Draco is bitten one night and becomes one of the things he most despises. Is it a coincidence that Voldemort seems especially interested? War, betrayal, and a fight for survival against everything he holds dear.

The Darkest Night Chapter One: Revenge Is Not So Sweet

"And it's Gryffindor in the lead, 90-120. Great save by Keeper Ron Weasley! That was a close one. Now if only the stinking, cheating Slytherins would actually, oh, sorry Professor. Anyway, Aiden Harrison takes the quaffle."

Lee Jordan's newest protégé, a blonde boy with a mass of freckles called Stevens, had apparently picked up some of the same habits as Lee Jordan himself. It had been a tearful day when Lee had been forced to hand over the magical megaphone to the next generation, but let it be known that his replacement was doing just fine on his own, and would have made him proud.

"Penalty! That should have been a penalty shot to Gryffindor! How could she have missed that? What are you? Sensory deprived or something? We need a new ref- hey! No, that's mine! I'm the announcer, which means it's my mega-"

McGonagall's crisp voice came over the amplifier, and she began to announce the game herself. The former announcer, Stevens, sulked behind her like an unruly child, but often cast longing glances at the megaphone. Every now and then a finger would twitch. Those beside the professor inched away. It was plain that the boy was about to attempt to wrestle it back any second now.

It was one of the most exciting matches of the season, not to mention the dirtiest. Slytherin was taking full advantage of Madam Hooch's absence, as she was sick with the Machellian flu. Instead, Professor Sprout was playing referee. Not that she was anyone's first preference, but they really needed an impartial judge, and she happened to be their only choice. She had been a fair chaser for the Hufflepuff house team in her day, so at least she knew what she was doing.

Professor Snape glowered in the stands. Obviously, he had wanted the position of referee. Oh well, another year gone by with the same results. Now if he could only get that DADA job.

Unfortunately, Professor Sprout's eyes were not nearly as watchful as the hawk-eyed gaze of Madam Hooch. Another foul by Slytherin went unnoticed, and a loud boo rose from three sections of the stands.

Draco Malfoy, sneaky Slytherin that he was, was also fully prepared to take advantage of this once in a lifetime situation. It was his final year at Hogwarts, and he intended to out due his other six, both on the Quidditch pitch and by the amount of abuse that Potter and his tag along friends received. As he sat on his broom, high above the field, he couldn't help but think about the horrible and nasty pranks that he was planning for the group. He smiled to himself, pushing a lock of fine blond hair away from his eyes as he did so, already imagining the look of shock on Granger's face when everything she tried to eat turned to mud. Few muggles knew that the whole Midis touch deal had actually been a wizard's April Fool's joke. He smiled again smugly. It was the little things in life that counted. That would teach the dirty mudblood to learn her station. Honestly, someone had to remind her of her proper place, and who better than a member of one of the oldest wizarding families in all of England?

His thoughts strayed again, which is probably the reason why he was late in seeing Harry dive for the snitch. Cursing under his breath, Draco pulled a spectacular dive, which would have probably elicited many ooo's and ahh's if the crowd wasn't so busy watching Harry. He was always a show off anyway. And to make matters worse, he pretended to be so humble about it all the time. It made Draco sick just thinking about it.

Draco flew for the snitch, the wind whipping at his silver hair. He set his face in determination. There's no way I'm letting Potter get the snitch again, he thought to himself darkly. They were finally neck and neck, both hands reaching as the snitch took another dive towards the stands. They weaved in and out, speeding through the air as if their lives depended on it. The snitch made a dash down the field, with the two seekers following closely behind it.

"Having trouble Potter?" Draco yelled, even though he too was panting from exertion.

"Grow up Malfoy!"

His green eyes flashed with a mixture of annoyance and anger when they briefly fell upon the pale face of his adversary. The snitch changed direction again, making them both pull upwards and round a bend at even faster speeds.

This had been enough for Draco. With one quick movement, he punched Harry in the jaw, a look of surprise etched across the Gryffindor's face, sending him straight into one of the towers. If not for another pull on his broom, Harry would have become the newest splat on the side of the wall. And lucky for Draco, Professor Sprout was again oblivious to the happenings high above her head. The quaffle changed hands again, and she kept her eyes riveted to the ball.

During the confusion, the snitch had disappeared, leaving the two seekers circling high above the pitch once again. Harry was now watching Draco as well as the rest of the pitch. A dark bruise was already forming across his jaw line. Definitely an improvement to the Scarhead's face, if you asked Draco. It was obvious that he didn't trust him to play fair for a second, and clearly expected Draco to try and sabotage the game again. Well, I'll do my best to oblige.

Whooooosh! With a rush of wind, a dark blur flew past his ear, narrowly missing his head. He flailed, off balance, turning, slipping, grasping for purchase. NO! He grabbed his broom handle just in time, breathing heavily, sweat trickling down his nose. He pushed a shaky hand through his hair and away from his eyes.

That had been a close one. He had been nearly unseated by a bludger! Draco looked around wildly for his assailant, only to see a sheepish looking Crabbe at the far end of the field. The bovine Slytherin beater shrugged helplessly, and went on with the game like nothing had happened. His eyes narrowed with loathing and he ground his teeth to keep a tirade of insults from pouring from his mouth. Idiot! Imbecile! Didn't the lump realize that he had almost taken out Slytherin's best and only seeker? He vowed to give him a good tongue-lashing. Too bad he never understood most of the insults.

Harry was smirking. Draco glared, and then turned his attention back to the field.

Suddenly, a small scuffle could be heard over the megaphone. But when everyone looked to see the source of the noise, all they could see was Stevens, slightly red in the face, holding the magical megaphone in one hand and his wand in the other. The boy was breathing heavily and beaming, a crafty sort of smile playing about his lips. Where had McGonagall gone to?

"Haha! Thought she had me beaten, didn't she? Thought she had disposed of Stevens, hadn't she? Well I've got some news for her. Too bad owls don't go where she is right now. Oh well, on with the match! Slytherin in possession and making a bee line towards the goal. O'Leary passes to Harrisson, Harrisson shoots.and scores! Ten more points to Slytherin."

Draco's grey hued eyes scanned the field as blurs of color swept past him. He was barely listening to the announcer, although he was aware that Gryffindor was still in the lead.

Come on; come on, where is it? He just had to win. The last time he had lost to Harry, again, his father had sent a rather embarrassing message, in the form of a Howler. He had barely made it out of the Great Hall before the letter seemed to explode, with his father's voice magnified one hundred times its normal volume. "You have disgraced the family name! Yadda yadda yadda, blah blah blah. It was all the same thing. A complete load of dragon crap. It had gone on in a similar fashion for several agonizing minutes. Finally, the red envelope had ripped itself to shreds, only to explode again seconds later, fizzled scraps of paper flying around the main entrance way like a New Year's party. It also hadn't helped matters that the entire Gryffindor table was still shaking with laughter by the time that he got back, with the idiotic trio laughing the loudest.

Draco snapped back to reality when he noticed a glint of gold at the far end of the field. I've got you now. Draco, face set in stone, let his steely gaze focus on the golden winged ball. He flattened his body against the broom, and tried not to blink as the snitch zigzagged around the field. Unfortunately, Harry had seen it too, and now they were both making a mad dash towards the snitch. Neck and neck again, furiously dodging the bludgers in their wake, they raced around the goal posts.

The wind whipped his cloak and hair, making his eyes water. He blinked rapidly, all the time keeping his eyes ahead of him. Sweat drizzled down his forehead, into his eyes, and down his aristocratic nose. He didn't dare wipe it away. One blink, one turn of the head, and it could be gone.

The two boys were so close now, their knees brushed against each other. Draco chanced a glance at his opponent. Harry's dark hair was plastered to his forehead, but the famous red scar was still clear against the boy's pale skin. The scar was always there, a reminder of things that had been and things that were to happen. Harry's mouth was set in a thin line. His green eyes blazed, locked ahead, only to flick back when he felt the gaze of another. Green eyes met grey, eyes that taunted the Slytherin, almost as if to say "I dare you to try that again."

Well, it worked last time, he thought maliciously, and gave Harry another shove with all of his might. Harry, fully expecting this move, was able to hold his ground as they both flew towards the snitch. What Draco was not expecting, though, was a sudden uppercut from Harry, which sent him careening in a totally different direction, mainly down. His head snapped back, and he saw stars. He's a Gryffindor; he's not supposed to hit back, why, that's cheating! Draco was a bit preoccupied to call foul though, for not two seconds later, he crashed into the field, making several spectacular rolls and tumbles across the ground before he landed face first in the grass.

It was most undignified.

"And Gryffindor wins!" shouted Stevens, who was practically leaping out of the stands. "Gryffindor victory over Slytherin!"

His body, now bruised in a million different places, screamed at him to stay still. Slowly, he lifted his gaze, only to let it rest on Harry Potter, with a stupid grin playing across his face. Harry, hand held high, was clutching a small golden ball tightly in his fist.

Draco groaned, and let his face fall back into the grass. Just let me die right here. Maybe if I pretend I'm dead, no one will notice I'm here and they'll leave me alone. Maybe I punctured a lung, or maybe my neck is broken and I don't know it yet. He wriggled his toes just to make sure. They moved. Damn.

McGonagall, sopping wet and trailing long shoots of green seaweed, stalked across the field, Stevens in tow. It had been a long time since anybody had seen her this mad, let alone this wet. Many a student pitied the poor boy as she dragged him by his shirt collar across the ground. He had a slightly glazed look about him, but appeared satisfied with his actions. He still wouldn't let go of the megaphone.

"I won!" He shouted to anybody who would listen to him. "I have vanquished her! I still have the last laugh!" Stevens began to laugh maniacally and gripped the megaphone tighter still, clutching it to his chest like some cherished keepsake. Some students cheered as he was hauled along.

"Dr-Draco," a voice asked hesitantly. "Draco, are y-you OK?"

He couldn't remember what the kid's name was. O'Leary? O'Malley? It could have been O' Friggin Dunderhead for all Draco cared at the moment. He was a Slytherin chaser, and all that mattered right now was that he was disturbing Draco's peace, if you could call it that. With a snarl, Draco pushed the boy away, and slowly rose to his feet. He could see the crowd spilling out into the pitch, cheering and screaming for everyone but him. There would definitely be a party tonight in the Gryffindor common room. A look of disgust crossed his face, which he diverted from the sickeningly cheery scene.

The rest of the Slytherin team was walking slowly towards the locker room, faces downcast, seeing as Harry Potter had once again stolen the game from their grasp. Draco Malfoy, team captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, had lost once again. With one last final look at the pitch, Draco turned on his heel and made his way back to the locker room. It had been a long day.

******************************************************

Just who does he think he is anyway? Just because he's famous, Harry Potter gets all the glory. Potter this, Potter that, I swear that the next person who even mentions Potter's name will watch as their own tongue is hexed out of their mouth. That would teach them to keep talking.

Draco crunched through the Forbidden Forest, eyes scanning the ground. Moonlight filtered through the trees. It was one o'clock in the morning as Draco Malfoy again broke a branch underfoot, heedless of the noise it caused. His mind was just too busy. And his chin still hurt from the earlier assault by Potter. I'll get you back, and then you'll regret everything you've ever done to me. You'll wish you were dead, you'll wish you were.uh.something worse than dead! He was now currently searching for ablazia, a quite poisonous plant, but necessary for his purposes.

Harry Potter would never see this coming, not in a million years. That plant was the last ingredient for a particularly malicious engorgement potion. Let's see Harry Potter fly on a broom if he can't even stand up to get out of bed. How many girls would swoon over Potter if he suddenly weighed a thousand pounds? Draco grinned wickedly. He could almost hear Potter's scream of surprise when he saw his limbs growing to the size of a side of beef. Speaking of sides of beef, maybe we could hang him upside down on a meat hook, and auction the pictures at the next Death Eater's Annual Charity Ball? Of course, all proceeds would go to the Bring-the- Dark-Lord-Back-to-Power-So-He-Can-Rule-the-Earth Charity. Not exactly the most benevolent charity in the world. Not that he cared. He didn't much care what the Dark Lord did, as long as he left Draco out of it. That was his father's hobby, not his.

For his entire life, Draco had been exposed to dark magic in one way or another. His father was a constant crusader for the dark arts. It actually was a very interesting topic, and it appealed to him greatly. It was almost a misnomer, the name "dark arts". Magic in any form could be considered dark if used incorrectly or for sinister purposes. It was just a name, but most wizards couldn't see this point of view. If performed correctly, most dark spells have very little chance of hurting anyone at all, unless meant for the sole purpose of pain or death. It was just a means to an end, and many dark spells could be utilized in a much easier manner than light spells. Why take the long way when a shortcut is right in front of you?

So while he was a supporter of the dark arts, he was not an ally to Voldemort. Unfortunately, the two subjects often went hand in hand. As long as he could continue learning, with minimal groveling mind you, then he would also continue to put on the proper face: one of complete devotion to the Dark Lord and everything that he stood for. Once Draco had what he wanted, then there would be no need to continue the farce. He could leave the service of Voldemort, under some made up pretense, and never look back. Draco hadn't figured out all the minor details yet, but it was a good plan so far.

He glanced at the ground again, careful to sidestep a knotted root growing in his path. The forest was strangely silent, which made Draco a bit nervous. Of course, the scenery didn't help much either. Fog covered the ground, giving the forest a decidedly eerie feeling. Shadows danced around him, making him turn in surprise (and fright, although he would never admit it) as a sudden movement caught his eye. A wolf howled in the distance, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. That is definitely too close for comfort.

He mentally cursed Hagrid for never teaching them defense against the local inhabitants of the Forbidden Forest, especially the wolves. It probably wouldn't have helped though. They weren't exactly magical, more of a nuisance actually. Besides, they most likely weren't vicious enough for Hagrid's strange tastes.

Ahh, now don' be afraid. They jus' get a little hungry ev'ry now and then. All you 'ave to do is feed 'em an' they calm righ' down. Now, now, watch yer fingers, they do 'ave a tendency to nip a bit.

Yes, Hagrid's every solution to dealing with dangerous animals would be to feed it and sing it a lullaby. Next time I catch him asleep, I'll charm his beard to magically braid itself with pink ribbons. No, on second thought, the oaf might actually like that.

A wolf howled once more, sending its mournful cry throughout the forest. Was the sound closer this time, or was it just his imagination?

His breath caught in his throat, a sudden panic rising like bile. This was way too similar to his first "adventure" into the Forbidden Forest, when he'd run away screaming like a little girl (although he would never admit to that either). It had made the forest seem more bearable when he had had someone to talk to, even if it was Harry Bloody Potter. He wouldn't mind having Potter here right now, for a matter of fact. If something ended up chasing them, then all Draco would have to do is stick out a foot and trip the Scarhead. Problem solved. He would be safe, and Potter would become instant fast food for whatever happened to be chasing them at the time. Yes, Potter had his uses after all. He made a mental note to write that idea down sometime. It might come in handy.

He jumped again, certain that he had heard a noise this time. The crack of a branch, the scrape of a twig against something solid. Forget the stupid plant, he was outta there. He'd just have to break into Snape's private stores again.

He backed away from the direction of the noise, never for an instant turning his back to whatever happened to be lurking in the vicinity. His breathing quickened involuntarily. This had been a bad idea.

A branch snapped again, but this time, it was a lot closer. Is this thing taunting me? No, that's stupid, it's just a rabbit or a deer, and I'm going to go back to school knowing that Bambi and Thumper almost made me wet my pants. (A/N: let's pretend that he's seen the movie) Malfoys don't run, he thought, a surge of pride running through him. Well, OK, Malfoys don't run, but they do some creative jogging, skipping, trotting, or sprinting away from whatever danger may threaten them if the need comes. They're not stupid, you know.

He grasped his wand, eyes searching frantically for whatever made the disturbance. At first, he saw nothing, and then a dark shape slowly started to take form. Draco froze, his wand forgotten at his side. His heart hammered against his chest as his eyes lit upon the hulking mass before him. Yellow eyes met his, and they seemed to pierce his very soul, so much to the point where Draco almost forgot to breathe. The eyes flashed as the thing growled and licked away the spittle that hung from its snarling muzzle. It was the size of a small bear; a lumbering, angry, and very hungry bear. The wolf's grey and matted fur bristled across its back, and it growled again, this time making the rumble come from deep within its chest. Draco felt the panic rise again. His feet felt like lead, and he gulped for air, although none seemed to enter his lungs.

What do I do? There's no Potter to trip and make a run for it. Oh, almost forgot, Malfoys don't run. I would have to jog instead. But that doesn't help my current situation. Think, damn it, think!

The wolf stepped forward, eying him hungrily. A drop of sweat rolled down Draco's forehead, and his mouth felt like he'd been sucking on cotton all day.

What do I do?

Use your wand, you idiot, a little voice in the back on his head said. Oh yeah! He was acting like a muggle! He finally found control of his limbs, although his hand was still shaking badly. He brought his wand up, and said in his clearest voice possible (although it too was very shaky) "STUPE- ", and the wolf lunged.

His heavy front paws hit Draco's shoulders, causing Draco to give an "Umph" as his breath was knocked from his body as he hit the ground. His wand flew from his hand, and now lay uselessly in some unknown spot.

Hot, sour breath met his face, and he briefly caught a glimpse of sharp yellow teeth, right before they clamped themselves into Draco's left shoulder. White hot searing pain erupted from his shoulder as it was wrenched in the wolf's teeth, tearing muscle and sinew. Each tooth was like a tiny serrated dagger, ripping its way through his body. He yelled in agony, eyes watering from the sheer pain of every twist and jerk of the wolf's head. He yelled until his throat became hoarse.

The wolf licked its bloody chops noisily, saliva dripping from its muzzle, enjoying the pain of its victim. They always tasted better when they struggled.

Through a dark haze of pain, Draco used his right hand to fumble for a weapon, anything! His fingers clasped firmly around the closest object to him, and before he even knew what he was doing, he had lifted his weapon and brought it down upon the wolf as hard as he could. The wolf howled in pain, a stick now jutting from one of its red, bleeding eye sockets. Growling fiercely, the wolf pawed at its head, trying in vain to dislodge the stick.

Draco, now fully coming back to his senses, shakily pulled his ravaged body towards a tree to use as leverage. Panting, he bit back the tears that threatened to let loose. He hauled himself up, nails cutting into the bark, and leaned against its trunk. The Slytherin stifled a cry as more pain shot through his body. He was going to pass out right there if he didn't do something.

The wolf still clawed at its face, oblivious to the bleeding boy.

I don't care what father says, this Malfoy is definitely running.

*********************************************************

He stumbled through the trees, trying desperately to hold onto consciousness. Tree branches whipped at his arms and face, gnarled roots and holes grabbed at his heels, but he still continued to run. Just a little bit more, come on, Potter could do it.

As this thought struck him, he grew immediately angry, mainly because he knew this statement to be true. I can do anything Potter can do, even if it's dragging my own bleeding body halfway across the world. This thought kept him going, even as his vision started to blur and his body threatened to give out. Potter could do it, Potter could do it.

He was mumbling to himself now, even as he walked the last few feet out of the forest and stood beside Hagrid's hut. He staggered up the few short steps and collapsed against the door, feebly knocking as he did so. His chest felt heavy, and he was now laboring for every raspy breath that escaped his lips. His shoulder burned, but that wasn't his first concern. He felt some of his old arrogance return.

Ha! I knew I could do it. I bet I got here faster than Potter could have, Draco thought, a smug grin appearing on his face, only to disappear when another notion entered his thoughts. I wonder if I'll get house points taken off for this. Snape's going to be really pissed at me.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the distance, but to Draco's hearing, they sounded like they were underwater. He felt like he was going to be sick. His thoughts drifted, and he finally gave into the black rolling waves of darkness that had threatened his vision ever since the attack.