Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor I am making no money off this story. I am just wasting time.

Summary: In the his fifth year, Draco Malfoy discovers what Voldemort is all about, and in the process finds himself rebelling against his Death Eater future in a way all his own.

Great, but terrible—a simple but apt description of the First Wizarding War, first not in history, for there have been a thousand others since the time of Merlin alone, but first because that war was more widespread, more destructive, and more costly than any other previous. It was a war that earned its place in history through blood and darkness, and upon the shores of Britain, its prosecution cemented the fear of His name: Voldemort.

And he had returned.

No one seemed to believe it, though. For while the summer of 1995 had begun in shadow, with terror brought about by the death of Cedric Diggory and Dumbledore's rather ominous pronouncements, nothing so far had come of it, and for one boy who grew up hearing tales of the greatness of the Dark Lord and his noble cause, it was a rather disappointing state of affairs.

The situation, the boy mused as he walked through the twilight crowds leaving Diagon Alley, was as a whole frustrating. Yes, he understood that Dark Lord had only just risen from beyond the grave, and yes, he also understood that logically it would take time to gather and recruit his army—but what frustrated him was not the lack of obvious activity (he was no Gryffindor after all), it was his lack of information. He did not know what was going on, and while the rest of the Wizarding World might be happy to ignore the return of the most powerful wizard known and blithely carry on with their lives, Draco Malfoy most certainly was not.

For this reason, whenever his family took a guest, he listened intently for information, watching his father and mother as they danced their way through conversation. For this reason, when the old crone of a witch came to see his father the night before, he was ready to overhear her speaking of a "meeting of importance" in the near future. And it was also for this reason that he had decided to take action, coming to London to prepare for this "meeting."

Turning down Knockturn Alley where the air seemed to grow cooler and the last of the day's sunlight seemed to dim, few took notice of the usually conspicuous Malfoy Heir, shrouded as he was in the heavy black cloak common to the area. Fewer still noticed as he entered the shop at 13B: Borgin and Burke, established 1863. It was a curious place that seemed not to have been cleaned since its founding, with widows browned with ages of dust, rain and filth, and cheap black paint peeling to reveal grey, mold-spotted wood. It was a place that looked to hold nothing but dark bric-a-brac, a mess of trinkets that no one in their right mind would bother with. In truth, it was a place where things of value often turned up.

"Good day to you, Sir," the man at the counter called out with a pleasantness that did not translate well onto his wrinkled, grimy face," I am Mr. Borgin, and welcome to my establishment. Is there anything I can help you with today?"

Nearing Borgin, the young man removed his hood to reveal a visage that could only be described as Malfoy—white blond hair, almost translucent pale skin, and a handsome face made up of balanced angles and straight lines. What Borgin noticed first, however, was the boy's silver grey eyes, normally so well guarded, today glowed with some unknown excitement. For a man accustomed to dealing with the cold gaze of the father, it was rather unnerving. "Yes. I am interested in buying today."

"Ah, yes. Excellent, young Mr. Malfoy, it has been a while since you and your father last visited," he said in the oily voice of a consummate salesman," What might you be looking for? I believe you were most interested in the Hand of Glory on you last visit. I wonder, would you still be interested?"

Draco took a moment to look at the hand in question. An ugly thing, but something that only gave light to its holder, and thus something that could easily be used to his advantage. However, today was not the day. "No, Mr. Borgin, I was actually looking for unique modes of transportation, preferably instantaneous, and I had heard that you have some rather interesting pieces."

After a shrewd pause,"Yes, in fact I have a few things you might find interesting in back."

With that, Borgin's crooked smile lead the way into a small dusty room cluttered with objects and down a narrow, mold eaten stairway hidden behind spells and a bookcase to where the real treasures of his store were found. With the twist of a key and a muttered Lumos, the old man revealed a long room filled with rows of shelves made out of some dark, loose grained wood, and upon these shelves sat some of the rarest artifacts in the Wizarding World: books (many of them banned), magical relics, works of art, bits and pieces of history—but most importantly, he had what Draco was looking for.

The pair stopped at a row of odds and ends charmed to take a person across the street or across the world. "Here they are," Borgin began with relish," Traveling Links. Portkeys that come in pairs, and if you have one half of the pair, you can travel to the other half of the pair, no matter where it is and wards be damned. Made a lot of them during Grindelwald's time, thinking he might invade and families wanting to make sure they could travel safely to their shelters, even though they protected them with anti-apparition charms and such. They were banned when everything settled, but these beauties were saved from the purge."

"Can they survive transfiguration," the blond asked.

"Yes," he said with some caution," though the objects need to be similar, and you might wait and see if they work. Sometimes the magic will throw itself and you can end up quite a distance from where you wanted to be, and you might find you are missing something important when you arrive." In other words, it would not a good idea.

Looking through the selection, Draco chose a pair of small linked feathers the size of a fingernail, and in a disinterested voice he said "These will do."

"Ah, excellent, young Mr. Malfoy. Now as you understand, these are rare objects, indeed…"

"Yes, how much are they?"

"25 galleons each, 50 for the pair."

The blond boy was surprised. He had actually anticipated double the cost for the pair, and so had naturally brought three times what he needed. Then again, not many people were willing to risk the Ministry for glorified portkeys. "15 each, 30 for the pair," he responded.

Rubbing the back of his thinning hair, and letting loose an alarming amount of dandruff, Borgin said," Really, they are rare finds, I could not part with them for less than 44 galleons for the pair."

"Twenty each, 40 for the pair," the boy stated with finality.

Looking down at the Traveling Links with hesitancy, Borgin finally agreed. "40 galleons it is, then."

In that moment as the shop keep moved to package his purchase, the final element to Draco Malfoy's plan fell into place, and within a fortnight, he would learn what his future master was planning and revel for the first time in the glory of His power.

"Excellent. I think I shall take two pair," he drawled in satisfaction. Looking around the dingy shop once more, he thought to himself why not," And wrap a Hand of Glory for me as well."