"You may have created my past, and screwed up my present, but you have no control over my future." -- David Klass.
Draco is restricted to the Hogwarts Castle for the summer for unknown deeds. Someone from his past threatens his peace of mind in his present, and promises to stop his future. The only way he can survive, is by teaming up with an unlikely foe to try to solve the riddles before it is to late.
Warning: One word: Slash.
Disclaimer: Come on people, if you've gotten this far then you should know the drill by now.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Past, Present, and Future.
.
.
.
.
Part One: A very long month Indeed.
.
.
.
.
The soft thud of the judge's mallet rang through the hall and Draco Malfoy stood.
"It is settled. As one Draco Malfoy is to young for such a punishment as Arabian, he will be sentenced to stay under the care and control of one Albus Dumbledore. He will not be permitted to leave the perimeters set for him unless he has written permission by the head of the Ministry of Magic, Cornelius Fudge." The judge paused for a moment and the shuffling of paper could be heard. "Yes. All paper work seems in due order. You may leave and Merlin save, you stay from trouble Mr. Malfoy."
Draco turned on his heels, hurriedly following the billowing cloak belonging to Professor Dumbledore. He ignored the stares of hate and cruelty all bystanders were sending his way and instead became very fascinated with how his boots hit the marble flooring.
That scene played in front of Draco Malfoy's eyes again and again as he stared lazily out the window. The dinner gong interrupted his thoughts and he stood, making his way through the portrait hole and down the winding stairs. He really had no idea what to expect at the great hall tonight, as it was four weeks before term was suppose to start and besides himself, there would be no company his age.
Of course, he never had that sort of company when he had been at the mansion either, but there he had some fancy board game to play, or something of the sorts. Draco had a sinking feeling that the next month would be very, very, long.
Before he knew it, he was standing outside the doors to the great hall. After taking a calming breath, Draco swung the door open and stepped in. His eyes scanned over the single table containing the Headmaster, Snape, Lupin, Potter, McGonagall and-- wait. Potter?
Draco blinked and stared at the Raven-haired boy coldly, slowly making his way towards the only empty seat at the table. Luck would have it; it was placed right next to none other then the-boy-who-refused-to-die. He slowly pulled the chair out and sat down until the Headmaster stood.
"No worry boys," He said, looking down at Harry and Draco. "There will be no long speeches this time. Let the feast begin."
The headmaster sat again and Harry turned away, glancing over and Draco.
"Malfoy."
"Potter." Spat Draco in return.
Draco piled some food onto his plate while watching with a bored expression as Harry played with the few bits of potato and meat on his plate.
"So what are you doing here anyway?" Asked Harry, not glancing up from his plate.
"None of your bloody business Potter."
"Fine. What ever." Said Harry softly.
"No witty remarks? I say -- you must be loosing your touch dear boy."
"Sorry Malfoy, but I would rather disappoint a slimy ferret like you then waste my valuable time and effort, dueling words."
"Valuable? Sounds like you're over judging yourself again scar head."
Harry rolled his eyes and tossed his fork at his plate. He angrily turned in his seat until he was looking Draco right in the eye. His green eyes were flaring and Draco was taken aback as they assumed a sort of glow.
"Listen Malfoy," Said Harry in a dangerously low voice, "Its not my bloody fault if you were stupid enough to tare yourself away your bloody nanny to do some blasted crime and in turn got landed here. If you want someone to fight with, I suggest you go find Ms. Bloody Norris."
Draco narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenching. "You don't know the half of it scar head. But then you don't know the half of much either so I guess it doesn't matter."
Harry stood and stormed from the Hall. Draco blinked, watching his retreating back and sourly thought, that went well. Wonder what his problem is.. Not.
The rest of the night went by surprisingly quiet. Before long, Draco found himself in the private room provided by Dumbledore and Sev. He was thankful he had his godfather here to talk to, regardless of the fact he hadn't been at the hearing to support him, as he hadn't wanted to tip off any death-eaters. Of course, if Draco asked, he was sure that Sev would say something totally different, but it didn't really matter.
Draco sat on the windowsill seat and looked out at the qudditch pitch. He was memorized at the grace of the form flying. He knew that form was Pothead. He always seemed to be a natural flier-- even during games. But then, Potter beet him at everything. That's why he was in this mess. Trying to out-win potter and prove to his father that he wasn't worthless after all.
Draco sighed and finally took his eyes from the flying wonder. He stood and stretched. The eerie silence of the castle surrounded him and he slowly made his way to his four-poster bed.
Yes.. Thought Draco. A very, very, long month indeed.
.
.
.
.
Part Two: Unwanted Memories
.
.
.
.
Saying Draco would wake up the following morning, well rested, would be a lie. As Draco was lying in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking of his trial and so called punishment.
He had nearly scoffed when they had read the punishment aloud. For god sakes, he spent most of the year at this hellhole anyway. Some part of Draco continued to tell him he would have rather been sent to Azkaban. At least there, he may have had the slim chance of seeing his father.
Contrary to popular belief, Lucius Malfoy was not as cold hearted to his family as one would think. Sure, he would punish Draco when he did something wrong, such as asking for a cat when he was four, but Draco was closer to Lucius then he was to anyone really.. Which, in all honesty, wasn't saying much.
Draco silently shook himself and took a shaky breath. He knew he didn't love his father, or his mother for that matter. How could you love someone who wanted to hand you over to the dark lord at the age sixteen.. When Draco had seen V-- him, he had nightmares for days. But then, that wasn't unordinary for Draco. He actually would have been more worried if he hadn't had nightmares about something.
Draco's thoughts continued to drift as the moon got higher and higher in the sky. Close to three A.M in the morning, Draco was finally slipping into a light sleep. The wind was whipping around outside and Draco could swear he heard something. His eyes darted open and he strained his ears to listen.
"Dracoo. ."
Draco took a slow deep breath and pulled the blankets tighter around himself. Calm down Draco. . It's just the wind.
"Draacooo. ."
"Who. . Who's there?" Asked Draco in a whisper.
A girl's soft laughter rang around the room.
"Did I scare you?" The stranger asked in a teasing tone.
Draco's eyes darted around the room as he sat up in bed, trying to look through the shadows. "Show yourself!"
"No."
"Show yourself!" Repeated Draco.
"NO! NO! NO! NOOOOOO!" The girl's screams rang around the room, echoing violently. Draco fell back into bed and put his hands over his ears. What's happening?
Something reached up from the side of his bed and touched his bare arm. He nearly jumped from his skin. "WHAT THE HELL?"
The invisible girl laughed. "Draaaygon. . Don't you remember me?"
Draco's eyes widened and he stared in front of himself. "No. . It can't be."
He could feel breathing on the side of his neck and he spun around. No one was there.
"Drrrrrrraaaaygon. ."
"No!" Said Draco in a frightened whisper.
She hissed in his ear, "But it isss!"
"NO!"
"Now its your turn Draco. ."
Draco wrapped his arms around himself and sat up in bed. His shoulders shook with soft sobs and he continued to repeat under his breath, "No. ."
"Yess. ."
Draco screamed as invisible hands tightened around his neck and the memories he had so carefully locked away took over. Draco fought the dizziness and clawed at his own neck, his nails digging into his skin. It wasn't long before everything went black.
.
.
.
.
5 Reviews = Next 2 Parts; Revised chapter