Title: Bad Faith
Author name: badfaith
Author email: anna@tomfelton.zzn.com

Author website: http://www.undisgusied.net and http://nightfall.undisguised.net
Category: Angst
Sub Category: Drama
Rating: R
Summary: Draco Malfoy learned a few things he didn't want to know, and as a result he is plunged into a war. Will Harry Potter be able to save him before it's too late? Or will Harry learn things that might condemn Draco to death?
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The plot and title are mine, though!

Warning: This story contains slash, which is a boy-boy relationship. If that's not your cup o' tea, I suggested you find some that is, or you'll miss your teatime.

Bad Faith

Prologue

He was swallowed by the swirling black hole. Enveloped -- taken. Looking around, he sensed instead of saw it. It was a rich, ebony color, everywhere, swirling around, caressing his body. He treated it as a long lost lover, embracing the darkness. That sweet, sweet darkness of abandonment -- luscious freedom for his soul and mind. Feeling the black darkness, in his mind came a memory, so blinding, sterilizing, perfect white. No stains.

He despised it. Turning from the light of that memory, he embraced the darkness again, and felt that instead of being, the dark was. The black was consisting of all the stains that his blinding white memory couldn't have, and instead of being destroyed by the stains, the darkness became the stains. Black was his life, stains, his life darkness. He was glad. He wouldn't have to hide anymore. He was free. The black darkness was the world he lived in, he was the darkness, and the endless black was himself.

Chapter One

Footfalls On The Stone Stairs

The boy was sixteen, almost a man, yet still hanging on to the refuge of angelic innocence left by childhood. He was all filth and black dirt now, but his porcelain white skin, and his fair hair, whispered silver by some, unnatural they called it, still shone out from the grime he was covered in. The filth covering him consisted of several elements -- mud dirt, dust, blood, and a number of other foul wastes. Instead of whimpering, crying or calling out for help, he just sat there, hugging his knees for support, with his head buried in them. His fine blond hair splayed across his arms, and over his forehead.

Far off in the distance the echo of a door slamming shut pricked up the boys' ears. Momentarily curious, he lifted his head from his knees, revealing a face not even recognizable by the unwashed boy. Too tired to stand up, and too broken to care anymore, he let his head loll back into its' previous position. After a few moments loud footfalls could be heard coming swiftly down a staircase to the hallway where the cell presided. In seconds, a tall figure plunged the cell into complete darkness, blocking off the meager supply of filtered yellow light from the hallway outside.

"Get up, boy. Stop sniveling. We have important guests coming. I expect you to be presentable and down in my study by seven o'clock sharp. If you aren't, expect another beating, Draco." A cold, low voice reported to the hunched figure.

"Yes, father." A soft whisper came.

"Good. Bernard is waiting." At that final note, Lucius Malfoy turned with a swish of robes and silken fabric, disappearing down the hall. Listening until all sound was gone except his soft breathing, Draco sighed and got up slowly, grimacing slightly in pain. Other than that slight grimace, which turned into the cold sneer he was famous for, his face remained impassive and devoid of any feeling.

"Damn you to hell." Draco muttered to himself as he slowly left the rat-infested cell and made his way up the old unused stone stairs into another day of torture.

Chapter Two

Silken Wounds

As soon as Draco reached his room, he found the butler, Bernard, waiting patiently for his arrival. Master Malfoy, I assume you will be wanting a bath and clean clothes appropriate for your activities tonight?" the butler asked primly, his nose twitching slightly at the smell. Draco was sure he reeked, so he nodded slightly and walked into the adjoining bathroom, finding a hot bath, and a towel already ready and waiting. He turned to the patiently waiting butler.

"This will do. You may go." Draco waved the butler away with a flick of his hand.

"As you wish, Master Malfoy. I shall bring your clothes up later." Bernard said politely, and bowed out of the room, closing the doors in front of him. Draco sighed and painfully began peeling off the soiled and shredded rags he was wearing, and walked over to the tub. Slipping carefully down into the warm water, savoring every little tiny jolt of stock when he felt the hot water touch his dry skin, he sighed in contentment and relief, the warm water soothing and relaxing his tight muscles. After a while of pure bliss, when Draco was in danger of nodding off to sleep and drowning himself, he realized that he should start actually taking a bath soon. Frowning with the thought that he had to move from the state that he had grown comfortable in, he slowly eased himself up and started to wash off the oily dirt that had decided to make his unwashed body a home for a short while.

But not for long, Draco thought.



Feeling refreshed, clean, and all-around more healthy looking, Draco walked out of the bathroom, hot steam billowing out behind him from the bathroom into the cooler room. Draco, walking around with only a hunter green towel edged with silver thread designs (go figure) slung carelessly around his slender hips, and threatening to fall off, realized that Bernard had said that he would be back with Draco's evening attire. Completely without anything to do, Draco sat down in his plush green velvet armchair and waited until his robes arrived.

He didn't have to wait long. Within a few short minutes a sharp rap sounded on Draco's door.

"Come in." Draco invited, knowing fully well that it was Bernard, the butler. Bernard came in with a long black cloak draped over his right arm.

"I have brought your robe, Master Malfoy. Where shall I put it?" the butler asked.

"I'll take it. And hurry up next time. You kept me waiting. Father shall know about this." Draco said disdainfully as he got up to take the black robes.

"As you wish, Master Malfoy," And the butler left, a carefully hidden fear in his eyes.

Scoffing at the idiocy of the inept butler, Draco unfolded the robe in his arms. The robe billowed down, falling in a rustle of silk and chiffon. He gasped. In front of him was probably the most expensive robe he had ever seen. The outside was made of ebony black chiffon, and two silver links were there to fasten it together. Silver stitching, and elaborate designs with silver and silver-green thread framed the slit down the front. The inside of the robe was silver silk, the softest he had ever felt, and that was saying something, as his father only got the softest. But that was not the most shocking part. On the left side on the front of the robe was an insignia, the sign of the Dark Lord. Now Draco recognized that the robe he held was the official Leader Deatheater's robe, and the guests that he was meeting in the study tonight were not normal guests, but Deatheaters. And included in that role of guests was the Dark Lord himself, there to finally give Draco the Dark Mark, and invite him into his followers.

Draco swallowed hard.

Chapter Three

Conversation With A Stranger

Armed with this realization of his fate, Draco quickly slipped on the cloak, sensually aware of the cold silk soothing the old and new wounds on his back and arms. Protected with knowledge, Draco left his room and headed towards his father's study.

Walking down the richly ornamented, but rarely used decorative hallway; Draco glanced at the Malfoy ancestors. Morgan Malfoy was a great prophetess, who had almost succeeded the Great Prophetess Cassandra herself in greatness -- predicting the fall of Rome. There was Artemis Malfoy, a famous scientist who had discovered how to make anything into gold with a spell. (Draco wasn't sure if he was a disgrace or not; Absent-minded as the scientist was.) Lastly, Draco's eyes fell on the greatest scandal the Malfoy's, and the wizarding world, had ever seen. Adrian Malfoy, an aspiring, handsome young wizard, Head Boy, and Prefect ('going somewhere' friends used to say) Had done the unspeakable. Adrian had fallen in love with his sister. Unable to deal with the horrible truth, he had flown away, never to be heard from again. But, unknowingly, Adrian had left his sister with child. Horrified, (when they found out who the baby's father was, mind you) the Malfoy's had cast her out of the house, and had taken away her title. Filled with grief, the girl had given birth to the child, and cast herself off a cliff. No one knew what had happened to the child. Draco mused that if the girl had taken the trouble to deliver it, then it had probably lived. Smirking, Draco thought, That's the Malfoy legacy for you.

With stark horror, Draco found that he had reached the study in short time. Taking a deep breath, he opened the wooden door. His father, Lucius Malfoy, was standing in the middle of the slightly freezing room.

"Father." Draco inclined his head towards his father in acknowledgment that he was there.

"Draco. I see you made it here early. I assume that you already know what I have planned for you tonight?" Lucius asked his son. Draco confirmed his father's assumption with a nod of his head.

"Yes, Father." Draco answered firmly.

"Good, good."

Chapter Four

Not Always As It Seems

"Our guests will be arriving any minute now," Lucius told Draco. At that moment, several figures appeared in Deatheater drab, obviously apparating, in the study. "Ah, here they come." Lucius finished with a satisfied look of superiority on his face. Several of the figures that had begun to fill the room nodded acknowledgment Lucius's way. Draco's hands had begun to become damp with nervousness, although his face showed casual indifference. Soon, everyone had assembled, and a quiet hush filled the stifling air.

Suddenly a tall, lithe figure appeared, seemingly floating a few inches above the ground in the middle of the study. The figure glided towards Draco, and stopped in front of him. Reaching out a long, slender white hand, it cupped Draco's chin, and forced his face to tip up to face its' hood. Draco closed his eyes, fearful of what was to happen next.

"Are you afraid of me, Draco?" A high, but silky voice whispered from the darkness of the hood. Draco sucked in a startled gasp at the familiarity and intimacy in which the figure had said his name.

"Yes, Master." Draco replied instinctively.

The figure leaned closer, and Draco could smell a faintly sweet aroma of hot breath on his face.

"I'm not your Master, Draco," The figure whispered confidentially, and Draco could almost hear the amusement in its' words. "Not yet".

It happened so fast that Draco could hardly startle any reaction out of himself except for fainting. But what haunted him in his nightmares in the fitful sleep thereafter was a silken voice whispering, "I expect great things from you, Draco."

Chapter Five

Denial On A Train

One Month Later
Hogwarts Train

Draco saw the black hair first. Then his eyes swept in the smooth white skin, sensuous lips, and beautiful long ebony eyelashes fluttering against perfect skin. The black hair was scattered messily everywhere, but it just added to Draco's growing desire for the sleeping figure curled up innocently on the train seat. Behind him, a voice broke his train of thought.

"What are you doing here Malfoy?" A baritone voice hatefully called out. Draco then realized, too late, that the figure he had been staring at was none other than Harry Potter. Had he been looking at Potter with lust? Draco shook the absurd thought away as he turned around quickly to face his interrogator. Ron Weasley stood in front of him with Hermione Granger beside him. Hermione had a terrified look on her face. Over the past two years, ever since Cedric had been killed by You-Know-Who, Draco had grown crueler, colder, and downright unfeeling.

"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Literally. If it isn't poor Weasel and his ugly Mudblood girlfriend." Draco sneered at the couple standing before him. Ron's face turned red.

"You git!" Hermione grabbed Ron's cloak and held him back. "Let me at him, Hermione!"

"Ron, stop it! He's not worth it." Hermione shouted at Ron.

"Yes, Weasel. Listen to the Mudblood. She's smarter than you, after all." Draco snarled.

"You know, Malfoy, with all the free time you have, seeing as you have no friends, you could have come up with something more unique for your insults" A smooth, low voice wryly said from behind Draco. Draco whipped swiftly around in a flurry of robes and faced the speaker, both hands on either side of the doorway into the train compartment, bracing himself for a verbal fight, like it always was with Potter. Nothing as intimate as touching -- fists or hands. What he saw made him falter. Harry was sitting there with an amused smile on his face-- his eyes were still filmed from recently waking up. His face was flushed, he was leaning back, and his legs were spread far apart. Draco's knees went weak, and he had to hold onto the door to keep from falling, and breaking pretense. A wave of hot desire and want flushed through him.

Composing himself, Draco cleared his thoughts, and pulled together his suddenly cold figure. Draco smirked, "The great Potter finally stands up for his dirt poor and Mudblood friends. Decided to show how strong you are, Potter? Or are you afraid of the truth?" he finished, clearly pleased with himself.

"Go use your insults on someone else, Malfoy. They're getting repetitive." Harry spat back, a look of boredom on his face. Draco was stunned. When had Potter gotten the guts to stand up to him, Draco Malfoy? And how come no one had informed him Potter had grown into a man?

It must have been over the break, because last year, Potter had just stared at him like he had ever since Cedric Diggory's murder a blank black stare. Now, Potter had grown. In more ways than one, Draco mused.

What Draco's eyes had seen before, his mind hadn't fully registered. Because, the Harry Potter sitting on the trains seat in front of him wasn't a boy any longer. A man was sitting there, and with blatant sexuality oozing out of every pour and fiber of his being. At that moment Draco knew what to do next. A true smile lit up Draco's face. Climbing all the way up to his eyes, lighting them with a welcoming twinkle of merriment.

"I see you've finally found yourself, Harry. Good luck, you'll need it" Draco said sincerely, reaching out his hand, and taking Harry's in it. A quick shake of an enemy's hand, a swish of robes and three startled faces were all that Draco left behind on that meeting on the Hogwarts train.

Draco, having left the Trio to exchange rumors about his wild, erratic behavior contemplated the new addiction that was silently growing, and the orders his Master had given him: befriend Harry Potter. Draco thought that where he had started was better than anything else that would have come along. The only thing that bothered him was a tingling something was dreadfully wrong on the Hogwarts Train at that moment.

Chapter Six

Premonitions Of Despair

Break The Glass



There are two main ways to look at life...

You can look at the window

At the dirt that stains the pane

At its boundaries and its frame

That confides you inside

Or

You can look through the window

To where it rains or shines

Where you'll find the lemons and the limes

Yet you can't be there

Either way you are on the inside looking out

To where you wish to be

Life starts the same for everyone

It is just the way you look at it

That makes it what you see

But then again you could always break the glass...

--Warui Warui Neko





He had a headache. It was the kind that pulsated painfully at his temple, stabbing every second. He had tried everything to make it go away, but nothing had worked yet. The headache was scattering his thoughts into pandemonium. He couldn't collect a single one. The confusion of what he had done at the train compartment filled his mind. Shaken hands with Potter? He had felt like some unseen force had guided through the whole encounter. What in hell was going on? The thoughts weren't his (why would he think those obscene thoughts about Potter), and the actions definitely weren't. What was this creepy feeling that something was wrong, like everything was slightly out of whack, like, the floor was tilted, and there was two of everything. After a short while, the headache increased, and the dread grew heavier upon his soul. A thump made him jerk his head up quickly in reflex, causing a wave of pain and blackness to blur his vision. The last thing that Draco saw was a tall figure standing in the doorway before his body crumpled helplessly into a heap of black on the compartment floor.

10 minutes earlier
Train Compartment

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat quietly on the train seat. Ron was nervously twiddling his thumbs, and tapping his feet to an unknown beat. Harry was looking out the window and slightly humming under his breath, and Hermione was looking at Harry, then glancing at Ron, and soon turned her face towards the compartment door, a look on her face silently pleading for an answer. They all knew the moment was about to come, and Harry and Hermione took a deep breath to steel themselves for the arriving moment.

"Ok, what in bloody hell was that?!" Ron looked anxiously from Hermione to Harry, both who had sat up straight as soon as Ron had yelled 'Ok'. Ron's look had a questioning gaze of mixed confusion and anger. "He bloody shook your hand, Harry. Who the hell does he think his is?" Both Harry and Hermione had anticipated the language. Ron only was that vulgar when he was riled so badly he couldn't take anymore.

Hermione sighed with a tinge of sadness laced in her voice, and tried to calm Ron down. "Ron, c'mon. Something obviously happened over summer. Maybe he decided not to be mean anymore. I mean, you both saw him hesitate. And the way he looked at Harry. Ron, we have to discuss this rationally. Malfoy is a human being." Hermione looked pointedly at both boys sitting across from her, trying to get her point across.


"Bloody hell he is." Ron muttered savagely under his breath, but Harry stilled him with a look.

"I know, Herm. But…well, he's Malfoy. Something's up. He wouldn't be arguing one second, then shaking my hand the next if something wasn't. You know that, Herm. And Ron -- try not to be such an easy target by reacting that way to his childish insults. He's just trying to provoke you into a fight." Harry spoke up.

Ron sighed in defeat and nodded, but got a curious look on his face as if something he hadn't thought before crossed his mind. His brow furrowed in consternation. "I just thought of something, Harry. He's right you know." Ron met Harry and Hermione's eyes in complete sincerity, "You have found yourself, Harry. That's what hurts me. He saw it first, that brainless git. He saw something I never realized this whole summer."

Harry didn't speak. He sensed the hurt and confusion in Ron, and the helplessness in Hermione, who was unable to comfort the person she loved. But he also sensed a foreboding wave of horror and shock aboard the train. Harry felt a spark of Dark Magic light up the end of the train, and his scar started to throb. But, as soon as it had come on, the pain disappeared, and so had the emanating fear. Harry shook the lingering feeling away, and went back to his friends, who had changed the subject in hopes of lightening up the atmosphere.





Sorting Ceremony

The sorting ceremony had irked Harry. Amid normal occasions – such as a new DADA professor (as usual, there was a new one, seeing as everyone thought it was cursed, and the position was left empty for someone to refill every year) who, in Harry's opinion, seemed kind enough, because he had smiled warmly in Harry's direction (his name was Professor Linus Node, whereas the students were to call him Professor Node) – Harry still felt a slight breeze of Dark Magic in the air. Harry had also noticed that Dumbledore was slightly subdued from his usual merriment, and cried even more than usual when the school sang the Hogwarts School Song, and had no uplifting words at the end. All the professors looked slightly worn out already, even though the year hadn't even started yet. Even Professor Snape looked slightly paler, and, if it was possible, greasier than usual. Harry also noted with a slight curiosity, that Malfoy was jumping at every little squeak and whisper, and had even fallen off his chair, which afterwards a faint rosy tinge flushed his pale cheeks, and Harry noted that a little color in Malfoy's face improved his disposition greatly, and he didn't looked as menacing as before, even with the skittish and furtive glances he gave occasionally scanning the hall.

Harry concluded, as they trudged, Ron, Hermione, and him, off to the Gryffindor common room, that he was going to write a letter to Sirius, who had recently been cleared of all charges against him, and inform him of all the strange going-ons at Hogwarts already.

A few minutes later, after Harry had said goodnight to Ron and Hermione, and shed off his clothes, excepting his undershirt and boxers, he slipped into the warmth and comfort of his soft warm bed and the protection of the oblivion of sleep.



Draco Malfoy's four-poster Bed:
Slytherin Boy's Dormitories





Draco tossed and turned in his sleep, mumbling incoherent words, if they were words, and moaning. To some, it would have appeared that he was having a nightmare, but Draco Malfoy never had nightmares, no way. Draco Malfoy had plagues of what was beyond nightmares. You know the ones that happen if you never wake up in a nightmare, if you never scream out, if you've seen the face of pure evil. And Draco had. And that was where his nightmare later chose to lead him.

Chapter Seven

At The Foot Of Evil

"I took the road less traveled by

And that has made all the difference"

--Robert Frost









Draco found himself in a spiral of dark clouds. He was going deeper and deeper, falling faster and faster, spinning out of control. A picture fuzzily formed in front of his eyes – a figure wearing a black cape, shrouded in ethereal green light. The figure raised its left arm, wand clutched in it, and a shot of green stabbing light filled Draco's vision. Draco then lapsed into darkness.

The next thing that Draco heard was an unusual high-pitched laugh, one that shocked him clear to the bone. Suddenly, a face appeared, and it seemed that the person had started to talk to him.

The face was framed by soft black hair, and its eyes were a deep dark blue. It was a boy, barely 17. Innocence and sincerity filled the features on his face, and you would expect nothing but good out of the boy wearing it. The boy chuckled deeply and smiled deviously, slightly cracking the wide- eyed look of innocence he had worn before. Draco felt a slight shiver of fear and revulsion travel up his spine, and in his gut he knew the young man who looked so innocent and kind in front of him was one of the grotesque monstrous creations of the world. A hideous, twisted creature created from the evils of man's mind. Draco knew then that he was looking into the face of evil: an innocent young man with a kindly and gentle expression on his face. The face of the man twisted into an evil sneer, from a deep chuckle, and his voice became higher.

"You are so precious to me Draco. In a few seconds' time you realized who and what I am. You have powers beyond that which you know or understand. You will be great, someday, Draco, with my help. Just trust me, Cousin." The young man held out his hand, and Draco took it cautiously. Another burst of green light sent Draco sprawling on the ground, and a horrible pain coursed through his veins.

Draco screamed, and bolted upright in his own bed, sweat streaming down his face, his hair and clothes soaked. He was panting loudly, and his eyes were skittish. He whispered a message he didn't understand, against his will, in a strange and horrible language. One he had heard Potter use. A hissing sound erupted in the darkness.

"It hassss begun."







The pale fluttering light, straining to become bolder, cut across closed eyelids, framing innocence. Harry woke up from a peaceful night's rest and got dressed for breakfast.

When he arrived with Ron and Hermione in tow behind him, a large, chattering group of excited students blocked the way to the Main Hall.

Ron and Harry fought and elbowed their way to the front of the crowd while Hermione politely asked students to let her through. The sight that greeted them made them freeze in silent shock. The only statement the erupted into the stunned silence was Ron's assessment of it.



"Bloody hell!"