Of The Sorrows
by: Shotgun Wedding x
Chapter one: Black and White
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted for your 7th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all classes available to seventh years based on their individual O.W.L.S scores, and all necessary books and equipment. Also enclosed is a list of your prefect duties for this term.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
--- --- --- --- --- ---
Draco Malfoy groaned softly to himself as he read the oh-so familiar school letter. It was just another year at Hogwarts, and finally, his last. In a way, Draco didn't want to go back to Hogwarts. He didn't need girls like Pansy clinging to him, the golden trio running around bothering him, and most likely, the soon to return nagging of his "dear father." He also, definitely did not need the stares, the accusations and the inquiries again. His entire sixth year had been a fiasco. He had failed the Dark Lord. He couldn't go there anymore, it was bad enough Snape had stolen his glory. Just like always.
Things had gotten much quieter for Draco following his sixth year and Lucius' escape from Azkaban and retreat into hiding. He wasn't there to push Draco around anymore, and constantly torture him. Over the summer, Draco had pretty much fended for himself, as his mother hardly left her rooms anymore, when she wasn't out at some party or get together trying to restore the Malfoy name – which was just fine for Draco. He'd never had "real" parents – not the loving kind anyway. Sure they spoiled him with gifts and sweets, but Draco couldn't ever recall either adult telling him they loved him. It seemed that their idea of "love" was very different from those families Draco had to witness every year on platform 9 3/4. But the youngest Malfoy was a stranger to his thing called "love" – so much that it didn't look like it bothered him. It also seemed that each year Lucius became stricter, always finding something more about Draco that he disliked. It reached the point where Draco contemplated giving up. But the demands got more and more erratic, and Lucius was became nastier to Draco with each step he took. Draco had started to challenge his 'whatever Father says' state of mind even further.
Of course Draco wanted to be respected in his father's eyes, and wanted to be the next great Malfoy… but his mind always seemed to falter. Did he want to stay a pawn in Lucius' schemes forever? Did he want to branch out of his "cage", so to speak, and start a new life out of Hogwarts, free of his father's reign?
Yes, that was it.
Out of Hogwarts— once he graduated, he'd be "liberated". He'd be legal. Whatever choices Draco made were his and his alone. If by chance they happened to reflect any of his father's, they were made of his own account. The day he left this castle once and for all was the day he left a new man. He wasn't much of a killer anyways. His mother had tried to warn him, but then he hadn't listened. Being a Death Eater just wasn't what it was cut out to be. He hadn't become a full-fledged Death Eater, and he already didn't like it. To much discipline.
But he couldn't.
No, Draco couldn't just up and start over like that. It was near impossible. His whole life was in Malfoy manor. In the shadow of his father, and his father before him (Araxas Malfoy.) There was no way he could leave without paying the price. He'd lose everything, and he wasn't sure he was ready to risk it. All his life people had made his decisions for him, managed his money, and waited on him hand and foot. Without that… who knew what would happen. Yet, they'd all think he was weak if he continued to bow and bend at Lucius' will. There was no way Draco was weak. At least, that's what he thought.
"Tipsy!" Draco called, more so demanded in a harsh tone as he pocketed the Hogwarts letter.
The house-elf named Tipsy came staggering towards Draco through one of the many rooms of the house. It had taken over Dobby's position sometime ago. It was apparent where the elf had gotten his name. It seemed Tipsy had a balance disorder, and slurred and stuttered speech. It was like he was drunk, but wasn't.
"Y-yes Master D-Draco?" the sniveling pathetic off-balance creature asked the blonde wizard in front of him. Tipsy was dressed in the customary sack, which had various spills and stains on it, and was struggling to stand without swaying.
"Tell mother, when she returns I've gone to get my school supplies," Draco drawled, he hated speaking to the elf, it was beneath him. These filthy creatures were worse than Mudbloods. In fact, they should have all been slain along with those of impure blood.
"And if you forget," he added sharply, not bothering to hide the distain or malice in his tone, "I have a new pair of socks just for you," Draco finished, enjoying the animal's cowering for a few moments before Disapparating in a snap.
An hour later, Draco had finished shopping for his books, and was briskly sauntering through the streets of Diagon Alley, books under his arm. His supply list was tucked neatly into the cover of the top book, Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7
Just as Draco moved to turn a corner, a girl, no older than him, rushed around the corner in the opposite direction. The force of the impact left Draco lying on the street, his books sprawled about him. He just lay there wishing that it hadn't happened, and mostly that no one saw him make a fool of himself. He had to keep up his impression. The girl, who had been picking up her one book, was now bent over Draco.
"Are you alright?" she asked, brushing a lock of straight chocolate coloured hair out of her eyes. Draco stared at her for a moment, dazed and confused, then sneered.
"Bloody hell woman, do you always come barrelling around corners like that?" he hissed, glaring as he spoke. The girl blinked at him a few times, before backing off and standing, her book under her arm. Draco stood quickly as well, using a simple summoning charm to get all books back to his arms.
"Its called, I wasn't paying attention. Look, I'm sorry, okay?" she answered, her tone was a bit snotty and filled with attitude. She attempted to fix him with her own glare. Her eyes were dark, to match her hair, and almost as black as the pupils. Her stare was sort of…penetrating, like a fire burning through Draco, and he wound up staring for a few more moments before shaking his blonde head in disgust.
"Well, pay attention to this," Draco retorted, making a very rude hand gesture with his free hand, before turning and storming off to the nearest shop, which happened to be the Leaky Cauldron. He didn't catch the girl's reactions, but he imagined it wasn't pretty.
The youngest Malfoy actually was hungry when he entered the Leaky Cauldron, and although he knew he shouldn't have, he took a seat near the back. Lucius had never allowed Draco to eat at the Cauldron. He thought it was a filthy place for the common breed. Draco could remember a few occasions when Lucius had instructed him, upon leaving, not to eat at "that establishment". Completely ignoring his father for once, and following his stomach instead, Draco ordered the simplest item off the menu. No one would care anymore. The worst damage Lucius could cause now was strictly verbal, not like he could show up at the Malfoy Manor anymore, being an escaped convict and all…
The blonde moved his newly bought schoolbooks onto the seat next to him. While he was doing so, a passer by bumped right into the seat, knocking his purchases to the ground.
"So sorry sir," the wizard apologized, before continuing again, not even stopping to pick the books up.
"Stupid lout," Draco mumbled.
The book that previously was on top, lay on the ground in front of him, cover wide open, the parchment from before hanging out. Draco didn't even give it a second glance before picking it up, yet something caught his eye. The label read, This book belongs to, Deirdre Ashcroft, not, Draco Malfoy, not a blank space, not even Gambol and Jape's bookshop. There was no way this was a second hand book, oh no, not with Draco, but he just didn't know why someone had already written in his book. How dare they!
Just then, Draco noticed the parchment had fallen out of the cover, and was lying in his lap. He looked down, it wasn't his school list. He groaned. He must've taken the wrong book when he fell. With slight curiosity, but more so annoyance, he read it. It was a journal entry of some sort, yet it wasn't dated.
He frightens me.
I don't like being this alone. It frightens me too. They're all horrible and creepy. So much tougher and stronger and bigger. I don't know how much longer I can handle this. This time, that man made it clear that it was sink or swim, pass or fail. This is the man that terrifies me more than the others; he's ruthless, hard, and cold. He will surely do something drastic if I fail him.
---D.A.
"Ahem."
Draco looked up from the parchment he had found. It was the girl again. Her dark eyes were icy, uninvited, and seemed violated when she saw what Draco was holding.
"I believe that belongs to me," she said bitterly pointing, rather jabbing the air, at The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7. She had the same one in her hands.
"You're the clod who nearly killed me aren't you, where's mine?" Draco answered with a sneer.
"Just give me my book, and writing back."
"You will return my possession to me first."
"Ugh, fine," the girl growled, slamming the big black book in her hands down hard on the table in front of him. Loud enough to get a few stares. She wrenched the parchment from Draco's grasp before he knew what she was doing. It almost tore.
"Hey!" Draco hissed, "see, what your doing? Causing attention!"
"Perhaps, if you had cooperated the first time, you would have stayed out of my personal business, and I would have stayed quiet," she snapped, taking her book from him as he handed it to her. It was obvious she wasn't as interested in the book as she was the parchment.
"Who are you to be reprimanding me like that, Miss?" he answered harshly, accenting the word "miss" fiercely, as if he thought she were low life scum. To him, she was.
"And who are you to ask that question?" The girl snapped back, preparing to walk off, now it was her turn.
"A Malfoy," Draco hissed. For a moment, an odd expression crossed the Witch's face. She stared at Draco, as if remembering something. Probably got word of the whole Dumbledore thing Malfoy thought.
She opened her mouth to say something, and then shook her head, coming back to earth, and sneered, "Get over yourself."
"What may I ask, is your surname?" He responded, annoyed.
"That's none of your business," the witch snarled, and turned on her heel, stalking off to the other side of the restaurant, where she met up with a man who looked almost like her, except older, and meaner. From what Draco saw of her, her demeanour changed completely, like she was afraid and had to suck up to the man.
"Bloody witch," he mumbled, shaking his head.
His mind questioned the writing he had found. Was it the girls? Her name was Deirdre he guessed, from the tag inside the book, and the initials fit the tag perfectly. So it must've been hers. He thought it pathetic that she seemed so afraid of things, what was so bad about "the man". Draco let it slide from his mind as his meal appeared in front of him.
An owl was perched on Draco's windowsill when he returned to his quarters that night. It was the owl his father had been using to send messages to Narcissa. Draco regarded it was curious eyes; he thought his father basically forgot he existed. It was probably a mistake; whatever the owl was carrying was for his mother.
The boy ignored the owl for now, shaking his head as he set his books into his school trunk at the foot of his bed, and took off his robes. It screeched at him. The ugly grey thing was definitely a screech owl from what Draco could tell.
He winced. "Bugger," he muttered, moving to the animal and snatching the letter from it's talons. The address was to him, not his mother. "Bloody brilliant," he said sarcastically, rolling ice blue eyes. The owl waited with large yellow eyes, fixed on the boy in front of him.
"Oh sod off, you worthless beast," Draco hissed, shooing the owl with his hand. In response, the owl flapped its wings, a talon slashing the air as it took flight. The gesture caused Draco to vaguely remember the hippogriff incident, from his third year. He pushed the owl out with more urgency, closing the window behind him. With an irritated sigh, Malfoy fell back onto his large silk clad bed with the parchment in hand.
His mind wondered as to what the letter contained. His father usually never gave any good news. Draco was tempted to throw it straight into the fire, and let it burn. Watch it smoulder into ash, leaving whatever news Lucius had go up in flame with it. After all, no news is good news, right?
Yet, Draco still opened the parchment, eyes fixated on the flourished ink before him.
Draco,
My Lord is in need of new recruits, with a war underway. The topic of your future merely came to me as a thought, and I brought it upon My Master that you would make a worthy conscript with a bit of training. He graciously accepted to give you another chance, on the condition you know where your loyalties lie.
On the other hand, you failed his last mission miserably. How dare you attempt to avenge my arrest by trying such a foolish stunt. I fear you've tarnished the Malfoy name; the Potter boy will have rumours and accusations buzzing around shortly. As well as the ministry, I am ashamed to hear you had to answer questions in front of the ministry. Its sheer luck you got your pathetic self out of that one. The Malfoy's, who have always been one of the most influential and feared wizarding families because of the Dark Lord, will now be known as not having the backbone to kill an old defenceless man! I wholeheartedly expect you to go once more to the Dark Lord's side as his servant who will NOT fail or you will regret this decision horribly. As well, you will receive the Dark Mark once you can prove yourself not a coward. It is your fate. In my opinion you have no choice.
--L.
He knew this was coming. That was it. Draco always knew there would come a day when he was asked to take on the Dark Mark and join the league of Death Eaters. He'd always thought he'd eagerly accept. He'd please his father, he'd rid the world of scum, and he'd restore the Pureblood name. Yet, in such black and white terms, Draco was torn in two. Trying to complete one simple mission; get the Death Eaters into the castle, and kill Dumbledore was much too painstaking. Too much work for Draco.
His eyes felt like they were burning a hole through the parchment, memorising the letter down to each punctuation and flourish of an "l". Death Eater. Non-Death Eater. Death Eater. Non-Death Eater. It was such a haunting question, jeering out at him, unfolding itself like a scorpion ready to strike if he chose the wrong answer. He was teetering on the edge of a cliff, with life or death his only options. He searched his father's writing again for clues--anything to trigger a reaction.
" It is your fate. In my opinion, you have no choice." He read. His eyes narrowed. He wasn't just some pawn that could be written a certain way to fit his father's needs. No, Lucius didn't control him. Draco was sure of it.
Of course Draco was smart enough to know what would happen if he went down the wrong path, his father would go ballistic. He knew the risks he would face. He'd be safer joining The Dark Lord.
But there was something about it that didn't sit right with him: a lifetime of service, under his father. He wasn't Lucius – he was Draco. That's all they'd ever expected him to be, Lucius Malfoy the second. No one saw him for his own person anymore. In the corridors at Hogwarts, it seemed a shadow followed him everywhere. The shadow of his father and the choices his father had made. Because his father had gone and escaped from Azkaban, it was Draco who was just as dark and evil as Lucius. His teachers even eyed him warily. Slytherin's admired and were more afraid of him as ever, which may not have been such a bad thing, but it wasn't because of him. It was from the man before him. The man who wanted to control his every move. Draco was trapped. The cliff was crumbling beneath him as he reached for blank parchment and a quill.
Dear Father…