Shadow of a Malfoy
By Be Boring
Chapter 1: A Land of Despondency
A haze of unnaturally dark gray smoke hovered in the air over what may have once been a field for a Muggle farmer, but which now was home to rotting vegetation and creatures that no Muggle eyes had ever witnessed before, at least before the second rise of the Dark Lord. Creeping through the undergrowth, a small, inky reptile pulled itself along smoothly on its stomach, attempting to stay out of sight of the man standing merely three feet away. Its sharp ruby eyes peered up at the man's face, barely visible through the smoke that curled over the field.
He was standing very still, his cold gray eyes gazing at the empty space around him, his hand clasped firmly around his wand. That's where his hand remained most of the time these days. The thought of removing it made him feel naked, vulnerable. Above all, he needed to be able to defend himself at a moment's notice, for he was safe nowhere. The Dark Lord's ever growing power was like an immense evil eye, seeking his lean, almost unhealthy frame from miles away. He was unable to attain shelter from the few camps of the rebellion that still existed for they would never accept him. He was in a difficult position, made only worse by the knowledge of what he needed to do to survive for even another day.
This field lay on the outskirts of what had once been Hogsmeade, although no one called it that anymore. Its more common nickname these days was purgatory. The screams of the Muggles trapped within its boundaries were audible from several miles away, which he suspected was due to charms that the Death Eaters had placed around the village as a warning not to come closer. Who would want to approach a place that was so clearly full of pain?
Four years ago, Harry Potter had faced Lord Voldemort in the ruins of Hogwarts castle, carrying with him the hopes of every innocent being in the world, and four years ago, he had failed. Nobody knew for sure what had happened, but it was clear who had been the victor. Voldemort had stridden out of the castle with a malevolent smile upon his inhuman features and had proceeded to break all pretense of secrecy in concern to the Muggles. He had unleashed every evil thing he held under his control upon the nonmagical community, resulting in near decimation of the Muggles. The remainder were forced into camps all over the world to suffer horrors that nobody wanted to even imagine.
The resistance against his power was feeble at best, for an attack on the Ministry the day after his battle with Harry Potter resulted in a near total collapse of confidence in those who wished to remain free. Anyone who could fight off the Imperius Curse was killed, and when the governments of all other magical countries were defeated in a similar manner, the rest of the population seemed to give up. Many took their own lives to escape the choice they would be forced to make, while the vast majority of the remainder threw themselves into Voldemort's service. The few who still wanted to fight were now hidden, perhaps awaiting their chance to make a move that he highly doubted would succeed.
Draco Malfoy took a deep breath of the filthy air around him, scowled at the burning which rippled down his throat, and strode purposefully toward the distant dark shapes he knew to be the only buildings left in Hogsmeade. He had one option left open to him, no matter how much he didn't want to think about it, and the time had come to take advantage of it. His arrival in this area was purely accidental; he had encountered a group of Death Eaters three days previously and in his haste to escape them, he had Apparated more than a hundred miles off course, landing in this God-forsaken land where Voldemort was carefully monitoring who came in or out. This meant that they were aware someone had magically traveled into their midst, albeit mistakenly, and it would be very unwise to attempt to Apparate back out. He couldn't believe he had made such a monumental mistake after how careful he had been for the last four years, but then again, he had never been very good at Apparition and he had never gotten around to taking the test. With the Death Eaters prowling the area in search of the stranger among them, he couldn't very well walk off, enchantments made escape by broomstick impossible, and the Floo Network was a joke now. Only the Death Eaters could use it. This is where his only option cropped up.
He ducked behind a long abandoned coffee shop on the edge of the village as two people came into view, talking in hushed tones with their hoods pulled up around their faces. 'Very subtle,' he thought sarcastically. Did they really think they were inconspicuous? They may as well have sent glowing letters up into the air: WE'RE DISCUSSING SOMETHING SECRET. When he took a closer look, he could have laughed. Theodore Nott and Gregory Goyle were very deep in conversation, so they didn't notice him at all, but he was sure that anyone else sneaking around the area would easily notice them.
While the two were still distracted, Draco slipped down one of the side streets toward a pub that looked as though it had been built in the middle of a patch of Devil's Snare. Vines and heavy layers of moss coated the outside, and as he drew nearer, a most unpleasant smell of rotting wood invaded his nostrils. Of course, he knew very well that this was only a cover. The Hog's Head had long ago been turned into a sort of headquarters for the guards of this Muggle camp, its appearance was to dissuade newcomers from believing it to be of any importance. That didn't work on those who had inside information, however, which was one thing Draco had.
Crouched behind a particularly large clump of dead vines that had been dumped unceremoniously behind the building, he pointed his wand at the decaying wall of the pub and whispered, "Expecto Patronum." A gleaming silver panther leapt from its tip and disappeared into the building as Draco's thoughts concentrated on only one thing: the aid he desperately needed.
Several long minutes slipped past as he waited, now sitting behind the vines as he listened for sounds of footsteps inside. He wasn't really expecting to hear anything, undoubtedly security measures had been taken to make the pub soundproof. When he had nearly given up hope of his message reaching its intended recipient, he heard the distinct swoosh of what he was sure were long, more than likely black, robes. Sure enough, he looked up to find Severus Snape sweeping around the corner, genuine surprise flickering across his face as he saw his former student on the ground behind where he had been living for the past year and a half, but it seemed to take him a moment to recognize him. That didn't surprise him. He had changed quite a bit since the old days of at least partial safety. His hair was nearly to his shoulders now because he felt absolutely no ambition to trim it, his skin was roughly the shade of old, yellowed parchment because it so rarely saw the sun, and although he had grown several inches, he knew he had probably lost ten to fifteen pounds. Snape, however, looked exactly the same.
Draco very clearly recalled the last time he had seen this man. Nearly four and a half years ago, just after failing to kill Dumbledore himself, Snape had defended him to the Dark Lord, telling him that although Draco hadn't finished his mission, without him Dumbledore's death still would not have happened. After all, he had managed to get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, something that nobody else had been able to accomplish so far, which still made him a valuable asset. Voldemort had decided that Draco needed to finish his education to make him still more valuable, although Hogwarts wasn't what he had in mind. Draco had spent the next three months being taught by Snape in everything about the Dark Arts, at which he had proved to be rather proficient. During this time, however, he had been forming his own plans.
Responsibility was something he had never liked, and being involved with Voldemort's association would mean mountains of it jumping up and down on his shoulders, so he had patiently waited for his chance to escape. The night Voldemort went to confront Harry Potter, Draco had taken his opportunity. The Death Eaters in the hideout he'd been living in with Snape were distracted, and when Snape was picked as one of the few followers to go with Voldemort to Hogwarts, Draco had crept into the older man's bedroom and pulled out his stores of ingredients. Snape had taught him how to make a potion more volatile than a Muggle bomb, which was one of the few that he had really devoted to memory, so after sneaking out of the hideout and running until he would only just be able to make his spell reach the building, he had sent a jet of flame in its direction. Dumbledore had been correct in assuming that he was incapable of killing another person face to face, but at a distance it was quite easy. This way he didn't have to hear the tortured screams of the six Death Eaters inside.
The hope had been to make it look like he had died as well, but he had unfortunately run straight into none other than Bellatrix Lestrange the very next day. At first she had been thrilled to see him, but he knew that when he made his excuse that he needed to use the restroom and consequently disappeared from the bar they had met in, she had figured out exactly what happened. It would have been second nature to her to betray him to Voldemort. This opinion was confirmed when several months later he was spotted by Vincent Crabbe's father, who promptly sent a Killing Curse in his direction. Luckily, the giant oaf was as much of an idiot as his gorilla of a son, so the curse had missed and Draco had disappeared again.
When Snape had first taken Draco under his wing, Narcissa insisted upon placing him in charge of her son's protection, which meant slightly adding onto the Unbreakable Vow that he later learned Snape had made, forcing Snape to help Draco whenever he needed it. He had used the bonds of that vow to glean information from the former Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts professor about where the Death Eaters were so that he could avoid them, but this correspondence had only been through letters that he wrote very carefully, in case they were intercepted. Today was the first time they had come face to face.
"This is a pleasant surprise," Severus commented quietly, a dark gleam in his eyes plainly stating that he felt this encounter to be anything but pleasant. He had been perfectly happy to take the role of Draco's protector when he believed the boy was faithful to Voldemort, but his betrayal had significantly changed his opinion. Being magically bonded to him was a matter of deepest shame now.
"Let's skip any plays at politeness and get down to business, shall we?" Draco said smoothly, although his voice held the hoarse weariness of disuse. Being in hiding often meant being completely alone, and he was not the type to talk to himself.
Severus's eyes flashed with something like the old amusement he used to have at the antics of the Slytherins, but it disappeared with an almost alarming speed. "You're slowing down, Draco. I never thought you would be foolish enough to Apparate into this area. You may as well have sent an owl to announce your arrival."
"It wasn't a planned visit, believe me," he snapped fiercely, hating the thought of admitting that he had screwed up.
Snape smirked as Draco finally stood up to face him. Now the boy he had once taught so much was an inch taller than him. "So, you came here unintentionally and you need my help to get back out."
"That's right."
Due to the restrictions of the vow, Severus was powerless to deny Draco any assistance if he was capable of giving it, so in a voice that barely disguised his frustration at the situation, he spat, "Where do you want to go?"
Draco shrugged. "Anywhere that isn't swarming with Death Eaters."
"I'm afraid that if you're to use my fireplace, the only options are filled with Death Eaters."
Now it was Draco's turn to smirk. "Now, I don't believe that for a second. Do you really expect me to just accept that you're completely devoted to the Dark Lord? No, you enjoy the benefits of being a double agent too much. I'm sure that when things became desperate for the resistance, you offered your services again, and with no other routes open to them, they were forced to accept them. If you don't know how to send me at least to a location near one of their camps, I'll eat my shoe." This was a rather tall order, for he had been wearing the same pair of shoes for well over two years and he was sure one bite would kill him instantly, considering the places he had taken to hiding in.
Snape's face was devoid of all emotion as he turned on his heel and stalked back toward the front door. Draco followed him inside, which was thankfully empty, and up the stairs to a room so obviously Snape's that Draco could have found it with his eyes closed, due to the horrid scents emanating from inside. Snape worked here as a guard like the others, but his potions were a key part in making sure that the Muggles didn't get any clever ideas and flee. His potions, added liberally to the pitiful scraps that served as their meals, kept them just confused enough to not be able to determine a means of escape, but still sensible enough to know that they were in a miserable situation.
"The word is Muffliato," Snape informed him quietly as he held out the pot of Floo Powder. "I've set it up so any passage between here and there is undetectable."
Draco raised an eyebrow curiously. "They must be giving you something you really want in order for you to take that kind of trouble. What is it?"
Snape's eyes seemed blacker than ever. "It will not be of help to you, so I am not required to tell you. Just go." As if to emphasize his meaning, he shook the pot annoyingly under Draco's nose.
Dipping his almost sickly right hand into the pot, he threw a handful of powder into the fireplace and stepped into the emerald flames. It wasn't that he wanted to step into the middle of an insurgency camp, but they were less likely to kill him on sight than the Death Eaters, who far outnumbered any of the witches and wizards still fighting Voldemort. "Muffliato," he stated clearly, flattening his arms against his body and closing his eyes as he began to spin wildly, only opening them when his feet hit solid ground and he automatically stumbled forward, hearing the gasps of shock before seeing the expressions on the faces before him.
He was standing in what could best be described as a hovel, perhaps the size of one of the classrooms at Hogwarts and filled to the very edges with shabby, decomposing bunk beds. The fireplace was probably the most modern facility in the place. On the bed nearest him, two children were staring at him with wide, stunned eyes. One was an approximately two-year-old girl with filthy, unidentifiably colored hair that looked as though she had been sitting in high humidity for quite some time, the other a three-year-old boy with equally squalid hair sticking in every direction. Apparently cleanliness was the farthest thing from these people's minds. Had these children washed their hair yet this month? What about the rest of their bodies? They looked as though they had been drenched and then sat through a sandstorm in the desert.
"Who are you?" came a harsh, male voice just to his left. He turned to find himself staring at a man his age, wearing dusty dirt-colored robes that looked as though they had been patched by a toddler. He wasn't any cleaner than the children; if anything, he was worse. Although he knew it was because their water was probably scarce and they were afraid of any magic being detected by the Death Eaters, it didn't take away any of his disgust. They could have bathed in a mud puddle and managed to get cleaner.
"Nobody important," he replied with a sneer, shouldering the other man roughly as he passed.
"Not so fast!" yelled an entirely different voice, this time female, and suddenly his entire body went rigid and he fell forward to land on his face with a disturbingly loud thud. A foot wedged its way under his ribs and rolled him over. Standing directly over him was the man that he had first seen, who must have kicked him over, and a woman who he supposed must have placed the Full-Body Bind on him. While her hair had certainly seen better days, she at least had managed to get her face fractionally cleaner than the others. "Who are you?" she snapped, repeating the man's question.
He glared at her until she released him from the spell, then growled, "Nobody that means you any harm. I'm just passing through."
"In order to get here through the Floo Network, you must have come from Snape, and he has never sent us a stranger before." She hissed Snape's name like it made her mouth taste foul just to speak it, but her eyes never left his.
"Has Snape ever sent you someone dangerous before?" When she didn't answer, he continued smugly, "Then what reason do you have to fear me?"
"You're in our home, and the choice of whether to trust you or not still lies with us," the man warned him in a low voice. It was clear that it was a threat by the way his hand was clenched over his wand. As their eyes connected again, the other man's head tilted slightly to the side. "Hold on a second." As he studied Draco's face, his eyes widened with realization and this time he pulled his wand out completely. "You're Draco Malfoy."
"What's it to you?" he snapped, wanting to stand up but not quite wishing to inspire the angry man in front of him to use his wand.
Now he smiled strangely. "Don't you recognize me? I thought you always said you could pick a Weasley out of a crowd."
Now that he was looking properly, he thought he could detect a vast spattering of freckles across the grimy face before him, and if he looked just right, he could see a glint of red in the hair through the dust and dirt settled into it. Before he could even say his name aloud, however, his eyes wandered back to the woman. At second glance, he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed the flaming hair sooner, no matter how abominably dirty it was. Great, he escaped the Death Eaters only to find himself face to face with the two youngest Weasleys.
With greater self-restraint than he had ever shown before, he chose not to spit out the original comment about Weasley hygiene that had sprung to mind and repeated, "I'm just passing through."
Ron's face turned into something like a grimace. "Like hell you are." That's when everything turned black.