Plip. Plop. Sheeeeeeeeee….. Plip. Plop. Plup. WhoooSHHEeeeeeee…. Thwap. Plip. Plip. Sheee….

In the beginning there was only darkness. The calm serenity that comes with beautiful life-giving rain settled in the air, the soft spray wrapping around the bodies of trees, grass, and anything else it encountered. The dark held a promise of things yet to come, the soft purple and gray-brown hues exuding the warmth that only darkness can offer. All was good.

That's how it should have been.

Plip. Plop. Sheeeeeeeeee….. Plip. Plop. Plup. WhoooSHHEeeeeeee…. Thwap. Plip. Plip. Sheee….

A malleable, palpable sense of impending doom pressed down upon the earth. The smell of encroaching calamity rode the air, the gentle rain and buffeting wind belying the evil lurking in the dark. At any given moment, something was bound to snap and all hell would break loose.

Plip. Plop. Jerk. An eyelid fluttered at the slight sting of the drops.

"Unnnnngggghhhhhh…" a low moan issued from parched lips, as the body started to sluggishly stir. Ever so slowly, the eyelid fully opened, only to see…nothing? No, not quite nothing, but all the eye could make out was a great expanse of roiling darkness with no definition. The eyelid slowly blinked in confusion. It took a few minutes for the mind to comprehend that it couldn't see properly because it was missing something – namely glasses.

What the hell? What IS that? What the heck…? Glasses….find glasses….Ah, got it.

A hand gracelessly roved over the earth beside the body, finally clasping on something smooth and cold. It lifted the object up and over the head to better examine it.

Umm… a branch? Not glasses. Damn.

Once again the hand roved around, this time joined by its brother on the opposite side. At last, fumbling fingers stiff with cold found a fragile mound of metal and glass. Thanking all the Gods above that they were still intact, the glasses were carefully unfolded and pushed onto the prone face, finally bringing clarity to the view.

Clouds. Storm clouds. And a dark sky… As the realization that he was looking at the sky dawned on him, so too did the obvious conclusion that he was laying on his back – somewhere outside, if the sudden cold wind he felt was any indicator. And now other things were impinging upon his consciousness, too. Like the light whipping rain, or the unforgiving cold wet earth beneath him, or the fact that every single muscle, bone, tendon, and ligament of his seemed to be moaning and yelling in pain. Or the voices floating in and out of focus… Wait. Voices?

Focusing harder the soft sounds, he turned to sit up towards the source. The moment he rose from the ground, a sharp shooting pain spread like fire through his nerves, from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes. With a sharp intake of breath, he fell back as a soft pain-laden cry escaped his lips. Immediately the voices stopped, but it went unnoticed while he focused solely on just continuing to breath, taking small, shallow breaths to work through the lingering pain, eyes squeezed shut.

"It appears our newest member has finally decided to grace us with his presence." A low sneering hiss filled the air. Focused on breathing through the pain as he was, the boy didn't hear the words. Nevertheless, his own body intuitively registered the evil within the voice, and a noticeable shudder passed through his thin frame. Instinctively he drew back from where the voice's owner seemed to be, only garnering another bout of debilitating pain for his efforts. Panting, he cracked an eye open, figuring it was best to face the danger head-on and know what he was dealing with.

What he saw made his jaw drop in horror.

It was like a scene out of his worst nightmare. All around him was an enormous ring of black-figures wearing white skull masks. Death Eaters. Hundreds of them. Death Eater upon Death Eater upon Death Eater, five rows deep, circled the bare hilltop on which he was now crouched. It seemed like the entirety of Voldemort's forces had turned out for this viewing. Not a word was spoken, not a movement was made, but the eerie silence spoke of awe and suppressed excitement.

And there, not five meters away, was Voldemort himself. He stood regally, elegantly, as if he was a king and all those surrounding him, his lapdogs. His black robes blowing about him majestically in the midst of the storm, his red slitted eyes blazed with triumph and desire as he gazed down upon his prize, the boy. His entire being oozed with vile evil that made the boy sick to his stomach just to gaze upon him. He held out his hand towards the boy.

"Harry, my pet, come to me."

Do what? Harry stared at the imposing figure in front of him. What did he just call him? Harry was sure as hell not Voldemort's 'pet'.

"Like hell I will," Harry rasped, immediately sent onto his hands and knees into a coughing fit from over-taxation of his vocal cords. When had that happened? It was almost as if he had been screaming for hours.

A brief but violent surge of anger flashed through Voldemort's eyes, but his voice was sickeningly sweet when he crooned, "Ah, but of course you will, Harry. Don't forget now, you're bound to me. Or didn't you realize that when you decided to take the Dark Mark?" This last was hissed in a gleeful Parseltongue.

Harry's head shot up. That was a lie. He would never become a Death Eater. He would die before he was forced to do that. Yet…Voldemort seemed uncannily happy, happier than Harry had ever felt or seen him before. As if his biggest dream had come true. And all these Death Eaters as witnesses… Surely Voldemort knew better than to bring all his forces to one place? Any captain with half a brain knew that you never put all men in the same place, even in battle; too easy for everyone to be exterminated at the same time if attacked. Unless this event was so enormous that Voldemort just had to gloat and call every single one of his followers witness it…

His eyes searched Voldemort's for some sign that he was deceiving him, his gaze hard. But sadly, the one time that he actually wished Voldemort was lying, he found nothing but stark truth staring back at him. But if he wasn't lying, that meant that he was telling the truth. And if he was telling the truth, that meant that Harry was indeed what he said. His heart beat faster as the whisper of doubt began to grow in his mind, murmuring that maybe this was true. But no, this was impossible! He, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the one who defeated Voldemort at only a year of age, was NOT a follower of Voldemort's!

"No…no… No, that's not true. It's not true! You're lying!" he called out desperately, so caught up in his panic that he didn't even realize he was answering in Parseltongue.

"Why do you doubt, boy? You know it's true. After all, you chose it yourself. YOU came to ME. And now you are bound to me, to do my will at my bidding. Now, COME." At the harshly spoken command every eye turned to Harry's quivering form. Voldemort's extended hand opened farther, palm up and arm rigid, as if he expected to reel Harry in like a yo-yo.

Out of the blue, a white-hot knife pierced Harry's left arm, worse than any pain he'd yet endured. Eyes watering, he gasped as he fervently clutched his arm in hopes that the pressure would relieve some of the pain. The next thing he knew, he was stumbling to his feet and being propelled towards the menacing figure in front of him. No! He was NOT going to obey Voldemort, like some sort of slave. He gritted his teeth and stubbornly dug his feet into the rain-soaked turf, rigidly tensing his body against the pull. But no matter how hard he tried, his feet just continued to slide over the wet grass. He couldn't even try to turn and run away; it was like a steel rope was wrapped around him, a leash holding him in place, towing him slowly but inevitably towards his doom.

As the distanced between them continued to shrink, Harry fought harder, his panic and horror increasing exponentially as he realized that he couldn't fight the command, no matter how hard he tried. Eyes wide, nearly hyperventilating, it slammed into him like a slap to the face: he had to obey Voldemort's will.

Within seconds he was in front of Voldemort, overcome with sheer horror and despair.

"Good boy," purred Voldemort. His outstretched hand moved to grasp Harry's chin in an almost fatherly-like gesture. The boy flinched violently at the ice-cold touch. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?" His mocking grin grew into a truly horrifying smile as he gazed into the emerald eyes of his captive. Still holding his gaze, he raised his voice so their audience could clearly hear everything said.

"You have all been called here today to celebrate a most momentous and wonderful occasion. That of the assured continuation of our cause: the addition of a new member. But not just any new member. No, today, you have all been called as witness to the much-anticipated initiation of none other than the Champion of the Light, Harry James Potter.

"Yes, my fellow Death Eaters, I have here in my power the Boy-Who-Lived, the Golden Child, the Savior, Light, and Hero of the Wizarding World, the one who purportedly defeated me, the greatest wizard of all time, at the mere swaddling age of one year." A deep satisfied chuckle reverberated through his body. Harry fervently hoped he never heard it again.

"Such foolish notions. A people who believe in such idiotic tales are a people damned."

Voldemort's hand moved to caress and cradle Harry's face, his thumb tracing the high cheekbones and smoothing the skin along his cheeks almost lovingly. Harry wanted to rip his face away from the repulsive touch of the demon in front of him, but once again he found all his efforts thwarted. His skin crawled where he could still feel the ghost of his fingers along his skin, as if cold slimy worms were wriggling along his face.

"It is this that our young acolyte discovered for himself. Finally away from those bumbling fools, my little friend here came to see the light." He paused to allow himself a small laugh at his own wit. "Realizing that he was merely a blind-folded soldier in a losing army, sent into battle as a pig for slaughter dressed in hero's clothes, Harry Potter turned his back on those who would stand by and offer him as a sacrifice to be killed. Those who dared to call themselves his friends and family were in fact his own betrayers.

"How very fortunate for young Harry here that he not only realized his lapse in judgment, but also that the true leader and winner of this unfortunate war, and the only rightful cause, was that of our own. Imagine my surprise when my foresworn enemy appeared on my doorstep not a fortnight ago, begging me on bended knee to allow him admittance into our ranks. But how could I be sure this was not a trap? Rest assured I did not make the decision lightly. After much interrogation, testing, and deliberation, we determined that the boy was in fact genuine. And who am I to deny such a reformed soul in need?"

At this Voldemort paused to card his fingers through Harry's fine black locks, cradling his head in almost a lover's embrace. He continued to pet Harry, as Harry himself grew more and more desperate to break away. This was just so wrong. He longed to flee, throw off Voldemort's touches, even bite his hand, just to get away from the horrible uneasiness roiling in the pit of his stomach.

"And so here we are, standing on the threshold of a new beginning, of a new age. For with the enlightenment and subsequent loss of The Light's personal hero, Dumbledore and his little simpletons will be easily defeated. Our newfound power will crush his forces into the dust as easily as a lacewing fly. With Harry Potter on our side, we are relentless and inexorable!" His eyes blazed with a crazed gleam as he fairly screamed the last words in unadulterated joy and triumph.

Mouth agape, Harry couldn't think straight. There was no way he would do that. This was not possible. It must be a dream. Some horrible dream that he really needed to wake up from. He stared up into the blazing red eyes in disbelief. Suddenly, the fingers in the hair at the back of his head tightened painfully, viciously, causing him to wince in pain. His head was slowly pulled back, making him bend over backwards in an extremely awkward and uncomfortable position, one of deference to a master.

Voldemort leaned forward and lowered his head until his lips were almost touching Harry's ear. Harry could feel a surprisingly warm breath blowing softly into his ear as Voldemort murmured to him ,"You see, Harry; do you believe me now?" The only response was a grinding of teeth and set defiant expression. He shook his head minutely, so that only Harry could see it. "Ahah, Harry. Still you defy me? Tsk, tsk. Well, perhaps we shall dispel that notion yet, hmm?"

Without warning his left arm was yanked forward, a thin cold hand of steel wrapped around his wrist. Harry's eyes darted down to see a Death Eater appear like smoke next to his master and reach out to clamp his own hand around Harry's wrist as Voldemort relinquished his hold.

"And now, my children, let us welcome the newest member of our family – the Death Eater Harry Potter!" He smiled down at Harry in pure joy, a ghastly look that nearly made Harry made vomit on the spot.

With the same hand he reached out to grasp Harry's arm just under the shirt he was wearing. His breath quickening, Harry's eyes followed its path as the fingers tightened on the thin fabric of his t-shirt. In his haze of panic, he looked down at his arm, covered by his shirt; oddly enough, the closer he got to Voldemort, the more the pain in his arm had lessened.

Distracted by this wandering thought, Harry was abruptly yanked back to the present as his sleeve was pushed up, exposing the pale flesh on his upper arm. The arm was smoothly rolled to the side, the underside now presented clearly for all to see.

There…there on the patch of pale skin just past the crook of his arm, was a blemish. A dark spot, a mark on the skin that literally emanated malice. He could almost see the waves rolling off it with a slight green tinge, not unlike a heat wave on pavement.

No…noooooo, this can't be. That's not what I think it is, it's just dirt, I fell and got it smudged with mud from the rain or even a trick of the light, it's dark out here but there's no way in hell that I would ever ever I would never NEVER would I get that thing and it's looking awfully like it but no nonoNOnonono OHMYGODWHATISHEDOING?

If Harry had been scared and horrified before, it was nothing compared to what he felt now. Voldemort was approaching him with his wand, pointing it towards Harry's arm. For a brief flash Harry thought perhaps Voldemort meant to finally end this cruel game and kill him, but that thought was quickly dispelled when the hand and wand tilted down and dug into his arm, in the exact center of the smudge. The tip of the wand ground into his skin, leaving a painful dint as if the wand was trying to push through his arm by pure force alone.

And then came the beginning of the end.

It started moving.

In morbid fascination, Harry's eyes were glued to the thing on his arm; he couldn't pull them away even if he tried. With a tiny trickle of magic from burnished wood, the thing began to undulate, pulsing with a sickly greenish black hue. Smoke began to pour from the contact point of the wand and the mark, clouding about the mark, wrapping around the arm. Through the smoke the mark could be seen glowing, eerily shining through like a beacon. Every eye watched so intently that the softly hissed word was almost missed by all.

"Morsmordre."

A blinding flash of green light burst straight up and out from the heart of the circle, enveloping the trio in the center, and blinding all surrounding them. Nearly simultaneously a tidal wave of magic swept out from the epicenter, washing over all the Death Eaters and nearly knocking several to the ground. At once, all marked Death Eaters clutched their Marks as they burned as one in tandem with their brother in the center before them.

FlashBAM. Harry saw a split second of livid green before he was consumed with an eruption of pain so immense, so intense, so indescribable, that he was completely oblivious to the plight of the Death Eaters surrounding him. This was nothing like he had ever felt before. This was worse than torture, worse than the Cruciatus; this was beyond any human imagining – this was pure Hell. It was as if his very soul was slowly being burned alive. He didn't notice when his knees buckled under him and he sank to the wet ground, nor that he was screaming violently enough that he began coughing up blood, so overwhelming was the pain.

And then, just as suddenly as it all started, it stopped. A deathly silence reigned supreme over the hilltop, broken only by the pitiful whimpering and gasping emanating from the collapsed boy in the center. Even the wind and rain were silent. It was as if – but for the boy – time itself had stopped for a moment.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Harry wrenched open his streaming eyes. Turning his head just slightly, he had to look. He just had to see for himself that that thing was there, that this wasn't all just the worst nightmare imaginable. He had to have proof. Blurry vision wavered dangerously until his focus narrowed on the black scar on his arm. No longer smoking, he could now make out exactly what it was. Even though every cell in his body screamed in protest, and his mind revolted against the fear steadily rising at the sight of the charred mark, he forced himself to peer closer at it. He had to make sure….

A wraith-like visage warped into a gruesome image of a fine glittering skull graced the skin. A delicately detailed, beautifully shimmering viper wrapped and weaved itself slowly and seductively in and out of the orifices of the skull, like some sort of perverse tongue. Outlined in a lurid mottled lime and forest green, the colors drew the eye to it, glowing and undulating stunningly with a life of their own, as if he was looking down into the most beautiful green sea that ever was. Unwittingly drawn to it, he didn't realize that his own finger was hovering mere millimeters from it until a soft huffing laugh sounded from above him, causing him to draw back sharply.

With a shake of his head and the plummeting of his heart, Harry broke out of the trance, only to wish that he was back in it when he realized what this all meant. It hit him with all the force of a speeding train. He could no longer run from it; he couldn't hide from it or deny it any longer.

He, Harry Potter, had taken the Dark Mark.

Harry was a Death Eater.

The laughter echoed softly but distinctly throughout the clearing. "Welcome home, Harry."