A/N: Hello to anyone who may read this. This is my newest fan fic posted at the moment. I was inspired to write this early this morning when I had nothing better to do. Leave me a review and tell me what you think! It would be much appreciated.
Disclaimer: All characters in the chapter belong to J.K Rowling. This is the only disclaimer I'll do and it should cover any future chapters I write. Plot is mine. :D
A Mudblood's Slave?
The fall of the Death Eater's had to be the most important event in wizard history. Even though the war was fierce and seemingly endless, a victory was won.
The death of Voldemort was the final occurrence that caused the fighting to stop. He was killed in his chambers while he made an attempt to stay out of the battle. There was nothing special about his demise. He died powerless and hopelessly alone at the hand of none other than the Boy Who Lived. He was layed to rest simply as Tom Riddle, long ago losing the name Lord and the respect it demanded.
He'd lost his followers, even though they still fought a losing battle. This was the final struggle for power over the muggleborns and half bloods. It was their hatred in the end that defeated them. And the small fact that they no longer had someone to lead them and guide them through the steps of evil deeds.
It seemed the Death Eaters expired right along with their Voldemort at the hand of an army of Aurors and Order members. And in the end, only a handful was left.
What would happen to the few Death Eaters that remained? Well, they would be punished. Sentenced to a life of serving those they once strived to conquer. I guess you could say they'd become slaves…
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His chest heaved and his muscles cried out in protest, but he pushed himself further. He sprinted through the forest trying to avoid exposed roots that popped through the moist dirt. He held his wand between his teeth, for his hands were held behind his back by some sort of enchanted rope. He staggered and almost fell, but kept going, knowing they were not far behind him.
He'd disappeared when he saw that the Death Eaters were going to lose. He'd slinked off into the darkness and hadn't come out ever since. Except for now, he'd been in hiding for three straight months, not daring to come to the surface. He ate when he could, which wasn't very often, but he had plenty of water. He'd heard of what they were doing to remaining Death Eaters and he didn't want to spend his remaining years in Azkaban. That was a miserably pathetic way to spend the rest of your life. He was about to learn that he'd heard wrong. A very different fate was being delivered to remaining Death Eaters.
He'd picked the wroooong profession.
His bare foot came down on something sharp that dug into his flesh. He cringed letting out a quiet yelp, but kept running even though the pain was plenty. He cursed when he realized his body was beginning to slow down, so he sped up trying to keep his former pace, finding it more difficult than ever. Especially with the pointy object embedded in his foot. He chanced a glance behind them, to see the Aurors weaving through the trees and gaining on him. His heart leapt into his throat, and that was when it happened. His uninjured foot snagged on an uplifted root and he tumbled forward, his face hitting the moist dirt hard. His eyesight went white for a moment, as the pain shot through his already swimming head. He lay there perfectly still, his eyes shut tight, willing the tinge to go away.
"We've got him!" someone yelled triumphantly, bringing their foot down hard on his lower back. They put all their weight down upon him to avoid him from wriggling away. He rolled his eyes, as if he could get away!
"Actually," came a strangely familiar voice. "The tree got him."
He was hauled to his feet roughly, and he got a glance at his wand lying askew on the forest floor, only a few feet away from where he'd been sprawled just a moment ago. He cursed himself, wiggling his wrists to see if the rope had loosened any. It only got tighter. When he finally did look up, he saw emerald green orbs glinting at him maliciously. He stared at the man in front of him, trying to shake many loose strands of dirty blonde hair out of his gray eyes.
"Draco Malfoy," Potter said in interest.
"Harry Potter," Draco replied, his eyebrows raised. "The Boy Who Fucking Lived."
Harry sneered taking in Malfoy's build, as he always did when they came face to face, ever since they attended school together.
Malfoy was broad in the shoulders, but he was lacking in muscle mass. It seemed he'd been sitting in that rat's whole for a long time. He was thin, looking as though he hadn't had a good meal for a few months. His hair was long, dirty and matted as it fell into his eyes and stuck out everywhere. The platinum blonde color had seemed to fade for he was covered in dirt. His facial hair had grown out into a shaggy beard and mustache, and his lips were pale and cracked. His clothes were filthy and torn, revealing his Death Eater mark on his right forearm. That tattoo meant nothing now. How could such a small symbol invoke so much fear? And his feet were bare, dirt packed under his toenails. For the first time in Harry's life, this was the only time he'd seen Malfoy so unclean… This was the first time Malfoy stank.
As shocking as all of that was, Harry couldn't bring himself to look away from his childhood nemesis' eyes. They no longer held any sort of the malicious humor they used to light up with when he crossed Potter's path. They were totally blank of all emotion, surrounded by dark circles. To Harry, Malfoy simply looked drawn and tired. The only thing that remained the same was that Malfoy stood proud and tall, his head held high.
Malfoy tried to rub at some of the dirt that was caked onto his pale cheek with his shoulder, but wasn't having much success.
"So we meet again," Potter said after a long silence. "We've worked so hard to find you. We spent months, and finally, here you are."
Malfoy merely looked on with mild distaste.
"You did all this for me?" he asked sarcastically. "Ah shucks. I'm touched boys."
Even his sarcasm lacked enthusiasm. Harry wondered what he expected from his enemy after so much time had gone by. Did he really think that Malfoy would drop down on his knees and beg for mercy? Draco was not the begging type.
"So what are you going to do with me?" Draco asked. Truthfully, none of it mattered anymore. Although, he really didn't believe Potter was man enough to kill him execution style and leave him to rot on the forest floor. But if death was what awaited Draco, then he was ready for him. Anything was better than sitting in that horrible place, waiting for the Aurors to come for him.
In Potter's opinion, death was too easy for Malfoy. He seemed to welcome the idea. Harry knew just what to do with Draco. He wanted to see Draco squirm.
"Let's go," he told his men. Draco watched as Harry began weaving through the trees.
"What about my wand?" Draco asked.
"You won't need one where you're going," said an Auror to the right of him.
"Pick it up anyway," Harry called. "Don't want to leave stuff like that lying around."
"Yes, because some poor defenseless muggle may come by and gouge their eye out with it," Draco snapped sardonically, as he watched the auror to the left of him pocket his wand. "Wouldn't want that would we?"
He was shoved hard from behind, and he fell to his knees.
"Quiet traitor," a familiar voice hissed in his ear, before he was jerked to his feet again. His legs wobbled slightly but he seemed to hold steady. In turn, Draco shut his mouth, knowing he wouldn't be able to steady himself again if someone should push him for a second time.
"Put this over his head," Harry called over his shoulder, throwing one of his men a burlap sack. "We're going into Diagon Alley. People will have a field day if they know who we've caught."
"So let them have a field day," came the familiar voice again. Draco chanced a look behind him and found himself looking at none other than the Weasel King. Ronald Weasley glared at him. That was the last thing Draco saw before the sack was put over his face.
"No," Harry said firmly. "They'll kill him before we even have a chance to get him to the slave stand."
Draco went cold inside. Slave stand?
"What!" Draco asked frantically.
"We're putting you up for sale so that you can repay your debts to those you've hurt," Potter replied. "You'll get to learn first hand what it's like to be a house elf."
Draco was silent, his mind searching for a way to escape again, although he knew his
efforts would be futile. They made it to the portkey and he was whipped out of his thoughts by the whirling and jerking that overtook him. When they landed, he found himself, yet again on his knees, pain swarming over his joints.
"Get up," Ron snapped, pulling him up again. Draco's knees buckled and he sank to the floor again. It took another auror to pull him to his feet again, and the men stopped, and waited for him to regain his footing. They moved into the busy streets of Diagon Alley.
"You've caught another Death Eater Potter?" came a woman's voice.
"Yes ma'am," Harry said with a smile.
"I hope you gave him hell, Harry!" came another call. Draco swallowed hard and was suddenly thank full that they'd hidden his identity. He had no idea that his wanted posters were all over the streets, in shop windows and on light poles.
They entered a shop.
"We've got another one for you," Harry said. "He is to be put on the stands just like the rest of them."
"How much he worth?" Draco heard the shopkeeper's hoarse voice ask.
"You decide," Harry replied unveiling Draco. The shopkeeper looked delighted.
"Oh, he'll bring in a pretty penny," the old man whispered, licking his lips greedily. Draco cringed, and took a step backwards, only to walk into a wand that was pointed at his back. "Leave him here," the old man replied.
And with that, Draco was left with the shopkeeper, to be put on the stands immediately.
A/N: Alright. This is my third posted fan fic. I hope anyone who may of read this enjoyed it. If so, leave me a review and tell me what you think. It's important, especially if you want me to keep working on this piece. :D