Chapter 1

Barry White

Deep within the forest that surrounded the town of Great Hangleton laid Barry White as he lazily lounged in front of a small fire. Barry reached over towards the crisps on his left and greedily popped them one by one into his rather large mouth. After smacking his lips in a most satisfied fashion, he licked his fingers clean of cheese dust as he eyed the tip of the flame with his beady eyes. Back and forth it flickered, its rhythmic pattern adding to the serene and tranquil setting of the clearing. “Camping’s good for the soul,” Barry thought as he savoured his twelfth can of the night. “Who needs a job, anyway?” He proceeded to take a rather large gulp from the can, draining it of the last drops of beer, and returned his gaze to the fire. Back and forth…back and forth…Barry slowly closed his eyes during the repetitive trance and found himself being lulled to a peaceful sleep.

However, had he been awake, he would have heard the distinct cracking noise that came from the surrounding forest; a clatter that broke the golden silence in which Barry slept. But alas, as he was soundly asleep, he did not hear anything but the sounds within his own dreams.

Not yet, at least.

Now, let it be said that Barry White was not an extraordinary character by all means. In fact, he was about as normal as they came. Having just been fired from his job as a cashier at the local supermarket, Barry had taken the route taken by most in postponing his search for a new job, and instead opted to surround himself with liberal amounts of food, beer, and leaves. Yes, Barry White was nothing special, nothing special at all.

A few minutes later, a sudden cry from a crow snapped Barry out of his slumber. The trickling flame of the fire was beginning to falter and he realized it was time to find more wood. Reluctantly, he chucked the can that had remained in his hand towards his right and wiped his burly moustache dry. However, before he could make any move from the lawn chair on which he had been resting upon, he heard a sudden noise coming from within the foliage behind him.

Barry narrowed his eyes and shook his head forcefully, deciding that he had drunken one too many cans of beer. Dismissing the noise, he proceeded to struggle into a standing position and turned around.

Little did Barry know that this would be last move he ever made.

“Avada Kedavra.”

A flash of green light hit Barry square in the chest and he fell towards the ground with a large thud. A pair of black shoes soon appeared next to his body.

“Wormtail, you know what to do,” hissed the attacker impatiently. His eyes, merely red slits, gazed at Barry with disgust, a look that only intensified as he caught sight of the large pile of cans near the fading fire. The attacker turned his bald, pale head away from the ghastly sight.

A second man appeared from within the shadows of the forest. He scurried forward towards Barry with his wand brandished and muttered a spell. Ropes appeared immediately, coiling themselves tightly around the dead man’s body. He turned to his companion, his small watery eyes gleaming with pleasure. 

Lord Voldemort’s gaze, if possible, became even more disgusted.

“What am I to do with a bound Muggle, Wormtail?” he asked curtly. His long spider fingers twitched as if he had the urge to strangle the man in front of him. Relaxing his fingers, he continued hissing, “Sometimes, your lack of intelligent thought surprises me, Wormtail. However, why should I be? Time and time again, you have proved to be unworthy of servitude.” 

Wormtail flushed deeply as he quickly retrieved his wand from his robes. “Wingardium Leviosa,” he said hastily, pointing his wand to the body.

Barry’s body slowly began to float up, as if suspended by invisible ropes. Wormtail waved his wand towards the faltering fire and slowly dropped the body amid the small flames.

“Incendio!” cried Wormtail.

Suddenly, the flames blasted up with new vigour, engulfing Barry’s body in a blazing heat. Wormtail turned around and looked at the pale man with expectancy.

Lord Voldemort gave a curt nod. “Follow me,” he said. “Let us leave the stench of a Muggle corpse.” He turned swiftly, his cloak rustling the dry leaves on the ground, and began to walk in the opposite direction.

Wormtail, giving one last look to the burning corpse behind him, followed suit.

~*~

“Stop.”

Both men had now reached a clearing not too far from Barry White’s campsite. A small trail of smoke could be seen winding its way through the tall trees that filled the immense forest.

“And now,” said Lord Voldemort, “it is time.” Lifting the sleeve of his cloak, he revealed a grotesque tattoo of a skull intertwined with a snake. Using two fingers, he firmly pressed upon the tattoo, a cruel smile hanging on his face.

Wormtail winced in pain as he felt a familiar burning sensation on his forearm. As the pain lessened, he opened his eyes and saw several heavily cloaked figures Apparating one by one into the clearing. Swiftly, the cloaked figures began to form a circle positioned around Lord Voldemort. Wormtail quickly scurried into place.

“We are all here, I presume,” said Lord Voldemort, look at the men surrounding him. 

The circle remained silent.

“Very well,” he continued. “You may have noticed that our meeting has begun later than usual. Alas, Wormtail was much too incapable of dealing with the burial of a misfortuned Muggle.  The blame must be put on him.”

At this, the circle erupted with scattered laughter, all directed towards a deeply embarrassed Wormtail. The laughter immediately fell quiet as Lord Voldemort raised one of his spider-like hands.

“No matter. We are here now.”

Voldemort began to walk appraisingly around the circle, examining each of the figures that were now bowing on their knees. His cloak whipped behind him as he looked upon each of his servants with a cold, impassive gaze. Halfway through the circle’s circumference, he suddenly stopped and looked down at the man below him-or rather, boy. There was a notable change in Voldemort’s demeanour now- his eyes were now filled with a furious rage, his mouth set in a straight line.

“Draco,” Voldemort whispered dangerously.

The cloaked man below him made no sign that he had heard his name being called.

“Draco,” Voldemort said again, this time with more force. “Will you not respond to your master?”

Draco gave an incomprehensible mutter.

“Get up,” spat Voldemort.

Draco hastily got to his feet, yet dared not to look his master in the eye.

Voldemort spun around to face the circle with his arms outstretched. “Death Eaters, you have failed me yet again,” he began majestically. He lowered his arms to his side as the signs of displeasure crept to his eyes.

A chorus of, “Forgive us my Lord,” rang through the circle, though the apology was clearly not sincere.

Voldemort waved his hand aloofly, silencing the Death Eaters. “Apologies are nothing. Last year, it was imperative that I had that prophecy…the secret to my triumph laid within the mist beneath that glassy sphere,” he whispered. “Yet once again, you were all incapable of following simple instructions, leading to the ultimate failure of my seemingly fool-proof plan. A considerable step backwards, I was forced to take. And Harry Potter lived on.” 

He turned back around to face Draco, who was visibly trembling. None spoke for a brief moment; only the whispers of the wind flowing between the trees were heard, along with the crunching of the leaves that coated the dirt floor.

“Draco,” Voldemort began quietly. “Who, in your opinion, played the largest role in the failure of my plan?”

Draco gave an inaudible answer.

“Louder, Draco.”

“I-I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” Voldemort repeated. He suddenly whipped his wand out of his pocket and firmly pressed it against Draco’s temple. “How about now?” Their faces were almost touching now; barely a centimetre of distance separated the terrified boy from his master.

“WHO FAILED ME, DRACO?” Voldemort roared, his free hand now clutching the front of Draco’s robes.

At this point, Draco seemed too shaken, too frightened to reply, and he merely made several choked noises as he attempted to relieve himself of Voldemort’s firm grip.

Voldemort snarled and threw Draco back with such force that he toppled clumsily to the ground. None of the Death Eaters made a move to help him, and all remained on their knees.

“LUCIUS MALFOY,” bellowed Voldemort to the circle. “The failure of my plan lies solely with the incompetent Lucius Malfoy. Had he kept the prophecy safe, as I had specifically asked, we would all not be here today.  Lucius himself knows this! He is safe behind Azkaban’s bars, and he is well aware of this. He knows that there is little that Lord Voldemort forgives.” He paused, breathing heavily, his eyes burning as bright as ever.

“ What, my Death Eaters, does your Lord do to those that disobey him? To those who fail him?”

None answered the obviously rhetorical question.

 “Why, he punishes them of course. No one defies Lord Voldemort and does not suffer. Ask Wormtail. He is quite knowledgeable on the topic.” 

Wormtail gave a whimper, similar to that of a wounded puppy.

Voldemort turned so that he once again faced Draco. “So tell me Draco. Is your father happy to be in Azkaban?”

This time, Draco gave an immediate response, not wanting to be manhandled a second time. “My father is never pleased about not serving you, my Lord.”

Voldemort sneered. “Like father, like son I suppose. Both simpering fools...both liars.”

He turned back to face the Death Eaters who continued to rest on their knees.  “Lucius is, of course, pleased. Overjoyed, most probably. But he forgets… he forgets that no one who disobeys Lord Voldemort leaves without punishment. “

“I called you all here to remind you of this very fact. Do not disobey me in the future. Catastrophes like last year’s cannot occur again! Your idiocy and foolishness have cost me too much in the past… it shall not continue in the future.“

There was a consistent murmur of ‘yes, my Lord’ throughout the ring of Death Eaters.

Voldemort raised his eyes to the sky above him. It had begun to darken as large clouds formed, moving to surround the clearing, tickling the tops of the trees. A flock of birds suddenly fled from the shelter of a single tree, interrupting the thick tension. He returned his gaze back to the Death Eaters.

“Excellent. You may all leave-”

The Death Eaters made a move to rise.

“- all but Draco.”

All the Death Eaters froze in a seemingly synchronized movement. Draco, in a terrified motion, recoiled a few steps from the circle.

Voldemort raised a pale eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

After a uncertain pause, one Death Eater questioned, “My Lord, is it really necessary for Draco-”

Voldemort narrowed his eyes menacingly. “Do you dare question me, Bellatrix?” He stepped towards the cloaked figure with a vicious gaze.

Horror filled Bellatrix’s face as she struggled to regain her composure. “Of course not, my Lord. B-but he is my nephew, and Narcissa-”

“Are you showing signs of affection Bella? Towards a shamed family, at that. Are your petty emotions more important than your unconditional servitude?”

“Of- of course not, my Lord. But Narcissa, with Lucius in Azkaban, would not be able to handle the loss-”

“I am not going to kill him, Bella,” Voldemort said brusquely, his nostrils flaring. “I am assigning him a task.”

Bellatrix continued hesitantly. “And are we to hear of this task soon, my Lord?”

Voldemort’s thin lips curled into a condescending smirk. “So arrogant, Bella?”

Bellatrix flushed, much like Wormtail had a few minutes earlier.

“But to answer your question, no. This task is solely for Draco. It is a very important task- I believe only Draco has the skills and resources to complete it.”

Both Draco and Bellatrix looked visibly surprised.

“But- Draco is merely a boy of sixteen; not even of age! Surely, his superiors have skills that he does not. I, of course, would be more than pleased to serve you, and will complete this task with success.”

Voldemort sneered. “You abhor me, Bella. I have no patience for the overconfident. “

Bellatrix opened her mouth to interrupt, but he continued on.

“I repeat, this task is only for Draco. Leave, now, or face the full wrath of Lord Voldemort.”

Bellatrix seemed to desperately want to speak, but she slowly closed her mouth and bowed. “As you wish, my Lord,” she said.

“Now, leave. That is, with the exception of Draco.” He turned to Draco, who still stood out of the circle, his face plastered with a look mixed with horror and fear.

The leaves rustled once again as the Death Eaters Disapparated one by one. A few moments later, all were gone except Draco and Lord Voldemort.  Draco made no move to come any closer and he stood his ground, trembling.

“So, Draco,” Voldemort commenced softly. “What am I to do with you? As you heard before, I did not call you here to kill you, but merely to assign you a simple task. If you are any different than your father, you will complete this task successfully. If not…well I’m afraid that even Azkaban will not protect you.”

Draco’s grey eyes widened with obvious interest, but he remained silent.

“Now, I am about to instruct you on how I intend for this plan to carry out. Do not stray from these rules Draco, or you will find your Lord highly displeased. You are to return to Hogwarts this September, as you normally do. You will not advertise your new-found position as a Death Eater. However, spread the news to your advantage- you’ll soon learn that fear ensues a great deal of co-operation in most.” Voldemort smiled cruelly and continued on.

“Your task is one that must be carried out with thoughtful planning. However, seeing as your father failed to carry out my months of preparation, I leave that hefty task to you. Do as you see fit, but the final task must be completed.”

Draco waited for Voldemort to continue. When the silent pause lingered, Draco asked tentatively, “So, what is this task, my Lord?”

“Kill Dumbledore.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Kill Dumbledore?” he repeated stupidly. Realizing his foolish blunder, his eyebrows returned to their normal fearful position.

“Is that not what I said,” Voldemort replied coolly. “You see, I realized last year after the prophecy had been so carelessly wretched out of my grip, that Dumbledore was the cause of my problems. Take Harry Potter. Would a boy of merely fifteen be able to successfully conquer a wizard like myself? A wizard so knowledgeable in the Dark Arts that all cower at the mere utterance of his name!”

“Of course not! Harry Potter knows not even a portion of the magic that I do. He would have not been able to enchant that miserable statue in the Ministry. He would have not have been able to summon the school’s Sorting Hat from deep within the Chamber of Secrets. And he certainly would not have been able to dodge my countless attempts at destroying his pathetic life, time and time again!”

“It is simply due to the wit of his peers; the help of his friends, and more specifically, Dumbledore” Voldemort spat, “did he evade me all those times. Dumbledore is not only the problem- but the key to my victory as well. Kill Dumbledore- and well, Harry Potter merely becomes an incompetent sixteen-year old half-blooded wizard.”

Voldemort slowly walked across the clearing towards Draco and peered intently into his eyes. 

“Are you willing to serve your Lord, Draco?” Voldemort asked quietly. “Repent for your father’s mistakes?”

A loud clap of thunder rung through the forest, sending flocks of birds to flee from their trees. Fat drops of rain began to pour down and soaked Draco’s light blond hair, seeping through his robe and trickling down his temples. His eyes didn’t waver, however, and were fearfully set on Voldemort’s own red slits.

“By the end of the year, Dumbledore must be dead,” said Voldemort quietly. Swiftly, he took his wand out of his robes and Disapparated, leaving Draco in the dark.  

Chapter 2

The Hangleton Towns

It was two hours later when Draco managed to find his way out of the clearing. The sky, now a dark gray, did nothing to brighten his mood. With his clothes sopping of rain water and his stomach empty, Draco could not remember a time when he had been in a worse situation.

He trudged over the last few tree roots before he came to a stop at the edge of the forest. It was late now, making it hard to see anything. There was a grassy hill in front of him that obscured his view; all that surrounded the hill was a vast ocean of green grass. Draco began to reluctantly climb the hill, but almost at once, slipped onto the wet grass, falling flat on his face. He grimaced and spat out several blades of grass. Latching on to a slightly larger tuft, he slowly climbed.

Draco looked below at the view from the top of the hill. Below him seemed to be a small town, littered with seemingly abandoned, cottage-sized houses. As far as he could see, there was no human activity within the town, making Draco feel suddenly queasy. His stomach tightened as the thick silence racked through his ears. Surrounding the village was more of the same tall grass- a plain that extended as far as Draco could see. He weighed his options and could see no other choice.

He carefully sat down on the grass and winced as he experience a rush of uncomfortable coldness. Gripping the ground, he warily slid down the slope. The ground soon leveled out and dusting his behind free of grass, he stood up. The silence which had unnerved him at the peak of the hill seemed even more eerie now that he was this close to the town. He tightened his grip on his wand within the folds of his robes, approached the gravel path that wound its way into the town, and began to walk.

Draco squinted his eyes. As he neared the edge of the village, he could make out writing on a wooden post topped with wooden arrows pointing in various directions. ‘Great Hangleton’, one read, pointing into the town. The arrow below it pointed to his right and in the same peeling letters read ‘Little Hangleton’. The last arrow, pointing towards the forest from which Draco had just come from spelled out ‘Hangleton Forest’. The oddity of why the Dark Lord would choose such a place to hold a gathering flickered through his mind, but Draco ignored the fleeting thought. Taking one last glance at the forest behind him, he proceeded forwards.

It soon became painfully aware to Draco that Great Hangleton was indeed a Muggle town. There was nothing to suggest otherwise; no wizarding shops, no passing owls; the entire street itself seemed to lack that magical ‘presence’ that Draco had grown so accustomed to. Instead, the streets were filled with busy looking people, all dressed in Muggle clothing, walking, in cars, or riding bicycles, all whilst chatting amicably. Draco glanced down at his wand and cursed at his misfortune. Being underage, the wand held so tightly in his right hand was rendered virtually useless. Still, Draco clung even tighter, for the mere feeling of the magical stick made him feel a little more at ease…though, at the same time, he dreaded the possibility of him actually needing to use his wand.

The street led Draco through the ivy entangled houses, deeper and deeper into the town. Countless of pairs of eyes gazed at him through dusty windows, squinting through the darkness, but soon would disappear as they would firmly draw their curtains to a close. Those on the street would look at him peculiarly, muttering about ‘fashion get-ups’, but would hurriedly look away once Draco made eye contact. Occasionally, loud raucous teenagers loitering on the streets would call at Draco, jeering with their drunken voices. When this would happen, Draco would veer towards the opposite side of the path, lowering his sopping head. A wave of shame rushed over Draco; here he was, an official Death Eater, cowering at the sight of some pathetic Muggles. Angrily, he kicked a small rock towards the side of the path.

As he walked on, worrisome questions began to explode within his head like lit fireworks. Waves of realization crashed him over and over again as the task the Dark Lord had just given him clicked within his brain. The mere thought of killing Dumbledore made him want to snap his wand and go live with the Muggles…what would he do when faced with the man himself? He felt his hands go clammy as he strayed his thoughts towards his mother. Death was certain, not only for him, but for his family as well if he failed. A nasty voice in the back of his head whispered venomously, “The Dark Lord knows you will fail, that’s why he picked you”. But Draco desperately closed his mind to the voice. He refused to believe that the Dark Lord only picked him as means of a punishment- just a ploy in which to punish the Malfoy family for his father’s mistakes…for after all, he was chosen, chosen above all others, was he not.

Draco skidded to a halt. In the midst of his troubled thoughts, he had reached a fork in the road without even realizing it. One trail led towards his immediate right, towards Little Hangleton- the other led deeper within Great Hangleton. Draco weighed his options; if he went further into Great Hangleton, the chances of him finding a way home grew no more probable…however, he had no idea what lay ahead for him in the latter. Both options presented problems. Breathing heavily, Draco walked towards his right. At least there was a possibility that Little Hangleton was different than its neighboring town. Draco’s mouth watered as thoughts of Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks filled his mind, and he hoped that there was something similar in Little Hangleton.

The walk to Little Hangleton was much shorter than the walk from the forest to the fork in the path. In less than ten minutes, Draco could see the first few houses. The houses in Little Hangleton were very much like those in Great Hangleton but much shabbier, and fewer in number. The roofs had missing planks, and the small gardens were overwhelmed with weeds…But Draco began to notice several strange occurrences as he walked further into the town. Unlike Great Hangleton, there were no cars parked on the street; in fact, Draco could not spot any other types of Muggle transportation around. There was no one hanging around on the streets, but instead, it appeared to be that every single inhabitant was inside their houses. While Great Hangleton seemed to be bustling with activity, Little Hangleton seemed to be drained of any life whatsoever. No one gazed at him with a funny look on their face through the glass of their windows; rather, all the curtains were tightly drawn, and their doors firmly shut. Draco felt suddenly very alone and very scared by himself in the stranded road. He stopped walking and began to turn to head back in the opposite direction when he suddenly felt a hand grip his shoulder.

Darco yelped with surprise and stumbled forward. Instinctively, he reached for his wand and spun around, the stick brandished in his hand.

“Hey, hey, no need for that mate!” The speaker was a black-haired gangly boy who appeared to be the same age as Draco. His face, scattered with golden freckles, was filled with uncertainty mingled with fright.

Draco did not lower his wand, but narrowed his eyes.

“I’m serious. Lower your wand!” The boy’s blue eyes flickered back atnd forth nervously between Draco and his wand.

The boy’s comment caught Draco off guard. “You’re a wizard?” he asked warily.

“No. I just happen to assume that every stick in the world when pointed at me is a wand.”

Draco thrusted the wand menacingly. “Funny.”

The boy’s eyes twinkled. “I thought so. Come on now, no need for the wand. I promise I’m not armed.” He reached into his pockets and turned them inside out.

Draco lowered his wand to his side, but did not loosen his grip. “Who are you?”

“Roger’s the name. Yours?”

The gears in Draco’s brain whirled quickly. Almost everyone in Britain knew of the Malfoy’s connection to the Dark Lord. “Dennis Creevey,” he said quickly.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

Draco chose to ignore his question. He suddenly became aware that several pairs of eyes were looking at him through the folds of their curtains. “Why is everyone inside?”

Roger paled slightly and glanced at the surrounding houses. “Actually, we should be inside too. Come on then.” Motioning for Draco to follow him, he started jogging up the street.

“Wait,” called Draco.

Roger stopped and turned around, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Why should I go with you?”

Roger smirked. “Of course. Because I’m one of the many lined up to help you out.” He waved his hand vaguely towards the deserted street.

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Roger’s lack of clever humor was pathetic. “How do I know this isn’t a trap?”

“You don’t.”

Draco stared at Roger, his mind working very fast. If he ditched Roger now, there was no way he’d find his way back home…but on the other hand, he’d rather be alive and not home than dead in some stranger’s house.

Clenching his teeth, Draco muttered, “Fine. But I have some questions. Like first off-.” But Roger had already resumed his jogging.

As Draco quickened his pace to keep up with Roger, the queasy feeling returned to his stomach. He hadn’t known Roger for more than two minutes, and here he was, following him to Merlin knew where. He kept his eyes steady on Roger’s hands, incase they made any sudden moves; eyeing his muscular calves, Draco wasn’t sure he could win a physical fight with him (though he’d never say that out loud, of course).

“Almost there,” Roger said. “Ahh, here we are.”

In front of them was a small house, identical to all the others in the town. The only difference was that this one, if possible, was in even worse condition than the others. The entire house itself, which was slightly leaning towards the left, had large chunks of brick missing from its sides. The few flowers in the small garden were wilting, and there were large gaping holes within the planks of wood that comprised the porch. Draco was certain of one thing; his mother would have fainted in two seconds flat if she saw it.

“Home sweet home,” Roger grinned. Steering clear of the holes, he made his way into the house.

Draco, feeling more nervous than ever before, followed.

The inside of the house was no better than the outside. It was littered with various debris, and piles of assorted papers were scattered on the floor and table. From what Draco could see, there were only two small rooms, a single corridor, plus one sitting room. Moth eaten couches were the only furniture, besides one tilting wooden table.

“Why are we here?” Draco blurted.

Roger raised his eyebrows. “You’re right. We’re missing the grand party that’s going on out there.” He jerked his head towards the street.

Draco felt his cheeks flush. “Don’t talk to me-“

“If you recall, you are in my house are you not.”

Draco said nothing in reply, but merely took a seat on one of the couches. “Why isn’t anyone outside?” he asked. “You talk like it’s always like this.”

“You’ve heard of You-Know-Who, I’m assuming.”

“Of course,” Draco replied indignantly.

“Good,” Roger said. “Well, there’s your answer. You-Know-Who.”

“How does the Dark Lo- I mean, You-Know-Who have to do with anything?”

Roger laughed. “It has to do with everything. Little Hangleton’s mainly a wizarding town, except a few Muggles, and even they don’t go out much. People are frightened out of their minds. It’s a small town, Dennis. People get frightened easily. No one around here stays out much.” For some reason, Roger looked increasingly bitter about this.

Draco decided to not question Roger’s change in mood and pressed on. “Well why were you out?”

“Nosy one, you are.”

Draco coolly stared back.

“Anyway,” Roger continued. “I was returning home, you know, after visiting Great Hangleton. You must have passed it-”

Draco nodded.

“Nice place, isn’t it? Loads of fun; it’s way better than this dump. I really wasn’t supposed to be out actually…past curfew and everything. But that’s beside the point. Continuing on, I saw you walking all alone, and I hadn’t seen you around here before, so I just sort of…”

“Scared the hell out of me?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Roger replied with a smile.

Draco didn’t return the friendly gesture.

“So what are you doing here anyway? I know I haven’t seen you around.”

“I’m from London,” Draco made up. “I’m visiting my cousin. We were flying around on our broomsticks when we crashed into the forest. My broom is beyond repair, so I left it there. I couldn’t find my cousin after I recovered, so I walked out of the forest and followed that gravel path near Great Hangleton.”

“Ahh, I see. Are you on break or something?”

“Yes. The school year starts soon. Don’t you go to Hogwarts? I’ve never seen you around.”

At this, Roger flushed a deep red. “Oh, well, you know, my parents can’t really afford it. I’m home schooled though,” he added hurriedly.

After an awkward pause, Draco asked, “Great Hangleton- it’s a Muggle town, right?” He couldn’t help the distaste that crept into his voice.

But apparently, Roger hadn’t noticed. “Yeah, it is,” he said. “It’s fantastic, isn’t it?”

Draco raised a pale eyebrow. “Muggles? Fantastic?” He was beginning to like Roger less and less. Something about the mischievous twinkle in his eye and his strange adoration of Muggles unnerved him.

Roger narrowed his eyes. “Yes, fantastic. Oh Merlin, don’t tell me. You’re one of those pure blooded freaks, aren’t you?”

“Freaks?” Draco sneered. “I think you’re the one with the freak-like problem.”

“If you must know, I’m pureblooded myself.”

“A pureblooded traitor more like it.”

“Call it what you like,” Roger snarled quietly. “But blood status is counting less and less now a days.”

“Not with me,” Draco replied shortly.

Roger didn’t retort, but merely gazed at Draco imploringly, his blue eyes pouring into Draco’s gray ones. Draco felt himself grow hot under his steady gaze and found himself staring at the dusty wooden floor.

Roger suddenly cleared his throat. “So why are you still here then?”

Draco noted that the friendly tone in his voice had all but disappeared. “Well I can’t use my wand- idiotic under-age magic rules. So I’m somewhat stranded here, I suppose.” He said the last sentence off-handedly, not wanting to seem like he was asking for anything.

Roger nodded. “Well, you know where you want to go, right? We’ll wait for my mum to return, and I’ll ask her to Side-Apparate you back to your Manor. But are you okay with Apparating with a ‘Muggle lover?’” he added scathingly.

Draco chose not to reply to his last question, but instead said, “Yeah, that would be good.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m fine.” As if on cue, Draco’s stomach grumbled loudly.

Roger smirked. “Wait here.”

Roger left the sitting room and disappeared down the corridor, leaving Draco by himself. He slowly got up and paced around the room. The walls were somewhat well decorated (again, not up to the standards of Mrs.Malfoy) with floral wallpaper, but peeling wallpaper nonetheless. They were covered with various pictures, all black and white; apparently, from what Draco could see, Roger had four older sisters, bringing the total number of members in the family to 7. Draco smirked as he was strongly reminded of the Weasley family. He moved towards the table in the center of the room and began rummaging through the piles of papers. It was clear that Roger’s parents were not wealthy people- countless of notices were scattered on the table, all informing the family of new bills, old bills, and mostly, bills that hadn’t been paid.

Draco strained his ears, trying to hear Roger walking down the corridor. When he heard nothing but silence, he continued to look through the stacks of paper. He pushed aside the large stacks of bills and began to read a small pamphlet placed near the edge of the table.

“Protecting Your Home and Family Against Dark Force,” Draco read. He snorted. “Pathetic that Fudge is.”

He tossed the pamphlet aside and returned his eyes to the stacks of paper. He frowned as he caught sight of a pile of newspapers underneath the table. Squatting on his heels, he bent his head below the table and reached for the pile.

“What- damn!” Draco swore loudly as he massaged his head. Rubbing his scalp with one hand, he reached for the pile and placed them on top of the table. He noticed, with a frown, that they were Muggle newspapers- the pictures were motionless. He picked up the first newspaper in the pile and began to read the headlining article:

Mysterious Death of Local Gardner Puzzles Police

The death of a local gardener, Frank Bryce, is set to become one of the biggest mysteries that Little Hangleton has seen in recent years. His untimely death on July the 20th has shocked not only the townspeople, but the authorities as well. Bryce was found dead by Mrs. Higgins, a local teacher who was passing by the ‘Riddle House’, the residence in which Bryce was found in, and noticed that the door was wide open. “I went in, and the first thing I noticed was that the house was very quiet, very eerie,” Mrs.Higgins told us. “I called out, but got no response. So, I went upstairs, and- and, there he was. Lying on the floor, eyes wide open… his face was terrified, his mouth hanging out wide open. For a second, I thought he had passed out- I couldn’t see any blood you know. But then I felt his pulse, and I knew.” Mrs.Higgins then proceeded to run out the ‘Riddle House’ and immediately went back home to call the police.

According to the Head Deputy Officer of Little Hangleton’s police force, Mr. Carleton, Bryce’s murder is unlike “anything he’s ever seen before”. “We have all our men working tirelessly on this case, and we will find whoever has done this,” he firmly told reporters at a press conference. But some don’t agree. A medical examiner from Great Hangleton General Hospital has revealed to reporters information on Frank’s autopsy, and clearly expressed his doubts in the case and the substantiality of the evidence. “At the moment, we have been unable to determine Mr.Bryce’s cause of death,” he began. “As you have all heard, Mr.Bryce was found three days ago in his home, alone, and very much dead. No signs of struggle or broken entry were apparent. As I mentioned earlier, the cause of death has not been uncovered yet…such is due to some strange occurrences to say the least.” The examiner refused to answer any more questions on said “strange occurrences”, despite the badgering of many reporters.

To add to the mystery surrounding this case, coincidentally, another set of murders occurred in the very same house in which Frank Bryce was killed. Fifty years ago, the original habitants of the ‘Riddle House’, Mr. and Mrs. Riddle, as well as their son, Tom Riddle, were all found shockingly dead in their house. Interestingly enough, all three murders presented very similar characteristics to that of Frank’s. No signs of forced entry or struggle were uncovered; in fact, all three Riddles exhibited the very same terrified look on their faces upon discovery that Mrs.Higgins vividly described. Furthermore, Mr.Bryce was also once the Riddle family’s gardener, and was, in fact, largely suspected to be involved in their murders. Though Frank was cleared of any charges, some never fully trusted him again. “I always thought he was a bit dodgy,” a source who wishes to remain anonymous claims. “Even though those charges were dropped, I never trusted Frank for a second.” Yes, the circumstances surrounding these two mysteries are indeed very peculiar and will trouble most for some time to come. However, whatever the truth behind these murders may be, it can be said with confidence that the town of Little Hangleton only wishes for Mr.Bryce’s murderer to be brought to justice.

Draco put down the paper and leaned back in his chair, shocked. He’d never have guessed murders could have happened in a town like Little Hangleton, never mind such mysterious ones. And the description Mrs.Higgins provided the paper…it reminded Draco awfully similar to the effects of the Killing Curse…no struggle, no blood…

“Why are you staring at the ceiling? Trying to count the flies or something?”

Draco spun his head around.

Roger stood there holding a tray, smirking. “Be careful. You’ll get whiplash.”

“Whatever,” Draco muttered.

Roger walked around the couch and dropped the tray onto the table. “Here,” he said. “Crisps were all I could find. Sorry I took so long by the way. My kitchen isn’t exactly what you’d call organized.”

Draco saw Roger’s eyes travel towards the piles of paper on the desk, which were now scattered over the surface.

“You’ve been snooping I see.”

Draco ducked his head, trying to hide his blush. “Yeah, well-”

“Don’t apologize. Although now that I think about it, I don’t think you’re the type of person that would apologize.”

Roger walked around and took a seat beside Draco. “I see you’ve been reading the newspapers. Mum was clearing them out a couple of days ago. But I have no idea why you’d be interested in them.”

“Do you know anything about this Frank Bryce’s murder?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. It happened 2 years ago. Strange man, that Frank was. He refused to stop being the gardener for the ‘Riddle House’, even after the Riddles were murdered…old man’s stubbornness I suppose.”

“You don’t think-”

“That the murders were wizard-related? Oh yeah, of course. It’s mainly a wizarding town, as I said, but we keep ourselves quiet-the Great Hangleton folk and the Muggles here, they have no idea. That newspaper you were reading- it was from Great Hangleton. They don’t know about any magic business, but we here are all pretty confident that it had something to do with it. A main reason this town is so…quiet is because of Frank’s murder. It scared people; forced them into seclusion.”

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. “What about these Riddle people?”

“Oh, Grand-dad told me about them. They were dead before I was born of course, but from what I’ve heard, they weren’t very nice people; one of those rich, snobby types. No one was really broken up about it once they heard. But the real catch was that they were murdered just like Frank; you probably read about it, didn’t you? Again, another wizard induced murder. And another reason for the people of Little Hangleton to be scared.”

Draco couldn’t think of anything to say to this. Roger was staring off into space, with the same bitter look plastered on his face.

Suddenly, Roger cleared his throat and stood up. “One second, let me just find- ahh, here it is.” He drew his wand out from underneath the couch cushion and dusted off his hand on his jeans. “Mum should be here any second now. Don’t worry, you can take the crisps- hey, what was that?”

Draco turned his head to the front door. The door knob was being turned loudly, shaking the dust off the ceiling. Draco jumped off the couch and drew his wand.

“Stay back,” he warned Roger.

“Chivalrous,” muttered Roger, as he too brandished his wand.

BAM! Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing a rather frazzled looking woman dressed in a long black coat.

“Roger! What is this? Who is this?” the woman shrieked.

“Oh, hello Mum,” Roger said sheepishly. He tucked his wand back into his jean pockets. “Er-meet Dennis.”

Draco, realizing that he was pointing his wand in Roger mother’s face, quickly stuffed it in his cloak. “Oh-er; Hello there.”

“Hello, Dennis,” she said shortly. “If you don’t mind me asking-”

“Dennis got stranded in the woods, Mum,” Roger interrupted. “I was wondering if you could Side-Apparate him back home.”

“Oh, oh of course!” she said, her plump face considerably softer. “Poor thing, you must have been scared.”

Draco drew himself up to his full height and said imperiously, “Oh, I don’t really scare easily.”

Roger’s mother looked considerably taken aback and said uncertainly, “Well…of course. So, shall we be leaving soon?” She nervously flickered her eyes between Roger and Draco.

“Yeah, definitely,” said Roger.

Draco cleared his throat and stuck out his hand towards Roger.

Roger smirked and shook Draco’s hand. “What, no thank you?”

“Don’t push it,” Draco replied coolly.

“Well come along, Dennis. Can’t be dilly-dallying.” She stretched her arm out towards Draco expectantly as she held her wand out with the other. “Where are you headed again, dear?”

“Malfoy Manor.”

“Alright then. Let me just concentrate for a second.”

“Hey, wait a second,” Roger said slowly. “Isn’t Malfoy Manor-”

But what Malfoy Manor was, Draco never found out because before he knew it, Roger’s mother had spun around, and all of a sudden, it went dark.

Chapter 3

The Malfoy Manor

Draco opened his eyes. The rush of air stung his pupils and he winced. A sudden gust of wind blew through his pale hair, whistled through his robes, whispered near his ears. He smiled slightly as he was struck with the familiar smell of freshly mown grass mingled with the aromatic scent of his mother’s favorite daffodils.

“All right there, Dear?” Roger’s mother was looking at him uncertainly while occasionally fluttering her eyes towards the Malfoy Manor. “I’ve come to the right spot, haven’t I?”

“What? Oh, yeah, this is it,” Draco replied vaguely. He suddenly noticed a strange pressure on his left hand, and jerked his arm away from Roger’s mother’s firm grip. He stumbled slightly and mumbled, “Oh-“

“No worries,” she replied kindly.

An awkward pause lingered for a few moments until Draco cleared his throat. “Well, Mrs.-” He paused uncertainly, realizing that he did not know Roger’s surname.

“Mrs. Laurry. But please, call me Shannon.”

“Fine.”

Mrs. Laurry, glancing again at the manor, asked hesitantly, “What’s that squawking noise I hear?”

Draco strained his ears (which were still buzzing from Apparating). And then he heard it; a faint screeching coming from behind the gates. “Oh that,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “Those are the peacocks.”

“Peacocks?” Mrs. Laurry sputtered indecorously. “Why, in Merlin’s name, are there peacocks on your lawn?”

“Mr. Malfoy is actually quite fond of them,” Draco replied coolly.

Mrs. Laurry blushed and mumbled, “Oh-I see…well, that’s lovely-”

“No matter,” Draco said.

“So, are we going in, Dennis?”

Draco looked at Mrs. Laurry appraisingly. Her gray hair seemed more bushy than usual and her bulky coat was frayed and patched up with tacky patterned squares. At the moment, she was constantly licking her chapped lips and was picking dirt from beneath her nails (rather nervously, Draco noticed). At one thought of what his mother would say once she saw him accompanying her, he made his decision.

“Actually,” Draco began slowly. “I think it’d be best if you stayed here.”

“Are-are you sure?” Mrs. Laurry asked earnestly, although she looked considerably relieved. “Really, Dennis, it’s no problem at all.”

“No, really. It would be for the best.” He didn’t bother masking the obvious rudeness in his tone.

But Mrs. Laurry took no notice of Draco’s impolite behavior. In fact, rather than looking indignant, she began to chew her bottom lip, making her look more anxious than before. She looked as though she desperately wanted to say something, but her lack of eye contact made it apparent that she was not going to bring it up on her own.

“Is there something wrong?” Draco asked.

“Something wrong? Oh, of course not.”

When Draco did not retract his pointed stare, she held her breath, but reluctantly continued. “Well- I’m just curious. How do you happen to know the Malfoys? I mean, with their- not so popular image these days, one can never be too sure…” At her last sentence, she trailed off and averted her eyes towards her shoes, pretending to be very interested in crushing a line of ants that marched by her toes.

Draco had been prepared for the question- after all, it was bound to come up, wasn’t it? Here he was, Apparating onto the threshold of one of the most hated wizarding families of all time- it would be foolish to think that even a frumpy witch like Mrs. Laurry would remain silent.

“My mother works here as Mrs. Malfoy’s personal cook. The Malfoy family has let my mother and me stay on the ground floor as residents.” Draco gazed steadily at Mrs. Laurry, though he could feel a shameful flush run up his neck…the only Malfoy heir posing as a cook’s son…his father would have been appalled.

“Ah, I see! It must be horrible. Very nasty people, the Malfoys, aren’t they?” Mrs. Laurry looked very different now. She was leaning slightly in towards Draco, as though they were two old friends gossiping about the latest celebrity romance.

“Oh yes…very nasty,” Draco replied coolly. He took a step back. “I suppose I should leave now.”

“Oh yes, of course.” She straightened her back, but looked strangely put-out. “Here, take this-“ She stuffed a hand down one of the many pockets of her coat and rummaged around. “Here, somewhere- urgh, here it is.”

Draco stared disgustedly at the crumb covered slip of paper held in her hand.

Noticing his appalled stare, Mrs. Laurry sheepishly dusted the paper on her coat. “It has our address on it; I always keep one handy for my clients- I do a bit of babysitting business you know. I don’t know if Roger told you, but I do love children…” A vague smile drifted onto her face. “Now where was I? Oh yes, anyhow, in case you need anything, feel free to owl Roger. We’d be glad to help.”

“Er-alright,” Draco said dispassionately. He quickly snatched the piece of paper from her hand and stuffed it in his cloak.

“Well, goodbye, Dennis.” Without warning, she grabbed Draco and pulled him into a strangling hug.

Draco immediately stiffened and subtly struggled out of her embrace. Now, his cheeks were visibly blushing. “Goodbye, then,” he said quickly. Turning around, he swiftly began to march towards the iron gates. He turned around, thinking he ought to have at least waved, but Mrs. Laurry was already gone.

As his father was rather strict concerning his privacy, it was a fair distance from where Mrs. Laurry and Draco had Apparated to the front gates. As he walked on, he saw several peacocks gracefully strutting around the grassy lawn behind the gate, majestically displaying their colorful plumage. Draco smirked as he saw one topple flat onto its face, sliding on the wet grass. Still grimacing, he reached the kissing gates.

The gates were old structures, made of wrought iron and embellished with luxurious carvings. It was one of Draco’s few treasured items in life. He saw the coldness and dignity of the gate to mirror his own personality. Tapping the end of his wand to the metal of the gate, he quickly muttered the Malfoy family motto (‘tojours pur’). The gates swung open, causing the peackocks to scurry to safety. Draco, smirking once more, walked in onto the gravel path that led towards the manor.

He soon reached the wodden folding doors of the manor and knocked using the steel snake-shaped handle that hung near the eyehole. Draco frowned slightly as he heard tense muttering coming from behind the doors.

The doors swung open, revealing Draco’s mother looking worried and flustered; not at all like her usual poised self. Her long blonde was messily held together with an emerald clip while her face appeared gaunt and tired. She wore a green silk robe and her wand was warily held by her ring adorned hand.

“Draco!” she shrieked as she pulled him inside by the front of his robes. She quickly returned her wand to her pocket and stroked his hair. “Where in the world have you been? Bella didn’t know-”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Of course she knew. She was at the meeting.”

Narcissa froze, her lips set in a straight line. “Bella!” she yelled viciously into the hallway behind her. “Bella, come this instance!” She pulled Draco into the foyer and set him onto a maroon love seat. Pointing her wand at the fireplace, she renewed the flame.

Draco sighed in relief as the warmth of the fireplace washed over him like a hot bath. Just as he was about to set his head on one of the fluffy pillows, he noticed the water tracks that he had made on the lavish carpet. Guiltily, he glanced at his mother, sure that she would have a fit.

Surprisingly, Narcissa smiled. “Do not worry,Draco. Lolly will take care of it. Lolly!”

Seconds later, a house-elf appeared out of thin air in the living room, shaking with fright.

“Y-yes, Miss?” the Lolly stuttered. She nervously clutched her dirty robes as she rocked back and forth on her heels. Her large brown eyes caught sight of Draco and she courteously bowed.

“Lolly, clean this up. And bring Draco some new robes.”

Lolly’s shoulders fell and she loosened her grip on her filthy rag. She seemed to look considerably less tense. “Of course, Miss. Right away.” With a snap of her fingers, she Disapparated.

Narcissa sighed heavily as she leaned her head out of the archway that led into the foyer.

“Bella!” Narcissa barked. “Bella, there you are.” She drew her head back into the room, her eyes once again ablaze.

Draco’s aunt entered the foyer looking highly displeased. Though her clothes were dry and seemed newly pressed, her hair was now formed of tight frizzy ringlets as opposed to her usual sleek black mane.

“Got caught in the rain, Aunt Bella?” Draco sneered.

Bella’s lip curled in annoyance, but she refrained from retorting. “How nice of you to join us, Draco,” she spat.

“How nice? How nice of him?” Narcissa shreiked hysterically. Her icy eyes were now bulging as she furiously yelled at her sister. “You said you had no idea…said the last you saw of him was when the Dark Lord requested to speak to him alone.”

“He did!” Bellatrix yelled in reply.

“He also said that he wasn’t going to kill me,” Draco quickly interjected. “Unless you had suddenly gone deaf, Aunt Bella, I see no reason as to why you failed to hear that.”

“You…you dare speak to me like that! You were as good as dead. After Lucius’ failure last year, the chances of the Dark Lord giving you this ‘special’ task...proposterous. The Dark Lord is not so foolish to place his interests in a family that clearly posesses no true loyalty to the cause.”

Narcissa opened her mouth to interrupt, but Draco was faster.

“Why would the Dark Lord hide his descision to kill me, then? Are you really so overconfident that you think he wouldn’t want to look crass infront of his ‘most loyal servant’?”

“I was acting in the best interests of Narcissa! Rather than give her false hope, I prepared her for the likely outcome. Even more, you were gone so long. Was I honestly supposed to tell your mother that you were merely having a nice long chat over a cup of tea with the Dark Lord?”

“The only reason that I was gone so long was that you had forgotten to come back,” Draco hissed in reply. “I’m not of age, remember? I can’t Apparate. I had to walk out of that clearing into that Great Hangleton village and get a bloody Muggle lover to Apparate me back home.”

“The Dark Lord said for us to leave, and I thought-”

“Thought what? That he’d turn a tree stump into a lovely Portkey for me? Of course, the Dark Lord is just so worried about me getting wet and dying of pneumonia.”

“Don’t you dare get cheeky with me you ungrateful-”

“ENOUGH!” cried Narcissa suddenly. With wisps of hair floating around her face and her face livid, she seemed quite hysterical. “That is enough.” She slowly closed her eyes and brought her hand to her forehead as she massaged her temples. “I’ve heard enough. Draco- what did the Dark Lord want?”

“Cissy, the Dark Lord’s orders are to be kept within the Death Eater ring,” interrupted Bella.

“He is my son,” said Narcissa dangerously. “Besides, surely the Dark Lord does not expect a mere boy to complete this task on his own.”

“I’m to do it alone, Mother,” Draco said, feeling annoyed. Did they all feel the constant urge to remind him of his own age?

“What is ‘it’, Draco?” Narcissa asked quietly.

“Stop,” said Bella hurridley. She glanced menacingly at her nephew. “Draco, you are to only tell me. I repeat, orders are to be kept within the Death Eaters.’

“I am good as a Death Eater, Bella. First, I sacrificed my husband, and now my son…there should be no higher position in the Dark Lord’s eyes.” At this, Narcissa’s voice wavered. Draco could see her visibly attempting to surpress the tears that were now running down her cheeks.

Draco felt a foreign pang in his heart as he saw his mother’s tears and her distressed expression. Turning to Bella, he said coolly, “My mother is right. She is as good as any Death Eater. Besides, what the Dark Lord does not know will not hurt him.”

“The Dark Lord knows everything,” replied Bella shortly. She looked at Narcissa, but made no move to comfort her sister.

Draco ignored her and turned to his mother. “The Dark Lord wants me to kill Dumbledore.”

Bella gasped and Narcissa snapped her head up from her hands, her eyes wide and disbelieving.

Draco avoided their gazes and looked down at his knees. He felt his face grow hot as he sensed the eyes of both his mother and Aunt Bella focusing on his body.

After the silent pause lingered for what seemed to be a few hours, Bella sputtered, “Well that’s…impossible. For Merlin’s sake, you’re only-“

“Sixteen, yes I know,” Draco snapped. “Do you think that the Dark Lord has not realized that?”

“She’s right,” Narcissa said suddenly in a dazed voice. “It’s impossible. This is a punishment, because of Lucius. How dare he…the Dark Lord has no right…” She shook her head and laughed in a pitch that was very much not her own.

“Do not blame the Dark Lord,” Bella said forcefully. “Be thankful! Yes, the task is impossible. But better die serving the Dark Lord than by suffering his wrath!”

“I am not going to die,” Draco said loudly.

Both women ignored him and Narcissa pressed on. “Are you saying it is an honor for my son to die?” she asked shrilly.

“Narcissa, there are no other options.”

“Options! Of course there are options. We can run-“

“No,” said Draco suddenly. “We are not running away. Besides, the Dark Lord is sure to find us.”

“Then,” Narcissa began in a strained voice, “what do you propose we do, Draco? You, a mere boy of sixteen, and my son- what do you suggest we do?”

Draco paused.” I suppose I have no choice but to follow through.”

Satisfaction filled Bella’s eyes. “Excellent, Draco,” she said in a smug tone. “Your father will be pleased.” Her mouth shifted into a strange grimace which Draco could only interpret as her best attempt at a smile.

Draco did not return his aunt’s friendly gesture. He turned to his mother and looked at her tentatively.

“No,” Narcissa whispered. “I- I refuse.”

“We can’t, Mother.”

Narcissa bit her lip as she breathed shakily with her eyes closed. Her hands clutched the couch tightly, her knuckles turning a ghostly white. Her pale eyberows furrowed as she appeared to be deep in thought. Draco could almost see the gears whirring in her head.

Bella cleared her throat and said, “Well, I suppose there really isn’t anything else to say. I’m off.” She nodded at Draco and Narcissa, and walked towards the archway.

“Bella,” Narcissa said quickly. “Perhaps…perhaps we ought to visit Severus.”

Bella furrowed her eyebrows. “What for?”

“Just to discuss some things.”

“There’s nothing that Professor Snape can do,” said Draco immediately. “This is the Dark Lord we’re dealing with.”

“Yes, but Severus has always been a trusted advisor of the Dark Lord’s,” Narcissa said earnestly.

Bellatrix snorted. “Most trusted advisor, ha! Snape was never there during the Dark Lord’s fall. His loyalty only lies with Dumbledore…comfortably acting as Dumbledore’s pet while the rest of us are serving the Dark Lord.”

“If that was true, would you think that he’d still be walking, alive and healthy to this day?” Draco asked snidely.

“Draco is right,” said Narcissa. “The Dark Lord trusts him…no, needs him enough to keep him alive to this day. While he can not change the Dark Lord’s mind, of course, he still may be able to help.”

“How’s that?” Draco asked, confused.

“Oh, nothing.”

Draco surveyed his mother suspiciously as she darted her eyes, avoiding his gaze. Draco opened his mouth to continue interrogating her, but she suddenly summoned her cloak from the rack across the room.

“Yes, Bella. I think it is time to visit Severus.”

“Cissy, I don’t understand. What’s this-“

“I’ll explain it later.” Narcissa gave her sister a sharp look, to which Bella immediately fell grudgingly silent.

“Draco, when Lolly comes, make sure to change.” Narcissa draped the moleskin cloak over her shoulders.

“Yes, Mother.”

“Tell Lolly to leave supper out. I might be late.” She looked at Draco, smiling sadly, her eyes tired and worn. She grazed his chin with her hand, and Draco leaned into her palm.“Come, Bella,” she said.

Both women walked out of the foyer with their cloaks streaming behind them as Draco remained seated on the couch. He stared at the trickling flame as it flickered back and forth, feeling as though the thoughts in his head were swimming in a similar fashion. His aunt and mother were surely right…the Dark Lord’s task was impossible, even for the most capable of wizards. Dumbledore may be the greatest wizard alive, exempting the Dark Lord, and he, at only sixteen, was supposed to effeciently end his life. Draco’s stomach clenched as he was reminded of an even more sickening thought; he refused to believe that the Dark Lord had only chosen him for the task as a means to cruelly punish his father…no, he wouldn’t believe it…afterall, the Dark Lord had chosen him above all others. He’d been branded with the Dark Mark- the Dark Lord respected him.

Minutes trickled by as the fire began to simmer down. “Well, that’s that,” Draco quietly muttered to no one in particular. He reluctantly hoisted himself up from the chair when a sudden crack broke the silence. Draco yelped with surprise.

“Merlin, Lolly!”

Lolly’s eyes widened with fear. “I is- is sorry, Master Draco. I is not meaning to frighten you.”

“What is it then?” Draco snapped irritably.

“Master’s supper is ready, and his clothes is in his room.”

“I’ll be there soon. Make sure it doesn’t get cold. Leave Mother’s out as well.”

“Yes, of course, Master.” She bowed and Disapparated once more.

Draco returned his gaze to the fire. The flames were furiously thrashing around, beating at each other as they flashed a mixture of red, orange, and yellow. The crackling of the fire reminded Draco of his fifth Christmas, which had taken place in the very room in which he stood now. His mother’s warm arms had been embracing him from behind as he opened his first present of the evening. It was a broomstick, the flashiest of its time. A shiny handle and neat bristles completed the magical allure; it was more than what Draco could have hoped for. In his excitement, he had immediately mounted the room and proceeded to attempt to clumsily fly. Mistakenly, he had flown right into his father’s legs, knocking him over. Mr. Malfoy calmly and soundlesly took the new, beautiful broomstick, snapped it in two, and threw it amongst the burning embers of the fireplace. He turned to his wife and whispered, “He will never be good enough. Never.” He then proceeded to walk out of the room, all whislt ignoring Draco’s incoherent sobs coming from within the folds of Narcissa’s arms.

Draco swallowed and tried to surpress the bubble of rage that was beginning to form in his chest. He extinguished the fire and walked out of the foyer towards the manor’s stairs, all while ignoring the single tear that trailed down his cheek.

Chapter 4

Diagon Alley

The months of July and August swiftly passed though the weather continued to be as hot and humid as ever. Strangely enough, there had not been any rainy days following the most recent Death Eater meeting, which had taken place in early July. However, this had little to no effect on Draco, as he spent most of his time cooped up in his room armed with only sheets of parchment and a quill.

These long sessions with said utensils would often include the plotting of numerous plans, all concluding with the death of Albus Dumbledore. However, these carefully outlined tactics would usually become mere crumpled balls of paper, lazily tossed into a waste basket near the foot of Draco’s bed, where he’d lie in desperation.

Even as the days slowly drifted by, his luck did not improve. Aunt Bella’s frequent visits had provided no help (not that Draco’d actually let her), but instead, supplied Draco with ample amounts of what she liked to call ‘constructive criticism’. At one point, Draco thought his aunt could not become any more useless; but when she refused to reveal the most measly of details on her secret rendezvous with Professor Snape, he realized that he was truly all alone, and very much doomed.

But currently, Draco was wonderfully not thinking about his ominous task, and instead, was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. His room was dimly lit as the sunshine pouring in through his window only fleetingly touched random areas on his wooden floor. The sun’s rays, though not bright enough to fully wake him, were enough to disturb him from the little sleep that he had had. Though he knew he should get up, his muscles seemed to be paralyzed with exhaustion from the night before. He’d been up till two in the morning staring at the walls in his room, hoping that a magical solution to his task would draw itself upon the blank surface.

Needless to say, it had been wishful thinking.

Draco reluctantly swung his legs over his bed and shivered as his feet hit the cold floor. He yawned while making his way out of his room and towards the bathroom.

“Draco!”

He spun around towards the direction of the sound. Standing in the middle of the corridor was his mother, dressed in an elaborate cloak, her aristocratic blonde hair tumbling down her back.

“Hurry up. It is eleven o’clock. What have you been doing?”

“I was working last night,” Draco yawned.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. “And what would you be working on in the middle of the summer, Draco?”

“Things.”

“Things?”

“That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Watch your tongue, Draco. Put on some clothes. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

“Where are we going?”

“Diagon Alley. Hogwarts is starting in a week, so you’ll need supplies, won’t you? Hopefully, this year will be better than the last.”

“It’s not my fault-”

“Do not blame that pathetic Mudblood. How long have you used that excuse? Now hurry. Lolly will have your breakfast ready.” With a swish of her cloak, she began to make her way down the winding stairs.

Draco dramatically rolled his eyes towards where Narcissa had just stood. He knew the real reasoning behind her sour mood. Last evening, Ministry officials had visited the Manor, demanding to search the house. With three wands pointing at her and her son, Narcissa could not have refused- but that didn’t stop it from taking a toll on her pride.

Draco shuffled into the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. His blond hair was disheveled and stuck up in all sorts of directions (disgustingly reminding him of Potter) while his bad sleeping habits had taken a larger toll, causing puffy purple bags to underline his eyes.

Sticking his head out of the bathroom and into the hall, he yelled, “I’ll be down in a while!”

~*~

Draco marched down the last few steps of the staircase and landed on the third floor. He took a sharp turn towards the right and began to walk down the lit hallway. His newly pressed cloak trailed behind him as the train tickled the back of his heels with its velvety touch. A strand of blond hair hung perfectly near his high cheekbones with such purpose that it seemed to be as much a part of him as his arms and legs. He knew rays of confidence and arrogance were put forth with every step he took- so much so that he’d even give Lucius Malfoy a run for his money.

He reached the doors leading into the breakfast room on the patio and pushed them open.

Immediately, he was struck by a sudden burst of light. His hands flew up to his eyes as he took a surprised stumble backwards.

“Merlin!”

“Sorry, Dear.” His mother, while chewing on a danish at the opposite side of the glass table, smiled at Draco. “Here you go.” With a wave of her wand, a curtain unraveled from the top of the patio roof, blocking out the sun.

Draco grunted irritably and slid down into his chair. Grabbing a knife, he began to butter his toast.

Narcissa cleared her throat. “We’ll be leaving in an hour,” she began. “We’ll have to go to Gringotts and draw some money from our vault.”

Draco frowned. “Why? Don’t we have enough in the house? Have you checked Father’s study?”

Narcissa coughed uncomfortably. “I had to- ah, empty the safe in your father’s study recently. I owed certain people some money for keeping some of your father’s- select possessions safe. Thankfully, I called in the favor before yesterday’s…fiasco, to say the least.”

Draco didn’t bother pressing the matter, even though questions were exploding within his head like lit fireworks. Of late, she had been providing the same useless information like her sister. Apparently, they all thought he was much too delicate to handle any serious facts; perhaps the fact that he was a Death Eater given the task of killing one of the most accomplished wizards of their time slipped their minds.

Draco tossed the last piece of toast into his mouth. Neatly dusting the crumbs off his front, he got up.

Narcissa rose as well. “Do you have your wand?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “What for? I’m underage, remember?”

“These days, one can never be too safe, Draco,” Narcissa answered gravely.

“Somehow, I find that hard to believe, considering we have the protection of the winning side.”

“We only have the protection of the Dark Lord for as long as we serve him.”

Draco stood motionless, shocked at his mother’s words. Slowly, he said, “What are you trying to say?”

Narcissa waved her hand. “Nothing; nothing that you should be worried about.”

“Actually-”

“Draco!” snapped Narcissa. “Let’s leave this topic. Come, hurry. I want to visit Flourish and Blotts before it closes down for the day. I heard they have a new cookbook out…” Her voice trailed off as she exited the breakfast room and returned into the manor.

Draco followed his mother inside, snarling with annoyance.

“Draco, in the Floo room,” Narcissa called.

Draco turned right into another winding hallway. He began to regret not wearing socks as he rubbed his arms from the blatant coldness of the floor. He caught sight of a plain wooden door to his left and stopped. Turning the brass handle, he entered the room.

Every time Draco walked into the ‘Floo Room’, as his mother liked to call it, he was horribly reminded of Professor Umbridge’s office in Hogwarts (he very much liked the woman herself, but her taste in tablecloths would make even the coldest of Slytherins cringe). But perhaps this uncanny resemblance in design was directly related to the fact that the designer of the room was Professor Umbridge herself.

In Draco’s fourth year, the ‘Floo Room’ (complete with 10 fireplaces, each connected to a secure Floo network) was given to the Malfoy family as a gift of thanks for Lucius’ many contributions to charity and, as Fudge had liked to phrase it, “the overall pursuit of goodness in humanity”.

Draco sniggered at the thought of Fudge’s blabbering. Lucius’ reward for his ‘pursuit of goodness’ had actually been used to provide the Death Eaters with a means of transportation to and from the manor. Nevertheless, despite Fudge’s grave misconceptions and Professor Umbridge’s disgusting overuse of pink wallpaper (that adamantly stuck to the walls, no doubt a result of her mule-like stubbornness), the Floo room had provided to be invaluable to the Malfoy family. It was completely unique- the only other family in possession of such a facility was the Fudges themselves. Of course, the incoming and outgoing Floo-users were carefully monitored by Lucius, but with the security that the system came with, it really wasn’t necessary. And with the Mafloys’ dangerously persuasive influence that discouraged Ministry induced snooping, it was completely and utterly private.

That is, until Lucius was imprisoned. After that, the Ministry had completely invaded the once secluded Malfoy Floo network. In fact, the only reason they had let the Malfoys keep the room was in the hope that the Dark Lord himself would pop out of one of the chimneys.

“Here’s some Floo Powder,” said Narcissa. She passed Draco a pot filled with emerald green powder. Draco grabbed a handful as he slid his shoes that rested near the fireplace onto his feet.

She continued on once he passed the pot back. “Now remember, speak clearly. It’s ‘Diagon Alley’-”

“Mother, can we hurry?” he snapped. He wanted to this be over as soon as possible.

“Right, of course. Now, you go in first.”

Draco, feeling foolish as he always did when using the Floo, climbed into one of the fireplaces. As usual, the flames were painless. Clearing his throat, he yelled, “Diagon Alley!” as he threw the fistful of Floo powder into the air.

Draco’s elbows rattled beside his body as he began to violently spin around. He bounced between the walls of the chimney as he spun round and round, his hair flying in front of his face. Glimpses of various fireplaces passed him while soot continued to be spewed up his nose. Finally, when Draco was sure that a piece of coal had become lodged in his underpants, the spinning stopped and he was thrown to the ground.

Coughing, he struggled to stand up. The ground around him was littered with specs of black soot from his robes and mouth. One thing was clear- he had still not gotten used to traveling by Floo.

Around him, hundreds of people were streaming in through the entrance on the opposite side of the room which bore a sign reading ‘Thank You for Using Diagon Alley’s Floo Centre!’, before joining one of the cues in front of the many fireplaces. A gigantic pot was situated in the middle of the room and was filled to the brim with green Floo powder. Three dirty house elves continuously circled around the base of the pot while snapping their fingers whenever they came across some fly away powder. Just as Draco was about to walk a few paces towards the exit, a sudden swooping noise came from behind him.

He spun around to see his mother gracefully landing onto the floor on, he grudgingly noticed, her two feet. She subtly shook the soot out of her hair before walking over to Draco.

Draco frowned as he said, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” Narcissa questioned.

“How do you land so…”

“Oh, Draco, stop acting so foolishly. Come on now, we should be hurrying to Gringotts.”

She strode forward past Draco and headed towards the exit. Draco trailed behind her. Obvious angry whispers and dark looks followed them as they both crossed the room. Draco looked at his mother and suddenly felt a rush of affection as she walked indifferently passed them, her chin in the air. He reached the doors of the exit and gave a good push, walking out onto the gravel path.

Instantaneously, his senses were thrown into overload. Though “Warning” posters had been plastered all over shops, bearing warnings of the rise of the Dark Lord, the village was still as busy as ever. But Draco noticed a definite change from the memories of his past visits to the sight in front of him: instead of the large mob of boisterous people that usually flooded the streets, they were now clustered in small groups, whispering in low voices amongst themselves. This change almost saddened Draco until he realized that at that moment, half of them were probably whispering about him and his mother’s appearance.

“Come along, Draco,” Narcissa called as she crossed the road.

Draco walked across the street and stopped in front of the entrance of Gringotts to quickly glanced at the gold engraved plaque placed on the doorway. He smirked. Anyone foolish enough to attempt to rob Gringotts was better off stuck in one of their booby trapped vaults.

“Hello, Mr. Malfoy,” said an oily voice.

Draco looked down at the source of the noise and saw a stout goblin greasily smiling up at him. His yellowed teeth glimmered in the sunlight as he stuck a stubby hand out towards Draco.

“Pleasure seeing you two here,” the goblin continued.

Sneering, Draco ignored the goblin’s hand.

“How have you been, ah-” Narcissa asked, disdain dripping in her voice.

“Bimly, Miss, Bimly. And I have been fine, just fine. Although I can’t say the same for you Mrs. Malfoy, haha,” snickered Bimly.

Draco clenched his fists at his side and resisted the urge to throw a good punch. “Goblin,” he spat. “I suggest you be careful of what you say and to whom you say it to. Or have you forgotten the power that the Malfoy family holds?”

Bimli’s yellow cheeks blushed a pale pink. “Of course not, Mr. Malfoy. I-”

Narcissa sneered. “Come, Draco. We have better things to do than speaking to vermin.” Draco nodded and walked passed the flustered goblin, and pushed open the golden doors.

The insides of Gringotts were almost as busy as the streets of Diagon Alley. Noisy cues reached till all sides of the foyer and wound around the hundreds of goblins that scurried across the floor, madly muttering to no one in particular.

“Well this won’t do, now will it?” Narcissa said quietly.

“Why is it so busy?”

“Hogwarts is starting soon. Even more, with the circumstances of late…” But she did not carry on. Instead, she pulled Draco, who had made a move to join one of the cues, and dragged him to her side.

“Don’t be silly, Draco.” She waved her hand and motioned for him to follow her.

They walked towards the opposite end of the vast chamber. Draco frowned impatiently as he followed his mother; he was getting tired of being constantly out of the loop. Upon reaching the other side, Narcissa skidded to an abrupt halt, causing Draco to trip and latch onto her robes.

“Draco, what are you doing?” she asked with a hint of annoyance.

“What am I doing?!”

“Nevermind then. Now, do you see that goblin standing there in the corner?”

Draco followed his mother’s gaze. Standing in the corner closest to them was a small goblin. To Draco’s surprise, the goblin’s knees appeared to be shaking and he flickered his eyes nervously towards the surrounding wizards. From what Draco could tell, he was quite young in comparison to his old co-workers.

“He seems so frightened and alone,” Narcissa noted.

Draco widened his eyes. “What are you talking about? Are you feeling sorry for him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Narcissa snorted. “Pity is something I will never feel for these…creatures. But this goblin…well, he certainly will come in handy.” She didn’t elaborate on this vague statement but instead, walked over towards the goblin.

Draco, perplexed, followed.

“Hello there,” Narcissa said kindly to the goblin. Sweetness practically oozed from her every word. Draco gazed at his mother in amazement, but kept silent.

The goblin, shaking even more than before, looked up. “Y-yes, Mrs. Malfoy?”

“Ah, you know our names. Very good, very good,” Narcissa said happily. “Now, why are you looking so frightened on this lovely day?”

The goblin must have wholeheartedly believed Narcissa’s comforting words for he began to ramble on. “Well, it’s my first day on the job you see, Mrs. Malfoy, and I haven’t had much training…with the job shortages and all, there’s been a real need for more employees. It’s quite over-overwhelming to say the least, and-”

“That’s very nice,” Narcissa cut off. Draco noticed the sweetness slowly ebbing away from her tone. “But what I was wondering was if you’d be able to help us.”

“With-with what, Mrs. Malfoy?”

“Well you see, we are in such a hurry, and really can’t afford to be standing in all these cues.” She waved her hand towards the lines of people and rolled her eyes dramatically. “Why don’t you just hop into one of those carts and take us along, for the, ah, ride?”

“I’m afraid…I’m afraid I can not Mrs. Malfoy. Gringotts p-policy.” His knees were shaking so badly now that it seemed as though he had just come back from a lengthy stay in the Arctic.

“Is that so?” Narcissa exclaimed, clearly in mock surprise.

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” The goblin replied earnestly, obviously relieved at Narcissa’s quick uptake.

“Well perhaps this will change your mind. Draco, Dear.”

Draco stumbled forward as she caught his left arm and pushed up his sleeve, revealing his Dark Mark.

The goblin gave a strangled gasp and hurriedly backed into the marble wall. He wildly shifted his eyes from side to side while spluttering several chocked phrases.

“Frightening, isn’t it?” commented Narcissa pleasantly.

The goblin terrifyingly nodded.

“Now will you help me?”

The goblin froze, his eyes madly blinking at Narcissa. She thrusted Draco’s arm closer to his face. Finally, the goblin submissively nodded and straightened his back. He motioned a trembling hand towards a corridor on the left of the foyer as he walked forward.

Draco couldn’t help but snigger, even with the jabbing pain in his left arm. “Excellent job, Mother.”

Narcissa smiled. “I thought so. Come on, we don’t have all day.” Walking forward, she caught up to the goblin and shifted places, making sure that it looked as if the goblin was pursuing her. Draco, with a faint hint of a snigger still plastered on his face, ran up ahead.

“Now goblin,” Narcissa said softly out of the corners of her mouth once they were a good distance away from the main chamber, “I could have easily placed an Imperious curse on you; you do know that, right?”

The goblin nodded shakily.

“Excellent- just checking. You seem smarter than the rest of your kind; this will make this process much more pleasurable. Now, what you will do is get a cart to accommodate the three of us and take us quietly to the Malfoy vault- I presume you know the vault number.” The goblin nodded once again and Narcissa smiled before pressing on. “Goblin, I daresay that if you knew my surname, you must also know how busy us Malfoys get. Really, if we weren’t always on the move, I wouldn’t have bothered you on your first day.”

The goblin, unsure as to what to say to this sudden declaration, clumsily waggled his round head. Draco stared at his shoes, afraid that he was going to burst out laughing.

Abruptly, the goblin skidded on the marble floor to a halt in front of a large lit tunnel on their right. Shakily, he turned to Draco and Narcissa and said, “We are here, Mrs. and Mr. Malfoy.”

“Well, where’s the cart then?” Draco asked nastily. He turned to peer into the tunnel.

Just as he turned, a faint buzzing noise began to come from within the tunnel. In a matter of seconds, the buzzing noise grew louder and louder until suddenly, a cart came streaming out at break neck’s speed. It stopped with a screeching halt at the end of the wrought iron tracks, which happened to be only a few centimeters from where Draco stood, petrified.

Draco widened his eyes and opened his mouth in a silent scream as he stared at the cart. His lower jaw slowly rose to meet the upper one while his eyes shifted back into their sockets. Shaking, he turned to the goblin, who, from what Draco could see, was trying to fight back a laugh.

“Next time, goblin,” Draco whispered venomously. “Let me know whether I’m about to be run over to my death, alright? Or else I’m afraid you’ll be meeting your death much sooner than you expect.”

The traces of laughter melted off the goblin’s face as he quickly resumed foolishly nodding. He opened the latch of the door that led into the cart and motioned his hand for them to climb in.

Draco took his seat on the cool seat of the cramped cart. To his left, Narcissa was carefully inspecting the seat before she reluctantly sat down.

“Maybe we could persuade the goblin to provide us with more satisfactory means of transportation,” Draco smirked while tapping his left forearm.

Narcissa shot him a sharp look to which his smirk immediately fell of his face. Annoyance, for the third time that morning, flooded his veins. He looked imploringly at his mother, yet her gaze remained as stoic as ever. Exasperated, he turned to face the opposite direction.

“A-Are we all ready?” the goblin stammered.

“Clearly,” Narcissa replied coolly.

“Yes, yes of course. Well, then. Brace yourselves-” He touched a single finger to a perfectly-sized indent in the side of the cart, and all of a sudden, they burst forward.

The flames of the torches that lined the tunnel seemed to blur into one big mass of orange as the cart gained speed. Draco gripped the edges of the cart and closed his eyes while trying to concentrate on the sound of the droplets of water falling from the ceiling to the floor. It was a fruitless attempt however, because all Draco really wanted to focus on was not throwing up. He briefly opened his eyes and glanced at his mother; to his outrage, she looked as composed as ever.

The cart took a sharp left and Draco was lurched onto the other side. He cringed at the thought of the ugly bruise that would be forming on his arm in a few hours. The stabs of pain were soon accompanied by a dizzy head, and then followed by itchy eyes. After a few minutes, when Draco was seriously considering jumping out of the speeding vehicle, the cart came to an unexpected stop.

Once again, Draco was thrown forward and landed in a crumpled mess on the floor of the cart. Groaning, he stretched his limbs and rose up. He made his way to the now open door of the cart and climbed out.

His mother was waiting off the tracks in front of a large vault, tapping her foot impatiently. Behind her, the goblin was examining a ring of keys, quietly muttering to himself.

Draco limped over towards his mother and gasped through the pain in his leg, “It was never this bad!”

“That’s because we had our family’s vault moved into the high security vaults, deeper within the labyrinth.”

“How come?”

Narcissa stiffened. “The Ministry’s silly little interferences, that’s all. Come, Draco. Let us go see what the goblin is doing. His kind is known to be quite accomplished thieves.” She said the last sentence with particular contempt before marching over to the goblin, who apparently had taken no notice of the insult.

“Stand back please,” the goblin said once Draco and Narcissa had reached the steel vault. He stretched out the same finger which had been used to start the cart and stroked the edge of the vault. The metal door instantly vanished, revealing its glittering contents.

The goblin gasped. Eyes wide, he stammered, “B-but they said the Malfoy family was –“

“Was in ruins?” Narcissa finished meanly. “Please do tell- ah, what was his name? Oh yes, Bimly. Yes, please tell Bimly and others who are doubtful about the Malfoy status that our family’s fortune is still as boastful as ever.” She smirked at the goblin’s shocked gape before leaning in to the vault and scooping mountains of coins into two leather pouches.

“Draco, take this.” She handed him one of the pouches which seemed considerably larger than the other. “It’s your pocket money for school. Of course, you can expect more when you come home for the holidays.” She carefully placed the other leather pouch into her cloak before turning to the goblin. “Goblin, I believe we can leave now.”

The goblin seemed to have recovered from his earlier shock for he quickly replied, “Of course, of course. If you’d c-climb into the cart…”

Draco reluctantly followed his mother into the cart. He highly doubted that the ride back up would be any more pleasant than the one before.

The goblin quickly scurried in after Draco. He must have been quite relieved to be ridding himself of Draco and Narcissa’s presence for his mouth broke into a small smile as he meekly asked, “Ready?”

~*~

The toast in his stomach threatened to make a most unwelcome appearance as Draco clutched the sides of the cart. He climbed out of the cart with his mother while the goblin followed behind them.

“That is all, I am-am assuming, Mrs. Malfoy?” the goblin stammered over the buzzing of the cart returning into the tunnel.

Narcissa turned to face the goblin and looked at him coldly. “Oh, no, there is one more thing.”

Draco frowned. He wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the lighting, but he was almost certain that his mother eyes were flickering back and forth between the surrounding halls, which were as void of people as before.

“What is left to do?” the goblin asked, bewildered.

Narcissa laughed. She drew her wand out and pointed it towards the goblin’s temple.

“Obliviate.”

A cloudy mist formed and covered the goblin’s large eyes. Narcissa slowly drew her wand back into her cloak while Draco stood silent. The mist slowly dissipated and the goblin’s eyes came back into focus. He then noticed Draco and Narcissa and at once, his mouth fell open.

“Mrs. and Mr. Malfoy…how- how nice to s-see you here,” the goblin stuttered. “What brings you b-both here?”

Draco noticed the return of the goblin’s shaking knees. “Oh, we just came out of the cue.” Draco said.

“Ah, I see…” The goblin averted his fearful eyes towards the busy foyer which was a few meters away. “I hope your v-visit was enjoyable, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Oh yes,” Narcissa said sweetly. “We’ve been served very well.”

~*~

“Why did you give me that look when we were in the cart?” Draco asked suddenly. He exited Gringotts in stride with his mother and they both started walking down the street.

“What are you talking about, Draco?” Narcissa replied.

“You shot me a look after I threatened that goblin with my Dark Mark.”

Narcissa’s face turned somber. She stopped in her tracks and turned to Draco. “Draco, you must understand. First of all, you can’t go flashing the Dark Mark at whomever you please. That goblin…he wouldn’t have done much harm had he managed to stray and reveal our secrets to the others. But that confidence you have while bearing that Mark worries me…what will you do when I am not there? Just remember, a mere tattoo will not always be able to persuade others like it did that goblin. Your aunt may not agree with me on this matter, but I know that there will come a time when- when merely the Dark Lord itself will not be enough.” She said the last sentence in a soft whisper, so quietly that only Draco could hear.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “How thick do you think I am? I won’t go showing it to everyone. You showed that pathetic goblin once…what would have been so bad about showing him once more?”

Narcissa sighed heavily. “Draco, there are so many matters that you do not understand. I just- I just do not want you to become reliant on that obscene marking.”

“I don’t rely on anything, nor anyone.” Draco replied shortly.

Shaking her head slightly, Narcissa laughed and said, “Oh, Draco…come now, we must be on our way. Where to first? You really do need some new robes.”

“Actually, I expected to do my shopping alone today.”

Narcissa frowned. “Alone? Whatever for? Really, there is no time to waste, Draco.” She resumed her marching down the road, tutting about the reckless thoughts of modern teenagers.

Draco followed, cursing under his breath.

The strange looks and vicious whispers from the pedestrians hadn’t seemed to die down as they walked on. Draco tried ignoring them, but frustratingly found that the hot stare of the crowd was just as blazing as the heat of the sun, and just as impossible to disregard. Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, they reached the pristine and quaint shop known as Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.

The chime of a tiny bell rang through the small shop as Narcissa pushed open the door for Draco. A bustle came from behind a clothing rack before Madam Malkin, small and flustered, appeared from behind the sea of robes.

“Oh, my my. Well, er, hello Mrs. and Mr. Malfoy. How are, ah, you two doing on this lovely day?” Madam Malkin asked tentatively.

“Oh, fine, fine,” Narcissa replied indifferently. “We’re here to get Draco fitted for some new robes. His are far too short.

Madam Malkin smiled widely and clapped her hands. The chalk dust that coated her hands exploded into a puff of smoke, causing her to break out into a fit of coughing. Narcissa and Draco smirked.

“Ah- much better,” Madam Malkin wheezed after her coughs died down. “Well, if you two will follow me, I’m sure we can find something.”

Draco and Narcissa followed Madam Malkin deeper into the store until they reached a rack of male school robes.

“Well let me just take your measurements…” Madam Malkin muttered. She waved her wand towards one of the stationary measuring tapes on a nearby tray. Immediately, the tape sprang to life and began to scurry around Draco’s body, mid-air.

“Ow, bloody-!“ Draco yelled as the end of the measuring trape sharply prodded his right bicep. “What is wrong with this thing?”

“If you’d have lifted your arm…” Madam Malkin said gently. She looked up from her clipboard, where she’d been taking down Draco’s measurements.

“Are you blaming my son for your instrument’s clear incompetence?” Narcissa interjected.

Madam Malkin paled. “Of course not, I was merely-”

“Madam Malkin, instead of this nonsense, just carry on with what we are paying you to do.”

Madam Malkin blushed a deep crimson.“Of course, of course. Now…where were we? Ah, yes. Alright, Draco, why don’t you try this one on?” She drew her wand and summoned a set of forest green robes from the rack. She tossed it to Draco, who pulled the garment over his head.

“A little too large around the hips,” Madam Malkin mumbled. She reached for a pin and began to place it within the folds of the robes, when a familiar chime rang in the distance.

Madam Malkin looked up from Draco’s robes towards the front of the store. “I’ll be back soon Mr. Malfoy, let me just check-”

“Surely you are not leaving my son here without completing your services, Madam Malkin?” Narcissa’s ice-like eyes viciously narrowed at the much smaller woman in front of her.

Madam Malkin clenched her jaw. “Of course not, Mrs. Malfoy. I’ll finish with Draco here.” She returned to Draco and begun to hem his robes, but this time with considerably greater force.

“Draco, after we finish here, I think we ought to visit Flourish and Botts, and possibly the Apothecary after that- maybe a nice cauldron-”

“For the last time, I am not a child, in case you haven’t noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone.”

Madam Malkin chuckled nervously. “"Now, Dear, your mother's quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore, it's nothing to do with being a child..."

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but felt a sudden jab in his left forearm. “Watch where you’re sticking that pin, will you!” he hissed. He jerked his hand away from Madam Malkin’s firm grip and strode from the rack over to the nearby mirror. The dark robes went well with his snow-like complexion. He fingered the silky fabric and noted the impeccable stitching; yes, they would do quite nicely. He dropped the robes and looked back up at the mirror, only to see what appeared to be the gaping figures of Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and Harry Potter in the reflection.

Draco spun around and narrowed his eyes. “If you’re wondering what the smell is, Mother,” he called out into the area behind him, “a Mudblood just walked in.”* Satisfaction filled him upon seeing Hermione’s upset expression.

A clash could be heard from behind the rack before Madam Malkin came scurrying forward, a tape measure and wand held in tow. “I don’t think there’s any need for language like that! And I don’t want wands drawn in my shop either!”*

“Yeah, like you’d dare to do magic out of school,” jeered Draco, sneering at Harry and Ron’s outstretched wands. He glanced back at Hermione and noticed her darkened eye. “Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers.”*

Madam Malkin stepped in between the two parties. “That’s quite enough,” she began sharply. She turned her head back towards the clothing rack. “Madam, please!”*

Narcissa walked out from behind the rack to Draco’s side. “Put those away,” she said coolly, eyeing Harry and Ron’s wands. She took a step closer to the three teenagers. “If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do.” *

Harry stepped forward and said defiantly, “Really?” He didn’t break eye contact with Narcissa as he continued on. “Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?” *

Madam Malkin jumped as she gave a high squeal. “Really shouldn’t accuse…wands away, please!”*

Ron and Harry both ignored Madam Malkin. Naricssa cruelly smiled at them before turning to Harry. “"I see that being Dumbledore's favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you."*

Harry contemptuously looked around the surrounding area, his eyes wide with mocking fear. “Wow... look at that... he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!"*

Anger flooded Draco’s veins. Concentrating very hard on the mental image of his fist in Harry’s face, he lunged forward, only to trip on his too long robes. As his ears burned, he could here Ron laughing. Looking up, he looked menacingly at the boys and spat, “Don’t you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!”*

Narcissa stepped beside her son and put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, Draco. I expect Potter will soon be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius.”*

Harry snarled and raised his wand higher towards them. Hermione latched onto his arm like Narcissa had grabbed onto Draco’s and begged, “Think... you mustn't... you'll be in such trouble..."*

Madam Malkin used the ensuing moment of silence to scurry onto Draco’s left side. Acting as though nothing had happened, she tugged at his left arm. “I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, Dear, let me just..."*

Draco broke his stoic gaze at Harry and wrenched his arm away. “Ouch!” he bellowed. He hid his arm under the sleeve, praying she didn’t see his Dark Mark. "Watch where you're putting your pins, woman!” he hissed. “Mother, I don’t think I want these any more.”* He shot a nasty look towards a stunned Madam Malkin and ripped the robes off and threw them to the ground.

“You’re right, Draco,” Narcissa said. She sneered in Hermione’s direction. “Now I know the kind of scum that shops here…we’d do better at Twilfitt and Tatting’s.”* She venomously looked one last time at Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Madam Malkin before marching passed the racks of robes towards the front door.

Draco followed. As he passed the Trio, he shoved his shoulder violently into Ron’s arm. Ron gasped in pain and tried lunging towards Draco, but Draco had already hurried forward to catch up with Narcissa.

“Oi Malfoy! …bloody coward…”

Draco tried straining his ears, but couldn’t hear anything else over the chimes of the door opening.

“What kept you?” Narcissa asked. She was standing next to the door, a frown on her face.

Draco grinned evilly. “Just taking care of some business. Weasels are such a bother.”

Narcissa cocked an eyebrow but a small smile still crept onto her face. “Alright, where are we off to now?”

“Mother, really. There’s no need for you to accompany me. You can go off to wherever you want to go, and I’ll be at Flourish and Blotts picking up my books. We can meet at Twilfitt and Tatting’s in an hour.”

Narcissa looked apprehensive. “This isn’t a time where we, of all people, should be separated. I didn’t want to worry you-”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You didn’t actually think I didn’t notice all the stares, did you?”

“Well, I didn’t want to make it anymore obvious!”

Draco waved his hand to silence his mother. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, I’m completely able to purchase a few measly books on my own. I don’t need to have every single one of my actions monitored.” Narcissa opened her mouth to interject, but Draco quickly added, “Especially in light of…recent events.” Narcissa closed her gaping mouth, defeated. Draco resisted the urge to smile, because even without her saying anything, he knew he had won.

“You may go by yourself,” Narcissa began sharply. “But remember; in one hour- Twilfitt and Tatting’s. And let Merlin be my witness as I say, if you forget for any reason-”

“Mother, I’ll be there.” He pecked Narcissa lightly on the cheek and started jogging down the gravel path in the opposite direction.

Flourish and Blott’s was quite close to Madam Malkin’s, so Draco found himself at their doorstep in a matter of minutes before entering the store itself. Madam Malkin’s may have been just as large, but it was nowhere near as busy; students covered almost every inch of the carpeted floor. Draco even recognized some of them, but as he expected, noone greeted him. But other than the lack of his usual adoring fans, Draco did not notice anything that had changed in the past year. The musty smell of old paper mingled with dusty broomcupboards and chalky classrooms still filled all four corners of the store, and the rows and rows of bookshelves were still as disorganized as ever, even though it seemed as if everyone knew exactly where everything was. “It’s strange,” Draco thought with a smirk, “how life can seem so normal even though it’s far from it.”

He squinted. The purple robes of the sales assistants were usually easily recognizable, but with the back-to-school crowd, it was impossible to differentiate anyone. Finally, he caught sight of an acne-ridden teen dressed in plum robes talking to a customer that Draco couldn’t identify across the room.

Draco shoved his way through the thick crowd, earning him more than a few dirty looks and mutters. At last, the opposite end of the room came into sight and Draco pushed himself in front of the sales assistant, his back to the costumer who had been receiving the assistant’s help.

“Hello,” Draco drawled. “I’m here to purchase my schoolbooks. So, if you could go fetch these for me…” Draco pulled out his list and slapped it into the sale’s assistant’s hand.

The sales assistant opened his mouth to reply, but a female voice interrupted.

“Excuse me, Malfoy, but I believe I was here first.”

Draco spun around and was faced with a very furious Ginny Weasley in all her red-headed, golden freckled glory. Her amber eyes scanned Draco up and down, filled to the brim with contempt.

Draco smirked. “Baby Weasel. Seen your brother lately? I took care of him quite nicely only a few minutes ago. Pity you weren’t there. I like to take care of my game in pairs.”

“Oh, bugger off. I was here first, so you better get out of my way.” With her arms folded and nostrils flaring, Ginny gave the impression of a very annoyed boar.

The sales assistant, who had been squeaking sporadically as Draco and Ginny argued, peered over Draco’s shoulder. “Ginny, I can find Mr. Malfoy another assistant, just give me a second-”

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be silly, Charles. I was here first. Malfoy was not. It’s quite simple. Too bad he’s too much of a moron to understand.”

Draco clenched his jaw. Slowly, he turned so he was facing Charles. “Charles, is it?”

“Yes,” he squeaked.

“Charles. Do me and Weasel here a favor. Leave.”

Charles nodded quickly and ran back into the crowd, his purple robes flapping behind him.

“Why you insufferable git!” Ginny hissed viciously. “Even with your loser father being stuck in Azkaban, you still are the same annoying pest you’ve always been.”

Draco ignored the tightening of his stomach and kept his face as cool as ever. “You haven’t learned your lessons either. Still pathetically pining after Potter? Why Weasel, you’re much too feisty for him. I think sniveling Longbottom was a much better catch, don’t you?” A small bubble of triumph grew within him once Ginny blushed and started spluttering several incoherent phrases.

“Neville-Harry-WE’RE-JUST-FRIENDS!” Ginny bellowed finally. Her hands flew up as she furiously stomped her foot onto the dusty carpet. Her lips formed one last menacing pout, and then, she proceeded to march back into the crowd.

Draco watched her flaming red hair melt into the mob of people. “You haven’t bought anything, Weasel! But I suppose that’s how it always is with the Weasel family!” he called. Her face snapped towards him- he could make out each of her freckles against her pale skin. She paused for a few moments and looked coldly into his eyes before whipping her head around and disappearing for good.

Draco stared at her vanishing figure for a few moments; he almost felt… a little disappointed. She was no different than her brothers…they all had the same obnoxious tomato red hair, and the same chicken pox freckles. “Not that it really affected me of course, but still, it might have been a nice change,” thought Draco.

“Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco whipped his head around to see a small female sales assistant dressed in the same plum robes as Charles.

“Mr. Malfoy?” the sales assistant repeated again.

“What? Oh sorry,” Draco said vaguely. His thoughts were still on the Weasley family.

“A sales assistant said you were in need of some help. My name’s Bryony. Do you know what you’re looking for today?”

Draco rummaged in his robes and handed Bryony the list.

“Alright, Mr. Malfoy. If you could follow me…” She began walking towards their right. Draco followed. For some odd reason, he felt like looking back into the crowd one last time, just to check if the Baby Weasel’s tumbling red waves were still visible amid the crowd. But thinking better of it, he kept his gaze forward. Still, he had to admit- Bryony’s locks were just not as interesting as hers.

*= Quote taken directly from:

Rowling, JK. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Canada: Raincoast, 2005. Print.

Chapter 5

The Vanishing Cabinets

Draco left Flourish and Blott’s several minutes later with a heavy book bag swung on his right shoulder. Twilfitt and Tatting’s was located in the same shopping square as the past two stores he had visited, so he managed to make his way to the shop rather quickly. The same annoying bell chime from Madam Malkin’s rung once again as he opened the door and walked into the store.

“Draco! On time, excellent.”

Draco walked over to his mother, who was waiting in queue by the backroom of the shop, talking to two people who had their backs faced towards him. Though much larger than Madam Malkin’s, Twilfitt and Tatting’s was much more eerie and sombre, with the only source of light coming from a few flimsy lightbulbs that hung from the ceiling. Dust coated almost everything in the store like a second skin, which undoubtedly caused the orchestra of sneezes and coughs that seemed to play throughout the store without pause.

“Draco,” Narcissa said once he reached them, “you know Graham Montague, right? And Mrs. Montague?” She gestured to Graham, a big and burly sixth-year with a shiny mushroom haircut and black robes. A tall, spider-like woman with similar green eyes and chestnut hair stood to his right, smiling thinly.

“Draco,” Graham grunted with an acknowledging nod. He grabbed Draco’s hand and proceeded to shake it violently. Draco winced as he pulled his arm back to his side.

“Graham and Mrs. Montague are also here to buy their school robes,” Narcissa added.

“Yes. We, like you, have also found Madam Malkin’s standards to be slipping,” Mrs. Montague squeaked. She had a shrill, high-pitched voice that reminded Draco of his old house-elf.

Narcissa nodded gravely. “And in times like these… when the discrepancy between pure bloods and the rest matters the most…it’s appalling.”

“I’m afraid that Hogwarts is also taking a turn for the worse, Narcissa. Dumbledore’s….eerie affection of the Mudbloods frightens me and my husband. How do you find him, Draco?’

“Yes, he’s completely unfit for the job,” drawled Draco, bored. “What do you think, Graham?” He waited in anticipation for Graham’s reply; they were almost as hilarious as Goyle’s.

“Uh, what? Oh yeah….Dumbledore... real bonkers,” Graham mumbled. He ended his thoughtful proclamation with a grunt, while he stared at his mother in utter bewilderment, as if he’d just been told he was a giraffe.

Draco gave a strangled cough, trying not to laugh.

“ Bonkers indeed! Why, only last year did my Gram-gram get into an awfully tight spot thanks to Dumbledore’s carelessness.” Mrs. Montague shot her son a look of such simpering affection that even Narcissa subtly sneered.

“Mum,” Graham hissed.

“What?! They should know about your Headmaster’s irresponsibility.” She turned to Narcissa and leaned in to whisper, “I had half a mind to send him to Durmstrang, you know?”

Narcissa nodded as she patted Mrs. Montague on the shoulder consolingly. “Same with us. But it was just too far.”

Graham snorted from behind his mother’s back. He looked at Draco and pouted his fat lips as he brought his fists to his eyes, wiping away fake tears.

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Gram-gram?” he mouthed. He cocked his head towards Mrs. Montague, snickering.

Graham turned bright red and returned his attention to the conversation between their mothers.

“Those dreadful Weasley twins,” continued Mrs. Montague, “had decided to put poor Graham in the school’s Vanishing Cabinet as some sort of sick practical joke. And what was their punishment? Absolutely nothing. In fact, I was notified weeks later, after Graham himself had to Apparate out of the Cabinet- which he hadn’t done before, by the way, such a clever boy- and then, my husband and I tried lodging a complaint with the board. Of course, Dumbledore got in the way… .”

“Just awful,” consoled Narcissa. “It must have been traumatizing, Graham. I could only imagine.”

Graham nodded. “Sometimes, I thought I was going mad inside that blasted thing.”

Draco rolled his eyes at his companion’s dramatics. “Going mad? How’s that?”

“Don’t roll your eyes! I heard voices!”

“Oh really?! Let me guess…was it the ghost of the Vanishing Cabinet?” He chuckled.

“Draco, please,” hissed Narcissa.

“There were voices,” Graham insisted. “I could hear conversations- all the time. Always talking about the Dark Arts, or some nonsense like that. I clearly remember a rather loud argument about some Hand of Glory…I’m not lying!”

Draco felt his heart stop. Blood pounded in his ears. “The Hand of Glory?”

“Yes. There were two people talking about it; one wanted to buy it or something. But, the other man wouldn’t lower the price.”

“And all this happened inside the Vanishing Cabinet?”

“Well not inside the Cabinet. But…somewhere…I could hear it, either way.”

“Are you sure? You have to be sure!”

“I’m sure, alright! What’s this about anyway? Why are you suddenly interested?” Graham looked at Draco questioningly.

Narcissa narrowed her eyes as well. “Yes, Draco, why are you so keen?”

Draco felt his heartbeat slow down, and he took a shaky breath. “Oh, nothing really. As a prefect, I might be able to look into Montague’s incident a bit more; maybe even get those Weasley twins the punishment they deserve.”

Narcissa’s questioning stare disappeared and she smiled. “That’s a fabulous idea, Draco. About time you put your powers to good work.”

Draco nodded. His mind was fuzzy with hundreds of thoughts running through his head, all at once. All he knew was that he had to get out of there, now.

“Mother, I think I forgot to get a book at Flourish and Blott’s. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

Narcissa frowned. “But, Draco, surely we could all go and get it.”

“No, no, I don’t want to be a hassle. It’ll be much easier if I go by myself. Nice seeing you, Mrs. Montague. I’ll see you at school, Graham.” He shook both of their hands before Narcissa could retort, kissed Narcissa on the cheek, and hurried out of the store.

He broke out running down the road. Of course, he had no intention of going to Flourish and Blott’s. How could he have been so clueless…the answer had been in front of him the entire time. He knew about Montague’s accident from last year, but he’d never put the pieces together. The Vanishing Cabinet- that was the key. Rather, the Vanishing Cabinets. There was only one store that, to Draco’s knowledge, carried the Hand of Glory-Borgin and Burke’s…how many times had he seen that black cabinet, just lying there… ? He’d never realized it was a portal, connected to the cabinet in Hogwarts. Obviously it wasn’t working properly, Graham had been stuck in it...but there must be a way to fix it, there had to be. Draco’s train of thoughts paused…what would he do if he did manage to fix the cabinets? Shaking those unplanned details out of his head, Draco quickened his pace, passing store after store. He’d cross that bridge once he got to it, he decided. He paused slightly, distracted by a small, obnoxiously decorated shop, before realizing it was the Weasley twins’ new joke shop. He sneered and continued running.

Finally, he drew near Knockturn Alley. He checked his watch; he had about five minutes left before he had to go meet his mother again. He walked down the dark, winding cobblestone path, wary, his wand in his right hand. It was hard to ignore the eerie strangers that lurked within the shadows of the street, especially when most of them held trays filled with things like rat skulls and snake teeth. He kept his senses alert, and tried not to scream when a witch grabbed his elbow, which he shook away before hurrying onward. He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the dusty door that led into Borgin and Burke’s.

He opened the door and scanned the room. He felt his stomach tighten; there it was, in the corner: a black cabinet.

“Hello. Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco jumped and spun around. “Oh, hello, Borgin.”

“How are you today? Doing a bit of shopping, I see. Though not for school, I am assuming.” He smiled creepily, showing all his rotten teeth.

Draco didn’t return the warm gesture.

“So, what are you interested in today, Mr. Malfoy?”

“That.” He pointed to the Vanishing Cabinet.

Borgin’s smile stayed plastered on his face, but Draco noticed his skin pale. “May I ask why you would be interested in a simple cabinet?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Don’t play games with me. I know what it is. And I know that its companion is in Hogwarts.”

Borgin’s complexion paled even more, from porridge grey to a ghostly white. “You mustn’t tell anyone; if it gets to the Ministry, I’ll lose-“

“Oh, shut up. Of course I’m not going to the Ministry. I happen to need the Cabinets, actually.”

Borgin looked immensely relieved, but now had a look of nervousness. “Why in the world would you need the Cabinets?”

“Ha, like I’d tell you! That’s private business. All I need from you is instructions on how to fix the other one. Do you know how to fix it?”*

“Possibly,” said Borgin, cautiously. “I’ll need to see it, though. Why don’t you bring it into the shop?”*

“I can’t,” Draco said, annoyed at Borgin’s unhelpfulness. “It’s got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it.”*

Borgin licked his lips nervously and said, “Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn’t guarantee anything.” *

“No?” sneered Draco. He moved closer to Borgin. “Perhaps this will make you more confident.” He raised his left hand, letting the sleeve of his robe fall down, revealing his Dark Mark.*

Borgin’s eyes widened, and he gasped.

“Tell anyone,” Draco continued, “and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He’s a family friend, he’ll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you’re giving the problem your full attention.” *

“There will be no need for-“*

“I’ll decide that,” Draco replied curtly. “Well, I’d better be off. And don’t forget to keep that one safe, I’ll need it.” He pointed to the Vanishing Cabinet.

“Perhaps you’d like to take it now?” Borgin seemed hopeful, as though he’d very much like to have the Cabinet out of his store.*

Draco rolled his eyes. “No, of course I wouldn’t, you stupid little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don’t sell it.”*

“Of course not…Sir,” Borgin added hastily. He bowed deeply.*

“And not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?”*

“Naturally, naturally,” mumbled Borgin. He was starting to subtly usher Draco out of the shop; Draco willingly complied, seeing as Narcissa was probably fretting at that very moment. He walked out of the shop, the bell on the door tinkling behind him, and headed back onto the street.

Draco hurried onward, feeling rather pleased with himself. Not all was lost….at least now, he had a plan. Even if Borgin didn’t know what he was doing with the Cabinet, Draco could surely figure it out himself. And he still didn’t know what he’d do once the Cabinet’s were fixed. Nonetheless, a bubble of glee formed in his stomach as he imagined the look on Aunt Bella’s face when the Dark Lord bestowed the Malfoys with honours beyond their wild dreams, instead of the Lestranges… .They’ll see… Voldemort wasn’t crazy in choosing him-

Draco’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted when he stumbled backwards onto the gravel. Angrily, he got up while dusting himself, and then looked at the person he had run into.

Ginny Weasley stood with her hip cocked, staring at Draco coolly. “Well, Malfoy, you just can’t seem to get enough of me.”

Draco snickered. “Yeah, it’s the blood traitor hair and spattergroit freckles- I can’t resist.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Wow, you must have had that one planned for ages!” She shook her head with disgust. “Whatever Malfoy, you’re not even worth it.” She turned around swiftly and started to stalk back down the road.

Out of the blue, a strong pulse that begun in his stomach crawled up into his vocal chords, causing him to yell out, “Wait!”

Ginny turned around and waited expectantly, tapping one foot.

“What are you doing in Knockturn Alley, anyway?”

Ginny raised her eyebrows. Draco added nastily, “It’s not a safe place for blood traitors. And being a prime example, I can’t imagine why you’d come here.”

“That’s more like it. If you must know, I’m trying to find Ron, Harry, and Hermione.”

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Draco said, “They’ve disappeared?”

“Just for the moment, don’t worry. I know you’d be so upset if any of them were to be kidnapped.”

“Devastated.”

Ginny smiled, and Draco could see the beginnings of a laugh. But before it could materialise, she abruptly stopped herself, and her cool gaze returned. “Anyway, I’m leaving. I reckon that they wouldn’t go into Knockturn Alley, and even if they had- nevermind, why am I telling you this… . Well, bye then.”

Draco nodded. Ginny stared at him for a few seconds longer before turning and heading back. Draco watched her disappearing image until she was nothing but a dot of red amidst the mob of people in the streets. Draco decided he was wrong in his earlier assumption: that she was just like her brothers: all talk, no brains. But, the Baby Weasel was in fact, if possible, even more infuriating than her siblings. Her brain power slightly exceeded her brothers’ baboon-esque minds, and her angry outbursts rattled him instead of amusing him.

But, he thought to himself, he wasn’t going to give her another thought. It was frightening that a measly fifth-year, and a Weasley at that, had troubled him this much. He had bigger things on his mind; and if there was one thing he learned in being a Malfoy, it was that never, ever, let anything get in the way of what you want.

*= Quote taken directly from:

Rowling, JK. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Canada: Raincoast, 2005. Print.

The Hogwarts Express

The morning before boarding the Hogwarts Express was always hectic, this year being no different. The usually spotless Malfoy Manor was in a state of disorder, with quills, textbooks, cloaks, and parchment randomly strewn across the floor.

“How many times,” Narcissa began wearily, “have I told you to pack the night before?”

Draco remained silent as he threw items into his trunk. Narcissa simply shook her head and flicked her wand at each item that Draco threw, which neatly folded them midair.

Draco knew he had no retort to give. He’d decided long ago to leave his mother out of the Dark Lord’s mission; she’d already shown her total lack of faith in his abilities, and involving her would just be stressful for both of them. But it was getting harder to keep silent with every day that passed, especially when Narcissa scolded him for the smallest of things. For had she looked into Draco’s room late last night, she would have seen him pacing the room, much too preoccupied to be even thinking about packing.

The euphoria of discovering the pair of Vanishing Cabinets had disappeared since his last visit to Diagon Alley. The problem of fixing the broken cabinet, inside the protected Hogwarts, under the watchful eye of the man that he was supposed to kill, loomed over Draco like a constant rain cloud. He’d only gotten a few hours of sleep the past week, and spent most nights restlessly worrying about the upcoming year. He’d never felt so lost in his life. Anything that had needed fixing was always taken care of by the house-elf, and something told him that the Vanishing Cabinet wouldn’t be fixed by a snap of Lolly’s fingers.

Anyhow, Draco could only truly rely on himself; he had no idea when the Dark Lord was expecting his task to be completed, and so, Draco assumed the sooner, the better. Involving others would only prolong the process. Since realizing the connection between the Cabinets, Draco would sneak into the manor’s library whenever Narcissa wasn’t looking, and try and get his hands on any book about magical objects. Unfortunately for him, most of the books dealt with Dark Objects, and most of these had been moved to a location outside of the manor for fear of Ministry raids. Last night, he decided that he’d just have to wait till he got to Hogwarts and could actually see the cabinet. Then, he unconvincingly reassured himself, a stroke of genius would surely hit him.

“Draco!” Narcissa said loudly. “Have you been listening to anything I’ve said?”

Draco snapped out of his thoughts and turned towards his mother. “What?”

“I was just saying that you might want to go eat something before we leave.” She checked the grandfather clock in the corner of Draco’s room worriedly. “We’re going to be late.”

Draco didn’t feel very hungry at the moment; he was much too worried. But rather than start an argument, one that he’d surely lose, he grudgingly went downstairs and yelled for Lolly.

~*~

Draco had to push his way through the throng of students on platform nine and three quarters to get to Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle followed. They seemed to be having no trouble at all, as they were so large, students simply leaped out of their way.

Draco could hear his mother’s voice trail behind him. “I’ll meet you before the train leaves…in about ten minutes!” He rolled his eyes just as he neared Blaise and Pansy.

“What’s wrong?” Pansy asked, noting his annoyed expression.

“My mother’s too overbearing,” Draco replied offhandedly.

Blaise smirked. “How sweet,” he snickered.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t make faces if I were you, Blaise.” It was common knowledge that Blaise was very fond of his mother.

Blaise uncharacteristically blushed and hastened to change the subject. “How was your summer? I didn’t spot you in Diagon Alley.”

“I didn’t spend much time there. I was in Knockturn Alley for a bit.”

“What for?” Pansy interjected.

“I dropped by Borgin and Burke’s, I was looking at the-” Draco hesitated at Pansy and Blaise’s interested faces, unsure whether he should continue. On one hand, he never liked missing an opportunity to boast. If he explained the events of the summer, they’d definitely be impressed with his idea of the Vanishing Cabinets, and even scared with the Dark Lord’s newfound trust in him. Even so, he didn’t want anyone meddling in his affairs- too much was at stake.

“I was just saying hello to Borgin,” he finished lamely. Their keen expressions disappeared, and Pansy promptly started ranting about her new dress robes.

Suddenly, Draco noticed Crabbe and Goyle weren’t behind him. He turned around and saw their two lumbering figures towering over a scrawny boy who seemed to be in his first year. Thankful for the excuse to escape Pansy’s annoying voice, he casually strolled over.

“What seems to be the problem?” he drawled.

Crabbe and Goyle looked up looking very confused. Both had identical faces of utter bewilderment. Draco had to hold back a laugh.

“What’s the problem?” Goyle repeated, still looking flabbergasted. “I’m not sure.” Beneath him, the first year was trying to rid himself of Goyle’s gorilla-like grip.

Draco shook his head disbelievingly and turned to the first year. A dark container embossed with gold writing was clutched in his trembling hand.

“What do you have there?” Draco asked the boy maliciously.

The boy stammered, “N-nothing. Just s-something from Diagon Alley…” His voice trailed off while he nervously glanced between Draco and the entrance to the train.

“Sure doesn’t look like nothing.”

“It’s j-just a toy!”

Draco whipped out his wand and pointed it under the first year’s chin, hoping he didn’t know about the underage magic restrictions. Judging by the look of terror that masked his small face, he did not.

“D-don’t hurt me!” the boy squeaked.

“Hand it over,” Draco said, smirking. The boy reluctantly handed over the container.

“Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder,” Draco read out loud. He read the fine print and grimaced. “A Weasley product.”

Crabbe and Goyle blinked at Draco stupidly. Draco rolled his eyes.

“They have their own store now- a stupid, joke shop,” he scoffed. “It’s ghastly, filled with the worst inventions.” Crabbe and Goyle quickly nodded in agreement.

“It’s quite nice,” the boy said timidly. “And this one’s b-brilliant you know, once you throw a bit in the air, everything goes pitch black.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. Perhaps the powder was more useful than the gimmicks he’d come to expect from the Weasleys. “Oh, really? You’ve tried their stuff out before?”

The boy seemed to relax once he picked up on Draco’s mild interest. “Yeah, I’ve bought loads of stuff. Fake wands, Canary Custards (one of their first inventions by the way), Puking Pastilles…” He faltered when Draco’s lips curled into an obvious sneer.

“Well in that case, you won’t mind if I just snatch this from you.”

The boy opened his mouth as if to say that he’d mind very much, but before he could say anything, Draco pocketed the container and turned back towards Pansy and Blaise. Crabbe and Goyle shoved the little boy, who looked as if he wanted to cry, one last time and followed suit.

“What was that all about?” Blaise said quickly once they neared him. He seemed relieved that they were there, and judging by Pansy’s annoyed expression at their interruption, Draco thought he knew why. He’d been forced to listen to Pansy’s rants one too many times himself.

“Nothing special, just nicked some Weasley invention from a pathetic first year.” He didn’t feel like telling them about the powder just yet. Pansy might be too blunt to recognize the value of a bar of gold, but Blaise certainly wasn’t. Even if Crabbe and Goyle noticed Draco’s lie (Draco highly doubted this), they kept silent.

Draco could tell Blaise wanted to push the subject, but Pansy interrupted nastily, “Ooh, the Weasleys. As if their family wasn’t shamed enough- now, those twins have gone and opened a joke shop.”

“Yes, you’d think that they might have wanted to stay in school and get a real career, considering they grew up in a pigsty,” Blaise said.

Pansy giggled shrilly and Blaise’s regular smirk seemed to grow even more pronounced. Draco frowned; it wasn’t even that funny.

“Their only useful invention was those ridiculous Headless Hats,” Pansy snorted. “At least that way, they could hide that horrid mop of carrot hair anytime they wanted.” She giggled again, clearly thinking she had made a wildly witty comment.

At the mention of the Weasleys’ hair, Draco’s thoughts went back to his last visit to Flourish and Blotts. The Baby Weasel’s furious face stuck out clear in his memory. Her round face had matched the colour of her carrot hair that day; she was just as amusing to annoy as her brother. 'But,' Draco found himself reflecting, 'it wasn’t so much carrot-like, was it? ...more like a copper colour…quite nice, actually…'

“Draco!” His mother’s silky voice rang out amidst the bustle of the crowd.

“I’ll see you guys on the train,” Draco muttered to his friends. He spotted his mother’s silver hair separate from the clump of people that were making their way onto the train. He made his way towards her. Once he reached her, she quickly pulled him behind a nearby pillar, his trunk bewitched to float behind her. Behind the pillar, she waited for passing strangers to walk by, and then stared intently at her son.

“What’s this for?” Draco asked, feeling nervous. He looked over his mother’s shoulder. Most students were now done boarding the train.

“We can’t talk in front of all those people. They already pay us enough attention.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

She raised an eyebrow as if it was obvious. “I know you’ve been planning something, Draco. You don’t fool me.”

Draco instantly paled. She couldn’t know…if Borgin had said something…Draco’d kill him. “What are you talking about?” he finally said calmly.

“I don’t know what it is,” -Draco’s heart rate slowed slightly- “but I know you. And as someone who cares about you, I am telling you, don’t bother. I have figured it all out for you.”

Draco’s indignation at being told what to do was overshadowed by his curiosity at his mother’s last statement. “What do you mean ‘figured it all out’? What did you do?!”

“Nothing,” Narcissa said with a wave of her hand. “I’ve arranged for Professor Snape-”

“WHAT?” Draco backed away. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I don’t need any help,” he spat.

“Draco! Keep your voice down.”

“Stop meddling in my affairs,” Draco hissed. He did not care that he was being rude.

“All I am doing is looking out for your safety! Professor Snape is much older and much wiser than you. He knows of branches of magic that you couldn’t even dream of. He can help you! Dumbledore trusts him enough to be in the Order of the Phoenix- that old fool doesn’t suspect a thing. All the while, Severus is still in close contact with the Dark Lord. Already in the past have the two planned the demise of Harry Potter and Dumbledore. Don’t you see? He is the perfect tool, Draco. This way, you won’t have to get hurt!”

“I don’t care!” Draco yelled. Several students looked around for the source of the sudden outburst, but Draco didn’t notice. “Why are you so sure that I’ll get hurt? Why is everyone so sure that I’ll fail? Aunt Bella was there; she was there the night the Dark Lord announced he wanted to give me a mission. He trusted no one else with this task. I’m to kill Dumbledore. I won’t be pushed around by some silly school teacher.”

Narcissa’s eyes flashed. “How can you say that? Professor Snape has helped this family countless times. You need him, Draco, now more than ever. You are much too young, much too inexperienced! You have no understanding of what you are trying to undertake. We are talking about Dumbledore, the only wizard the Dark Lord has ever feared.” Narcissa spoke all this in a strangled voice and seemed on the verge of tears.

Draco was tired of arguing with his mother about her lack of belief in him; it was getting nowhere. He changed strategies. “How do you even know Professor Snape will help? How can you be so sure that he’s willing to risk his position as Dumbledore’s right wing man, to help me?”

“Do not worry. I have taken care of that,” she said tightly.

“What does that mean, ‘taken care’-”

“It means,” she said, more forcefully this time, “that you need not worry where Severus’ loyalties lie, for I have ensured that they lie with you. It’s not up to him anymore; he must help you. Draco, I am urging you, do not be foolish. Trust Severus. I may not know of your plans, but I know Severus will make sure that you are not in harm’s way. This is not a game; remember who we are dealing with.”

Draco realized his mother’s mind was set. There was no use in arguing. She gazed back at him with an almost adamant intensity that he didn’t recognize. The two stood in silence for a few more moments. Then, coldly, he nodded. “Fine.”

Narcissa smiled thinly, seemingly with relief. She cupped his cheek and raised her lips to his forehead. “Be careful,” she whispered.

Draco nodded again and forced a small smile.

Narcissa flicked her wand twice. The trunk fell to the ground but strangely, made no sound. Draco lifted it and was glad to note that it weighed no more than a feather.

He looked at his mother one last time before turning around and heading towards the train. She looked so much older than she used to. Webs of fine lines and wrinkles framed her mouth and eyes. But, more than that, it was the constant tiredness in her eyes that made her seem much older than her years. But, Draco thought, feeling slightly happier, he would put an end to his mother’s worries. He was the youngest to ever have been presented with the honour of being a Death Eater. He’d be the only one, including the Dark Lord himself, to ever come close to harming Dumbledore. He would make sure of it.

Professor Slughorn

Draco hated moments like these, when he was so vulnerable to attack. Simple things like roaming the train’s corridor had become dangerous ever since his father’s arrest. But he felt slightly more reassured than before, now that he could actually use his wand. He rested his hand near his wand pocket just in case, and tried not to focus too much on the queasy feeling in his stomach.

He had no clue which compartment his friends were in. As he walked down the corridor, he could see the shadows of faces pressed up against the glass window, shooting him dark looks through the blinds as he walked by. Draco felt strangely self conscious and then a sudden surge of anger towards Potter. Once the most respected student in the school, he was now talked about as if he was something you’d find on the bottom of your shoe.

Abruptly, a sliding door opened. Out walked a very haughty looking Ernie McMillan accompanied by Hannah Abbott, walking to the prefect compartment. They walked passed him chatting animatedly between themselves, as if he weren’t even there. Draco sneered but they didn’t seem to notice, leaving him feeling rather stupid. Maybe he should just go to the prefect compartment, he thought. He really wanted to avoid students from other Houses (and Pansy, who was a prefect herself), but couldn’t see how it could be any worse than standing alone, looking very silly.

The prefects’ compartment was much bigger than the others. The sliding door had a slightly golden tint to it, and rather than the typical silver handle found on other doors, this handle was in the shape of the Hogwarts crest. He was a couple of compartments away when a door ahead on his right slid open.

An angry looking Ginny Weasley walked out, followed by a sixth year, Zacharias Smith. She seemed rather annoyed, but Smith didn’t look like he noticed. Neither of them saw Draco standing behind them.

“Zacharias, I don’t care how many times you ask, I’m not telling you what happened!” Ginny faced Smith with a murderous stare.

“Ginny, as a past member of the D.A, I feel as if it is my right to know-”

“Bollocks! You didn’t do anything in the D.A. All you did was complain and make stupid comments about Harry!”

“Well, you know, you shouldn’t let your relationship with Harry overshadow the fact that I was a vital member. I just want to know what happened! Come on, is it true that Harry’s really the Chosen One?”

Ginny had such a terrifying look on her face at this point that Draco was a little surprised Smith was still smirking. Her jaw muscle twitched; it was remarkable how much she looked like an angry hippo. Though it looked like she wanted to yell in his face, she simply shook her head and stepped in front of him towards the door. “Leave me alone, Zacharias. I’m warning you.”

“Ginny, I have a feeling I know why you’re protecting Harry through all of this. You should really let that school girl crush go, you know.” Smith grinned smugly.

Ginny faced the compartment door, frozen. She turned a pale pink, then a red, and finally the colour of her brothers’ bright orange hair, all in a matter of seconds. Suddenly, she whipped around, her wand outstretched towards Smith. “Chiroptera Volpus!” she cried, slashing her wand in the air.

Smith fell to the ground howling, clutching his face. Then, his hands flew away and his mouth opened in horror, for miniature bats had begun flapping out of his nostrils and started to attack his face. He tried to bellow some profanities, but they weren’t heard over the screeching of the bats. Draco almost felt sorry for him, having remembered being in that position last year all too well.

He looked up at Ginny, who was laughing, her angry front gone.

“That’s not very nice Weasley,” Draco said drily. “My nostrils haven’t felt the same ever since you mauled me last year.”

Ginny opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a booming voice coming from behind.

“Well, well, what seems to be the problem? Merlin, what’s wrong with him? Are those miniature Bludgers flying out of his nose?” The extraordinary voice belonged to what appeared to be a plump sea walrus. The man’s head was bald and shiny, and he sported a magnificent handlebar moustache. His dark purple robes were stretched tightly over his protruding stomach. His hands were adorned with sparkling rings; in his right, his wand, and in his left, small cubes of some sort of sugary treat.

Draco couldn’t see how the winged bogies looked anything like a Bludger, but he wasn’t about to argue with a complete stranger.

“Er…”Ginny began hesitantly. She seemed to be in shock from the man’s sudden appearance.

“Oh yes,” the man chuckled to himself. “You must have no clue who I am! Professor Slughorn, m’dear. And you are?...” He pocketed his wand and stretched out his hand.

“Er…Ginny Weasley.” She shook his hand. “Professor, this,” she gestured to Zacharias, who had stopped screaming, but still lied on the floor clutching his swollen nose, “was all a big misunderstanding.”

“Oh, really? Doesn’t look like a misunderstanding to me.”

Ginny was turning very pale now. “Well, you see, Mr.Smith and I were…er…having a bit of a disagreement… really Sir, I was left with no choice.”

But amazingly, to Draco and Ginny’s shock, Professor Slughorn’s face broke out into a surprised smile. “Oh ho!” he exclaimed. “This was your handiwork, Miss Weasley?”

Ginny nodded unsurely.

“Well, then, I’ve never seen this hex before! Very original, very original indeed. Of course, it’s much past my time, but nonetheless…brilliant work. What year are you in, my dear?”

Ginny’s face was slowly returning to its original colour. “Um, fifth year, Professor.”

“Excellent job, Miss Weasley. You’re very skilled with your wand. I’m sure Mr…Smith, you said? Well, I’m sure Mr. Smith won’t be crossing you again anytime soon.” He smiled kindly at Ginny, who tried to smile back, though it turned out looking more like a strange grimace.

Draco felt annoyed being ignored while Professor Slughorn salivated over the Baby Weasel. He stepped forward and said loudly, “Nice to meet you, Professor. Draco Malfoy. You probably know my father.”

“Malfoy, eh?” Slughorn did not offer Draco his hand back. “I know your father all right…er…terrible news that is, just terrible. Very sorry to hear it, Mr. Malfoy.” Professor Slughorn looked around awkwardly and didn’t seem very sorry at all.

Draco’s stomach sank as he dropped his hand quickly to his side. “Yes well, I expect that I’ll be seeing him soon, so, there really isn’t a problem,” he said coolly.

Ginny muttered something under her breath.

Professor Slughorn chose not to reply to Draco’s comment and turned back to Ginny. “Ms. Weasley, around lunch time, I’ll be having some of your classmates over in compartment C.” He gestured to a larger compartment besides the prefect compartment. “I’d be delighted if you could join us. I want to hear about any other hexes you’ve got up your sleeve. Crystallized pineapple for everyone who comes.” He winked while opening his left palm, where several sugary cubes lay.

For a moment, Ginny hesitated, but then said quickly, “Um, of course! That’d be really lovely.”

Professor Slughorn grinned widely. “Excellent! I’ll see you then. And don’t worry about this.” He jerked his head towards a furious looking Zacharias, whose bogies were finally under control. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He winked again, and without even looking at Draco, bounded off to compartment C with a slight bounce in his step.

“Well then,” Smith said, getting up. He shot an evil glare at Ginny, who was smiling widely. “You can be sure that I’ll be reporting you to a teacher- a real teacher.” He looked darkly at compartment C.

Ginny snorted. “Don’t even think about it, unless you haven’t had enough of your own bogies attacking you.”

Smith showed her a rude hand gesture and stomped down the corridor towards another compartment, pushing Draco out of his way.

“Watch it,” Draco snarled after him. “Git.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Draco turned around. Ginny stood tall, hip cocked, and hands folded across her chest.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco asked coolly.

“Git,” she mocked. “Who do you think you are?! You’re just as much of a pain as he is. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about Diagon Alley.”

“Put yourself in my position, Weasley. Imagine having to roam the halls with the pure blood community’s biggest disgrace. You Weasleys, with your orange hair and poor clothes; it’s a miracle you’re not hexed on a daily basis.”

“Oh, you rotten... Malfoy, I think we all know who the real disgrace to the community is.”

“Oh?” said Draco sarcastically. “Yes, with my impeccable manners, well-off family and pure blood lineage, I can really see how I’m the bane of wizards across Britain.”

“Well your imprisoned Death Eater father certainly isn’t helping your reputation.” Ginny held her breath and waited. She held her chin up defiantly, as if daring Draco to respond.

Draco took one menacing step forwards, eyes locked with hers. “Weasel, I suggest that you don’t meddle in affairs that don’t concern you.”

Another step.

“You know nothing of my father-”

Another step.

“-or have the slightest clue what honour is about.”

They were now an inch apart. “Don’t ever talk about my father again. I have the power to do things to you and your disgusting family that would make your head spin.”

Ginny stood her ground, but Draco could have sworn that she was shaking; with fury or fright, he wasn’t sure. A familiar voice yelled out from behind.

“Draco! Where’ve you been?” called Pansy. She sounded impatient.

Draco and Ginny didn’t look at her. They remained locked in a silent battle of wills, neither of them wanting to be the first to turn away. At last, Draco ripped away his gaze, but not without sneering one last time for good measure.

“I’m coming now,” said Draco. He turned back to the still Ginny, whose freckles stood out so clearly now, eyes ablaze with anger. “Remember, not another word, Weasley,” he said quietly.

He followed Pansy to their compartment.

~*~

“What were you doing with her?” scoffed Pansy. Her tone was laced with jealousy.

“Who’s ‘her’?” asked Blaise.

“The girl Weasley,” said Pansy.

Blaise wrinkled his nose. “Are we associating with filth now?”

“No, just taking out the trash,” replied Draco coldly. He slid down onto the seat next to Pansy. Blaise sat across from them, squeezed in between Crabbe and Goyle’s massive figures. The two didn’t acknowledge Draco’s arrival, Crabbe with his nose in his comic, and Goyle feasting on a pile of homemade sandwiches.

Blaise snickered. “Good answer.”

Draco simply nodded and hurried on to change the subject. “Did you see the new Professor yet? An old bald man? Ridiculous moustache?”

“Ooh, what’s he like?” asked Pansy, interested.

“Just like the other teachers in this sad excuse for an institution: a disgrace.” Draco wasn’t entirely over being rejected for a Weasley (though he was not about to mention this to them).

Pansy frowned. “You’re right, dear. We should all be in Durmstrang, not this dump…I wonder what the old sod’s teaching.”

“Defense Against the Dark Arts, I suppose,” said Blaise.

“What a waste of a subject,” said Draco bitterly. He was feeling very annoyed. “A complete waste. Anyway, I won’t be needing to defend myself against the Dark Arts any longer…”

“What?” said Blaise sharply.

“Nothing, nothing,” said Draco offhandedly. He averted his gaze from Blaise’s suspicious one, trying to seem nonchalant. Blaise stopped looking at him, but Draco wasn’t stupid enough to think that Blaise had simply brushed it off. He’d have to be more careful next time…but really, all he wanted to do was tear his left sleeve off and bare his arm for them all to see. Why should I be hiding this, he thought bitterly.

Draco hadn’t realized the compartment door was open until he saw a flash of red go by. He thought it was the Baby Weasel again, but it wasn’t. Rather, her older brother alongside the Mudblood Granger were standing in the doorway, staring at him.

Ron narrowed his eyes. “Why weren’t you in the prefect compartment?” he asked bossily.

Draco laughed and raised his hand, his fingers forming the same rude hand gesture Zacharias had used earlier. The others in the compartment snickered.

Ron clenched his fists, but was silenced by Hermione, who put her hand on his arm. “Just leave it,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Let’s just go.”

They left, Ron still red in the face. Everyone was still laughing as they walked away.

Draco’s snickering died down before he suddenly said, “I hate the Weasleys.”

Pansy turned to him with a look of adoration and smiled, showing all her rodent-like teeth. “Don’t we all?” She rested her head on his shoulder and breathed heavily.

Her hair seemed to burn a hole right through Draco’s shoulder. He suppressed a shudder. If it weren’t for Blaise’s jealous gaze, Draco would have pushed her off.

They remained seated like that for the next hour, each talking about of their respective summer. Blaise had visited Peru with his new step-father while Crabbe excitedly talked about finally completing his comic collection with the hundredth volume of Peter the Pureblood. Pansy was in the middle of her elaborate story about her new hair rollers when a stiff figure appeared at the doorway. Draco recognized her from Hogwarts; she must have been no older than a third year.

“I’m to give this to Blaise Zabini,” she said. In her quivering hand, she held a scroll of parchment. She looked very uncomfortable, focusing her gaze on an empty seat in an almost scared way.

Draco felt smug.

Blaise, looking confused, took the scroll. Without saying another word, she hurried out of the compartment.

“Did you see that? She was going to wet herself, she was.” said Draco gleefully.

But no one responded, because Blaise had started reading out the scroll:

Mr.Zabini,

I’d greatly appreciate you joining me in my compartment for lunch in compartment C.

Sincerely, Professor Horace Slughorn

“Professor?” said Blaise. “Didn’t you say that you met a Professor, Draco? Funny how you didn’t get an invitation.” He smirked.

Draco acted as though he hadn’t heard Blaise, but couldn’t help the flush that crept up his neck. He looked out the window, blood pounding in his ears.

“Well, I suppose I’m off then,” said Blaise haughtily. “Buy me something off the trolley, will you?” He flashed a smile at Draco and stalked out the compartment.

Once Blaise left, Pansy turned to Draco, looking unsure of what to say. “Draco…” She reached out her hand.

Draco slapped it away. “Just close that bloody door, will you?” he snapped.

~*~

Without Blaise, the train ride was more boring than usual. At least with him there, Draco thought while chewing on a Chocolate Frog, Pansy’s annoying affection was somewhat useful in making Blaise jealous. Now all it did was annoy Draco beyond belief, and forced him to ask her every half hour why she insisted on using his shoulder as a pillow, when they could just ask for one from the conductor.

A few hours later, Blaise returned. Upon seeing his dark figure through the blinds, Draco grabbed Pansy and slammed his head on her lap. He quickly glanced at Pansy, who was looking very pleased.

The door slid open and in walked Blaise. He made a move to close the door, but for some reason, it wouldn’t close the entire way.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” hissed Blaise. He slid the door back and forth, but it refused to move beyond a few inches of the doorway.

Out of nowhere, the door slid completely open, tossing Blaise onto Goyle’s lap. Draco’s head shot up and Crabbe yelped, throwing his comic into the air.

Draco’s narrowed his eyes, gazing at the doorway. He ignored Blaise and Goyle’s arguing in the background and frowned. It might have been a trick of his imagination…but he could have sworn that he saw a flash of white…and then it had disappeared…

A loud BANG as a disgruntled Goyle slammed the door shut interrupted Draco’s suspicions. Blaise took his seat beside Draco. Sniggering, Draco returned his head to Pansy’s lap. She resumed stroking his hair to which Draco noted, with satisfaction, that Blaise’s already annoyed expression worsened.

“So, Zabini,” said Draco, “what did Slughorn want?”* He tried keeping his voice as casual as possible.

“Just trying to make up to well-connected people,” said Blaise, who was still shooting dark looks towards Goyle. “Not that he managed to find many.”*

“Who else had he invited?” asked Draco.*

“McClaggen from Gryffindor,” said Zabini.*

“Oh yeah, his uncle’s big in the Ministry,” interrupted Draco.*

“…someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw…”*

“Not him,” whined Pansy, “he’s a prat!”*

“..and Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl.”*

At the mention of Longbottom, Draco sat up. “He invited Longbottom?!”*

“Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there,” said Blaise coldly.*

“What’s Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?”*

Blaise shrugged. Draco continued on, “Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at the ‘Chosen One’,” He paused, before realizing he probably should make a comment about the Baby Weasel as well. He finished, “…but that Weasley girl! What’s so special about her?!”* He hoped his incredulous tone was convincing.*

Pansy gave him a look before carrying on, but Draco was lost in his own thoughts as he found himself trying to answer his own question. So what, she could perform a decent hex. She was still a Weasley, poor and immature as the rest. Maybe slightly prettier – though Draco would never say that aloud… she was a Weasley nonetheless… stubborn, a blood traitor…

“ …a filthy blood traitor like her…” Draco heard Blaise say.* Draco’s stomach dropped, and for a second, he had the swooping feeling that Blaise could read his thoughts- then, he realized, thankfully, that this was impossible. There was a silence before Draco realized they were expecting him to say something.

“Well, I pity Slughorn’s taste,” began Draco contemptuously. “Maybe he’s gone a bit senile. Shame, my father said he was a good wizard in his day. Slughorn probably hasn’t heard I’m on the train.”* Draco slipped the last part in indifferently.

Blaise was not fooled. “I wouldn’t bank on an invitation. He asked me about Nott’s father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, but when he heard he was in trouble with the Ministry, he didn’t look to happy, and Nott didn’t get an invitation, did he? I don’t think Slughorn’s interested in Death Eaters.”*

Draco laughed humorlessly, but knew that his anger was written plainly on his face. “Well, who cares what he thinks?” he said aloofly. He yawned for extra effect. "I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?"* The effect of his words was instant; it was all he could do to not smile.

“What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?”* cried Pansy.

“Well, you never know…” Draco allowed for a pregnant pause, “…I might have … er … moved on to bigger and better things."*

Even Crabbe and Goyle were gawping at Draco now. Pansy resumed stroking his hair, looking very troubled. Blaise stared blankly into space until finally looking up at Draco.

“Do you mean…” said Blaise slowly.*

Draco shrugged. He spoke slowly, choosing his next words carefully. “Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it... when the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many OWLs or N.E.W.T.S anyone's got? Of course he isn't. It'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown."*

“"And you think you'll be able to do something for him? Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?”*

Draco got up from Pansy’s lap and leaned forward, speaking lowly, almost in a whisper. “Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for.”

The compartment was completely silent. Crabbe and Goyle’s eyes were bulging out of their sockets, their mouths wide open. Draco could feel Pansy’s eyes burning holes into him, but he was most interested in Blaise’s reaction. Blaise wasn’t gaping in awe like Pansy, yet there was no mistaking the impressed look in his dark eyes.

Not wanting to ruin the dramatic aura, he carelessly pointed at the dark sky. “I can see Hogwarts,” he said quietly. “We’d better get our robes on.”*

Wordlessly, everyone reached for their luggage on the racks above. Then, a sharp gasp interrupted the silence. Draco whipped his head up to the luggage rack, where the sound had come from. He looked at the others, but no one seemed to have heard the strange noise. He frowned. He was certain that he hadn’t imagined the noise…and that flash of white earlier was very much real as well …

Crabbe and Goyle left the compartment, followed by Blaise. Pansy stretched her hand out to Draco expectantly. However, his suspicions hadn’t left him; he was thankful for the excuse to refuse her offer.

“You go on, I just want to check something.”* She left looking slightly disappointed.

Draco slowly made his way to the compartment door and shut the blinds. Subtly, he slipped his right hand into his pocket, grasping his wand. He bent over his trunk while looking out of the corner of his eye.

Sharply, he whipped around, wand in hand, pointing at the luggage rack. “Petrificus Totalus!” he cried.*

A blurred figure came toppling out of the track and rolled to Draco’s feet. Harry Potter stared up at him completely paralyzed in a crouched position, his eyes moving rapidly from side to side. Beside him was his Invisibility Cloak.

Draco grinned.

“I thought so,” he said happily. “I heard Goyle’s trunk hit you. And-” Draco’s eyes fell on Harry’s white trainers, “- I thought I saw something white flash after Blaise came back. You didn't hear anything I care about, Potter. But while I've got you here..."*

He slammed his foot on Harry’s nose. It broke with a sickening crack.

“That’s from my father…now let’s see…”*

He grabbed the cloak and tossed it on Harry’s immobilized figure, rendering him invisible.

"I don't reckon they'll find you till the train’s back in London. See you around, Potter... or not."*

Stamping on Harry’s fingers, he left the compartment, trunk in tow.