Disclaimer:

I own none of the characters or places contained within this story; they belong to J.K. Rowling, as well as to the billion-dollar industry which lurks behind her. A very large portion of the facts and plot used are directly from her books as I am trying to stick to canon as much as possible. The facts mentioned about also belong to her. Anything that you perceive as not canon is indeed not. Feel free to use anything that I have come up with: characters, facts, places, plot twist… If you do so, I would be enchanted to be able to read what you have written, so please drop me a line if you end up using anything. I am also not a science major, or minor. I don't have anything to do with science at all, in fact, so the knowledge below might not hold up to a reader who actually knows the material. If this is the case, please e-mail me and let me know what I interpreted wrongly, and I will fix it.

This is not intended to be a one-shot story, and will be continued beyond where the Half Blood Prince left off.

Chapter One

The Refugee

Norepinephrine and epinephrine are both stored in body, chemicals hoarded for times of desperation. Once in the bloodstream, the chemicals work together to form a complete response. Epinephrine heads for the receptors in the muscles. Two of the receptors are known as Alpha 1 and Beta 2. These receptors are embedded in all smooth muscles, with the exception of the lung muscles. The receptors oppose each other, and once the epinephrine has reached the receptors, they work together, contracting and relaxing the muscles. Norepinephrine is released from the locus ceruleus, Latin for the blue bit. The locus ceruleus is located within the brain. It controls the reactions of the brain to situations involving stress and panic. The compounds are also known as noradrenaline and adrenaline.

O positive blood conducts noradrenaline and adrenaline the same as it conducts it under the names of norepinephrine and epinephrine. O positive blood swiftly carries and deposits these two chemicals exactly the same as all other blood types. O positive blood within a magical person is exactly the same as the O positive blood flowing through an ordinary person. The blood that circulated inside the youngest descendant of one of the oldest and prominent houses of the magical world was no different.

The chemicals poured into his blood, slithering through the Byzantine conduits of his body to galvanize his muscles and mind. Draco had been feeling the effects for what seemed eternity, rational thinking giving way to the rising hysteria and numb panic. With every breath inhaled he could smell the reek of fresh blood mixed with rotting flesh emanating off of Fenrir, who was standing dangerously close and out of sight. The stink of rotting flesh, lying deep within the darkness of the werewolf's gut filled Draco's mind. So much flesh, some of it human. Now dead, as dead as - "Get out of here!"

The last fragment of Draco's ability to reason broke away as the forceful hand of the head of Slytherin shoved him towards the stairs. Every muscle in his body had been screaming against the final deliberate thoughts in his mind, and in the silent absence of his conscious inner voice, raw instinct took heed. He pushed off from the lifeless and cold stones of the tower, each pounding step hurtling him away from the terrible scene that had just happened, away from the danger of Fenrir and the danger of himself, of what he had been poised to do. The two lungfuls of clean air he gleaned before heading through the door were replaced by the surreal haze of dust and battle inside the castle.

Professor Snape was one stride behind him. Draco could dully hear the sounds of shouting and explosions around him. It sounded indistinct over the rushing of air in and out of his torn lungs, the relentless roar of blood in his ears. He skidded down the hallway, almost slipping on the blood that was splattered there. Draco's eyes were wild, not seeing the rubble and dust, not noticing the blond hair hanging over his face. In his fist he clutched his wand, held too tight to realize that it was there. Downwards and down again, skipping steps, overcome with the reckless and animal need to escape.

Images and voices skittered through his head at random, freed from the constraints of organized thought, Draco watched and re-watched the way the electric green power sparked from the tip of Professor Snape's wand, then ignited into bolts. The vicious green which struck nasty and deliberate, the screaming whisper of sizzle as it sank into the old professor's chest to rob him of his body and mind. Entwined with this was the sibilant voice of the Dark Lord;

"You know that your father has not been faithful in his service to me, and that I lack patience in dealing with traitors. However, the Malfoy Dark Arts legacy extends far back into history. You can save your parents from your father's folly by swearing to serve me."

Draco was standing on a rich crimson rug, eyes averted out of respect and fear. It was said that Lord Voldemort valued both in his followers, and there was no better time to display both than in his presence. At these words, his eyes glanced over to the foot of the chair the lord was seated on. Pride and fear churned together as he brought his gaze back down to the rug and tried to think quickly. His mother and father had always been proud of the dedication they had to the Dark Lord. They had been quiet about it publicly, but at home his parents had been unconstrained in their speech. Occasionally when his father praised him, he had told Draco that he would soon join them as fully initiated Death Eaters, that the Dark Lord would be so pleased to have such a talented young man at his disposal. Now his father was trapped far away, in a disgusting dirty cell. His father, who had always been proud and unwavering in his convictions and family, snared on an island with death thick at the windows, from the loathed Order and the harsh justice of the Death Eaters. He steeled himself at this thought. There was no one else to rescue his family, and the time had come to prove himself worthy of all of his parents' praise.

"I swear."

The shadowy sound of laughter emanated from the seated lord. "For me to accept, you must look me in the eye, you must say my name, child."

Annoyance scraped at his pride, made Draco set his teeth together. Always a child. He looked up swiftly, and did not flinch when his fair blue eyes met the steely red of the wizard opposite him. He refused to let his body betray what was happening as he felt the cold alien hand of an unwelcome consciousness picking through his own.

"I swear to serve you, Lord Voldemort."

As the words passed between his lips, they became stone and fell to the floor. The Dark Lord continued to look into Draco's eyes, in an almost disinterested way. The slight smirk that had been on his face had faded however, betraying the intensity raging within. Draco felt the consciousness dig deeper into his own, pulling on nerve endings and sending pain ricocheting around his skull. The force quickly gathered in on one section, and purposefully seemed to slice open the nerves held there. They split open all down his arm, cumulating in a seething knot of pain in the middle of his forearm. He gasped and swayed at the shock and the violence being done to him, but his eyes did not turn away. His skin felt as if it was bubbling, burning off, leaving him raw and vulnerable.

Two heartbeats later the pain abruptly stopped and the intrusion into his mind withdrew. Draco finally allowed himself to gasp, turning his eyes away and grabbing at his arm, where a dull pain still throbbed. His right hand trembled as he rolled up his sleeve, revealing the same Mark that he had stroked on his mother's arm as a child, the same he had envied as a symbol of strength on his father's muscular frame.

"Draco Malfoy. To prove your dedication as a Death Eater and to prove your parents are not traitors, I have chosen a task for you. The headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore. He hinders us. Kill him."

The words lingered in the air.

"Kill him, or prove the Malfoys to be nothing more than a stain on the name of pure-blood."

He clawed at his arm, fighting the memory as he ran down a hall untouched by the conflict raging above him. Someone came around a corner, stood in the middle of the pathway out. Unrecognizing, he did not pause or slow down, but dealt a flying blow to the person's midsection. They sank to the floor as he ran past; down the last staircase to the solid oak door that had harbored him within Hogwarts' walls for so long. The oak door swallowed the cacophony ruling Draco's body, left instead one clear and sober thought; 'I will never step through this doorway again'. It wasn't clear to him if the thought was triumphant or terrified, and it was lost in an instant as the door was blown through with a hasty spell from behind him, splinters arrowing away into the night. He could hear the sound of his footsteps now, oddly echoing in his mind despite the confusion and noise. His were soon followed by the sound of Snape's, as well as the others. Draco ran through the ruined door into the forbidding night, but stopped short when he heard a too-familiar voice.

"Stupefy!"

Draco started to turn around, eager for the opportunity to release the vicious emotions seething through him. He could handle Potter, after all. Just as he was preparing to raise his wand a tall shadow stopped in his path of vision, blocking his view of the brat. The shadow whipped around, spotted Draco standing there. Through the strands of black hair he recognized Professor Snape's features, but barely. "Run, Draco!" he commanded. The severity of the situation fell heavily against Draco's soul once more, and he ran for the gates, though the chemicals that had been running high in his blood had faded. This run was the run of one who knew there was no hope. He had failed where it had mattered most, and there was no place for him to run to now. They were better this, his family.

As he reached the gates one side of his vision was full of dancing flames, fueled by the destruction of the half-breed's hut, and the other was a green-tinted darkness. He paused, unconsciously rubbing his hair away from his face, glancing back again to see Professor Snape snarling at Harry, who lay on the ground.

The rest Death Eaters were quickly approaching, Fenrir among them. He was coated in a liquid that shined, sickly reflecting the green of the Mark above the castle. Draco looked at them with the feeling of bleak danger, turned to concentrate with all of his body, mind and soul on the place he wanted to be the most:

home.