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Before any of you think I'm a copyright infringer, I would like to say that Bellatrix Lovegood and softlyforgotten are the same person, and you can email her on what it says is her email address on her muglenet profile which is if you don't believe me!

Disclaimer: I do not own any charactors or settings unless stated otherwise, they all belong to the fabulous, increadible, wonderful *five hours later* amazing, beautiful J.K. Rowling.

His was the smile that took all light out of the air and gave nothing back. His eyebrows were fair and his hair blond; he hated it. It seemed so playboy-ish. Such a mainstream definition of good-looking were his features, they didn’t suit his attitude; his whole demeanor rebelled against them. He walked aloft and proud from the children and Hogwarts, allowing only two cronies to walk with him. They believed that they and he were friends- he knew better. The thick males that he allowed to accompany him were dumb muscle and nothing else- but let them have their stupid ideas if they keep it to themselves.

The only thing that gave the impression of evil were his eyes. Slate gray ones that ate up light and joy, there were few that dared to meet his cold stare. Among them was only one that he respected- indeed, this one was the only man in the world that commanded his respect. And he feared no-one; yet not nothing. Death called to him and he was deadly afraid of it- it attracted him and he longed for it but he knew that he was fated to die young and he resented that. “No cheap fortune-teller will command my destiny,” he often hissed.

At his birth, his mother had lain tired and panting, a deathly weariness coming over her as she held her eerily silent son in pale shaking arms. She was a seer, though he would never admit it, and her last ever prediction was for her young son. As she gazed into his gray eyes, her breathing quickened and as her husband watched, her eyes rolled back into her head.

“He will be the Achilles,” she said in a low, hoarse voice. “He will die young and be forgotten by all but one. None shall mourn but one. He will do great things and die for the one he loves.” Her breathing got fast and shallow. “Lucius!” she cried. “He must not die! For to die he must first love… never let him love.”

Closing her eyelids, she quickly opened them and was herself again. A new glass ball appeared in the Department of Mysteries, and the man stared at her in horror. She obviously had no memory of the prediction except for one residual thought. “Call him Achilles, Lucius,” she whispered.

Her breathing got faster and faster, and suddenly the baby began to wail. “Achilles!” screeched the woman, eyes wild and mad. Then she screamed. A long scream that went for only a minute (but with no breath in between) yet seemed to go for hours. When it stopped, so to did the new mothers heart. She died, Lucius told the doctors, from childbirth but he lied. She had died from the strain of the prediction.

He married only a year after, to a woman with long black hair and dark eyes. Narcissa Black was a good choice for a replacement mother, and the child of the dead woman never guessed she was not his true mother. But Lucius Malfoy never forgot- the woman’s last scream echoed forever in his head along with her last words.

Call him Achilles…

Lucius Malfoy did not call his son Achilles. He was determined that this child would be one of darkness- bringer of fear, not hope.

He called him Draco Malfoy.

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