Prolouge: The Prisoner of Azkaban

Draco could exactly pinpoint the moment when he began to loose faith in Father, the moment when that seed of doubt was sown into his soul.

It had been in third year; Draco was thirteen years old and very sure of himself and of his father. At least he thought so. It was the first class with professor Lupin, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. The man wore shabby clothes and had no more dress sense than a house elf. Later professor Lupin would turn out to be a werewolf, no real surprise there. Father had been quite upset over this, but Draco had deep down under his frown and scorn admitted that Lupin had been one of the best teachers he'd ever had.

For their first class Professor Lupin had found a boggart in a closet in the teachers' lounge. Draco was very interested in boggarts at this young age. Actually he had been interested in all kinds of dark, beasty, slimy, creepy and crawly things. Except for hippogriffs of course. He had used to like hippogriffs, in books that is, but that was before that rabid beast of that oaf Hagrid's had tried to kill Draco. Just a big stupid horse-bird. Father was going to sort that out, and then Draco would get his revenge.

He was still wearing his fake sling and bandage around his right arm, stretching his ailment as far as he could. Snape had even made Weasley and Potter cut Draco's potion ingredients for him. That had been fun. The only thing wrong with his arm was a white scar marring his perfect skin from his elbow to his wrist. Madame Pomfrey had said it would pass away with time (shows how much she knew).

But his parents had never let him see a boggart. There had been plenty of them found at the Malfoy Manor, because it was such an old house and had so many good dark hiding places. Boggarts were said to take the shape of your biggest fear and use it against you, it might even try to scare you to death. Draco had always wondered what his greatest fear was.

It was actually quite hard for the thirteen year old Draco Malfoy to think of what he feared the most. Sure, he could admit, but only to himself, that he was not a brave person. In fact he was a nervous child, backing away from any danger if he saw it, preferably with Crabbe and Goyle between him and the danger. But that didn't mean that he was an easy pushover. He just really disliked being in pain and of course he didn't want to mess up his clothes or hair.

He loved to read stories about ghosts, vampires, werewolves, hags and mad warlocks, but it was quite difficult to be scared of them since his father often invited all of these to the Manor on a regular basis for friendly get-togethers and luncheons. Draco had always been brought up to not be scared. How ever his parents succeeded in this could be discussed at length. Maybe that was why he had never been allowed to see a boggart, because his parents didn't want him to know what his deepest fear was. He wondered if his father even imagined that the subject would ever come up at school. Probably not. What teacher would be foolish enough?

The Slytherins was sharing the Defence Against the Dark Arts class with the Hufflepuffs. Draco was not going to show his greatest fear to a bunch of Hufflepuffs. He was not mad, for Salazar's sake. Apparently, the Hufflepuffs had shared his sentiments, against popular beliefs they were not mad either.

"Please professor," Justin Finch-Fletchly from the Hufflepuffs suddenly held up his hand to Lupin and asked in a shy and trembling voice. "Must we do it with the Slytherins?"

"Well…" Lupin had looked hesitant.

Both Hufflepuffs and Slytherins nodded in a nervous murmur. It was quite amazing, Hufflepuff and Slytherin almost never agreed on anything. It was decided that the houses were going to meet the meet the boggart separately.

While the Hufflepuffs waited outside the teachers' lounge, the Slytherins lined up before the closet with the boggart. Draco placed himself in the middle of the line so that hopefully his turn would not be that memorable. Goyle was called up first by Lupin. The shabby man was looking sympathetically at the big boy as he explained the Riddikulus-charm for the third time.

"Ready?" asked Lupin walking forward to the closet.

"I guess," grunted Goyle, hurriedly glancing over to Draco who had nodded sternly but encouragingly.

Lupin opened the door. All of the Slytherins gasped for air as Draco stepped out of the closet and looked over Goyle with the same contempt that he only used for Potter and his followers. The students whispered and looked at Draco. Lupin frowned. Then the boggart opened its mouth and spoke in Draco's worst drawling voice.

"No," it said. "I'm not helping you any more. Do it yourself, you fat troll."

Then it turned around and walked right back into the closet, closing the door firmly behind it.

Draco was flattered that Goyle thought so highly of him, but he also knew that his image as a bully would get a bit damaged after this. It was a quite revealing moment for Draco, but not the revealing moment. It took Draco the rest of the lesson and all the chocolate in Professor Lupin's deep pockets to get Goyle back to his old self again. They were seated on one of the teachers' sofas looking on as all the other Slytherins took their turn with the boggart.

Pansy's evil grandmother appeared before her. Pansy had called Riddikulus! and the old woman was wearing a pink princess dress with a wave of Pansy's wand. Theodore turned a swamp troll to a splash of water and Blaise made a big cockroach tap-dance. Crabbe's greatest fear had tuned out to be his older brother, who was quite a bully, even by Slytherin standards. Crabbe didn't manage more than to give his brother a big pimple on the nose with his spell before he hurried over to Draco and Goyle. Then, a couple of minutes later, there was only Draco left.

"Ready?" asked Professor Lupin, the man had a softer look in his eyes as he looked at Draco.

Yes, Draco thought while giving Lupin a evil glare with a nod. My reputation is certainly damaged

Draco took his wand in his 'non-damaged' left hand. Draco was fine with what ever hand he used, he could use them both equally well – a trick that often surprised his opponents when duelling. He nodded to Lupin, keeping his face schooled to show his contempt for the tatty man.

A tall figure in a long black cape stepped out; the hood was over the head and casting the face into shadows. It was a Dementor. He remembered his meeting with Dementors on the Hogwarts Express a couple of days earlier. Draco had hidden himself in the Weasley twins' compartment, totally by mistake of course. It had been so shameful and he had later said that it was only to see their terrified faces. But to tell the truth, he hid because he knew far to well what the creatures could do. It had not been Draco's first meeting with the guards of Azkaban. Lucius had brought him to visit the prison more than once. First time had been at an age of five. It was all a part of his training, his father had said. It hadn't worked, but his father never knew that.

Potter was scared of Dementors. The Gryffindor had even fainted on the train. All of Draco's jokes and jaunts would have been for nothing. And even the thought that he and Potter would share something like this made Draco's head boil. He hated the boy with every inch of his life. Draco did not accept this. Draco Malfoy was nothing like Harry Potter. He glared at the Dementor with the glare only a young spoiled rich teenage boy could glare.

Draco raised his wand to call the spell. Then, suddenly, the hood fell from the dark figure's head. It was his father, his silver blond hair glistening in the candle light, his eyes hard. The other Slytherins took a deep gasp. Lupin tilted his mangy head a little. Draco was so relieved, shocked and scared at the same time that he laughed right out loud. He had to sit down on the floor not to fall over.

The boggart had been too confused to attack.

It was not until later that night that Draco actually realised what this had meant. If his greatest fear was his father, and his father wanted him to prevail over his fears… Wouldn't that mean that he had to prevail over his father?

He had hurriedly pushed this thought as far back in his mind as possible with a exercise professor Snape had taught him, and tried to concentrate on coming up with things to torment Potter with.

….

Third year had held a two more revelations for Draco, and he didn't even take Divination.

Up until the last Quiddich match of the season, the one between Slytherin and Gryffindor, Draco had only thought of Potter in terms of hate, envy or fear. Yes, Draco feared Potter, sometimes. But who wouldn't be weary of a person whose severed head had been floating in mid air close to the most haunted place in Britain. Who wouldn't be weary of a thirteen year old boy who was able to hurl a full fledged giant Patronus right at you? And who wouldn't be weary of someone actually becoming friends with Sirius Black?

Not that Draco had any proof of the Sirius Black-thing, but he had his suspicions. Just as he had his suspicions about the sudden disappearance of the Hippogriff that attacked him. Draco could feel it in his gut every time he looked at the trio of friends. More than that, he could see in the gleeful looks Potter gave him. The looks that said 'go to hell, rich boy'.

But that was later. Draco's revelations happened just before and after the final Quiddich game. It was about the Cup. Marcus Flint, the Slytherin team captain, was beside himself with anger. He was putting all his efforts in training the biggest and scariest guys in Slytherin house in the game. Draco felt like a dwarf beside his team mates.

"Smash them!" bellowed Flint as an inspirational speech before their practices. "Rip them to pieces!"

On the news that Potter had got a Fire Bolt, Flint nearly chewed foam. Draco had been sent out to spy on the Gryffindor practice, and on Potter's broom.

Draco had hid in the commentator stand, looking out over the field. On another stand, not far from him, sat Weasley and Madame Hooch. Opposite him he thought he had noticed a dark shadow in the shape of a big dog, but that thought disappeared when Potter took to the air. The turns, the grace, the smooth lines. Potter could really fly. And there it was. Draco was admiring Potter! Admiring!

Draco had to leave after that. He felt sick. During the walk back to the castle Draco was again practicing Snape's mind exercise. It felt like he had sullied his brain. He hated Potter, he envied Potter, and he feared Potter. He did not admire him.

Well back at his common room with the team and Flint maniac chanting, he could yet again come back to the 'smash and rip' mentality. But again, a seed had been sown.

Then there was the revelation that tore down everything Draco ever knew about himself, enemies and friends. But most importantly of all, it was going to push his soul on to the real step of adulthood and give him the first real solid brick on which he would later build himself up as a man. But, again, that would come later.

The Gryffindor victory celebrations could be heard all the way down to the dungeons. The Slytherins sat solemnly mourning their loss. Some of them cast sour looks on Draco; like it was his personal fault his Nimbus 2001 didn't out fly the Fire Bolt. Feeling a bit sour and angry, Draco had waived away Crabbe and Goyle and left the dungeons.

He started skulking around the castle, trying to walk of some steam. He passed Mrs Norris, but the cat just purred at him kindly and continued her prowling. Cats loved Draco, he had never understood why, but he was not the one to look a gift horse in the mouth. If only what ever it was could make McGonagall friendlier against him, he could get better grades in Transfiguration. But alas, his cat-befriending skills did not work on the Animagi.

"I hate you!"

Draco stopped. The call sounded exasperated. The voice was familiar. He looked around, straining his hearing. There came some more noise from a room not far away. It was one of the rooms that usually were made into guestrooms when ever the school had overnight guests. When the rooms were not used, they were left empty and often without any painting for guardian.

"Fuck, I hate you! Ah!"

Draco suddenly recognised the voice as Marcus Flint's. It sounded like he was being beat up or something. He hurried up to the door, ready to rush in to help his captain if needed – or at least run and get Snape. He pushed the door up just a fraction and peeked inside.

"Do you feel that? Do you feel that?" gasped Oliver Wood violently pumping his naked hips between the straddled, equally naked, legs of Marcus Flint. "That is the cock of a winner, you fuck. A winner!"

"Damn you, ah, fuck, you…" Flint convulsed, pulling Wood towards him, his nails leaving red marks over Woods back.

"Yeah," Wood had a firm grip around Flint's right ankle and left knee. "You ugly fuck, a winner… huh…"

"Hate! You!" gargled Flint, drawing blood from Wood's back with his sharp fingertips.

Draco could now clearly see Flint's penis, swollen and so much bigger than he ever seen it in the Slytherin shower room or in the Quiddich locker room. Draco always compared himself with the older boys, wondering how much he would grow in five years. He could also see where Wood's penis fiercely moved, firm, red and shiny, in and out from Flint's body. It took him a few moments to understand exactly what hole that was. He put his hand over his mouth to stifle the gasp that slipped out of his throat.

A man could do that to another man he thought amazed. And they don't even have to like each other…

Draco's pants were now really tight, more than he ever been since he discovered masturbation little over a year ago. There was a sudden muffled scream followed by another from the room. Then there were just heavy breaths. Draco got up on his feet and ran, as good as he now could, to the nearest bathroom.

This revelation was not going in the dark back storage of his mind. It was to be kept in a place that Draco could access and access again until his memory and imagination had jumbled it up so much that he wouldn't be able to remember how really happened.