoughts, swimming around in a sea of memory, the past and present merging to one until Draco couldn't work out where, or even who, he was.
And then it was over. As Draco slowly came back to himself he looked up from his crumpled position on the cold floor into Avery's malevolent expression. He smiled again, this time it fitted his face better, it being cruel and twisted. Leaning down he grabbed Draco by the arm and roughly yanked him up, pushing the boy away when he sagged involuntarily against him.
"Never let your guard down," Avery growled, inches away from Draco's pain wracked, gasping face. "That was your first lesson."
He let go of Draco, letting him stumble against the wall. Draco willed himself to stand up, dragging his body up the rough stone in a effort not to fall. He locked his eyes with that of Avery, a power play that he knew he had no hope of winning and yet would engage in anyway. Because that was what Malfoy's did.
"Follow me," Avery said watching him impassively, before turning and walking from the room, his cold, demanding voice echoing behind him, "You have many lessons to learn yet, young Malfoy."
*
The image of his mother's detached face followed Draco back to Hogwarts as he lay on his bed, the curtains tightly drawn, his body aching in ways that he had never thought possible. Draco tried to reach for a glass of water, the pain where his shoulder had been dislocated in 'fencing practice' making him cringe and fall back to the bed, cradling it.
Closing his eyes against the familiar canopy, Draco allowed himself to feel the pain that had resulted from his various lessons. Avery was a cruel, vindictive man who obviously disliked Draco particularly because of who his father was. For all of Avery's pain-inducing techniques, Draco had to admit that he had learnt the lessons well.
Draco laughed, though a wince followed from his bruised ribs, as he imagined what the noble Gryfinndors would say about the torture he had received from those whose side he fought on. From instinct, Draco's hand strayed to a mark just above his wrist. The scar, years old, was a constant reminder of one of his father's lessons.
A lesson that Draco had learnt well. Never let your enemies know that you may fear them. His hand absently ran along the line from the shackle, imagining Potter's face if he ever showed him how much his superior flying skills scared him. Draco was always willing to admit that someone was better than him at something, he just wouldn't admit it to anyone else.
No scars would remain from his weekend and for that Draco was thankful. He'd seen McGonagall's eagle eyes survey the one on his wrist too many times and any new ones would do nothing but raise questions.
His hand rubbed absently up his arm. He wondered if McGonagall's eagle eyes would notice the Mark when it was bestowed on him. Draco allowed himself a small smile at the thought, the weekend may have been painful but Draco had seen the small glint in Avery's eye that showed he had been impressed.
Draco Malfoy would soon serve the Dark Lord just as his father had. A thrill of ambition ran through Draco. Perhaps better than his father had.
The movement in his right arm suddenly reminded Draco of the burning of his muscles and his hand stilled, remembering Avery's competence at inflicting pain. Get to murder and kill. The small voice inside his head reminded him. Draco scrunched his hand into a fist. He was going to be a Death Eater.
He shut his eyes, blocking out the memory of Avery's eyes as they had pointed the wand and yielded the whip at him over and over again. Blocking out the memory of eyes that had been enjoying what they'd been watching.
*
"Draco." It was far too early. That much Draco was sure of, anything else, like the ache in his muscles and the firelight flickering through his open curtains, was all periphery.
"Early," he mumbled, curling himself into a ball and blocking out the light with a strategically placed, aching arm.
"Fine," muttered the unwelcome voice and Draco was aware of the bed tipping as someone clambered into it. Moaning soundlessly, Draco rolled away from the visitor and snuggled deeper into his duvet. "Draco, for Merlin's sake, will you wake up?"
The voice was more familiar now, though just because Draco knew it was Blaise didn't mean he had any more incentive to move. That was until Blaise started poking him in the shoulder. His recently dislocated, very painful shoulder.
Wearily opening his eyes and ineffectually batting Blaise away, Draco rolled back over and observed his friend through foggy eyes. "Blaise, what the hell are you doing in my bed?" Draco managed with a croaky voice.
Blaise plastered on a shocked expression. "You mean you don't remember last night? Draco, how could you!" With a dramatic flourish Blaise collapsed against the headboard.
Draco growled and pulled himself up, wincing at the pain in his arms as he did so. Blaise noticed this and looked concerned. Draco, in turn, noticed this and sent Blaise a clear warning. Nodding wordlessly, Blaise snagged a steaming mug of coffee from the bedside table and handed it to Draco.
Inhaling the steam deeply, Draco took a grateful sip and leant, next to Blaise, on the headboard. "To begin again, in hopefully a more sane manner, Blaise what the hell are you doing in my bed?"
Blaise shrugged before replying matter-of-factedly, "You wouldn't wake up."
"Shaking and yelling didn't work for you?"
"Worked fine for me. Just didn't work too well for you."
"So you decided to climb onto my bed?"
"Would you really have wanted me to throw cold water over your head?" Draco's horrified expression provided the answer that Blaise needed and he laughed. "Though your hair really is in a state anyway."
Draco's hands instantly went to his hair before he shot Blaise a disgruntled stare and mumbled petulantly; "Oh, shut up. Still don't see why I have to be up this early."
"It's a school day, moron. We do have those troublesome things called lessons, you know."
"I don't want to go to them," Draco whined, chugging his coffee.
Blaise scrutinised his own cup carefully before replying. "You could always go and see Madam Pomfrey for all those aches and pains."
Draco's eyes quickly slid to his and Blaise stared back evenly. Swallowing carefully, Draco leaned over Blaise and put his cup down. "We're going to be Death Eaters." A grin broke out over Blaise's face, a grin that chilled Draco to the bone.
For an instant, gone was his childhood best friend with his witty banter and generally cheerful disposition and in his place was a man with an expression that wouldn't have looked out of place on Avery.
"Yes, we are," said Blaise happily, "gonna hurt like hell apparently, but still." He climbed off the bed, parting the curtains. Turning back to Draco, he looked like the boy he'd known for years again. "We're going to be Death Eaters." Draco was fiercely reminded of when they used to play at being Grindelwald and his top general when they were children. Blaise suddenly looked concerned again. Draco followed his gaze to the purple and black bruises that covered his shoulder. "I'll go get Pansy. She has some healing potions and stuff. Just get dressed, okay?"
Draco nodded and watched Blaise begin to leave and then something made him call out, "Blaise?" Turning away from the door, Blaise regarded him expectantly. Draco paused, unsure on what he had been going to say. He'd just spent the weekend with a man who could have killed him in a hundred different ways, at least three with just a kumquat, and whose expression generally appeared like a vulture's upon spotting a fresh carcass. And he'd been practically fine with it. So why did it bother him so much to see the same expression on Blaise's face? Draco winced and just said; "Nothing."
Blaise looked at him quizzically for a moment. "Okay," he gestured at the beds containing Crabbe and Goyle. "Wake the trolls, will you?"
Draco's mind was abuzz though all he knew for certain was that he was feeling uncertain about everything. And that he poked Crabbe and Goyle far harder than was necessary when waking them up.
*
The ache in Draco's arm had reduced to a dull throb though Draco decided that reaching for the book on the top shelf in the library was obviously pushing his pain receptors to the limit. Swearing proficiently Draco shifted the retrieved book under his shoulder and rubbed his shoulder, tears threatening his vision.
"Are you okay?" The familiar voice in the familiar question made Draco groan and he looked down the book lined stack to find Ginny stood watching him, that damn concerned look back on her face.
"Don't you ever get tired of asking me that?" Draco asked wearily, leaning back against the shelf.
Ginny narrowed her eyes at him threateningly. "I was looking for a book, Malfoy and found you swearing and looking as though someone just hit you with cruciatus." Draco bit back a laugh at how accurate her sarcastic comment was. "What was I supposed to say?"
"Move Malfoy, I want a book?" Draco suggested unhelpfully.
Ginny scowled at him. "Fine. Move Malfoy, I want a book."
Draco waved a hand over the shelf in front of him, not budging an inch. "Be my guest."
Fuming silently, Ginny stamped up the aisle and came to stand in front of him, investigating the shelf in front of her. Draco found himself faced with her hair, a sheet of bright red down her back, and began to regret his decision not to move. Just as Draco was about to give into the urge to run his fingers through it Ginny turned away from the shelf and unceremoniously tugged the book Draco was holding away from him.
"Hey!" he protested as she turned the book over and read the title.
"This is the book I need." Draco grabbed it back.
"Well, it's the book I need too." Ginny's face set in a fierce expression as she pried the book away from Draco's hands.
"Well, like you said; 'Move Malfoy, I want this book."
Draco reached forward so he was inches away from her face and picked the book from her arms. "I think you're paraphrasing, Miss Weasley and I was here first so I'm taking the book."
But Ginny's attention was shifted from Draco's steely grey eyes staring at her. Following the direction of her gaze, Draco found that his robes had slipped, showing some of the bruising that had spread up to his neck.
Her eyes wide, Ginny's hand moved carefully towards his exposed neck. "Malfoy, what happened?" she asked, breathily.
Draco jerked away from her hand, hitting the shelf behind him. "Nothing, Weasley," he spat out. Her attention moved back to his face, the lines of her face grim.
"Malfoy, what happened?" He scowled at her and her expression changed to one of shocked horror. "Wait, didn't you go home…"
Before she had a chance to finish Draco had covered her body with his own, his hand planted firmly over her mouth. Her wide, frightened eyes stared at him as he whispered into her ear, ignoring the feel of her body pressed against his; "Don't tell anyone, Weasley."
He leaned back a fraction to regard her. "I had a very interesting weekend." He grinned wickedly, though inside Draco felt as though something was dying. "Want to see what I learnt?"
After a moment, Ginny shook her head and Draco roughly let her go. Wiping her mouth, she regarded him with loathing. Draco stared at her dishevelled appearance and felt a flash of hatred unlike anything he had ever felt before. Self-hatred.
Throwing the book at her so hard that she fell against the shelf behind her, jostling some of the heavy volumes, Draco said weakly; "You wanted the book." Then he fled the library, not noticing the stares he received from the students clustered there at his very un-Draco bedraggled appearance.