Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the entire Wizarding world of Harry Potter, this is just my story set to fit within that. I do not write for money. Just love.

A/N: Thank you for taking a chance on my story. I have been planning it for about six months now, and I am so excited to start sharing it with you. It is planned to be quite a long story, approx 25 or so chapters, so please bear with me. It may be a little slow burning at first. I am really hoping it will be worth the wait though. Some important information: This story should be assumed to be canon compliant right up until H.B.P where this story starts. After that, this is an entirely different story from the rest of the series. I hope you enjoy xD

Chapter One
Malfoy Manor

The library at the manor dominated the entire west wing of the house. Even for a residence such as Malfoy Manor, the room was considered magnificent. It had been designed by Draco's Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandfather, Septimus Malfoy. Though subsequent generations had added to the collection, much of the library had remained the same since its completion in 1757. It was home to over three hundred and fifty thousand volumes.

Draco had scanned the shelves at least a thousand times, but still, the knowledge that was contained in this room overwhelmed him.

The Portland Stone walls dominated the room. Lined with bookshelves, barely visible under the masses of books, they swept upwards with height and grace to be crowned by the ornate vaulted ceiling. Three arched windows that faced the gardens were the only source of light; the rays of the midnight moon swam through them, bathing the room in its bluish glow.

Draco casually scanned the lower shelves as he moved towards a pair of ladders that looked as if they would reach no further than the third shelf. He stepped on and planted both of his feet firmly on the first rung. The small wooden ladder shuddered and floated up a few inches before hovering in place.

At his command, the ladders floated up higher and higher. When he had reached the uppermost shelves, the ladders stopped and hovered at least forty foot from the ground, gently moving left and right as Draco greedily eyed the shelves.

The upper shelves housed the older and outdated texts. These were not the kind of books his father would waste his time on. Lucius had often scoffed at Draco's one-time fascination with what he had assumed to be an old Physicians Almanac; a heavy, leather-bound manual of medicine dated at around 86 B. parchment pages had yellowed, and the handwritten ink had faded to almost just an imprint on the page. Draco had spent hours trying to decipher what it said only to discover it was written in an ancient language lost to time.

Lucius had never understood Draco's passion for books, he saw reading as a waste of time. Draco had inherited that love from his mother, who had spent hours regaling fairy tales to him a small child.

His eyes strained against the darkness as rifled through the titles. He would pluck a few from each shelf and then steer the ladders to a new section. When his arms could physically hold no more, Draco made his descent.

With the added weight from the books, the ladders seemed to be moving down at a much quicker pace than they had been going upwards. It was a bumpy ride, and with his arms so full Draco could not hold on. The ladders shook, and they shuddered as they dropped him at what was now a considerable speed.

It was with a small sigh of relief that he stepped off.

Draco arranged his books into a pile on the small table sitting next to his favourite armchair. It was a hideous looking thing, salmon-pink with a chintzy fringe but it was the most comfortable chair that Draco had ever sat in. He let out a deep sigh as the chairs well-worn filling moulded around him. He sat for a few moments with his eyes closed, just enjoying.

Leaning over the threadbare arm of the chair, Draco ran his finger down the pile of spines. He selected a very old, and skinny looking book. He had read it many times before. It was the diary of a distant relative, Octavius Malfoy; he had written when he was 16 and a student at Hogwarts. Octavius had been quite the prankster in his day, and Draco loved reading about his colourful adventures. He almost envied Octavius for being so fun-loving and carefree; he had never had the opportunity.

Draco dove straight into the middle of the book. He thumbed through the pages looking for a particular story. With every rustle of the parchment, his breath caught in his throat and the hair on his body stood on end.

Silence was such a rarity now. Usually, Draco would bask in the nothingness of it, but now it sliced through him like an icy knife.

How he envied his father.

Lucius.

The man who had filled his head with illusions of grandeur and status. It was almost comical how quickly he had bowed down to another man; a servant to his master. Where was his dignity when he knelt in front of another man and begged? Where was his grace when he was arrested and locked up in Azkaban, acting on the orders of a deranged sociopath?

And now he is rotting in Azkaban while his wife and son are left to face his disgrace.

Draco held the page of his favourite anecdote open but the rage that he felt towards his father, was pounding in his head. The words swam about on the page in front of him, making no sense. He tried to concentrate but read sentences over and over again.

Draco slammed the book shut and threw it down on the table, a little more loudly than he had anticipated. The thud echoed around the room as Draco felt his stomach drop.

Draco span round, his eyes focused on the door. His ears strained, listening for even the faintest sound outside.

Nothing.

Draco pushed himself off the chair and quietly muttered as he waved his wand over of his pile of books; they slowly shrunk and transformed into a few dozen bronze knuts. He swiped the coins off the table and shoved them down his sock and moved towards the door.

A wave of dread swept over him as his vision was polluted with the sudden intrusion of a sickly orange light that burst in through the doorway.

Draco felt as if he had just punched in the chest; the breathlessness hit with such force that he could not move.

"Nephew," Rodolphus greeted him with a sneer as he moved out of the shadows.

Draco let out a sigh as his muscles relaxed slightly.

"Rodolphus," he spat, glaring at his Uncle.

Rodolphus gave Draco a lazy grin as he bowled over to him with his chest puffed out and his hands on his hips

"Where're you running off to so quickly?" he jeered.

How it must please his uncle to be the one to have caught him. But Draco was used to their games now. How they loved to see the son of the failure be punished for his father's crimes.

"Back to bed," Draco muttered as he tried to push past the man.

Rodolphus pushed against Draco's shoulder causing him to stumble backwards slightly.

"You shouldn't be out of bed so late" He cackled. "What are you doing sneaking around like a thief at this hour."

Draco pushed past him hastily making his way to the exit.

"Answer me, boy," Rodolphus shouted.

Draco let out a sigh, and he turned back to face his uncle.

Rodolphus glared at him with his wand now aimed at Draco's chest. He looked like a madman with his pointed brown teeth bared and his matted black hair growing wild on his head. Most people would cower at the sight of him, but not Draco. He knew Rodolphus for what he was… A coward.

"I must remind you, Rodolphus, this is my house. And I have more right than anyone here to be walking its halls," Draco replied through gritted teeth.

Rodolphus moved into him. His face was so close to Draco's that he could taste the man's rancid breath. Draco suppressed a shudder.

"Such insolence you show your superiors, boy." Rodolphus moved his mouth to Draco's ear and hissed. "Perhaps you should take your argument with the Dark Lord. I'm sure you and he will have very different thoughts on the ownership of this house and the rules by which you live,"

Draco stepped back from him and pulled out his wand. He shoved it deep into the other man's throat. He spluttered against it.

"Is that a threat, Uncle?" Draco sneered.

"You wouldn't dare," Rodolphus croaked against it while jamming his own wand into Draco's chest.

Draco inched his wand in further.

Both stood still, each waiting for the other to attack.

With an almighty bang, a force pushed in between the men and threw them across opposite sides of the room. Their bodies arched high into the air before they both crashed to the cold marble floor in a heap.

Draco felt a snap in his leg but all but tried to forget about it as he fought and kicked against invisible ropes that were now snaking around his legs as they inched further and further around his body. A bolt of pain shot through him like lightning bringing a wave of sickness; he had kicked against the floor in his struggle.

Finally, he relaxed against his bonds and lay face down on the cold marble floor. His nose was pressed against the stone; it felt weirdly flat and numb. He could feel splashes of blood that trickled and bounced back at him off the floor.

"Rodolphus, Draco,"

That voice sent a shiver down Draco's spine. His heart hammered in his chest, threatening to burst out of his throat.

"What do we have here? Wormtail, here, informs me that you two were causing quite the commotion in here." He spoke so elegantly, but malice dripped from every word. "Explain," he hissed moving in Rodolphus's direction.

"My L...Lord. I...I was patrolling. In the corridor outside...and I thought I heard something," Rodolphus spluttered.

"Mmm," Voldemort nodded and gestured for him to carry on. "And?"

"Well, I hung back and waited. And then saw the Malfoy boy coming out of the Library. I told him that he shouldn't be wandering around so late, but he disagreed." Rodolphus replied, gaining more confidence.

"Wormtail says you were shouting. You know we have guests" he prodded

"Yes.. well… He was..er..he was disrespecting me, my lord." Rodolphus said almost sheepishly.

"Disrespecting you?" The Dark Lord cackled. It was a truly terrifying sound.

A suffocating silence swept into the room like a heavy fog. The calm before the storm.

"How very disappointing this is" The snake-like man let out a deep, theatrical sigh.

With every ounce of concentration he had, Draco tried to clear his mind as he heard the Dark Lord's footsteps move ever closer to him. The man preyed on fear.

"Tell me, Draco? Did you obtain permission to leave your quarters this evening?"

Voldemort hovered over him, Draco could feel the heat emanating from his sick, twisted body.

"Well," Voldemort spat impatiently.

Draco could not move, the spell that bound him was crushing his chest. His breathing was laboured. Words tried to spill, but they caught in his throat and escaped as a feeble cough.

"Look at me," he yelled. His voice echoing through the emptiness.

Draco felt an invisible force grasp his chin; it squeezed his cheeks together. His head was tilted up until he was millimetres from the Dark Lord's terrifying, inhuman face. He suppressed a shudder as the hot breath of the man swept over his face as he spoke to him in an almost delicate whisper.

"I know you did not have permission, Mr Malfoy."

Draco gulped against the restraint that was now slithering around his neck; it grew tighter. Draco's body was dragged upwards until he was hanging like a man in a noose.

Voldemort moved into him and gently grazed his wand along Draco's jaw. The man's eyes flashed black as his arm flew. He grabbed him by his hair. His grip tightened, and his pull grew harder. Voldemort pulled back on Draco's head as if he were pitching a baseball. With all of his might, he threw Draco into the bookshelves.

His head smacked against the wood, leaving Draco's skull feeling as if it had split in two. He quickly felt the blood pooling beneath it. His body was shaking as he choked on the tears that he fought. Draco lay in the heap he had landed in, trying to take shallow breaths and not succumb to the darkness that threatened to overcome him.

The bonds around his body squeezed him relentlessly. Against every tiny bit of resistance he had, Voldemort pointed his wand at him, and Draco was dragged into a seated position like a puppet.

The Dark Lord towered over him. His red eyes were ablaze as they bore into him.

"Must I remind you, boy. You are merely a guest in our presence; that you live is in our favour."

Draco had no place to look but up. The man's face darted at him like a snake about to eat its prey.

"I have plans for you, Draco." He searched deep within Draco's eyes before continuing. "A chance for you to restore the honour your father so carelessly disgraced. However, disobedience will not be tolerated. Lessons must be learnt." Voldemort inched his face closer to Draco's as he jabbed his wand into the boy's chest.

"And lessons will be learnt," Voldemort whispered into Draco's ear. "Crucio."

75 miles away, Harry Potter woke up covered with a cold sweat and squirming in pain.