Hey, All!! So, (to my faithful readers) I know i said i wasn't going to start any more of my many stories, but i decided that i want to so... i am! yay!! Right? lol. anyways... this one unlike What's a girl to do? is already prewritten... actually it has a sequel! (Yes, you may squeal!) I am however writing it from memory, because since i moved i haven't found everything i packed... it's there somewhere ... i swear!! But i do remember the basics, so it will be slightly different, but mostly the same as the one in my note book. But, you really won't know the difference...sooo... oh, well. Just so you know... sadly this is not a SB/HG fic, but a DM/GW fic... which is another ship i am fond of. But, anyways enjoy it, savor it, hate it, i don't really care... Just REVIEW it!! love you all, and i'm sure any new readers i take on I'll love as well!!
xoxo
shannon
DISCLAIMER: NOPE! NOT MINE!...yet...muwhahahahahaha
Draco Malfoy,
I would like to extend to you the same offer Dumbledore did before his death. I don't know where Snape took you after his betrayal or if you can even escape, but the offer stands. You didn't kill Dumbledore and for that you I am willing to give you protection here at the Order's head quarters. You will find, if you truly accept this offer, that you will know where to go. Your mother will also be included in this offer, though if she has any thoughts of betrayal it is negated. Be warned.
Harry Potter
Harry, in all truth, found this letter difficult to write. It's not that he didn't truly mean what he had written, but more so that he couldn't vanquish his long held grudges towards the boy. But Draco, in his eyes, had proven something that fateful night. That no matter what petty superiority complexes Lucius had implanted in the boy, he wasn't evil. A git? Yes. Evil? Not quite.
He attached the letter to a large barn owl he had paid to use at the post office in Diagon Alley and threw it out into the night.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo (TO YOU)
Draco lounged on his king size bed while nursing a particularly hideous cut on his arm. His whole body, in fact, was one big wound. His father was furious when it was revealed to him that Snape was forced to do the task… the one measly task assigned to his son, of killing Hogwarts' Headmaster. His father had, after sufficiently punishing Draco, set out on the task of teaching his son how to be a true man… a Death Eater. Lucius was becoming more enraged by the day.
Draco muttered a spell his mother had given him, trying fruitlessly to heal the wound. His father was persistent in his efforts to make each wound as painful and long lasting as wizardly possible without killing him. He sighed in frustration and pain when the wound didn't change. In a fit of anger he threw his wand across the room, hitting the window with a flash of silver sparks. His wand fell to the floor and his window flew open with a gust of wind.
Normally he would have left it, enjoying the summer's breeze, but he could hear from below the voices of Death Eaters. He jumped from his bed, hastily picking up his wand and shutting the window with a soft snap. He turned back to his bed and almost screamed in fright before laughing slightly in relief. He had become jittery in the past weeks as is father showed up for 'lessons' at all hours. But, it wasn't his father hulking in the shadows or some fierce beast his father had sent to him to kill, but a lowly barn owl holding out its leg.
Still annoyed with himself for being jumpy, Draco took the letter and opened the window so the bird could fly off into the night. Once the bird was gone, Draco wished it had stayed. Draco sighed to himself. When the only live-being interaction you've had is from psycho-axe murder-delusional-power hungry-warped-Death Eaters and or similar beings of the non-human sort, one can suffer from attention withdrawal. Draco plopped back down on his bed, hissed as his bruised body came in contact with the mattress, and opened his letter.
His face slowly became a frown as he read, before he crumpled up the parchment and hurled it across the room (though since it was only paper, it barely made it past the end of his obnoxiously large bed). He sighed in frustration, as if he would go live with the order. He shuttered at the thought. That would be worse then living here… which was pretty much what hell must be like, Draco mused. Heaven or Hell? Were those his options? But, maybe it wouldn't be so bad living with the order. No Lucius, no Dark Lord, no monsters hell bent on killing him. Hmm.
Draco debated in his head about accepting the offer of from Pothead. He still hadn't come up with a decision when his door flew open and crashed into the wall before swinging back around and almost hitting the door opener in the face. The door opened again, less violently and Draco saw a startled and wide-eyed Peter Pettigrew standing there.
"You… Your father wishes to see you," he said sounding dazed and Draco had to suppress a snicker. Then it dawned on him what the squat man had said and he groaned… loudly.
Draco walked slowly down the hall after Peter who was mumbling at himself. When he entered his father's study Peter left him, closing the door behind him and thus leaving Draco alone in a pitch black room. The only sound was soft, erratic breathing and barely audible sounds of pain. Draco fidgeted. So, like his father to leave him in the dark with only bodiless noises as company … makes entrances more impressive. Just as he thought, moments later sickly green flames burst up around the room, making it look ire. Draco scanned the room and flinched back upon seeing it. A small figure lay in the middle of the room, unconscious.
"Draco," his father drawled, starling him. "I see you have found tonight's lesson. The Dark Lord has decided it is time you joined the ranks of his followers. It is quite an honor son. One I do not believe you have earned. You will have only one final test, before fulfilling your destiny." His cruel eye descended upon the figure who let out another painful sob. "Kill it," his father said harshly, his voice like knives. "Kill the muggle swine and make me proud."
The figure rolled over and Draco saw it's face. It was a boy, a young boy, no older than seven. He had sandy brown hair and a light complexion. His face was contorted in pain and his face was blue.
"No," Draco whispered, feeling nauseous.
"Do it," shrieked his father. "The boy will suffer until you do."
Draco spun and lurched for the door, fleeing the room. Bile rose in his throat and he bent double, heaving.
