The tip of his wand pressed deeper and deeper into the boy’s arm. His flesh burned as if ignited by a torch. A fiery heat tore through his veins and penetrated his heart. The boy wanted to scream to release the pain of it all. He wanted to fall to the floor and cry out, but he could not. The agony was an honor. To endure it was a privilege reserved only for the Dark Lord’s select few who were chosen to carry out his most noble works, who pledged their undying loyalty to the Dark Lord alone. He had a duty. He would be strong.
The boy fixed his eyes upon his forearm, watching in amazement as a number of mysterious black lines emitted from the wand’s tip, streamed into his flesh, and began creeping in different directions, crawling and turning this way and that, as if drawing, scorching an image into his arm as they crept. The Mark slowly, tortuously, began to emerge on the surface of his skin. As the Dark Mark grew clearer, so did Draco’s future. He had taken his father’s place in the Dark Lord’s inner circle. He would fulfill the commands of his Master in his father’s absence. He would prove to Lucius he was a son he could be proud of, a son who was no longer a boy but a man.
When the serpent which protruded from the mouth of the skull seemed to slither and writhe upon his arm, Lord Voldemort withdrew his wand and fixed his blood-red eyes on Draco. The young Death Eater dropped to his knees and bowed low before his new Master, kissing the hem of the Dark Lord’s robes as he had seen his father do so many times before.
Draco was unsure whether to speak or hold his tongue still. From the racing thoughts in his mind, his mouth tried to form words to please his Lord, but they would not come. It did not matter. With a slow, cold voice, the mighty Wizard before him spoke first, and the servant, still on his knees, was keen to listen. While the Dark Mark continued to burn with a smoldering fire, Draco clung desperately to every chilling word from his new Master.
“Draco, my servant, you came to me, humbly requesting that I might allow you to be of some use to our most noble cause. I considered your request, and I must admit that I did have my reservations at first. So young and not yet fully trained, what use could you be to the greatest Dark Wizard who ever lived?
"But I could not ignore the daring it must have taken to approach me. Full grown men, powerful wizards, cower in my presence. Your resoluteness was undeniable. You possess rare traits I value highly in my followers. So I obliged, and tonight I graciously bestowed my Mark upon you, sealing your covenant with me like others in your family before you. Though, as you know, my dear Draco, not all of them have followed through with their promises. However, I am certainly not one to blame the son for the error of the father. So tonight, I am granting you your petition to be put to use, and I am entrusting you with a task of the greatest importance.”
There was a pause in his words as Lord Voldemort placed the end of his wand beneath Draco’s chin, raising his head, which was still bowed to the floor, lifting him to his feet, where the steel grey eyes of the servant became level with the snake-like eyes of the Master. Draco could feel the Dark Lord’s icy breath upon his face as he continued.
“I have chosen you,” Draco’s heart raced, and it took all his efforts to suppress the emotion surging through his body, “to destroy the obstacle which stands between me and Harry Potter. There is only one reason I have not been able to dispose of Harry Potter once and for all. One man remains, watching over him, protecting him constantly. He must die. And you must be the one to do it. I have chosen you, Draco, to kill the great Albus Dumbledore.”
A torrent of images and emotions threatened to overwhelm him, yet from the chaos within, the words he would speak came to him unmistakably. With a fearless expression, Draco stood firmly, his face inches from that of the Dark Lord. His only hesitation was to draw in a breath sufficient enough to propel the few short words he knew must come and must come clearly, confidently. “Thank you, My Lord.” The words from his servant spoke gratitude, submission, and reverence. And with them, Lord Voldemort disapparated, leaving Draco with a weight he had never known.
---
Draco lie on his bed, but he did not sleep. He was alone. In many ways, Draco had always been alone. He was the only child of a father who cared more about wealth and power than he did about his own son and a mother who was always more caught up in impressing other notable wizards and witches of the day than raising a child. The Slytherins he hung around with at school were more his followers than his friends. And this very night, the night he was accepted into the inner circle of the Wizard he so revered, he felt more isolated than ever. He had been given a task, an order that he must carry out. There would be no failure. He had to kill his headmaster, and he had to do it alone.
The crescent moon cast a feeble light through Draco’s window, but it was enough for him to make out the outline of the fresh Mark on his forearm. The Dark Mark was still quite painful, and Draco began to wonder if it would ever feel otherwise.