I really need to work on one fanfic to completion instead of jumping around. Unfortunately, the muses for my various incomplete stories are strangely silent, so I am forced to start something new until they speak up. Here's the latest one.

After watching The Covenant and drooling over Reid, it came to my attention that Reid looks an awful lot like Draco. So, if I liked Reid, it would follow that I would therefore like Draco. Well, I thought about it, and determined that yes, Draco has actually grown on me (I really hate to say this; I have been a firm Draco-hater from the first book. And now I am a Draco sympathizer; my God, I'm pathetic…lol). So, upon discovering my newfound appreciation of Tom Felton and Draco, I figured I had better write a fanfic. So here it is. Like so many others, it portrays Draco as more of a product of his upbringing rather than downright evil.

After his failed attempt on Dumbledore's life, Draco went into hiding, afraid to face Voldemort's ire. When he is forced to accept responsibility for his actions, will he rise as a hero or return to the life he knows?

Yet again, I own nothing except the plot. And various characters that never appeared in the books but are in here. Everything else belongs to J. K. Rowling.

A Traitor's Tale

Draco ran. He ran as fast as he could for as long as he could, trying to put as much distance between himself and Hogwarts as possible. Finally, he dropped to the ground, completely exhausted. What had he done? He had failed to carry out his assignment, the one entrusted to him by the Dark Lord, and now, instead of returning to him to beg for mercy, as he knew he should, he was running like a coward. Malfoys were not cowards; it just wasn't bred into them. And yet, here he was, running from Hogwarts like he had a pack of werewolves on his tail. It was pathetic. But he couldn't bring himself to return to the castle and join the others, and he couldn't for the life of him understand why.

It was all his fault. Dumbledore. The fool. Staring at him, as if he could see clear into his soul. Telling him it was unnecessary, that it wasn't who Draco really was. Who did he think he was kidding? He was a Malfoy, for Merlin's sake; killing was in his blood. But, if that was true, why hadn't he been able to do it? It wasn't like he liked Dumbledore or anything; he had nothing but disgust for the man. Yet, when it came down to it, he just couldn't do it. He scowled. This was unacceptable.

But, now that he thought about it, Dumbledore was the only one who hadn't assumed that he would follow in his father's footsteps. Everyone else looked at Draco and saw only his father and the connection to the Dark Lord. But Dumbledore saw who he was and who he could be, believing that he wasn't limited to the only path Draco himself saw. Maybe that was why he couldn't do it; even though he was a complete fool, and naïve on top of that, he couldn't bear to kill the one person in his life who truly believed he could be better. Not that he wanted to be better; he was perfectly happy with who he was.

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It was six months later. Draco had hidden himself among muggles, distasteful as the idea was to him. But it was the only way he could be sure, absolutely sure, that the Dark Lord and his minions wouldn't find him. Why would they look among muggles, when no self-respecting Death Eater would so much as talk to one? So he lived in a small town, out of the way, in a small cottage barely big enough for one. He still wasn't sure why he ran, but he had decided to stop thinking about it, since it led his thoughts in directions he wasn't willing to go quite yet.

His brand, the thing that would forever mark him as one of the Dark Lord's own, had begun to burn the day after he found the cottage. It was a lancing pain, that became a dull ache for a few hours until it again burned fiercely, causing him to bite his lip until it bled to stifle a scream. He knew his Master was calling him, wanting to know where he was and why he had not reported, but Draco couldn't answer, partly in defiance, partly in fear of his punishment for not carrying out his assignment, and partly for some reason he couldn't express. This went on for the whole six months, until finally he became accustomed to the pain, ignoring it for the most part.

That night, they found him. He had been expecting it; he knew it was too good to last. With Bellatrix in the lead, a group of Death Eaters broke into his house, breaking down the door with a blast from a wand. Draco's house was the only one for miles; there was no one to come to his rescue. Not that they would; bright lights and explosions tended to keep most people away.

"Where's my traitorous likkle nephew?" Bellatrix said, her voice sickly sweet. Draco didn't even bother with hiding; he knew it was no use. He stepped out from behind the door, greeting his aunt with a trademark smirk. "Why, hello, aunt. What a pleasure to see you."

"Put that wand down!" she yelled shrilly, seeing his hand reach for the wand hidden in his jacket. He let go of it, sighing loudly. "Go get it," she commanded one of the hooded men. He approached Draco, grinning evilly. "We've got plans for you, we do. Little sneak!" He reached into Draco's jacket, shoving Draco once he had the wand in his hand. Draco inelegantly fell to the floor after vainly trying to keep his balance. The men laughed cruelly. The man who had taken Draco's wand now snapped it in half, jumping a foot in the air when it emitted brightly colored sparks. Draco snickered. "What the hell are you laughing at, you bloody twit!" The man backhanded him, hard enough to knock him back against the wall. "Kingston!" Bellatrix shrieked. "If you damage the goods now, the Dark Lord won't let us have any fun with him later," she said in a sing-song voice. Fun. Draco had a pretty good idea what their kind of fun entailed; he had witnessed it often enough. Not that he wasn't entirely deserving of whatever they did to him; he had been taught by first his father and then the Dark Lord himself that the Dark Lord did not take cowards lightly, and Draco had failed in his assignment and then ran, which immediately put him in the Dark Lord's disfavor. But he wouldn't become a sniveling weasel when faced with punishment, like Pettigrew and so many others. He was a Malofy; Malfoys didn't snivel.

He stood up when Bellatrix motioned for him to do so, and followed them outside. There was a portkey waiting, which each Death Eater grabbed in turn. Draco felt the usual being-pulled-inside-out-through-your-bellybutton sensation as Kingston touched the beer stein, then opened his eyes to see that they were in a huge room. There were hundreds of Death Eaters, all glaring at him in pure hatred. "And so the traitor returns," hissed the Dark Lord, his red eyes shining maliciously. "What do you have to say for yourself before I turn you over to my loyal followers?"

"I sincerely apologize, my Lord," Draco said, looking him in the eyes. He was going to take responsibility for what he had done, and refused to back down. He would stand tall, and hope that the Dark Lord would forgive him for his lapse in judgment. "There is no excuse for my behavior. I will accept whatever punishment you see fit, so long as it will return me to your favor."

Voldemort paused, and chuckled to himself in amusement. "My, my. The boy attempts to charm me. How…entertaining. I wouldn't expect any less from a Malfoy. Your father always tried the same thing when he had done something he knew I would find…distasteful." There was a stifled cough from one of the hooded men. "Yes, Lucius?" Voldemort asked, keeping his eyes on the blonde boy in front of him. "Do you wish to speak? To stand up for your precious son, who has likely betrayed us all? If so, you may join in his fate. If not, I suggest you hold your tongue." There were no more interruptions. "Now, since you are in one piece, I will allow those who brought you to me to exact punishment. I am sure they will do an adequate job of it." He waved his hands, gesturing for Draco to be removed. Kingston stepped forward and picked him up by the collar of his shirt and followed the others.

Draco was brought to a smaller room, one with a pair of shackles suspended from the ceiling. He was led over and the shackles were placed around his wrists. The chains were then tightened so that Draco was forced to stand. "Now then," Bellatrix began, "what have you told your little friends?"

"Nothing. And they aren't my friends; my allegiance lies with the Dark Lord. I am not a betrayer."

"Well, that is what you would say, isn't it? What self-respecting traitor would openly admit to it? But we will make you admit to it, you can be sure of that."

But I'm not, Draco thought to himself. I haven't betrayed anyone. Why would I want to be on their side? Not that she'll ever believe me; she's stark-raving mad.

"I will ask you again, and then I am going to get nasty. What have you told them?"

"Nothing," Draco said vehemently.

"Fine. Lie all you want; we'll get you to confess sooner or later. And in the meantime, we get to have our fun." With that, she yelled "Crucio!" And all thoughts Draco had were forgotten.

He twisted and writhed, trying to escape the pain, but nothing he did could ease it. The fact that his hands were chained above him only made it worse; every time he moved, the weight of his body would pull on his arms, threatening to tear them out of their sockets. He heard screaming, and realized it was coming from him. Finally the pain let up, leaving him panting and gasping for breath. "Now, let's try this again. What have you told them."

"Nothing, I told them nothing, I haven't even seen them since…" Bellatrix shook her head. "Tsk tsk. Naughty boy. Crucio!"

"What have I told you about lying?" She shrieked, taking a dark pleasure out of Draco's pain. "It won't help you; we'll find out eventually. Tell us now, and I'll make it stop. Keep lying, and I will continue. I would tell you this hurts me more than it does you, but that would be a lie; I'm enjoying every minute of this."

Draco kept his mouth shut, biting his lip to keep from screaming. How long could this go on? Considering it was Bellatrix casting the spell, probably until he was dead. Which was the intent of this whole exercise; Draco had displeased the Dark Lord, and now he had to pay for his mistake. That was the way it worked.

It stopped. Draco shook his head, glaring fiercely at Bellatrix. "Fine. You don't want to talk, then I'll make it so you can't. Silencio!" Draco opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Bellatrix just laughed. "Crucio! Now; if there is anything you want to say, anything at all, speak up. If you do, I'll make it stop. If you don't, well, I probably don't need to tell you what will happen."

Draco was exhausted. He just hung there, as the spell surged through his body, making him involuntarily twitch. The Death Eaters in the room were quickly losing interest. Draco wanted to scream, every muscle in his body was telling him to scream to make it stop, but his pride wouldn't let him, even if he had been able to. It was against his upbringing to show weakness, so he just glared at Bellatrix.

Suddenly there was a loud noise from another room. "Everybody out! They've found the building!" Immediately the Death Eaters in the room left, and there was the sound of hundreds of people disapparating. And Draco was left in the room, his broken body suspended from the ceiling.

The pain let up, but Draco almost didn't notice. He could barely lift his head, and wasn't even aware his tormentors had left. He hung there, eyes closed, whispering for someone to make it stop.

So? What do you think? There will be more, don't worry; I just want to make sure I've got interest before I continue. This is my first attempt at Harry Potter fanfic, and it's been a while since I've read the fifth and sixth books, so keep that in mind.