A/N: This is my first fic that I'm writing. I'm normally a 'reader'. So... wish me luck!
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor any of the characters, that privilege is J.K Rowling's alone. But it'd be cool if I did!
P.S: Don't like, don't read.
DMRS (Draco Malfoy Rescue Squad)
Chapter 1: The Happenings in a Grimy Cell
"Come Here, Draco" Hissed the malevolent form of the Dark Lord. "Come bow at my feet, and grovel where you belong."
The boy called Draco did quickly what was bid of him, no matter how degrading.
"Crucio!" cried the Dark Lord out of a desire to fulfill a whim for amusement.
Draco cried out in unendurable agony…
Draco found himself being slammed back into reality, into consciousness, shaking for all he was worth. 'It was just a dream.' He thought with minimal relief, for he found himself back in his grimy cell. The holding spot itself should be condemned for its lack of hygiene, let alone health hazards, and total absence of decent food, water, and light.
It was a 4 by 4 meter room, with 6 meters from floor to ceiling. The walls' tiling (if you could call it that) was cracked, crumbling, and in a state of disrepair. It had one dreary lamp hanging centimeters out of the ceiling, with a dim light bulb in it, casting an iridescent, and eerie glow.(Draco personally thought he would do better without its depressing existence.) The guards apparently felt he would fare well enough without a bed, for he only had a hard, rough tarp to lie down on at night.(No wonder why he had nightmares…) Then, of course, there was also the constant drip drip, from the leaking pipe works overhead, that consequently sounded to Draco like the beating of an executioner's drum.
Draco gave a disgusted snort. This was what the Great, Ever Powerful Malfoys had been brought down to. How disgraceful.
His mother and father were in different holding cells than his. They were separated, never seeing each other since their capture after The Final Great Battle. Draco's last memory of his father was of him fighting futilely against 10 or so Aurors, to protect his family, and prevent them from being shipped off to Azkaban, while his mother was holding onto Draco with a death grip.
Father…
Mother…
Lucius Malfoy… arrogant, cold, classy, stuck-up, aristocratic, full of flare, and with a hunger for expensive things.
Narccisa Malfoy… cold, arrogant, classy, delicate, picturesque, stuck-up, aristocratic, and a taste for… the rarer items of life.
His parents…
His parents that were murderers…
His parents that were misunderstood…
His parents that loved him…
His parents, that are in Azkaban with him…
His parents, whom he will probably never see again…
Dementors! Draco realized. They must just be getting around to 'checking up' on the prisoners for me to be having these dismal thoughts after just waking up!
Bloody hell, a thought just decided to pay Draco a visit. That means at any moment, they'll be coming by me! I just can't go through those memories again! Not again. Not again. Never. Never. Never ever again. I can't. I'll die... I'll be ripped apart… no one there to pick up the poor scattered pieces of Draco Lucius Malfoy…
He was 3, and his parents were quite distraught about something that he did not understand. Narcissa's hair was frizzy, her face red and covered in tear tracks, with Lucius's hand lain comfortingly on her shoulder, face stony. "Do not fret, my dear Narcissa. When the Dark Lord returns, he will liberate your beloved sister from the clutches of Azkaban. It will be one of the first things he does. I'm sure of it," Lucius whispered into his wife's ear…
He was 5, and he drew a picture of an elf. It looked more like a bowling ball perched on a mutated cucumber, crushing two very unfortunate bananas, but it was pure Draco Malfoy, (at the time). He had been very proud of his drawing, and thrice tried to present it to his father, but was denied his ever important attention. Finally, at dinner, he had his father cornered, and thrust the parchment in front of his plate, so as not to be overlooked. His father picked it up, and stared down his nose at it with disdain. "This is the reason you have been pestering me all day? This coconut, assisting a cucumber squash these pathetic bananas?" Lucius ground out.
" It is an elf, father, not a banana cucumbery thing," Draco stated softly, hurt.
"You are a Malfoy, and it is time you started acting like one. Malfoys don't draw anything, we have other, lesser people do that for us. If you absolutely must do your incessant little scribbles, draw things of actual importance, like the Urn of Tormented Souls, for example, but never an elf." Lucius hissed, voice full of venom.
"Yes, father," Draco said in a small voice…
Draco was 7 years old, and had snuck into his father's private study out of curiosity. He should be safe for the time being, for his mother and father had guests that night, which, they were now dining with.
He would just take a quick little peek around, and then get out. No one would ever know.
Wrong.
He hadn't been in the room for 5 seconds, before a hand lay heavily on his shoulder.
Draco gulped.
The hand tightened, and, in one swift motion, swung him around so he could come face to face with the enraged, usually mask like, face of his father.
None of them said a word. His father dragged him down to where the dungeons resided, and Draco just silently let him.
When they arrived at their destination, Lucius threw the door open, traipsed down the steps, son in tow, flung his son onto the wall, and chains wove around him of their own accord.
"This is your punishment, Draco, for wandering around in places you shouldn't be in; for falling prey to an idle mind and a fool's curiosity. You shall spend the remainder of the night in here."
Draco couldn't help it, and let a traitorous tear escape, betraying the cool expression all Malfoys are taught before they can even talk.
A malevolent grin twisted Lucius's lips at this. "What is this, Draco? This sign of weakness? I have taught you better than that, surely? Malfoys don't cry. Malfoys don't show such pitiful things as tears. As I have said before, and am saying now, it is time you start acting like a Malfoy! Malfoys respect their superiors, and I would have hoped you would have respected yours. If I had not had the urge to come up and retrieve a rare item from my personal storage-" Lucius cut himself off before he could continue. "Goodnight Draco, sleep tight," Lucius said, with the kind of smile that would give anyone a reason to fear the dark.
Draco hadn't let any other tears slide past his visage while in the presence of his father, but in his absence, with the chains cutting and digging into his flesh, Draco cried himself to sleep…
Draco was a fine looking boy at age 10. At the moment, he was playing host for his father's 'friends'' kids. They were his age, so, that part was okay. But that Blaise guy looked as if he owned the place; Vincent, and Gregory looked as if their closest relatives were the stones surrounding the Manor, and the only things they could possibly have a conversation with; while the only girl, this Pansy chick, kept falling all over him. It was quite disconcerting, really, but that stupid Zabini bloke found it hilarious.
Draco knew that these were whom his father had picked to be Draco's 'friends'. Crabbe and Goyle would be more of lackeys than friends; Zabini was more of a pain than anything else, and Draco wasn't sure how much longer he could abstain from shoving one of the hors d'oeuvres down his throat, to shut him up; and that Parkenson… well, at least Zabini knows how to stand on the two feet the good God gave him. They would never be his real friends, if there was such a thing.
Draco knew two very important facts; 1, he would be sorted into Slythern when he attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the best House in the entire school; and fact number 2, no one wants to be friends with a Slythern, not even the Slytherns themselves. Slytherns never had true friends, they just stuck together, because they were all they had. But everyone knew Slytherns would turn on each other in an instant, because they were filthy cowards, and who knew no honor. His parents were both Slytherns, and only married to continue their bloodlines.
That was the day Draco realized that he was completely, and utterly alone…
Draco was looking down at his hand that was just refused by Harry Potter. The Harry Potter. His only hope of a real friend, whisked away in the shape of a red-headed, freckled, poor, Weasley…
Draco's worst fear was confirmed, as he walked toward the table, with a smirk on his face that didn't fit his true feelings. He had been Sorted into Slythern…
Draco was forcing down the uncomfortable feelings that were arising in him as he walked toward the dungeons, where he would sleep. It was an all too familiar scene to him, for his liking…
Draco was walking the Forbidden Forest with Potter because of Potter. Stupid dragon prank! Stupid Potter! Stupid, yucky, forest, messing up my new trainers! Stupid dim lamp! Stupid effing detention! Stupid figure bending over and drinking unicorn bloo- crap…
Draco was faced at wand point, by Potter. Potter had bested him again! Stupid youngest seeker in the century!
A gigantic beast of a stag charged down Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and Montaque, who were tripped up in long, dementor-like robes. They had failed in their task of throwing Potter off his game with their appearance. Now they had a fuming McGonagal throwing the book at them, while Potter watched with an almighty grin on his face, with Weasel beside him, laughing like a sick pig( doubled over with all fours on the ground too.) How appalling. Laughing and standing there like that, shouldn't even be legal!
Draco had been perfectly minding his own business, when that Granger girl, for no apparent reason whatsoever, had decided to punch his face in. Oh, wait until his father heard about this. That filthy, rabid Hippogriff loving, Mudblood would get hers. Yes she will…
Draco was home for the summer holidays, and his father had been proud of his end of the year report card. That is, until he had heard that the Mudblood had gotten better than his son, and promptly tore the report into little pieces, until the parchment was unrecognizable, then, for good measure, tossed the microscopic confetti into the fire. Son and father watched as the flames devoured the little scraps with unreadable expressions on their faces, each absorbed in their own dismal thoughts…
Potter finally revealed his little adventure in the graveyard in the Quibbler, incriminating his father to be a Death Eater. Potter would pay for this. Oh, yes, Potter would pay for this indeed…
Slug-Draco mundanely presented himself to his mother, who screamed like a person, who, in all their life had kept all their screams bottled up for such an occasion, as when their son turned up as a slug…
Draco's father was sent to Azkaban for associating with a Death Eater group found in the Department of Mysteries…
The Dark Lord was surveying Draco with a look that would make the Boogie Man check under his bed at night. After an eon of staring at that face, the Dark Lord broke the thick as mud silence. "Yes, Bellatrix, I believe he will do nicely in the task I require of him." He purred in a voice that would make a snake's blood run cold. He then turned to face Draco himself, who was now wishing the Hippogriff in third year had killed him. "Now, Draco, you wish to redeem the Malfoy name after your father's butchery of the mission I so required of him, and my most loyal Death Eaters at the Ministry, yes?" It was more of a challenge than anything else. Draco nodded his head stiffly. "Good. What your mission shall be, is to kill the Light's great leader.
"Oh, no, not Harry Potter, Malfoy. Potter is mine to dispose of, and mine alone." The Dark Lord explained due to the look of horror metastasizing across the young boy's face. "You are to dispatch Dumbledore. Draco, mark my words, if you fail me, you and your family will be of no use to me any more and I will get rid of you myself. Now leave me."
Draco didn't have to be told twice…
As Draco sat there, at the Slythern table, he watched the looks of joy on all of the idiotic Griffindors' faces, but most of all, the Golden Trio's. As he watched them, he felt that all alone- feeling threatening to overtake him. It must be nice to have such good friends as those, Draco thought, and for one insane moment, wished to be part of that joy, happiness and love. But Draco knew that it was a crazed and stupid thought born out of the desperation of his situation. Besides, Potter and his friends utterly despised every living particle that made up Draco Malfoy. At least that would never change…
The memories were going faster now; so fast that Draco caught glimpses of each memory, but seeing them all as if in slow motion, never missing a detail.
Frenrier Greyback…
Vanishing cabinet…
Dark Mark…
Fear…
Helplessness…
1 week, 1 chance left…
Stupid Potter…
Snape on his neck…
Crying with Moaning Myrtle…
Bleeding dry in the bathroom…
Face to face with Dumbledore, with the latter at a slowly lowering wand point…
Dumbledore, falling out the back of the Astronomy Tower, void of all life…
Running along with the cheering Death Eaters, watching them destroy the only sanctuary he had ever known…
Imprisoned in his own home, forced to torture, or be tortured, watch murder, or be murdered…
Potter and his friends lying feebly on his floor, forcing him to make one of his hardest decisions yet…
Running into Potter in the Room of Requirement, said Room eventually erupting into literally alive, and deadly flames…
Clinging onto Potter for dear life as they race on broomstick out of the burning room…
Crabbe dead…
Being separated from his family and thrown into his current situation in Azkaban...
Draco sat against one of the walls, a sheen of sweat covering him, and carelessly threw his head back, consequently cracking his skull against the hard stone. But the sharp pain this action caused, dulled in comparison to the mental pain he was currently going through.
Crabbe… Dead because of me. Gone forever. Just ashes in the wind…
Goyle… Probably already suffered the Dementor's Kiss, after his trial two days ago.
Pansy… Died in the Great Battle of Hogwarts.
My fault; all my fault. They weren't really my friends, just really close acquaintances, but, they were all I had…
Blaise… I don't even know what happened to him!
Plus, my trial is supposedly in a few days! What am I going to do?! No one wants to defend Death Eaters! Going to the Trials without a lawyer to back me up... it's suicidal!
Draco, slipping further into his depression, quickly entertained a little thought with slight amusement. I really need a psychiatrist!
A/N: That's it for the first chapter of DMRS! I hope you liked it! It mostly just explained Draco's current situation and what-not, but I still enjoyed writing it! The next chapter will be in Harry's view, and I'll try to get it out ASAP! I might get it out sooner though, if you were to Review...