I was not having a good day. It started off badly with Transfiguration. McGonagall returned my essay with a failing grade and a note telling me that I was required to attend remedial sessions once a week starting tomorrow. It’s not the grade I mind - it’s the sheer waste of my time. Then there was Defense of Dark Arts and Snape - who is supposed to be on my side - was a jerk about the Death-Eater thing. Flitwick and Sprout both assigned piles and piles of homework. Then there was the Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match and Slytherin lost 30 to 210. I got a letter from my father categorically refusing to give me any more money for the next six months. Basically, not my day. And now this. The Death-Eater scar burned on my arm and I apparated reluctantly. Why the hell had I been so keen to join the Death Eaters before I left school? I wondered. Had I thought it would look good on university applications, or something? Extra-curriculars: two years as a sworn follower of a power-crazed megalomaniac, organization “Death-Eaters,” see Lord Voldemort, address unknown, for further information. Yeah, that would be good.
I arrived in the graveyard and overbalanced, knocking into a vicious-looking angel who clouted me over the head with a marble hand. The bleak landscape of brown and gray swam before my eyes. And why do we always have to meet in graveyards? Honestly, does he think it’s chic, or something? ‘Cause if he does, he’s wrong. I mean, an old, unkempt graveyard on a dark night may provide all sorts of atmosphere, but what happened to comfort? What happened to coffee and complementary doughnuts? What happened to employee satisfaction? Come to that, what happened to wages? The landscape steadied and the Dark Lord appeared before me. I knelt with the rest of the Death Eaters, kissed the Dark Lord’s cloak with them, and then the meeting progressed fairly normally from there. He berated individual Death Eaters for failing in their assignment, praised others, performed a few Unforgivable Curses and finally turned to dishing out new assignments. I zoned out - I never get assignments; I knew what was coming. I concentrated on working out where my father was. Maybe I could corner him before the Dark Lord decided to pay attention to me and wring a couple of Galleons out of him.
“And now, my friends, it is time for us to turn to our separate tasks,” he said. “Remember- loyalty always!”
There were the quiet poppings of highly skilled apparition taking place. He hadn’t said anything to me about remaining after, so I closed my eyes and concentrated on making the jump to Hogsmeade.
“Draco!” the voice was a hissing shout. My eyes opened and my head snapped towards it involuntarily. Everyone else was gone, and he was coming right to me, his snake-like face fixed on my head (seriously, what is up with the snake look? I mean - snakes are his pals, and that’s okay, but does he have to take it to such an extent?).
“Yes, my lord?” I asked quietly, eyes on the damp ground.
“Draco, my youngest friend, I wish to discuss your little job with you. Several months ago I told you that you had the rest of the year to kill a certain muggle-loving fool. You have not made much progress, have you Draco?”
I shook my head. I hadn’t. For one thing, I didn’t much want to kill the old god-help-us.
“The rest of the year,” he repeated. “However, there has been new development since we spoke last. The killing must be moved up. Do you understand?” I understood all right. I understood far to well. How the hell did he expect me to kill Dumbledore on such short notice? I mean, the big V himself couldn’t kill Dumbledore and that’s with the benefit of years to plan the act.
“When, my lord?” I asked, masking my panic.
“As soon as possible of course, fool. I shall expect a two-page report on my desk by Sunday.”
“Yes, my lord,” I bowed, and because that was clearly a dismissal, closed my eyes to apparate,
“And Draco,” I opened my eyes slowly. “Don’t fail me. It will go very much the worse for your mother and father if you do.” He chuckled, a sound like a snake trying to swallow a pig that’s a bit too big for it, and vanished. Definitely not my day.
“I mean, who does he think he is, anyway?” I asked Crabbe and Goyle later that night in the Common Room.
“Well, uh, I don’t know, maybe the Dark Lord?” said Crabbe. Which is why I really can’t stand Crabbe. He’s always making comments like that.
“Shut up,” I said, “and come on.”
“Where are we going?” Goyle asked.
“I’m going to McGonagall’s office. She told me to see her at nine in class today.”
“Well, why are we coming?” Crabbe asked.
“Because it takes a good ten minutes to walk to McGonagall’s office and I haven’t finished complaining yet.”
“Oh.” They followed me out of the wall.
“He’s ugly, too,” I continued, sweeping up the stairs. “He’s taken that snake look way to far. Doesn’t he realize that keeping your face fresh and natural is the newest look?”
“Erg,” said Goyle.
“Exactly,” I said. “And he’s really dreadful at time-management. Death Eater meetings could be much better organized. If he would just appoint a secretary and offer complementary doughnuts, meeting could be half as long!”
“Oh look, there’s Snape,” said Crabbe.
“Greasy git,” I said automatically. “Anyone could do the Dark Lord thing better than him. I could do it better than him. As a matter of fact, I think I will.”
“Mr. Malfoy, what on earth are you babbling about?” Snape asked.
“Oh shut up,” I told him, which was really stupid, “I’m going to be a Dark Lord.”
There was a sort of chiming sound, and rectangle of thick paper appeared in my hand. I bent my head down to look at it. It was a business card for someone named Violet. It was ticking.
“Let me see that,” Snape snapped. I held my hand and he grabbed my wrist and twisted it upright with what seemed unnecessary violence in a student-teacher relationship. His eyebrows, greatly in need of plucking, twisted in concentration as he glared at the card. Then flew up and his greasy hair seemed almost to stand on end. His whole countenance took on an expression of great alarm.
“Drop it!” he cried, trying furiously to pull it from my fingers.
“What? No!” I said, pulling furiously back.
“Drop it you stupid boy, before it goes off!”
“What do you mean, goes - ,” the words stopped dead in my throat as I felt myself being spun wildly around in a whirlwind. It was, without question, a portkey.
We landed on identical wooden chairs in lobby. The thick violet cushions on the chairs made identical whooshing sounds as we landed. I turned to glare at Snape, and then noticed that we were not alone. Standing at the far end of the room was an attractive blond girl, probably in her early twenties.
“Sunshine!” she cried. “You’re back!” I hadn’t a clue what was going on, but Snape seemed to recognize her. He sort of shriveled in his chair, as though trying to present at small a target as possible.
“Not again,” he moaned. “Isn’t once in a day enough?”
“Do you know where we are?” I asked. Snape didn’t answer. He was concentrating on the blond girl, who was crossing the room in swift strides.
“Decided to take me up on that Dark Lord offer, huh?” she chirped. “I knew you would!” she smiled dazzlingly.
“Guh,” I said. She glanced at me and smiled even more broadly, if that was possible. “Who’s your friend?” she cooed.
“I’m - uh - Draco Malfoy,” I said.
“How nice! I’m Violet!”
“Oh. Uh. Is this your business card, then?” I proffered the card, still clutched in my right hand.
“Why yes, it is! How did you get that?”
“It just appeared in my hand,” I said. “With a chime.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you said before the card appeared in your hand?” she asked. Her tone was as cheerful as ever, but somehow practiced, like she had said those words a thousand times before.
“I said I was going to be the Dark Lord,” I said.
“Of course!” Violet squealed. “How wonderful!”
“Why is it wonderful?” I asked.
“Because - ,” Violet began, but Snape cut her off.
“That will be quite sufficient, miss, thank you very much. My pupil and I will be leaving now. He swept to his feet.
“Oh, but you can’t leave already!” Violet cried.
“I absolutely agree,” I said quickly. Snape shot me a filthy do-what-I-say-or-you-will-fail-my-class look. I winced but stood firm.
“This young man is perfect Dark Lord material,” Violet said. “I want to fit him right now!”
“No!” Snape cried.
“What?” I asked.
“Don’t be such downer, Sunshine,” Violet said, shaking a finger.
“What do you mean, fit me?” I asked.
“For your costume. You do seriously want to be a Dark Lord, right?” I was beginning to have doubts about that, but Violet’s eyes had fixed on mine and they stared pathetically and beautifully at me.
“Er, yes, of course.” I stammered.
“Wonderful!” she said. “Follow me. You just wait there, Sunshine.” she pinched a fold of my robe between two fingers and pulled me across the room through the door. The small room within was stacked with bolts of fabric, unfinished robes, unusual head gear, half-empty coffee cups, and miscellaneous objects.
“What is going on?” I asked.
“Oh, stand there.” She shoved me onto a low stool and began taking my robes off.
“Hey!” I yelled, grabbing at my clothes.
“It’s all right; you can keep your underclothes on,” she said.
“But what are you even doing?” I persisted.
“Oh, haven’t you figured it out yet? I outfit Dark Lords. And Dark Ladies, evil kings, queens, princes, councilors, etc. I design their look. I make their clothes, as well as shoes, and accessories. I’m thinking of starting an interior design branch.” She grabbed a bolt of dark blue fabric and threw it across me.
“Oh,” I said.
“Of course, its very complicated work,” Violet continued. “Every Dark Personage as their own look, but sometimes they don’t realize it. Contributing to the creative process is all very well, but some people take it too far. I don’t think they realize that I’m an expert. I know what I’m doing; I do this for my living. Normally, I would have you speak with one of my employees and take a survey so I could get a feel of your style, but it’s past closing time and I think it would be easier if we just talked and got to know each other. What’s you favorite color?”
“I don’t have one,” I said. “Anything but red.” Violet clicked her tongue.
“Red’s a good color, you know,” she said. “And it’ll be really dramatic with your dark hair.”
“I have blond hair,” I said.
“Not for long.” I gulped. Why hadn’t I listened to Snape.
“Hold still,” Violet ordered.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“This and that. Close you eyes.” I closed them. She rapped my scalp with her wand, turning my hair dark, I guessed, with an inward shutter.
“How do you feel about horns?” she asked. I could hear her moving around the room, taking things down, throwing them on me, adjusting the drape, and occasionally murmuring a spell.
“On me?” I asked.
“Well, yes.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Oh, all right then. Open your eyes.” I opened them cautiously. A flash of white light blinded me and my eyes began watering frantically.
“What was that?” I yelled.
“Just a standard color-and-sparkle charm. The sting should have worn off by now.”
“Are they’re any mirrors in here?” I asked once I’d decided it was safe to re-open my eyes.
“Absolutely not. I never permit mirrors in the fitting rooms until the look had been completed. Close your eyes again.” I kept them closed for at least five minutes that time, answering Violet’s occasional questions and fighting a growing sense of panic.
“All right,” she said at last. “That’s pretty good for now. You wait right here while I go and get Sunshine.” She left the fitting room, and I promptly ransacked the place in search of a mirror. There wasn't as much as a fragment of glass. The door creaked, and I flew back to the stool.
Violet entered, followed by Snape, who was looking unusually poisonous. She’d probably been calling him ‘Sunshine’.
“Ta-da!” Violet sang, presenting me to him. Snape gasped.
“Merlin, he looks like bloody Potter!” I choked on nothing and began hacking up my appendix.
“Who’s Potter?” Violet asked.
“He’s a hero-in-training,” Snape said. “He’s fated to defeat the Dark Lord. I can’t have my student looking like a hero.”
“Well, this Potter can’t be a real hero,” Violet said firmly. “He’d have been to see my sister if he was, and I would have heard of him.” I swallowed hard and forced all my internal organs back into their usual places.
“Really?” I asked.
“Absolutely. Now just what part of his appearance do you take issue with?”
“For a start, the eyes,” said Snape.
“What’s wrong with his eyes?”
“Could I see a mirror please?” I asked.
“They’re green. Also his hair.”
“His hair looks good dark!”
“Dark is okay,” Snape said. “Messy is not okay. Draco is a smooth hair kind of person.”
“I’d really like to see a mirror now,” I said.
“Hush, honey bun,” Violet said. “Is there anything else?” she asked Snape.
“The robes. Red is not an acceptable color. Dark blue or green would be acceptable. Black or silver would be preferable.”
“All right, all right,” Violet sighed. “But I’m not sure you’re making the right choice. Out.” She pushed Snape out of the fitting room.
“Eyes open wide,” she ordered. I blinked and was hit with the white flash and accompanying pain. “Sunshine can be so picky sometimes,” she complained. “Open your mouth. Really, I’ve been doing this for quite a long time; I think I might have picked something up” she rapped me over the head with her wand. “Shut your eyes again, honey bun.” I hoped fervently that “honey bun” was not destined to become my pseudonym with Violet. I feared my hope was in vain.
Violet kept up a constant stream of complaints about “Sunshine” - I was never going to be able to look at him the same way again, honestly - as she redid my appearance. It didn’t take as long this time.
“That’s you done, honey bun,” Violet announced. I opened my eyes and glanced about hopefully for a mirror. No such luck. Violet stuck her head out the door.
“He’s done,” she called. Snape’s head poked cautiously into the room.
“Better,” he said, coming all the way into the room. “I told you green wasn’t a good color for his eyes.”
“Can I please see a mirror?” I growled, feeling that if I had to ask one more time I was going to explode.
“Oh, very well,” Snape said. He conjured a mirror in front of me with a wave of his wand.
My hair was definitely darker than the last time I saw it. It hung in a thick shag across my forehead. My eyes were, thank Merlin, blue, though they had more silver in them than I remembered. My skin was no longer pale - I had somehow gotten a nice tan it the last ten minutes. I smiled, and the glitter of my teeth nearly blinded me. I was dressed in tight-fitting black outfit, complete with a cape and hood. Basically, I looked good. Hell, I looked sexy.
“Nice,” I said.
“Now that you’ve had a good look,” Snape said, and flicked his wand at me. Instantly, I looked normal again.
“Hey!” I said.
“It is only an illusion,” Snape said. “It can be removed when necessary. But it will prevent awkward questions.”
“All right,” I said, seeing his point. “Oh…no.” something had just occurred to me.
“What is it, honey bun?” Violet asked.
“I don’t have any money,” I admitted. Violet laughed.
“Oh. That’s all right. Young villains are often short of cash. I’ll give you a job here until you’ve repaid me.”
“A part-time job, right?” I asked.
“Of course! You can just work after school,” she said. I sighed. That meant more sneaking down to Hogsmeade in the afternoon to apparate from there. Still, at least she wasn’t calling the law enforcement.
“I’ll just need to give you the company tattoo,” Violet said.
“What?” I cried.
“Don’t be silly,” Violet said. “It’ll barely sting. Close your eyes.”
“No!” I said. “What tattoo? And where? And why?”
“A tattoo of a violet,” Violet explained patiently. “Wherever you like. For two reasons: the tattoos carry a very strong protection charm. My customers tend be a bit short-tempered with the staff. Also because the tattoo is a portkey that brings you to the shop when it’s time for your shift.”
Well, I wouldn’t have to sneak in Hogsmeade, at least. She gave me the tattoo. I won’t say where.
Becoming a Dark Lord by FinalCow
Chapter Notes: Crisis over. The first chapter is up and all. Thanks for your patience.