The next few months of my life were some of the most impossible to live through. I was kept prisoner inside my own home, which had become the new hiding place for the Death Eaters. The stone hallways of the mansion had never seemed so uninviting and cold. Though the house was full of countless men and women, it felt incredibly empty, like my heart. I was without my love, my Hermione. Contacting each other was impossible, since I knew that all letters that were headed to my home were intercepted. I was forced to act with no emotion and no heart. If I was told to do something, I had no choice, even if I didn’t want too. I was not permited to smile or to laugh or even be cheerful.
Now that I had faced nearly 2 months in my new imprisonment, things began to become routine. My Hogwarts class had just celebrated their graduation from the wizard school without me, and I had not seen, heard from, or touched Hermione in weeks. Yet not a day went by that I didn’t think of her. Every night I dreamt of our re-uniting and our life together that would follow.
My father acted more and less hatful towards me now that I had arrived. Once in the eye of other followers, he put on his beaming smirk of pride, parading me around for all to see. When we were alone, he yelled relentlessly at me for no apparent reason. He didn’t tell me much, just enough so that I had no knowledge of the outside magical world or its doings.
One night, my father took me to see Voldemort for the first time since I had come to live here. He let me down countless hallways and stairwells, through trap doors, and hidden passages I never knew existed. When we reached the end of a dark hall, one single door stood closed.
“He will be waiting for you.” My father said quickly. “Just wait here, he knows you’re here, and will call for you when he needs you.” With that he set off down the cold corridor, leaving me alone, waiting in the semi-darkness. Suddenly, the door creaked open. I entered slowly, not knowing what to expect.
I was in a tiny room that was empty except for a simmering cauldron of a think red substance, and Voldemort himself. He was robed in black with the hood drawn over his face that hid his face and carried himself in such a way that demanded the attention of those around him. I bowed low to him and waited for him to speak.
“Yes yes. My plan worked.” He started in an unusually high, cruel voice. “And you carried it through flawlessly and for that you will be honored. Please give me your right arm.” I lifted my arm automatically to meet his bony fingers. He grasped my wrist with much more force then I expected from him. Bending low, he dipped his free hand into the simmering cauldron and when his fingers resurfaced, they were covered in the substance. Suddenly, he placed his hand on my right forearm. The contact felt like fire, burning into my skin. I grimaced in pain, hoping He didn’t see my pained expression.
“Shanaska l’adonai. He kambrent luanaou sambre.”
Slowly and painfully, he began to remove his hand from my forearm, revealing a black skull with a serpent protruding out of its mouth. The Dark Mark.
“Welcome, Draco Malfoy,” Voldemort whispered, “to the league of the Death Eaters.”
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