This is yet another prequel for my DarkSpawn series, set in Harry's seventh year, and for this story to exist I've altered certain events from Half-Blood Prince (such as Draco joining Voldemort, Snape's unbreakable vow with Narcissa, and Dumbledore's death) and obviously Deathly Hallows can never ever take place. But if you're interested in the redemption of Draco Malfoy then this story should interest you. I'm not sure if I can fit the three hallows in this story but I will certainly try. So come with yet again into my alternate HP universe.
Disclaimer: Obviously I do not own these characters, they belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner brothers
Thursday 26th of June 1997
11:48pm
"No! You can't do this!" screamed a distraught voice desperately.
"We can Cissy, and we will!" snarled another voice. "Its time he took his father's place!"
With a loud bang a bedroom door was thrown open and the young man sprawled on the large four-poster bed jerked awake and stared blearily at the three silhouettes standing in the doorway.
"No, please! He's just a boy!" cried Narcissa Malfoy, her voice frantic.
"Not anymore, he isn't!" sneered Bellatrix.
"Mother?" said Draco, squinting at the dark figures in the doorway, his mind muddled with sleep.
The figures in the doorway, three men, converged on Draco suddenly and hauled him out of his warm bed; as he was wearing only a pair of thin pyjama bottoms the cool night air caused the flesh on his chest and arms to burst out in goose-bumps. Although half asleep and thoroughly confused, Draco vaguely registered that two of the men now dragging and shoving him out of his bedroom were in fact his uncles: Rabastan and Rudolphus Lestrange. He slammed his eyes shut as he was thrust into the brightly light hallway, only to have them fly open again when he heard his mother's voice.
"Please Bella! My son! My only son!" she sobbed, struggling against Bellatrix's iron grip that held her arms pinned against her back.
"Mother!" cried Draco, the full seriousness of the situation finally dawning on him.
"Draco!" she practically shrieked, her panic-stricken face snapping up to his face her blue eyes wide as saucers. "Draco! Oh gods no! Run! RUN!" she screamed at him.
"Mother, why? What's going on? What's hap-?!"
"Stupefy!" cried a gruff voice behind Draco.
A bolt of red light streaked past the teenager and hit his mother squarely in the chest. She gave a gasp and crumbled forward in Bellatrix's arms.
"NO!" roared Draco, straining against the bruising grip his uncles held him in. "Mother!"
"You idiot!" shrieked Bellatrix furiously. "How dare you raise your wand against my -!"
"Enough Bella!" growled Rudolphus. "We don't have time for this. Deal with your sister and meet us in the travelling room!"
"Fine!" she snapped, her eyes flashing with fury.
"No! Let go of me! Let go! Mother, mother!" yelled Draco, fighting fruitlessly against his uncles who dragged him easily past his mother's unconscious form toward the grand staircase of Malfoy manor. The travelling room was the only place in the manor where one could disapparate from and apparate in; it was also equipped with an enormous fireplace for flooing.
"Where are you taking me!" he demanded, as he tripped and stumbled down the stairs, trying once again to throw off his uncles' crushing grip.
"To the Dark lord, you stupid boy!" snapped the gruff voiced wizard, the same one who had attacked Narcissa.
Draco forgot how to breathe. He stopped fighting his uncles and let them drag his numb body toward the travelling room; toward his doom. It felt as if his insides had been plunged into ice, freezing his heart and lungs in place. Of course Draco had always known this was coming, it was his destiny, one that had been chosen for him before he'd even been born. For years he had wanted this - relished in the idea of following his father's footsteps, of doing something that would finally make Lucius proud of him - but things were different now, he was different. Draco didn't want this; he didn't want to be a Death-eater, he didn't want the Dark Mark, he didn't want to be a killer. Somehow he'd deluded himself into thinking that he still had time; that somehow his mother - who'd always been against the idea - would be able to protect him, or that maybe Voldemort would wait until he finished school, or that maybe just maybe Potter would defeat Him before Draco ever had to take the Mark. But it was too late now, Draco was out of time. Like it or not they would force the Mark on him, and make him into a Death-eater; into a monster.
"No!" he whispered, too quietly for anyone to hear.
As Rabastan kicked open the door to the travelling room Draco snapped out of his fear-induced stupor and dug his heels into the floor, once again fighting in vain against his uncles.
"NOOOO! I won't go! I won't go to Him! Never, never! Unhand me!" he screamed, hating himself for the fear he heard in his voice.
SMACK!
Draco's head snapped to the side, his jaw bouncing off his bare shoulder as his right cheek burned white-hot from the force of the slap his aunt had just delivered. He hadn't even heard her come up behind them. Stunned, Draco looked up at the furious and slightly deranged face of his aunt.
"You will do as you are told, you pathetic, snivelling little worm!" screeched Bellatrix, jabbing a long, clawed finger into Draco's chest. "Tonight, you will kneel before the Dark lord with your head held high and take his Mark and wear it with pride! Tonight you will bring honour to your family and undo the shame your father brought up-!"
"Don't you dare, mention my father, you fucking bitch!" bellowed Draco angrily. "Gmph!" he grunted as something like a rock - but was in fact his uncle's fist - struck the back of his head and sent him crashing painfully to his knees. With his cheek on fire, his skull throbbing and his knees aching, Draco hissed as his head was yanked up and back by the roots of his white-blonde hair until his spine was curved backwards into a painful position.
"You watch that tongue of yours, boy" Rudolphus growled menacingly into Draco's ear, pressing the tip of his wand into the teenager's throat. "Or I'll be forced to hex something off to ensure you behave" he added with a small chuckle, removing the wand from Draco's throat and tapping it near his groin instead.
"Argh!" cried Draco, as Rudolphus hauled him to his feet by his hair.
He must have been hit pretty hard because Draco's body lurched forward and he might have fallen had his uncles not been holding him up so forcefully by his upper arms. His head was spinning both from the blow to his skull and his steadily growing horror of what was about to happen to him. They dragged him into the centre of the room and with one last seething glare in his direction Bellatrix disapparated with a small pop. The gruff voiced wizard followed her lead, then Rabastan who had released Draco's arm. Finally it was Rudolphus' turn. He tightened his grip on Draco's arm - leering at him when Draco winced - and twisted his body to the side. All at once Draco found himself swallowed by darkness, with pressure on all sides of his body squeezing him through a long narrow tunnel. He didn't like apparation at the best of times, but given the nature of his destination, the horrible claustrophobic feeling of this method of travelling was almost too much for Draco to bear; all he wanted to do was scream. As he had his eyes screwed tightly shut Draco didn't realise that they had reached their destination until his uncle dragged him forward.
An icy chill swept over Draco and he shivered. He opened his eyes. He was surrounded on all sides by vast trees and for a heart-stopping moment Draco thought he had been brought to the Forbidden-forest (a place he'd hoped never to return to), but then his eyes fell on his aunt who was striding toward the ruins of some castle or large house that rose out of the leaf litter several yards away and he knew that this couldn't be the Forbidden-forest. According to Hogwarts: A History: there were no man-made structures within the forest - and Draco was willing to bet his entire fortune on the accuracy of that particular tome. The moon was out tonight and the pearly light that filtered down through the canopy made the forest look eerie, like a scene from a horror story, which Draco supposed this was: his own personal horror story. Rabastan had taken hold of Draco's other arm once again and as he and his brother towed Draco toward the crumbling, moss-covered stones of the ruined building Draco began to make out shapes moving beyond the decaying walls. No, not just shapes thought Draco anxiously figures! Death-eaters!
Draco felt his pulse accelerate, and there must be something wrong with his lungs because no matter how deeply he breathed he couldn't seem to fill them completely with oxygen. Somewhere amongst those dark figures lurked the most evil wizard of modern times. Draco's brain screamed at him to fight off the hands restraining him and make a run for it, but the signal seemed to get lost on the way to his body and all Draco could do was stumble along with his uncles; petrified out of his wits. As they reached the ruins Draco's heart began to flutter like a frightened bird in a cage. The gathered Death-eaters parted to form a path for the newcomers and Draco could feel their cold eyes leering at him from behind their masks as if it were a physical touch. He cast his own eyes around the area, trying to ignore the hooded figures on either side of him, searching for the one person that frightened him most of all. Numbly he registered the ruins were in fact those of a medieval church; three of the four walls stood mostly intact and moonlight streamed through the empty arched windows. He groaned as Rabastan suddenly applied pressure to the back of his neck, forcing Draco to his knees. Releasing his arms Rudolphus and Rabastan stepped away from him, moving to stand with the other Death-eaters. Another shiver wracked Draco's frame and he hugged his aching arms to his body. His head was bowed in submission and his eyes fixed to the ground.
The forest was unnaturally still, it was almost like the animals had been frightened into silence; not even the wind was brave enough to stir the treetops. Draco's heart pounded in his ears. He was convinced it was loud enough for everyone gathered to hear. Then a new sound caught Draco's attention, a soft rustling: not the rustling of trees being blown in a light breeze but that of a cloak being dragged over dried leaves. The hem of someone's robes appeared in Draco's line of vision. He tried to resist the urge to look up but he couldn't help himself. Slowly, very slowly he lifted his grey eyes until they fell upon the cold, malevolent face of Lord Voldemort, the sight made the young Slytherin shudder with a mixture of fear and revulsion. He stood very close, giving the impression that he towered high above the seventeen year old; making Draco feel very small indeed.
"Young Master Malfoy," said Voldemort softly. "How good of you to join us."
Quick as a flash Voldemort reached down and caught Draco's chin between his long white fingers and began to examine the boy's face with his bright scarlet eyes.
"Your father has told me so much about you, Draco, I feel like I already know you. The resemblance between you and Lucius is uncanny" hissed Voldemort, tilting Draco's chin further back and causing him to wince at the uncomfortable position. "Your father has been dreaming of this moment since you were born ... a pity then, that he can't be here to witness it" he smirked then and released the blonde's face, Draco dropped his gaze to the ground again and fought the shudder trembling at the top of his spine.
"If I'd had my way," he continued in a louder voice "you would have joined our family last year, after your father's incarceration ..." mentally kicking himself, Draco looked up "but your mother insisted that I wait until you were of age.
"Which reminds me, where is Narcissa? Surely she wouldn't miss this for the world" scarlet eyes looked expectantly at Bellatrix.
"She ... w-was unable to attend, my lord" explained Bellatrix meekly.
"Resisted? Did she?" Voldemort drawled, a sly grin curling his lipless mouth. His gleaming eyes fell on Draco again. "Such a shame," he said, clicking his tongue in mock regret. "Now neither of your parents shall witness you embrace your destiny. What a pity."
With his eyes fixed on Draco's pale hair Voldemort began to circle the teenager, like a giant, malicious vulture. This time Draco was unable to fend off the shudder of fear that shook his chilled half-naked body, the involuntary action raising several scathing jeers from the 'audience'. Trying to concentrate on anything but the sound of Voldemort's footsteps whispering across the ground Draco lifted his eyes and scanned the masked and hooded onlookers, wondering if his Godfather and potions Professor was among them somewhere. I wish this was just a nightmare, he thought miserably, closing his eyes. I wish I could just open my eyes, and all this would just disappear. Damn you father! Why is this, the only thing that will make you proud of me?! He opened his eyes, which were now shining with angry un-shed tears.
"I'm sure you're all too eager to get on with the Marking ceremony, my dear boy," said Voldemort suddenly, startling Draco. "But ... before we proceed, I must be certain of your ... character ..."
Draco didn't like the smile he could hear in Voldemort's voice. Nor did he like the excited buzz that rippled through the Death-eaters a second later. It filled him with foreboding. Having circled the young Malfoy twice already the Dark lord stopped in Draco's line of vision yet again; this time however, the seventeen year old kept his gaze firmly fixed on the dark wizard's robes.
"I need to know what kind of man you are - or in your case - will be. For example, are you strong enough? To handle the kinds of missions I am likely to hand out to you?" Draco was hit with a rush of nausea and felt his body sway ever so slightly (he didn't want to think about what kinds of horrific 'missions' the evil bastard would assign him). "Can I trust you? Will you be a loyal Death-eater? Like your father says you will?"
He paused a moment, an unpleasant smile twisting his face, before continuing in an amused tone. "Can you endure ... pain?"
Draco's eyes flew upwards just in time to see a wand aimed at him. With a strangled scream he lurched to his side; every nerve in his body blazing like a burning sun. He writhed on the ground for several minutes, trying in vain to contain the screams being ripped from his throat. A moment later the pain vanished leaving him panting and drenched in a cold sweat. He could hear Voldemort and his followers laughing. Is this what Lucius Malfoy had wanted for his son? To be tortured and humiliated for the sake of redeeming the family name? Damn my name! Thought Draco furiously. And damn my father! I will NOT follow in his footsteps, I will NOT play underling to this piece of filth - I'd rather die!
"You will indulge us in a little fun, child" chuckled the Dark lord. "It was just a little test on your stamina, and you handled it better than I thought" he sounded almost annoyed at this. "Unfortunately," he continued in a sinister tone of voice "it does not answer all my questions. Get up! Hurry up now, on your knees ... that's it. Now, look at me."
Draco knew what he was planning and hastily threw up a mental block before raising his eyes to meet the gleaming red gaze of Voldemort. The mental invasion came as a sharp, painful nudge at Draco's temples - a feeling he was familiar with - and able to resist. Draco stared back defiantly at the snake like face while Voldemort continued in vain to penetrate his mind. He gritted his teeth against the pain and increased pressure at his temples. When he felt Voldemort gain the upper hand for a moment something unexpected happened. In Draco's head appeared a vision, that of a face; a face he knew very well indeed. There in his mind, clear as crystal, were a set of large dark brown eyes, a frenzy of untamed curls, and a smile capable of stealing his breath away. The face belonged to Hermione Granger, his nemesis, and the girl he'd secretly been fantasizing about since first year. He'd been in denial about his feelings since second year, and treated her abysmally because she possessed the power to invoke such emotions in him. Draco had, for years, tried to force himself to hate the muggle-born witch, but every time he built up a collection of negative feelings and reasons why she was beneath him she would do something to catch his attention. Like correctly answer a question in class which no-one else knew, or throw a particularly witty insult in his direction, or order someone about in her bossy voice, even something as simple as a laugh or smile had the power to shatter all his carefully constructed negative thoughts and feelings like glass. He had hated her heritage, her friends, her House but he had never been able to truly hate Hermione; she fascinated him too much for that to be possible. What would she think of him if she knew he were about to receive the Dark Mark? She'd be disgusted no doubt. Still, Draco clung to his vision of her, and found that it filled him with strength and chased away most of his fear. Maybe I don't have to go through with this he thought with a tiny glimmer of hope bursting in his chest. I can still say no. I'm probably going to die, of course, but I'd rather die than do any of the atrocities this fucking snake will make me do! Quite suddenly Draco felt Voldemort withdraw from his attack.
"Impressive" Voldemort hissed, though he sounded more annoyed than impressed. "There are few minds that are able to resist my powers. I assume Severus, taught you to block your mind so efficiently" his scarlet eyes scanned the onlookers for his most trusted servant.
"I-I've come to a decision" said Draco in a wavering voice. Voldemort's gaze snapped back to Draco's face in outrage.
"I have not given you permission to speak Mr Ma-!"
"I'm not taking the Mark!" rushed Draco.
There was silence for several minutes, and then: "Pardon?!"
"I said. I'm. Not. Taking. The. Mark!" Draco repeated, his voice growing stronger with every word. "You can torture me and you can even kill me you evil fucking freak, but I -!"
"CRUCIO!" screamed Voldemort furiously.
The force of the curse threw Draco onto his back with an agonised scream. For several long minutes there was nothing but excruciating pain. Draco's body twitched, bucked, twisted and writhed on the ground, his limbs no longer under the blonde's control. Despite his agony, Draco stopped himself from screaming again, biting his tongue until he tasted blood; determined not to give Voldemort the satisfaction. Just as he thought the pain would drive him insane it suddenly disappeared, leaving Draco gasping for breath. His nerves were tingling and every muscle in his body ached. All around him Draco could hear the angry rumblings of the assembled Death-eaters buzzing like a hive of furious bees. Shakily, still panting, Draco sat up and faced Voldemort pulling a mask of cold indifference onto his features. Once again Hermione's face flickered in his mind's eye; bringing with it a curious feeling of calm.
"You have the audacity to refuse my Mark!" screamed Voldemort vehemently. "I offer you the opportunity of a lifetime and you throw it back in my face! You impertinent little whelp! You vile, repulsive blood traitor! Lucius would be ashamed of you!"
"I couldn't give a flying fuck!" snapped Draco recklessly. "My father has made it infinitely clear that I have been nothing more than an enormous disappointment since the day I was born. At least now, I'll be living up to his expectations."
Draco's words sparked outrage and astonishment in Voldemort; giving him the impression that few people had ever stood up to the Dark lord - in fact Potter was possibly the only person to do so and survive. SHIT! He really was a dead man.
SMACK!
For the second time that night Draco's cheek blazed white-hot from where he'd been struck, this time however he could feel blood trickling down his face from the scratches made by Voldemort's long nails. He raised shining, hate-filled eyes to Voldemort's deranged and livid face. If only Granger could see me now, he thought with a touch of amusement. What would she think if she knew I was here, on my knees, shooting my mouth off at the most deadly wizard in the world? In his head he pictured Hermione standing at a safe distance, watching the proceedings with her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open in astonishment. Helplessly Draco started laughing. Voldemort's eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"The boy's out of his head" a voice sneered from the crowd.
"Kill him!" cried another.
"Yes, my Lord, kill him. He's clearly unworthy of the Dark Mark!"
Several more similar sentiments were vented into the night air, echoing off the crumbling church walls and sticking in Draco's head; effectively silencing him. So much for pureblood solidarity, most of the wizards and witches present were likely 'friends' and colleagues of his father, or the parents of his fellow Slytherin housemates. Some of them had likely known him since infancy and watched him grow up and yet here they were, demanding that he should be brutally murdered.
"Silence!" hissed Voldemort when the Death-eaters started getting slightly out of hand.
He leaned down, bringing his face very close to Draco's. "I've met some stupid people in my time, Mr Malfoy, but you really take the cake," he whispered angrily. "I offer you life, and a purpose and a new world, but you - ungrateful little grub that you are - you turn your nose up at it; knowing full well the consequences that will come from such a disastrous decision!" he pulled back slightly, his face twisted in disgust "Such a disappointment ... you could have been great. How am I ever going to explain this to dear Narcissa?" he smirked at this, then rose to his full height once again.
"Consider this your trial, young Malfoy," he went on in a louder voice. "The people have spoken, the verdict is in ... and we find you GUILTY! You have betrayed your blood, your parents and the Malfoy name, and you have paid a most dire insult to the Dark lord who has always been concerned for the interests of our kind. For these crimes there can be only one punishment: Death!"
A cheer rose from the assembled Death-eaters. "When I'm through with you, boy" he leered "... you will beg me for my Mark." His face turned cold and cruel then "The Dark lord offers his hand in friendship only once, boy" he dropped his voice to a whisper "soon you will wish that you had taken it."
Draco's heart was beating a frantic rhythm against his ribcage, he felt his stomach plummet in horror as he realised that he wouldn't die at the hands of mere death curse. Voldemort and his minions would draw this 'punishment' out for as long as they could and they would relish in his pain. I'm sorry mother he thought wretchedly I'm so sorry I have to leave you this way. He closed his eyes briefly and summoned a memory of his mother's smile; not the rigid mask she presented to the rest of the world, but the special one she reserved for her son's eyes alone. She was so beautiful when she smiled like that, it would light up her entire face like the sun making her eyes sparkle like sapphires. Draco felt his own eyes burn from tears he refused to shed. Quite suddenly Narcissa Malfoy visage morphed into those of Hermione Granger and Draco's heart gave a pang of regret. There's so much I've wanted to tell you for so long ... and now, I'm never going to get the chance to say them. It was this thought that broke Draco's resolve. He opened his eyes, and gazed unseeingly ahead of him; a solitary tear rolling down his ivory cheek. He heard Voldemort laugh his awful laugh.
"At last," exclaimed Voldemort triumphantly "we break through that emotionless fac-!"
CRACK!
Draco's head snapped to his left, his eyes - like those of everyone else gathered together in the moonlit forest - fixing on the North facing church wall where the thunderous sound had originated. Transfixed he and the Death-eaters watched as a large, penetrating crack appeared at the right-hand corner of the centre arched window. Like the branches of a tree it quickly grew and spread across the ancient, decaying wall until there were fractures large and small covering almost the whole surface. Dust and pebbles rained down on the Death-eaters below. The wall swayed back and forth like a drunk, the ancient rain washed stones scraping and crunching as they shifted from the positions they'd been keeping for centuries. And then, as if in slow motion the wall began to fall forward toward the Death-eaters. Some instinct suddenly clicked in Draco's head. He didn't think, he just reacted. Tearing his gaze from the scene playing out around him, Draco scrambled to his feet and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction. There was such pandemonium , as the Death-eaters scattered in all directions, screaming and shouting, and bricks the size of small boulders crashed to earth crushing everything within their wake, that no-one (not even Voldemort) took any notice of Draco's bid for freedom. Fortunately for him, the Death-eaters had broken the circle around their Dark lord creating a gaping space in their ranks, leaving Draco with a clear escape route as the Southern wall had fallen many years previous. Not daring to check if he was being followed the young Slytherin vaulted over the moss-covered remains of the Southern wall and sprinted into the forest.
Draco quickly discovered that it was not easy to run barefoot, the twisting tree roots, uneven terrain, and low hanging branches weren't helping matters either. But Draco ran like a man possessed. The urge to survive, driving him on. Oh what the fuck am I doing? He thought frantically. Apparently, trying to outrun the Death curse an imaginary voice sneered in Draco's head, a voice which had always taken the shape of Salazar Slytherin. Oh sure, now you show up! Draco thought in reply. You do realise, of course, that I'm just a figment of your imagination, don't you? There isn't anything I could have done to help you in your ... sticky situation. Draco grunted in annoyance. Still I would have appreciated some moral support while facing that bastard, even if it is imaginary. Merlin help him, he must be losing his mind! He tried to focus on his legs, on moving them one in front of the other as fast as he could manage. Hopefully that little disaster back at the church would buy him enough time to ... to what? He didn't have his wand, so even if he had his licence yet, he wouldn't be able to apparate. He couldn't even defend himself, he was utterly helpless, all he could do was run and hope they didn't catch up. We're going to die, thought his inner Slytherin forlornly. Yes, thank you for that vote of confidence! Draco thought back irritably.
Draco began weaving his way through the trees erratically in an attempt to make his trail harder to follow. Perhaps it was because he'd just barely escaped certain death, or maybe Draco was just plain paranoid, but he began to feel like the forest was acting against him. The forest floor, riddled through with enormous roots, seemed determined to trip the Slytherin up and slash open his feet with its sharp stones, and thorny plants. He could feel deep scratches stinging on his chest and arms from where the branches and bushes had whipped and clawed at his flesh. Draco was forced to ignore the pain (which wasn't too difficult considering he'd experienced the cruciatus curse) and to keep running. His lungs burned with every breath he took and he could feel sweat running down his back. It was just a good thing he was so fit, that he made it a point to exercise and work out, otherwise he'd be keeling over in exhaustion.
He couldn't hear the chaos that was likely still going on at the church, so Draco had no idea if the Death-eaters were after him yet; all he heard was the blood pounding in his ears and his ragged breaths. Keep going! Keep going! Don't stop, just don't stop. C'mon Malfoy, you can do this, move your arse! It became a mantra. He leapt athletically over a fallen log, gaining another cut to his left foot on his landing; he staggered slightly but kept going. He zigzagged between the ancient trees, no doubt leaving a trail of blood in his wake. Merlin help me if they've got any werewolves with them, the scent of my blood will lead the bastards right to me! With that thought he put on an extra spurt of speed - dying by the Death curse was one thing, being torn limb from limb by a savage beast, was quite another. He gritted his teeth and hissed; his chest and legs were on fire. It felt as if his lungs were full of white-hot shards of glass and every breath was agony, and he was sure the muscles in his legs were about to tear apart. Draco wanted so badly to stop and rest, just for five minutes, but he knew if he did it could likely get him killed. He kept running - his movements becoming stupid and clumsy. There was still no sign of Voldemort or the Death-eaters, which encouraged Draco slightly. Perhaps they still hadn't noticed his disappearance, or maybe they'd gone the wrong way to search for him. Maybe I'll get out of this alive! These were Draco's thoughts when the ground suddenly disappeared.
Unwittingly Draco had run over a steep ravine. For a moment everything slowed down as Draco fell through the air, then everything sped up as the ground came rushing at him. He half screamed half growled as his body collided with the ground and continued to roll down the ravine. Numbly he was aware of his body being pummelled by large rocks, protruding roots, and the trunks of young trees as he continued to tumble out of control down the gorge. Fortunately the adrenaline pumping through his veins protected him from feeling the pain of whatever injuries he was acquiring during this little escapade, for now at least. His body twisted, and turned beyond his power for several more minutes until quite suddenly he came to a sprawling stop; splashing in an icy brook at the bottom of the ravine. Draco wrenched his face out of the freezing water; coughing and spluttering. Still gasping he tried to sit up.
"Arrgh!" he cried, collapsing back into the water as a sharp pain flared in his side. Draco was no expert, but he was quite sure that he'd broken a few ribs during the fall.
Draco groaned, his body was beginning to ache with exhaustion and from the pummelling he'd gotten from the perilous hillside. He could literally feel the bruises forming all over his battered torso, arms and legs. His head was throbbing too; he reached up his hand and gingerly inspected the egg-sized lump on his head and the large gash that was slowly oozing hot, sticky blood all over his white-blonde hair. Marvellous! He thought irately. Wincing and groaning Draco crawled slowly toward the other side of the gorge before collapsing again on his belly. He lifted his eyes up the slope he lay against and felt despair wash over him; it was just as steep and treacherous as the side he'd fallen down. There was no way he could climb up there in his current state. He just wanted to lie here and sleep. Draco let his eyes fall close. Get up you miserable pile of dragon excrement, chided his inner Slytherin. Draco ignored it. If you don't get up you are going to die here! The teenager refused to move. Is this how you planned on dying, Draco? Alone in a ditch, with that girl never knowing how you truly felt? Draco opened his eyes, as the image of Hermione Granger flickered in his mind once again. With a grunt he pushed himself onto his elbows. He reached up and grabbed a root above his head and used it to drag himself to his feet.
"I can do this, I can do - Agh!" he grimaced, grabbing his side where his ribs were searing.
Sluggishly he dragged his heavy, aching form up the ravine. He'd gotten about halfway up when the rock he'd been reaching for abruptly exploded. "SHIT!" he yelled, as fragments of the rock bounced off his face. Whipping his head around until he cricked his neck Draco's mercury eyes scanned the opposite side of the gorge until they locked on a hooded figure. Draco felt his stomach plummet in dread and a spasm of fear shot down his spine. The Death-eaters had found him!
"Here he is!" screamed the Death-eater. "I've found him! He's here!"
"Shit! SHIT!" hissed Draco, as the earth beside him exploded with a green flash.
He began to frantically climb up the ravine; aided by another immense rush of adrenaline. He was vulnerable like this and he knew it. All around him there were flashes of light and mini explosions of dirt and rock as the Death-eater hurled curse after curse at him. Draco didn't know if the guy was missing him on purpose or if he just had terrible aim; he was simply grateful that some force in the universe was keeping him alive. He could barely believe it when he reached the edge of the ravine. With a harsh growl he hauled himself out of the ravine and staggered to his feet. Panting he gripped his injured ribs and glanced over his shoulder - several more figures were moving amongst the trees! Terrified he took off again, this time hindered by his broken ribs which made every breath excruciating. Draco could hear the Death-eaters shouting behind him; heard as their curses blasted chunks out of the trees and blew fissures in the earth. He kept running, but Draco knew all too well that he had pushed himself too far; his skin was glistening with sweat and his breaths were sharp and shallow and painful. He tripped and crashed to the forest floor.
"Grrgh!" he grunted, rolling onto his back and pressing both hands to his ribcage.
"Well, well ... what have we here" purred a malicious voice unexpectedly.
With a jolt of fear Draco sat up and watched as a tall Death-eater stepped out from between two enormous trees and stalked towards him. He scrambled backwards on his arse until his back collided with the trunk of another tree. His mind went blank with terror.
"Nowhere to run to now, boy" chuckled the Death-eater smugly. "I'm going to show you what we do to fucking scum like you!"
Draco couldn't breathe, there was a knot of fire twisting in his chest and it was steadily burning out of control. He could feel it coursing through his veins, and spreading out to his limbs. What the fuck?! What was happening to him? Was this a curse of some kind? He felt his muscles contract and convulse, heard his bones crack as they shrank and twisted shape. Draco suddenly realised that he recognised this sensation and his mind screamed in horror.
"What the ...?" he heard the Death-eater mutter in confusion.
Wait, if he's not doing this then ... what's- A bright flash lit up the forest, blinding the stunned Death-eater for several minutes. Spots of colour clouded his vision and he blinked many times before turning his gaze back to where the Malfoy boy had been; and felt his mouth fall open. Draco lay very still on his side feeling quite dazed. The fire had left his limbs and the convulsions had stopped, but Draco's body still felt extremely strange. What the hell happened to me? Why aren't I dead yet ... and what the hell is that smell? Draco sniffed the air experimentally, and detected several scents he hadn't noticed before. He could smell dirt, and rotting leaves, bark and tree sap. He sniffed again. His nose picked up the musk of sweat; two distinct flavours and there was something else ... something like rust and salt. Blood! My blood! But how could I possibly...? He lifted his head and found the Death-eater gaping at him. His features were curiously more defined than before, Draco could make out the man's skull shaped mask. Why hasn't he killed me yet? Cautiously Draco climbed to his feet; he wobbled and promptly fell back down. He looked down at where his hands should be and found two furry paws instead. He twisted his neck around to look at the rest of his body and discovered he didn't recognise himself. Then a new scent wafted under his sensitive nose and Draco turned his attention back to the Death-eater standing stalk still only a few feet away. It was a sharp unpleasant smell that burned Draco's nostrils and sent a primal thrill down his spine: it was the smell of fear. He felt a deep, powerful growl rumble through his throat. He got to his feet again and this time he didn't fall back down.
"Can't be ... impossible ..." mumbled the Death-eater, taking two steps back.
Draco growled again and curled his lips over long sharp teeth. The smell of fear intensified as the hooded man took another step backwards. Relying solely on instinct Draco ran forward and launched himself at the Death-eater, snapping his jaws around the man's throat and biting down until hot blood sprayed in his mouth and ran down his throat - part of Draco felt revolted, the other felt exhilarated. The Death-eater gurgled and fell to the ground with a thud. Draco landed on top of him, his jaw still closed on the wizard's throat. In vain the wizard clawed at Draco's thick fur, trying to push him off. Draco felt the man's pulse throb against his tongue - and he felt a rush of nausea wash over him, which mingled with an intoxicating feeling of power. After a few more frenzied moments, the Death-eater fell still. Draco released the wizard's throat and stepped back. Oh fuck, I just killed a man! Draco took a moment to familiarise himself with his new body. It was strange standing on four legs and having a tail was just bizarre; it felt like a stranger had been stuck to his arse. All his injuries were still there: the gash to his head, the broken ribs, the bruises, the scratches and the wounds on his feet (my hind paws). But he found he had the resilience to cope with them better now. His ears pricked up, a curious sensation indeed, as he heard more Death-eaters approaching the area. He turned and ran through the trees; moving faster than he ever could have managed before.
Draco wasn't sure how long he ran for but eventually he was forced to stop. He ducked down behind a large fallen tree, lying flat on his belly, his breathing harsh and laboured. The forest was darker now, the moon having disappeared behind cloud cover, but Draco could still see clearly. Unfortunately the Death-eaters had managed to keep pace with him, and even now he could hear them scouring the forest for him. His only advantage was that they were searching for a teenage boy, not an animal. He just needed a few minutes to catch his breath, just a few minutes to rest. His eyes slid closed as exhaustion overtook him.
"Draco!"
Draco jerked awake with a fright. How long had he been sleeping for? Draco couldn't tell, for all he knew it could have been a few minutes or a few hours, he was still immensely tired. All that mattered however was that someone had sneaked up on him while he'd been unconscious. He could hear them moving just beyond the security of his tree.
"Draco!" the voice hissed again. Hey! I know that voice ... Snape? Surely his own Godfather wouldn't murder him in cold blood, would he?
"Draco, if you can hear me come out, please!" whispered Snape, and Draco thought he heard panic in the potion master's voice. "Please Draco, I'm not here to hurt you - in fact, I'm the only one in this forest wishing to preserve your life!"
Could Draco really trust his Godfather? It could be a trap; Severus Snape was, after all, one of Voldemort's most loyal and trusted servants. Well, he's never let me down before, and mother trusts him with her life. Draco rose to his feet. Snape, who'd pulled down his hood and removed his mask, froze as he stared back at him. Snape raised his wand and pointed it at Draco, who growled in response. Draco leapt onto the fallen tree and sat down, staring at his Godfather. Snape raised an eyebrow incredulously. He took a step closer, his dark eyes scrutinising the animal before him.
"D-Draco? Is that you?" he asked uncertainly. Draco nodded his furry head. "Merlin's beard!" exclaimed Snape. "How on earth...?"
A fierce frown suddenly formed on the potions professor's face. "Back at the church," he began furiously "I don't think I've ever seen anything so idiotic and reckless in all my life ..." Draco growled. "... and I can't remember feeling more proud of you, than I am right now!" To say Draco was stunned would be an understatement. "Now, come on, we have to get you out of here!"
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Friday 27th of June 1997
4:38am
A sharp and urgent tapping was pressing slowly on Poppy Pomfrey's subconscious. She groaned softly and rolled over in her sleep, trying to ignore the pesky sound. She submerged herself once again in her dream. She was having such a lovely dream too; she was sitting on a white sandy beach, looking out at a deep blue ocean and sharing a picnic with Albus Dumbledore. She turned and looked at him and sighed blissfully. He was one of the most remarkable wizards she had ever had the pleasure of meeting. TAP. TAP. TAP. Dumbledore turned to her with a smile on his lips, his light blue eyes twinkling down at her. TAP. TAP. TAP.
"Madam Pomfrey?" said Dumbledore.
"Yes Albus?"
"Madam Pomfrey?" he repeated.
"What is it Albus? You know you can ask me anything."
"Wake up Madam Pomfrey!" said Dumbledore in a feminine voice.
TAP TAP TAP!
"What?" said Madam Pomfrey, confused.
Dumbledore's face dissolved, along with the beach and the picnic and Madam Pomfrey found herself staring blearily at her bedside table.
"Madam Pomfrey, there is a young gentleman at the door, and he seems quite anxious to see you!" repeated the voice of Lucrecia Pyre; the former school nurse. Madam Pomfrey sat up in bed and blinked up at the gold framed portrait which occupied the opposite wall, and the stern face of Lucrecia Pyre.
"Who is it, Madam Pyre?" she asked sleepily.
"I believe he is one of the teachers, Madam Pomfrey. A tall gentleman, with long black hair falling over his face" explained the old nurse's portrait.
"Severus?" said Madam Pomfrey, feeling more confused. "What the dickens is he doing here?"
"From what I could gather, it seems a student has been injured" said the portrait.
"A student?!" cried Madam Pomfrey incredulously. "Bu-but the students have all been sent home for summer break!" She sighed and rubbed her eyes wearily. "Very well, tell him I'll be with him in a moment."
Madam Pyre nodded and walked out of her portrait. A few moments later the urgent tapping at the door came to a stop. Madam Pomfrey slid out of bed and stepped into a pair of slippers, she went to her bedroom door - pulling on a dressing gown as she went - which led to her office. She patted her messy hair self-consciously before pulling open her office door and coming face to face with Severus Snape; who was looking extremely agitated indeed.
"Severus, what seems to b-!"
Snape didn't let her finish her sentence, he grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her roughly out the doorway. Ignoring her angry protests, Snape then pulled her hastily into the hospital wing, down the rows of beds, to where one had been curtained off and where one Draco Malfoy was sprawled out on; bloody, bruised and unconscious.
" - really man, what has gotten into - Morgana preserve us! What has happened to Mr Malfoy?!" she demanded shrilly, when she clapped eyes on the pale half-naked boy collapsed on the bed.
"I don't have time to go into details right now, Poppy," said Snape urgently. "I'll explain everything later, but right now I need you to wake the headmaster and get him down here -!"
"What ever for ?- Snape what happened to this boy?! Who did this to -?"
"I'm sorry but I have to go, just call for Dumbledore!" explained Snape hastily, retreating from the bed.
"Go? Go where? Severus I don't understand - what's going on?!" demanded Madam Pomfrey anxiously.
"Just wake Dumbledore! I-I've got to go back, there's much I still have to do ... Oh! Don't treat Mr Malfoy until you have summoned the headmaster, he needs to see the state he's in - he has to understand the seriousness of the situation! Don't touch the boy until Dumbledore gets here, do you understand?!"
"Now see here, professor Snape! I won't stand here and let this boy go untreated jus-!"
But the potions teacher wasn't listening, he had turned away and was running toward the double doors; his long black robes billowing out behind him like bat wings. Madam Pomfrey harrumphed indignantly.
"Outrageous!" she hissed furiously. She leaned out of the curtain surrounding Draco's bed and called to the second portrait of Lucrecia Pyre which hung beside her office door. "Madam Pyre, I need you to go up to the headmaster's office, ask one of the portraits there to go up to the headmaster's private chambers. Tell them that Professor Dumbledore is needed in the hospital wing at once!"
Lucrecia Pyre nodded once and disappeared. Madam Pomfrey turned back to her patient, a concerned expression furrowing her face. She'd treated him a few times in the past but she had never seen him in a condition like this before. Dark, ugly bruises were forming all over his pale torso and muscular arms, his feet were almost black and were cut to ribbons, his pyjama trousers were ragged and filthy, scratches criss-crossed over his chest and arms, his hair was incrusted with dried blood and more was oozing onto the pillow beneath his head, and upon his cheekbone were three thin scratches (clearly carved by fingernails) and a small purple patch where another faint bruise was appearing. She felt his pulse and found it steady and strong. She pulled out her wand and muttered an incantation before sweeping it over the teenager's unconscious form. The tip glowed red as the wand passed over Draco's ribcage. Carefully she inspected the damage; two broken ribs and one cracked. Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue in disapproval at whatever misadventure the boy had gotten himself into, it's a miracle he didn't puncture a lung too! She continued to scan his body and was relieved when she found no further breaks, his remaining injuries were fairly minor and easily mended including that ugly gash to his head. Despite herself, she respected Snape's wishes and decided to wait for Dumbledore to arrive before healing the boy. She pulled a blanket over his chilled body and swept his moon-bright fringe out of his eyes. Draco's brow furrowed and he moaned in his sleep.
"Hush, it alright, you're safe now" murmured Madam Pomfrey soothingly.
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Friday 27th of June 1997
3:52am
"Arrgh!" cried a young man, who only a moment before had been sound asleep.
The teenager bolted upright in bed, slapping a hand to his forehead, and the lightning shaped scar occupying it which at this very moment was searing with a white-hot pain. It felt as if his head were being split in two from the inside. The boy felt a rush of rage that was not his own rise up inside him like a torrent of fire. At the same moment an image flashed before his eyes: a pale, sneering face and a set of angry grey eyes. The messy haired youth recognised the face and he gasped, both in pain and surprise. After five very long minutes the pain diminished to a sharp prickling sensation. Harry Potter sighed and fumbled in the semi-darkness for his glasses. When he found them he slid them onto his nose and rubbed his scar absent-mindedly. Harry couldn't recall his scar hurting like that for so long before and it troubled him, especially since he'd seen the face of his adversary: Draco Malfoy. Did this strange vision and pain mean that Malfoy had finally joined Voldemort's league of Death-eaters like his father before him? If so, it didn't explain the rage that Harry had felt a moment ago. He could tell by the continued prickling in his scar that Voldemort was still furious over something - what he couldn't begin to fathom.
Harry slid out of bed and padded over to the window. He peered out at the dark street, at the square ordinary houses and the neat front gardens and the cars parked along the pavement. Looking out at Privet Drive one would never suspect that a secret war was raging on in silence in the hidden corners of Britain; a war that Harry was central to. In a few weeks time he'd be leaving this place, most likely forever. He'd received a letter from Dumbledore the day after he'd returned to Privet Drive explaining that the Order would come for him before his seventeenth birthday and take him to the Burrow, and for their protection the Dursleys would also be leaving Privet Drive for a safe house. Neither of the Dursleys had been happy about this arrangement, but after Harry had bluntly told them they'd likely be murdered by Dark wizards if they didn't cooperate with the Order, they reluctantly agreed.
He sighed heavily and leaned his forehead against the cool window pane, trying to alleviate the dull ache in his scar. He tried closing his eyes but quickly opened them again when another vision of Malfoy (this time writhing on the ground in agony) flashed behind his eyelids. Maybe Voldemort's done me a favour and killed the slimy ferret Harry thought darkly, only to feel a pang of guilt a moment later for thinking such a thing; even if it was about Malfoy. He stared blankly out the window and watched absently as a cat (most likely one of Mrs Figg's) slinked out from under a car, sat down on the pavement and started to lick its paw.
"Won't be long now" he muttered softly to Hedwig, referring to his imminent departure from Privet Drive ... and of course, to more serious matters which were steadily beginning to weigh upon Harry's young shoulders.
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Friday 27th of June 1997
4:47am
"Professor Dumbledore?"
"Hmm? What is it, Armando?"
"I hate to disturb you, Albus, but Madam Pomfrey has requested your presence in the hospital wing."
"Hospital wing?" asked Dumbledore groggily, sitting up "Whatever for? No-one's hurt are they?"
"I'm afraid I don't know" replied the portrait of Armando Dippet apologetically.
"Very well," groaned Dumbledore, heaving his tired body out of bed. "I shall go to her directly." He picked up his dressing gown and stuck his right arm clumsily through the sleeve.
"I am sorry, Dumbledore, but it seemed important."
"Not to worry, my old friend" Dumbledore reassured, as he struggled to put his left arm in the left sleeve of his dressing gown. "You just saved me from a very disturbing dream."
"Nightmare?" asked Dippet sympathetically.
"Well I suppose that depends ..." said Dumbledore distractedly, now moving in small circles trying to locate the left sleeve of his dressing gown.
"Depends, headmaster?"
"On whether or not you would consider being challenged to a pie-eating-contest by Mr Filch as a nightmare" explained Dumbledore. "Bloody sleeve!"
"Well, that doesn't sound too bad" said Dippet.
"It is when the pies are banana and kidney flavoured" Dumbledore went on, making a face.
"Eh?"
"I had a rather eccentric great aunt when I was a boy; she had some rather ... unorthodox ideas when it came to combining food. Banana and kidney pie was a speciality of hers."
"I ... see" said Dippet, looking quite disgusted.
"Yes, she even published a book of recipes, you know... and amazingly managed to sell two copies" said Dumbledore, finally pulling on his left sleeve. "There we go!"
"Well then, I better see what Poppy needs me for."
-----------------------------------
"Ah! There you are, Professor Dumbledore. Come this way, he's right over here."
"Who is Poppy?"
"I'm sorry to wake you at this ungodly hour, sir, but he insisted. Just barged in here, bold as brass, handing out orders which he expects me to follow without question. Well I'll be giving Professor Snape a piece of my mind, I assure you!" fumed Madam Pomfrey, ignoring his question and leading him to a curtained off bed.
"Professor Snape? Severus isn't injured, is he, Poppy?" asked Dumbledore, concerned.
"No, of course not" she assured him. "Not yet anyway" she added darkly.
"Then who -?" began Dumbledore only to be interrupted as Madam Pomfrey continued her tirade.
"I hope you'll be having words with him too, sir, I mean he just dumps the boy here without any explanation as to what happened to the lad and then takes off again! And he insisted that I not treat the boy until you had seen him! I mean honestly it's absolutely outrageous ..."
"Boy?!" said Dumbledore, suddenly gripped by panic. Had something happened to Harry? He had been sure that they still had a few weeks in which to get Harry away from Privet Drive safely. Had he perhaps miscalculated?
"Poppy, who has been -?" but Dumbledore got his answer as they rounded the curtain.
"Mr Malfoy?!"
Madam Pomfrey moved round to the opposite side of the bed and pulled back Draco's blanket so the headmaster could see the numerous bruises blooming over his chest and arms.
"Just look at the state of him, Albus!"
"What happened?" asked Dumbledore, moving closer to the bed.
"That's what I would like to know" muttered Madam Pomfrey, covering Draco back up.
"Very well, Poppy, you have my permission to treat him now ... but um, would it be possible to ... leave the bruises?"
"Leave the bruises?! Why in the world would we want to do that?!"
"Just humour me ... they may come in useful" said Dumbledore mysteriously.
"Useful?! Well ... alright, though this is an extremely unusual request ... even for you Albus."