Author's Note: My computer crashed. That was a literal statement. In the space of twenty seconds I had lost all of the written chapters of this story, the half finished crossover I was writing with Fullmetal Alchemist, and the single story crossover, Eric Cartman and the Deadly Hallows (working title). Plus I had a big mess to clean up.

Eric Cartman may never see Hogwarts, but Edward Elric has already met Ron Weasley. And I have rewritten up to chapter five. I had a choice, to start posting weekly and hope I can keep up, or make everyone wait until I actually finish. I decided that I'll try working under pressure.

Sincerely, HiBob

Chaos Theory states that a butterfly flapping its wings in China can make it rain in Central Park. It is therefore possible that, in some parallel universe, JK Rowling is the author of

Draco Malfoy and the Prisoner of Azkaban

The Past is Prologue.

His first memories were of a house where he was hated.

He came to the home a complete stranger, even to himself. He was Draco. Only Draco. Until they gave him a last name.

And he learned. He learned to read. He learned to write. He learned to keep a close watch. He learned to reach carefully into pockets and remove objects that did not belong to him. He learned to walk quietly so that no one in the house heard him.

Draco Atkins learned many things. Some good. Some useful.

Draco Atkins made friends. Janice, who admired the girls who had fancy cars and lots of boyfriends. And Mick, who knew everybody's business and had his hand in a few things as well.

Then Draco Atkins became eleven, and with his new age came a new name, MALFOY, and a dark history of magic and wizardry.

His parents, so the story went, were servants of the Dark Lord and rose to overthrow him. They were cast down and destroyed, but when Voldemort turned his wand on their young son the spell backfired. The Dark Lord vanished and the newly orphaned baby was left with only a scare that was shaped like a lightning bolt.

Draco was invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He accepted mostly because he did not have much of a choice. His other option was a school surrounded with barbed wire. There were times to come when Draco feared he made the wrong choice.

Draco Atkins was a boy with no future, but Draco Malfoy was a boy with a future and a past. In his first two years at the school, several deliberate attempts were made on his life. There were also several mishaps, to use too mild a word. A Troll. A jinxed broom. Being trapped in the girls' bathroom with a ghost.

Draco Malfoy survived all of these things, only to come face to face with the most onerous task to date. Even worse than his stint in Saint Brutus, in Draco's humble opinion. He was to spend the summer . . .

Chapter One: In the House

Draco Malfoy was looking out the window. It was a habit he developed over the past three weeks. He was staying in the house with his legal guardian, Sirius Black, and while he was here that was exactly what he had been doing. Staying in the house.

Sirius Black had tried to explain in a fatherly manner, at least what he thought was fatherly, that it was a dangerous time. He reminded Draco that he did not need to remind him that there was someone who wanted to kill him if given the chance. Draco smiled wryly. He knew someone wanted him dead. He also knew who that person was, although he made it a point to tell no one. Not even Hermione or Justin, his best mates.

Hermione Granger would have been the perfect confidant. She was smart. Very smart. She complained how her workload always kept her too busy to do anything, then she would drop everything for Quidditch practice. She was the best Keeper that Gryffindor had in a long time, and she was still the top ranked student in her year. Not that Draco had much of a chance to see her play. He was expelled last year for going barmy. For his own reasons, Draco did not dwell too much on last year.

There was also another problem that kept Draco in the house. He had made a few enemies at the school. One of them was a cocky black-haired boy whose father was an 'important' Auror in the Ministry. Harry Potter. Draco's proudest moment was when he befriended Harry's brother, William. It made Harry extremely angry. William was, as he once described himself, "the younger brother of the Great Harry Potter," and becoming friends with someone who disliked his brother seemed like a good idea.

But William disappeared. Without a trace. That was two months ago.

Sirius Black was the senior Auror in charge of the search for the missing boy. He threw himself into the case. The boy, after all, was the son of his best friend, James.

The result of all of this was that Draco was confined to Sirius Black's house at number twelve Grimauld place. The irony was that he had grown up next door, at number ten. In another time it would have been called an orphanage, but when he was there it was called temporary housing for displaced children. Draco had lived there temporarily for five years, until he left to go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

And now Draco was looking out the window. Earlier, he had been upstairs looking out the window of his bedroom, but the rain kept most of the occupants of the alley under cover. There was nothing to see. Looking out the front window was different.

The rain did not keep all of the residents of Grimauld Square inside. Several children were enjoying themselves despite getting wet (or because of it). Mahresa was kicking a football made from cardboard and old plastic wrapping. She deftly kicked it to her teammate, a blond boy he recognized, who then fumbled a kick at the makeshift goal. Another boy intercepted the ball and tried to run it back, his mates setting themselves up for their own goal. There was a brief pause in the game as the football unraveled and had to be put back into shape. There were brief pauses about every ten minutes.

On impulse, Draco made a run for the door. He never made it. He forgot about the hex on the carpet in the foyer. It pulled itself from under his feet and set him on his arse, rearing up to keep him back. It would settle down again once he stood up and walked away. To help his ego, Kreacher, Sirius Black's house elf, was snickering.

"Kreacher?" Draco started to ask the house elf his question but he already knew the answer. The elf answered anyway.

"Kreacher would love to let Draco Malfoy leave but he has been ordered by his LOVING master to keep Draco Malfoy indoors."

"Yeah, I love the mucker as much as you do. Least we agree on somethin'."

Draco turned back to the window. The heavy drizzle had become a downpour and the half dozen children scattered, half of them back to the home, all of them smiling. With a sigh, he let the curtain fall back into place.

An hour later, there was a rumble in the fireplace. The king was returning to his castle. Draco stirred himself from his daydreaming and prepared himself. As Sirius Black stepped out of the fire, Draco smiled.

"Uncle Sirius."

Black saw his smile and frowned. "What did you do?"

Draco shrugged his shoulders and answered in his fancy voice. "Nothing. As usual."

"Why don't you try cleaning up around here? You're almost as useless as Kreacher." He glared around the living room and its constant state of disarray. Following that, he cast a glance at the stairs. "I see mother's portrait is clean and shiny."

"And quiet," Draco added cheerfully. Sirius Black had cast a silencing spell on the portrait years before.

"A quality you should try to emulate."

"I was thinking, Uncle Sirius, that I could be of help to you. In your search."

Sirius gave a snide grin of his own. "Forget it. You're not going anywhere, for any reason. Not until William is safe at home. Do you understand?"

"I think I do, but I think you should know. I was looking out the window . . ."

"That was useful."

Sirius Black walked toward the kitchen, forcing Draco to follow him in order to continue the conversation. "I was wondering. Does William know how to get in? I was thinking, you are a friend of the family. He might decide to come here to give himself up,"

"Yes, he does know how to get IN," Sirius answered. "He's cleared to use the floo system."

"But not by the front door?" Draco asked. He was sure he was getting his point across.

"NO. You may not go out for ANY reason. Not even to sit on the steps and wait for someone. I know you, Draco Malfoy. You'll run off, given half a chance, and the last thing I want is to search for two boys." Black's anger was showing. "UNDERSTAND?"

"Crisp it," Draco cursed, forgetting his fancy voice. "Jus' tryin' to 'elp."

Draco received a smile that said he wasn't believed, and sat back as Sirius threw together a quick dinner. It was stew. It was almost always stew. You threw things in a pot and let them cook. No thinking or planning needed. When it was hot, you threw it in a bowl and ate. Gourmet living, bachelor style.

Draco once asked why Kreacher didn't cook. He was told that Kreacher couldn't cook. That was followed by the standard litany of all the things that Kreacher was useless at. A glance showed the house elf grinning maliciously behind his master's back. Draco never bothered asking about Kreacher again.

When dinner was ready, boy and man sat down at the dining room table. They each had their own clean spot to sit at. A suggestion was made, again, that someone could spend some time cleaning while someone else was busy at work, something akin to earning one's keep. This was met with a mumbled response that some people didn't want to be kept. The words weren't heard clearly but the tone was obvious.

Draco politely excused himself after he finished eating. He had one plan when Sirius Black arrived home but their conversation changed all that. Draco had a new plan. He knew something that his guardian did not, and he would use it to his own advantage. He also thought about his friendship with William Potter. It was made to annoy someone. In the morning, Draco would set himself the task of making a new friend. After all, he and the house elf did share one thing in common. Their warm affection for Sirius Black.

The next morning, Draco managed to get out of bed after his guardian left. Once he heard Sirius yell at Kreacher to get out of his sight for a while, he knew it wouldn't be long. Moments after he heard the fireplace rumble, he dressed and went down the stairs, giving the portrait a smile. The portrait gave him a frown. It was a daily ritual. He walked past and headed toward the kitchen to see what was available for breakfast. After careful thought, he chose the half loaf of bread and the rest of the orange juice. He would save the two remaining apples for lunch and remind Sirius Black that they were out of food again. The man never seemed to remember, or never bothered to. Draco guessed he had lived alone for too many years.

Entering the living room, Draco thought about sitting on the couch but couldn't bother to clear a space. Black's favorite chair was always clean but something, probably his feelings for the man, made the chair uninviting. After some thought, he opted to sit on the stairs. Maybe he could practice lipreading and have a conversation with someone other than a snarling elf. He laughed to himself. Now it would be a snarling portrait.

He sat down, looking up as he shoved some bread into his mouth. Sirius Black's mother glared at him.

"Whot? Got some crumbs on me chin?"

Mrs. Black continued to glare. Draco shrugged and continued eating the bread. As he paused to drink some of the juice, he noticed the portrait trying to say something. He took a sip to moisten his tongue and asked what she said. The woman mouthed the words slowly, still glaring at him. Draco had to admit it, she had glaring down to a fine art.

"Must . . . you . . . sit . . . there?" Draco smiled. "No. But I'm bored. And good ol' Uncle Sirius left me wit' so many toys to play wit'."

"WITH," the portrait mouthed. "It is pronounced WITH." The portrait also mouthed something which Draco assumed was derogatory.

"'at's whot I said. Wit'. The haich is silent."

Mrs. Black stopped glaring. She was staring in disbelief. Unconsciously, her hand was covering her mouth.

"Whot?"

"Your language."

"Me language? I ain't cursed or not'in'." Draco smirked. "Guess I should use me fancy voice wit' you." He cleared his throat. "Good morning, Mrs. Black. I hoped you slept well last night."

Even though she was reading his lips, and doing much better than Draco, Mrs. Black was clearly impressed by the sudden change in his speech. She even managed a bemused smile. She mouthed back to him, "I have not had the pleasure of an introduction."

"My apologies, Mrs. Black. I thought your son had informed you . . ." He paused as she politely laughed at his sarcasm. "I am Draco Malfoy."

The reaction was one he did not expect. He knew she was a pureblood in life, and was intolerant of "bad" blood. She should have snarled. She smiled.

"And why do I have the pleasure of meeting Lucius Malfoy's son?" she mouthed.

Draco was confused. "Shouldn't you be cursing me out for being a mudblood?"

The next part of the conversation took some time. Mrs. Black explained herself, and Draco's lipreading abilities meant that she had to repeat herself frequently, The end result was that Mrs. Black explained why purebloods frequently made an exception for him despite their prejudices. Draco was a curiosity.

Lucius Malfoy, even at an early age, was well known for being self-centered. His major characteristic, by common agreement, was arrogance. It was followed closely by greed and a thirst for power. The point Mrs. Black was making was that Lucius Malfoy never did anything unless there was a clear and obvious benefit for HIM. Yet, he went against his family and his personally avowed beliefs to court and marry a muggle-born girl five years his junior. Draco was the result of that marriage, and was the only chance for anyone to understand why.

Draco sat down, deep in thought. The idea that he was tolerated because he held the answer to the riddle that was his father. At one point he commented that Professor Snape had told him that his father loved his mother. After several repetitions, Mrs. Black conveyed to him that if Lucius Malfoy wanted everyone to believe that, he would have made sure they did. That made Draco think some more. Not that there were any results. He didn't know enough about his parents to explain their actions. So he did what he usually did. He changed the subject.

Mrs. Black gave him an understanding smile when he asked why she and her son hated each other. She answered simply that he had no respect for blood. Such waywardness happens in the best of families. Draco asked with a smirk if she was referring to his family. She said no. The Malfoys always had the greatest respect for their heritage. Even his father. The House of Black could make no such claim. It seemed they had to prune the branches of the family tree at least once in every generation.

It was already noon by this time but Draco was in no mood to eat. A thought had crept into his head and kept growing. To him, the house was a prison. He was trapped here. But he wasn't the only one. Kreacher was also tied to this place. He could not leave either. Unless Sirius Black let him.

And so was Mrs. Black. A portrait on a wall, with a silence spell on it so she could not talk freely with anyone. To be fair, Draco couldn't blame Sirius too much. From what he was told, Mrs. Black mostly screamed at everyone before the silencing spell was put on her. But still, he could have taken the portrait down and given it to someone else.

Anger, aided by a poor breakfast and no lunch, surged through Draco's body. He muttered something slightly obscene and strongly uncomplimentary. And his entire body hiccuped. He slipped off the step he was sitting on and slid downward, hitting his head as he lurched backward. He repeated the obscenity but this time he did not mutter.

"Draco?" a high pitched shout sounded as he grabbed the back of his head.

"I'm fine. Bugger all, that hurts."

The high pitched voice sounded angry. "Watch your language young man. I will not tolerate . . ."

Both paused and looked at each other. They had heard each other speak. The silencing spell had been broken. Draco rubbed his head as he asked, "How?"

Mrs. Black smiled. "Accidental magic, I suspect. From a young man who has yet to learn to control his emotions. A fortuitous accident, but an accident none the less. Thank you, Draco."

"You're welcome," Draco said.

Then a familiar gleam came into Mrs. Black's eye. She wanted something and now she had someone who could get it for her. She had an ally. And no one had to tell her that, at least for the moment, she had a willing ally. "Please call me Walburga."