The Hateful Fates

1

"Are you alright, young Malfoy?" Draco barely managed to hold in the shudder as he felt ice cold hands descend on his shoulder. His breathing was heavy, but he managed to keep it steady, but some inner miracle, perhaps.

"Yes, My Lord," Draco whispered softly. "I am just a bit chilly is all. I should have worn my fall robes." His words came out almost nonexistent from how light they were spoken, but he was lucky enough that he did not stutter, or that his voice did not crack. Either one would only encourage the sadistic bastard. He did not need that. Furthermore, the Lord seemed to laugh at that, moving away from him to his fellow classmates. Pansy was not among them, luckily, but both Crabbee and Goyle, along with Nott were standing on the other end of the pitch. The pale, motionless bodies of the Muggles that they had tortured lay like dirt in the road.

The last couple of months have been like this. In truth, the last two summers. The first summer was not as bad. His Father had been sent of a few other errands along with his Aunt Bella, so both were rarely ever home, but after last spring's fiasco in the Ministry, his father was sent to Azkaban by the Dark Lord, which meant nobody was home, not once. Auntie Bellatrix was but she was almost as terrifying as the Dark Lord himself was. Meanwhile, Voldermort had taken to dragging along his loyal follower's offspring to these sorts of events. It was a test, or sorts, he was sure. Just as the magical tests, the crucio's, everything was a test. Last summer it had not been that bad. The Dark Lord had tested their magical prowess, given them to show demonstrations. He had been ordered, by the Dark Lord himself, to study more of Ancient Runes, and language, so he had done so, too nervous about what he would do if he was tested on the subject and failed. Tested he was. Failed, he did not, but just barely.

So far...Voldermort had taken a 'liking' to him. of everyone in the younger generation, he was the 'most suited' according to him. Voldermort had called him an asset, like his grandfather had been. According to the Dark Lord, his prowess in dark magic was fascinating. His ability to learn spells with decent ease excited the man, and his capability and intelligence was lauded. A part of him, enjoyed it. He enjoyed getting the recognition that he never managed to get under his father, and he knew that the Dark Lord knew that, which was likely why he praised him so often. More so than anyone, because as much as Draco may despise it, he was an asset. He had always been. He may not be able to throw off an imperius, but he came somewhat close, his mental shields may not be strong, but according to his Aunt, given that he had only been going at it for a couple of months, it was impressive. His ability to master spells well above his level within a few days to a few weeks depending on the difficulty and nature of the spell was impressive, and most of all...his nonchalance. That, well, was a facade. Every time that he was dragged to one of these torture hunts it terrified him, but he was a Malfoy, and Heir nonetheless. He did not allow it to show, at least not as much as his classmates did. That was where they messed up. Voldermort seemed only encouraged by their fear.

He supposed he should be happy about that, in some twisted way. He may be seen as an asset but that also meant that he did not go through a lot of the more extensive 'training' or tests as he had taken to calling them in his mind. After every hunt, Voldermort would take the two of their group that had done the worst and speak with them, privately. He had no idea what went on in those sessions, but he did not want to know. The screaming was enough for him to know he did not want to be among them. He had never had to go through whatever they did. Draco Malfoy, call it funny that somehow, even with a Unicorn wand, he did some of the best dark magic of his generation that were coralled by the Dark Lord. His imperius, specifically, was the best, and the Dark Lord had commended him on it quite extensively. Draco had no idea how he managed to handle the spell so easily, although he figured it had something to do with the Malfoy genes. All of his family, his father and grandfather, were adept at the Imperius. His skill with Crucio may not have come as easily, but from what the Dark Lord had said he was about as adept as Orion Black had been.

Wasn't that a trip? Hearing his grand parents' names out of the mouth of the Dark Lord? It was scary, somewhat, but more than that he knew for a fact that he was one of the lucky ones. He already had two of the three Unforgiveables down. He could only wonder when it was that he would be forced to go through the last one. To kill someone...purposefully, with the Avada curse. According to Voldermort, this was to help them in the upcoming year. He knew very well what that meant.

"Young Malfoy," The Dark Lord stated the moment their feet hit the carpet. "If you would indulge me before I speak with your friends Flint and Nott." Draco stiffened, but he could not refuse the Dark Lord...that was suicide at best. He enclined his head to show his agreement, staying motionless as Flint and Nott were pushed into the ajoined room. "I have a...task, for you to do." The Dark Lord spoke, his words soft as he circled around him.

"What can I do for you, My Lord?"

"I wish for you to kill that pest Dumbledore, and to find a way to get my Death Eaters into Hogwarts to assist, if necessary, in overtaking the school." Draco swallowed, his body so tense he was practically shaking.

"My Lord, I am not too sure that I am...adept enough at this task for you." Draco barely managed to make out, swallowing thickly. He almost, almost flinched as the Dark Lord's freezing hands once more made contact with his shoulder.

"I believe you the most qualified. I very well cannot do it myself, after all." Voldermort said with a smile. "I am not able to get into Hogwarts without taking the school first."

"Of course My Lord, I shall, do my best to succeed." Voldermort pulled back and smiled down at him.

"Good, if you have any...questions, or need for advice, don't hesitate to ask." Draco watched as he sauntered from the drawing room. The moment he was able, he forced himself to walk slowly up the stairs, as though nothing had happened, dropping the moment his room door shut behind him.

"You've got to be kidding me." He muttered under his breath. "Of all the people...of all the people that they could have paired me with, why..." Draco felt his breath catch in his throat.

At first he had thought his soulmate was dead. His mark was grey, that meant that they were dead. The moment Voldermort had resurrected, he had not wanted to believe the singing pain in his side, the weird, half black half gray mass his mark had made, had pretended, but he knew better now. His...He was...His soulmate was the Dark Lord. He wanted to laugh at the injustice. He knew that should Voldermort catch wind of this, he was doomed. He placed his hand at his hip, fingers clenching into the fabric eyes tinging with anger. "The Fates are cruel." He muttered.

"You are right..." He startled, his shoulder jamming into the door knob as he flinched at the sound of a voice curling through the air. "The Fates are cruel." He could not even make out the figure. It was glowing, though. A glowing mass of something. "However, there is a chance. So how about this. I can give you one chance. However, you won't be able to return. Take it, if you wish." Draco furrowed his brows.

What in the name of merlin....this had to be another test. It had to be. He had no idea how though. It was not as though his life could get more fucked up than what it was now. Furthermore, with his sixteenth birthday gone past...it was even more likely that Voldermort would catch wind of his inheritence peering through, and with it meant...his mate. It was dangerous. he was in danger, and honestly he had no idea how the Dark Lord even intended on him killing Dumbledore either.

"Very well. It is not as though things can get more fucked up anyways." He muttered. The thing, he sword, he heard a flash of a laugh, before a yelp cut through him the same time the cold did.