Harry's Lightning

Draco sat in his room, his black sheets covering his lower body in rippling waves that created silky canyons and rivets when he moved. His pale torso gleamed in the moonlight, and his smoky eyes reflected the stars he was looking at. The date was the 29th of August, going into sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. An owl hooted, and a bat screeched from the outside as a creek of a floorboard disturbed the silence of the hallway that lay beyond his bedroom door.

Draco turned his head toward the door, his bare stomach sliding across the silken sheets slightly, ungelled hair falling in his face. The door opened and Draco found a mirror image of him looking at the boy. Lucius stood, framed in the doorway, dressed in antique clothing. A white shirt bedecked his upper half; it sleeves hung low yet clung to the top of his arms, and the open shirt showed off his pallid chest,, one of his soft nipples peeking through the opening. A dark, almost-black, green sash was wrapped around his abdomen to keep the shirt from billowing open or falling back in a breeze. The front of the emerald cloth was jewelled with the Malfoy Crest in an oval brooch. Black pants of some sort of soft fabric clasped his legs so tight that you could tell nothing else was underneath. Knee-high leather boots climbed over the black fabric, and finally, a heavy, black cape hung over one shoulder. Its inside was of green satin that matched the sash nicely, but was a tad lighter in colour. Draco brushed his hair back, looking at his father as he uttered,

“I’m naked, you know.” Lucius just kept staring at his son, his cold eyes a neutral ice, and ignored his son’s statement.

“Your mother and I are going out,” he said. “Everything is to be in perfect order when I get home, capish?” Draco started to sit up, thought better of it with the sheets sliding around, and continued to watch his father.

“Sure, whatever. Can you leave now? It’s a little awkward with you standing in the doorway, watching me.”

“What’s it matter? Your personal areas are covered.”

“Just go.” Lucius smirked as he took a step forward, the soft leather soals making no noise.

“I’m not making you nervous, am I?” Draco moved slightly as he stuttered with a slight discomfort to his voice.

“No, I’m fine.” Lucius kept his smirk pasted on his face, and took another step forward, and the other followed.

“Are you sure? I’ll stop if you admit it.” Another soft, soundless step. Draco’s eyes widened as his father covered half the room. Three-fourths. Lucius widened his evil smile so that it reached his eyes, filled his eyes with the same malice as he placed one of his feet between the railings, about to climb onto the bed. Draco’s eyes widened even more as he watched his father crawl toward him.

“Stop!” he cried. “Please, stop!” Lucius stopped in his tracks, his eyes sparkling with superiority as he took Draco’s left arm.

“You join the Death Eaters, because you say you can take the fear the Dark Lord dishes out, yet you quake horribly just from me.”

“It’s different,” the young Death Eater remarked. “His is just pain, torture. Yours is . . . sexual, perverted.”

“I see. Well, I really must get going; your mother is waiting, but before I leave . . .” Next, he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss upon his son’s forehead. He heard a faint whimper escape the pale lips from under him, and he crawled off the bed.

“Fear, you reek with it.” Then, he exited out the door, his body casting a dreamy shadow.



Draco sat in his room, thinking about the night’s earlier events. He had slipped into some silk green boxers, embroidered with a silver snake in the left leg. He stared out at the endless, starry sky for the second time that night when, all of a sudden, a loud, pain-filled scream filled the silence. Draco grabbed his left arm as the blood-curdling scream continued to escape his lips. The Dark Lord was calling him. He quickly threw on a shirt and some pants, grabbed his wand, and did a quick, illegal Apparation he landed in a field as he looked around. None of the other Death Eaters were present. Then, he felt the red, slitted eyes as a slither escaped from the aged lips that lay below them.

“You are late.” Draco bowed.

“I am sorry, my Lord. I had to get dressed.” Voldemort waved his hand. He did not care.

“Get up,” he hissed. “I have a job for you, and only for you. You know the procedure to imprint the Dark Mark into one’s skin?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“I want you to imprint my mark into a certain boy’s arm. I want my mark in Harry Potter. I care not how it is done, but I’d advise you not to get caught.” Draco gave another quick bow, another “Yes, my Lord,” and Apparated back to his house.

It was three days ‘til the first day of school. He looked back out the window, rubbing his wrist. How in the hell was he going to mark Potter? He sat thinking this when he heard two faint pops – his mother and father were back. He frowned as he recalled the night’s earlier events. He didn’t know which problem he would rather face at the moment. One scared him while the other seemed impossible. He sighed. He would figure out the answer anyway.