Draco Malfoy stood in front of his mirror, observing his handsome reflection with a growing grin. He had learned to appreciate mirrors --and the view they supplied-- at a very young age. One of his life’s lessons had been taught to him by a mirror.

As a small boy, he had been confused and pleased to discover that the mere sight of him did something to people. Something amazing. Something he liked. Women would become doe-eyed and whiney-voiced, often showering him with praise before he even spoke. He could toddle into a room containing even the most forbidding stranger, and upon sighting him their entire countenence would brighten as if a veil had been lifted. The attention was much more positive than what he was used to receiving from his family, and he didn't even have to do anything to get it. Naturally, the toddler-Draco enjoyed this strange talent he had, but eventually the insatiably curious child wanted to know what caused such favorable reactions...

---

"I have a question," the angelically beautiful blond boy announced. Sitting stiffly in a wing-backed chair, looking very impressive and intimidating in expensive black dress robes, was his father. Lucius Malfoy allowed his eyes to drift lazily from the leather-bound book he was studying to his son, curling his lip slightly as he took in the cherubic face. His sigh was one of long suffering.

"Why am I not surprised?" he drawled, glaring disdainfully at the child.

"Because I always have lots of things to ask," Draco chortled gleefully, his hands clapping together in joy, thrilled to be spoken to by the man he admired so much. Draco's tutors had always been pleased by his curiousity. They'd once told his mother that it was a sign of high intelligence. Lucius Malfoy did not seem to share their views. He didn’t want a son who was smart enough to ask questions. He wanted a son who was smart enough to do as he was told, when he was told.

"Many things to ask," Lucius corrected. His eyes narrowed as he pondered the necessity of hiring a new English tutor. He couldn't possibly be seen with a son whose speech failed to be grammatically correct. How old was the child now? Two? Three? Whatever his age, surely he should have grasped his first language by now. Lucius worked hard to ensure that society knew 'Malfoy' meant 'superior,' and no boy of his seed was going to spoil the image.

"Many things," Draco hastily agreed, wide-eyed. As always when Draco attempted to do something correctly, Lucius sneered his frustration, finally dropping his book on the table and turning to give the child his full attention.

"Grow some backbone, boy! You can never expect to be a decent Slytherin if you are a spineless coward." He hesitated for a moment, then added cooly, "But don't ever defy me. You understand?"

Draco blinked up at him in confusion, but decided that this was one of the times where he should simply nod in response. His father did not seem to be in the mood for any questions today, but he was determined to have one answered, one that had been plaguing his still-developing mind for days. Draco shifted in his seat and stared at his little feet, which were peeking out from the hem of his own expensive green dress robes.

"Why do people like me?" he blurted.

For a moment the elder Malfoy was so surprised by the question he could do nothing but blink, but then his thoughts ordered themselves and a predatory gleam entered his eyes. Whilst jerking Draco to his feet by his delicate wrists, Lucius formulated an impromptu lesson plan. He could be an excellent teacher in some areas, and instinctively knew that this particular lesson would require a third party of sorts. Lucius couldn't very well maintain the sort of hold he currently had over his son if he answered this question directly, because too much praise was required. He needed Draco to yearn for his approval, but never quite receive it.

"I do believe it is time I gave you your first magic mirror," the blue-eyed man commented.

Draco straightened his shoulders as he'd been taught, and marched along with his father through the elaborate halls of Malfoy Manor. Minutes passed before they reached Mother's Wing. While most of the Manor was dark and forbidding, filled with gloomy decor and torture devices designed to intimidate guests, Mother's Wing was more. . . pleasant. As such, the room Draco and his father entered was full of floral embroidery, peachy tones, and mirrors. Hundreds of mirrors.

"Welcome to your mother's sitting room, Draco," Lucius said, smirking at the boy’s expression. Draco had never encountered more than one mirror at a time, and was suitably surprised when he looked at the wall and saw dozens of copies of himself goggling back at him.

"Me!" he squealed with delight. "Lots and lots. . . oh!" His eyes darted nervously to his father. "Many of me," he corrected. He cast another apprehensive glance at his father, then hazarded a few silly spins, watching his reflections mimic him. Lucius allowed his son's childishness to pass by unpunished.

"Indeed. Stop staring at your reflection, boy, and come with me," Lucius ordered as he approached a tall mirror hanging on the wall. Its ornate ebony frame was carved in dragons and serpents. Draco's cautious gaze moved between his father and the carvings. "Ask it what you asked me," Lucius said. Draco stared up questioningly, then strutted up to the mirror, trying to imitate his father. He cleared his toddler throat.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"Yes sweetheart?" a female voice replied, startling him.

"Why do people like me?"

"What a question!" the mirror gushed. "Why, all you have to do is look at your reflection and the answer is right there. You have the face of an angel, darling. It comes with being a Malfoy."

Draco furrowed his brow.

"Oh." Somehow, this disappointed Draco.

"No, no, no" the mirror admonished, seeing Draco's gloomy expression. "That's a good thing, young one! Because you are so handsome, people will always follow you, and will rarely deny you anything. Beauty such as yours is very valuable." Draco grinned and blushed modestly, being unused to praise of any kind, and stared at his feet in embarassment. The mirror tsked motheringly. "Well, don't look so surprised! Surely you've noticed how perfect your face is." Draco walked up closer to the mirror, and peered into it carefully, unwittingly giving his first ever Malfoy smirk.

"I am perfect, aren't I?"

---

Coming out of his reverie, Draco focused on his beloved reflection for the hundred millionth time, and, as always, liked what he saw. He now stood at an even 6 feet tall, with broad shoulders and well toned muscles. While he still had some filling out to do, even with his black shirt on you could see the suggestion of the firm chest and abs his years as a seeker had bestowed upon him. His skin had acquired a slight tan, also from his time playing quidditch, and the contrast between it and his grey eyes was breath taking.

Since the beginning of 6th year, Draco had decided that he would wear his naturally silver-blond hair without the slickening gel his father demanded. Lucius had been most displeased, but punishment had been no match for the youth's stubbornness and vanity. Now Draco was quite proud of his hair; and he was wholly aware of the effect it had on Malfoy had grown to be the best looking boy to attend Hogwarts since his grandfather.

And he knew it.

"Stop staring at your reflection, boy. It is past time we departed," a cold voice interrupted his thoughts. In an act of disresepect few wizards dared to attempt, Draco slowly turned to meet his father's icy gaze with his own brand of cool indifference. Each knew that the ensuing staring contest was merely a prologue to the larger conflict that had been brewing between them for the past year. Neither was terribly concerned.

"The last time I checked, father --and my memory is in excellent condition-- I was not going with you tonight." Draco watched as his father processed this information, calculating his next move. Lucius raised his eyebrow slightly, still holding his son's stare. Neither of them blinked.

"I am afraid I don't know what you are talking about."

"And I'm afraid you do," Draco replied, arrogantly mocking the man before him. Much to Draco's amusement, his father's face began to darken with anger. It was easy to trigger the wards on his temper these days. Lucius was losing control over more than his only son.

"Ignorant whelp! Don't you dare speak to me in this manner. Do not think for a moment that I will hesitate to punish you. Severely."

And Draco laughed. A metallic, mirthless laugh.

"Oh, Father," he spat the word like a curse, "you still don't get it, do you? You've trained me too well. A couple of years ago these crude tactics may still have worked, but I was weak then. I no longer care about the punishments." In fact, the more Draco thought about it, the more he was coming to realize that he didn’t care about anything, so long as he got what he wanted.

The veins beneath the pale skin of Lucius' face were now visible, his eyes reddening as he was drawn into a murderous rage.

"I can make you care again," he threatened softly. "I will say this one last time: It. . .is. . . time. . .to. . .go." Draco clenched his jaw and shook his head. When he spoke, the dangerous note in his voice reflected his firm resolve.

"I won't do it. I refuse to do it. I refuse to be nothing more than a pitiful slave for my entire life, bowing and kneeling to a deluded Mudblood. Perhaps you've forgotten that Malfoys don't serve anyone, but I haven't! " The answering blow his father dealt had Draco momentarily fearing that his eyes would explode in their sockets.

Don't fall over. The dizziness will pass. Show no fear. Show no weakness. Draco had to recite the mantra in his head several times before he could turn and match Lucius' glare again. He didn't feel the pain, or notice the blood oozing from his cheek where his father's ring had struck. He did, however, notice the fury written all over the older man's face. Draco grinned. "The truth hurts, doesn't it Lucius?"

"Petrificus totalus!" Draco noticed too late that his father had his wand out. He dropped instantly, his skull making a sickening crack as it hit the frigid stone floor.

And then there was nothing.

---

Severus Snape stood in a circle of sinister cloaked figures, the hot night air seeming to close in on him more and more with each passing moment. Peering from under his dark hood, he could see the bloody form of Draco Malfoy crumpled in a heap before the Dark Lord, who was smiling down on him almost fondly. It made him want to retch.

"Lucius?" their Lord hissed. A cloaked figure approached and knelt before Voldemort.

"Yes, Master?"

"What happened?" His tone was mellow to the untrained ear, but all present could perceive the steel that ran beneath these words. His voice was like a sword sheathed in silk: soft to the touch, but deadly. Lucius Malfoy began to tremble ever so slightly, and Snape had to suppress a grin. He'd always been a coward, even if he was a strong son of a bitch in other ways.

"The boy has become foolish and difficult, my Lord. He refused to come tonight. He refuses to join our ranks. He was insolent. He insulted you." A stunned silence followed these words, and Snape found his thoughts were in turmoil. Draco Malfoy? Draco Malfoy stood up to his father and outright refused to be a Death Eater? As he gazed down at the surreally handsome young man, Snape felt a surge of anger, awe and incredible pride wash over him. Anger that they had done this to him, awe that the child had the courage to stand up to these tortures, and pride that he wanted to.

"Really?" Voldemort inquired, coolly intrigued. "Did you try threatening him? Perhaps with more time in the dungeons?"

"Y-yes, my Lord." Voldemort began to nod slightly to himself, as if affirming his own thoughts.

"And what did he say?"

"He said he no longer cared, my Lord. I punished him while he was unconscious. Do not worry, my Lord. When he awakens, he will rue the day he defied you," he stated, making it clear that his loyalites lay with Him, not with his son. Voldemort continued to nod, and Snape thought for a moment that he sensed unease in the Dark Lord, but then an evil grin spread over the inhuman face.

"He is perfect, Lucius. I must have him."

"I, I beg your pardon, my Lord?" Voldemort turned and pointed his wand at Lucius.

"Crucio!" he hissed. Lord Voldemort's inner circle watched in silence as Lucius Malfoy writhed in agony on the dew covered grass. After a few moments, Voldemort released the spell and turned to Snape, disregarding his other followers. "Lucius is a fool, Severus. Young Draco here is strong in every way. He just needs a little persuasion-- some help, if you will-- in making his decision. Don't you agree?" he asked, knowing that Draco was Snape's star pupil. Snape felt his blood go cold.

"Yes, my Lord," he replied.

"Wake him." Snape nodded and pulled a small blue vial out of his pocket. Kneeling down beside Draco, he tipped his head back and forced him to swallow the potion. Instantly, Draco began to cough and splutter, blood trailing down his lips. The Potions Master had to use all his self control not to furrow his brow with worry. "Up, boy!" he snapped viciously, dragging him to his feet.

After a moment Draco slowly, painfully, opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. Snape thought for a moment that the boy was going to fall unconscious again, when he smiled slightly, letting out a maniacal laugh. Shrugging off Snape’s supportive grasp, Draco straightened himself up so he was supporting his own weight, and began to look around, amusement clearly written on his face. It seemed strangely surreal to see somebody who should have been frightened and in pain, not so much as flinch. It was as if he felt nothing at all.

"Am I really so desirable that you boys have to knock me out and beat me, you want me so badly?" the young man inquired in his usual sarcastic drawl. It was a relief to hear that the boy’s acid sense of humour was still intact, even if there seemed to be no other emotion attached to him lately. It let Snape know that there was still hope. The Death Eaters began to shift, eagerly reaching for their wands, and Snape was certain for a moment that they would try to kill Draco Malfoy, and his cover as a spy would have to be broken. However, rather than give the signal, Voldemort only laughed.

"My dear boy, your arrogance may even surpass your wit. You know why you are here?"

Draco blinked boredly.

"I know what you think I am here for."

"What I think you are here for? Now, young Mister Malfoy, let's be realistic. I know what you are here for. Are you ready to receive the Dark Mark?" Draco rolled his eyes, shooting the Dark Lord a look that left no question that he thought he was the most hideous thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

"I will never follow you," he spat venomously. "I follow no one."

"How very ambitious of you.” Voldemort smirked, raising his wand with lightning fast reflexes. “Imperio!" Draco's face instantly went blank, adopting a dreamy, almost blissful expression. Snape watched with well disguised horror as Voldemort commanded Draco to take the vows, then hold out his arm...

---

Draco was vaguely aware of having just repeated every word Voldemort said. Why shouldn’t he? They were only words, and it was so pleasant here.

Hold out your arm, Draco. . .

Draco watched with as his arm shot out to receive the mark, and felt a flash of realization coupled with disgust wash over him in a wave that left him reeling. He was about to receive the Dark Mark. His mind was jerked back to reality. No fucking way! He simply wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t hold his arm out like this. He wouldn’t be a servant. Never, never, never. . . and everything would be fine, if he could just move his fucking arm!

That's a boy, Draco. . .

"Morsemordre!" Voldemort hissed, just as Draco finally managed to jerk his arm back.

Draco flew back to the grass, biting his lip to keep himself from screaming at the agony in his arm. He forced his eyes open, and saw seven murderous looking Death Eaters reaching for him. Thinking fast, and thanking the arrogance of the Death Eaters that had allowed him to stay armed, Draco whipped out his wand and yelled, "Apparate!" with no destination in mind. His last thought was that he had either just saved his life, or killed himself.

Then, once again, there was nothing.