Otpions and Opportunities

Chapter 1

"We must try not to sink beneath our anguish, but battle on."

-Albus Dumbledore

Draco woke up that morning with a feeling of foreboding. It didn't take him long to remember why. He kept his eyes shut as the sunshine shone through the white curtains around his bed. He didn't want to get up… he didn't want to face the day. Any sane person in his position would be out of bed in a heartbeat, enjoying life, saying goodbye to his relatives perhaps or eating as many of his favorite foods as he could… but Draco wanted nothing more than to fall asleep again and forget it all. Even more so, he wished it was over with. All the fear and anticipation and tears were just getting to be too much. He had considered running, disappearing… but that would only be a temporary solution. They would just kill his mother and hunt him down to his dying day.

But he had finally come to the conclusion that there was no way around it, the most he could hope for was that it would be quick and that they would spare his mother. He wasn't being brave, he just recognized that he had no choice… no more options.

With some difficulty he convinced himself to get up. He sat up, blinked blearily in the light and got out of bed. He went to his bathroom, slipped off his blue silk boxers and stepped into his shower. Draco turned the knobs so that it was the hottest it could go and stepped into the scorching water coming out of the mouth of an ornate carved Dragon hanging from the ceiling by its tail. Within seconds it turned his pale skin bright pink and he felt oddly relieved as the water burned.

He took the time to use every exotic product in the shower, a luxury he usually denied himself in an effort to smell slightly masculine. But he didn't care about that today, he wanted to spend as much time in solitude as he could before he had to go and face his mother. He stayed in the shower for another ten minutes after he was finished washing, closing his eyes and letting the water run down his face.

Reluctantly he got out of the shower and wrapped a fluffy towel with the Malfoy crest embroidered in purple and black, the family colors, and went to his walk-in closet to pick out some clothing. He ignored the right half of it where his suits were hung, crisp and clean, over his folded jeans and sweaters. He doubted very much that he would gain any more favor with The Dark Lord by showing up in muggle clothing. So instead he went straight to the left side of his closet where his wizarding robes were hung.

He passed over a set after set of robes in the most expensive fabrics and colors (midnight blue, deepest green, blood red, pale grey) but in the end he picked up his best set of black robes (a silky material with silver embroidery around the sleeves and hem) and returned to his room to get dressed, taking his time in everything he did.

When he had worn out every reason for to stall in his room he finally left, but not before he noticed his father's walking stick leaning against the wall in an empty corner of his room. The sight made him sad… but a little angry too. Ever since his father had been sent to Azkaban it was like a shadow had fallen on the manor. Lucius' absence left a void in the house that was filled with his mother's constant tears and Bellatrix's presence which became more and more irritating by the day.

He was angry with his father and had been for a while now, even before he had been caught at the ministry. Draco had accepted along time ago that the life his father had chosen only served to tear the family apart. He remembered the days before the Dark Lord's return when his family was happy, healthy and safe. Draco obviously didn't remember the first time the Dark Lord had come to power, he was only a baby when he had vanished. But he did remember just how much his life had changed after the Dark Lord's return, especially those first few terrifying days when he had to stay caged in at Hogwarts.

He remembered the whispers about the Dark Lord's return… he remembered staying up late with Crabbe and Goyle wondering whether their fathers were alive after they had abandoned their master (they didn't dare write about such things by owl)… he remembered many a sleepless night in his dormitory, itching to get home to make sure his family was alright.

When he finally did get home a few days after the incident at the triwizard tournament everything was different. It seemed like the air was constantly buzzing with fear and anticipation in the manor. He had once thought himself lucky that he had parents who got along and loved each other, but after His return everything fell to pieces. He could hear his parents screaming at each other late into the night… always the same argument.

"Can't you see what you've done to our family?" she would scream, "To your only son? He has no options now and it's because of you!"

He felt guilty, but he couldn't help but agree with her now… especially with the current circumstances.

Everytime he saw his father grab his left arm in pain before he disappeared into the fireplace without another word, Draco was stricken with fear. His father disappeared periodically, to return, sometimes in perfect health… other times nearly unconscious from torture. He slowly began to grasp just how much danger his father was in, and how much danger he brought into their house, by being a deatheater. And without his noticing the bitterness began to well up in the back of his brain.

He began to wonder how many people his father had killed, how many innocents he had watched die, how many gruesome acts he had allowed to happen. It was sickening… Draco remembered when the life of a Deatheater seemed like a fantasy, his dream life. Working for a great man who stood for keeping magical blood within the proper veins and helping him do it seemed like the ideal way of living. But things change, people change… and Draco hadn't felt that way for a long time.

He was walking through the vast halls in his home without his usual swagger, drinking it all in, this may be the last time he sees it after all. As arrogant as he was, he had never failed to appreciate how remarkably lovely his home was. The marble floors made his footsteps echo throughout the vast mansion, he remembered how when he was younger he couldn't get away with any mischief around the house because of that. The tapestries that hung from the walls showing scenes from wizarding history had been a neverending source for his overreactive imagination. The library which seemed to be an endless maze of bookshelves had always served better as a place to hide when he was playing with his mother rather than a quiet place to read, though he had done plenty of that as well.

He was about to open the door to their dining room to have breakfast when he froze, his hand on the knob, at the sound of hushed voices. It wasn't the first time Draco had overheard them talking to each other in private, hoping they wouldn't be overheard by the topic of their discussion… as if he didn't already know.

"He hasn't told you anything Bella? Nothing at all?" his mother was saying in a whisper. Draco could tell by the way her voice wavered that she was crying… again. He shut his eyes and sighed, sadness consuming him. He hated what this was doing to his mother, and he couldn't help but blame his father.

"I've told you Cissy, he hasn't told me a thing," her voice was colder, harsher. "You forget that I as well have suffered his displeasure, though I'm sure his anger with me is incomparable with his anger for Lucius."

Narcissa bit back a sob at this, "Don't say such things… I'm scared enough as it is." Bellatrix didn't respond. "You don't think he'll do it Bellatrix, he won't…. he couldn't…. he's so young…"

"I've no idea what the The Dark Lord would or wouldn't do. All that I know is that whatever he has decided it is the right decision and that it's not our place to question it," Narcissa let out a sob that made Draco's heart ache, if there was one thing he regretted most in this whole situation, it was what his mother would have to deal with if her son was dead and her husband was in Azkaban.

"How can you say that?!" her voice was now hysterically high trying desperately to keep her voice even. "Your own nephew!" And she fell into a fit of crying, her stifled sobs just loud enough for Draco to hear.

Draco listened, his forehead against the cool mahogany of the door wishing that he could do something… anything to comfort her. But there was nothing. Soon her sobs turned into quiet sniffles and Draco felt it was safe to enter. He opened the door to see Bellatrix playing with her water glass looking inpatient and his mother crying into her napkin. When she spotted him she hastily wiped away her tears and gave him a watery smile.

"Good morning mum," he said quietly, "Aunt Bellatrix," he added as an afterthought. If he weren't so annoyed with her indifference to his mother's depression he would have called her Aunt Bells like he once did. He quickly kissed Bella who smiled at him. Then he went to his mother and kissed her forehead. He held it longer than he normally would have and a fresh wave of silent tears began to stream down her face.

"Please don't cry anymore mum," he said quietly. In the last few weeks his mother had been close to tears most of the time, but this new found hysteria was only since Bella had come home a few nights before with a somber face telling Draco and his mother that the Dark Lord demanded a private meeting with him. And she had only left the house since then to do his bidding.

He went to take his seat across from Bellatrix when she held up a hand to stop him. "Draco, why don't you sit at the head of the table?" she asked with an unreadable expression on her face.

He was taken aback. He glanced quickly at the larger chair to his right, the chair that they had left empty since his father had left. "I've always sat here," he said and began to sit down in his normal seat. Not sure at all what his Aunt meant by this question.

She looked at him, with an odd smile. "Now that you're father's left, it's your job to take his place. Sit at the head of the table Draco," she said softly, but she made it clear that this time it was an order.

He was bewildered and annoyed. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not polite to tell a man what to do in his own home," he asked, the anger evident under his calm tone.

She smiled at him, "Man? I was under the impression I was speaking to a boy," his eyes lit up with anger at this and she continued, "and if this really is your own home then take the place of honor." He glared at her for a moment. This was completely bizarre and had it not been for the fact that his mother would hate for him and her sister to get in a fight today he would have held strong and refused. But seeing as his mother was looking from one to the other a look of confusion and worry on her face he slowly rose and walked the few feet to his father's chair.

He hesitated, his hand on the back of it, then finally pulled it out and sat down. It was acutely bizarre to sit there looking across the table at his mother… the room looked completely different from this seat. He saw that his mother was looking at him with a strange mix of pride and sadness. But all he felt was bitterness that he was sitting in the seat of the man who caused all of this.

Bellatrix smiled one of those smiles that instead of making her look pleased made her look slightly mad. "That seems more appropriate," she said and winked at Draco. He didn't know what to make of this so he just began to eat the plate of food that had just been placed in front of him by a house-elf.

"I've always loved those robes Draco," she said still smiling that smile. He was shocked that she could be so casual when there was a good chance that this would be one of the last meals they ever ate together.

"Thanks," he said. The stark contrast between his Aunt's casual attitude and his mother's desperate sadness was only made stranger by his indifference. Whether or not it was just because things hadn't sunk in yet, he didn't feel afraid. Resigned? Yes. Nervous? A little. But what he felt most was disappointment. He had had wanted to do something with his life…

It was then that he remembered that he was a Malfoy… Son of Lucius… there were no options, just one. And that one option repulsed him more and more everyday… and for one morbid moment he was almost relieved that he wouldn't have to face all of the shame and regret that would come with the life he surely would have had to live as a Deatheater.

Chapter 2

"Draco, Draco, Draco," said Lord Voldemort shaking his head with a cruel smile on his face. "What are we going to do with you and your darling mother?" he asked looking down at the boy at his feet.

a/n: I saw the 6th movie and was thoroughly blown away by Tom Felton's performance and just had to write a good!Draco fic. Cheesy? Maybe... I'm over it. Sorry about this chapter being boring, you need to get the backstory in there sometime. I'm not entirely sure I'll continue with this story only because I have alot of stuff to do this summer. But if I get some good feedback I'll keep it up. Next chapter is gonna be the meeting with Voldy, so if I write it that should be a little more interesting than this chapter.

Review please : ]