Full summary:
Draco knows what awaits him after his fifth year, and doubts that he has what it takes to take his father place amongst The Dark Lord's servents. He is not willing to become the cause of his mothers death, and finds only one way around it all, but things never seem to go the way they were meant to.
Warnings: Some bad language and violence. The story will have some rather dark part, but noting to bad. Read at your won risk. :D
Author Note: This is my first fanfiction ever and English is not my first language, I'm from Sweden. But I have a amazing beta-reader: Rebecca. =)
I do accept critics, but no flaming. Thank you.
Fanfiction: Forward to time past
Chapter 1:
A dark cloud bank had appeared beyond the Black Lake, at the horizon. Draco could literally see how the threatening clouds swept across the sky. The grey-black formations devoured, piece by piece, the previous clear blue sky and the air was thick, hot and muggy.
Draco sat relaxed on an old stone wall that had been heated up by the sunlight and saw the other students hurried to the boats. Hardily anyone was talking and it seamed as if they tried to hurry to the train, before the storm hit. Draco understood that it was to late to do so, but that was not what kept him waiting.
Every now and then distant rumble could be heard, seconds after that the horizon had been lighted up in white. A strong, chilly gust of wind rippled the surface of the water and it made Draco shiver slightly when it retched him. The temperature must have dropped several degrees in an instant, but he sat still and showed no intention to follow the others.
"Hurry, Draco! Don't just sit there. The storm will be over us any minute now." It was Pansy Parkinson that had called, she stood with two other Slytherins several meters away from where he sat. She and the others seemed impatient, the wind had increased in strength and it tore at their hair and school uniforms.
"You can go along, I'll take the last boat." Draco answered with a plain voice, but clear enough for them to make out what he sad. He did not need to tell them twice to make them leave without him. Chilly raindrops began to fall, not heavier then a drizzle, when the next black wooden boat left Hogwarts port.
His fifth year at Hogwarts had pased by all to fast, now it was over. Draco wished that he could make it last longer.
Dolores Umbridge may be an idiot and totally incompetent, but she had given him good opportunities to make fun of Potter and his beloved friends. Those moments gave him the feeling that he for ones was in control, and made him feel powerful. It also made him forget his past life and what lay ahead. They deserved everything they got from Draco, but he would never let them know the reason why. They would not care, even if they knew. The Golden-Gryffindor-trio cared just as little about him as he cared about there health.
The port was completely deserted for the time being. The magnificent Hogwarts castle rose a fair distance behind him. It would be almost empty by now, maybe except from some teachers and a couple of student. The luxury of safety it had given him during this past year worth not last mush longer.
Draco saw the small boats travel further and further away. The one that had left the port first would be at the opposite post by now. The students would soon be on board at Hogwarts Express, on their way to safety that only a home and loving family could give.
Well known feelings like envy and disappointment, against himself and his situation, and fear battled for dominance inside of him. He felt ashamed. Why was he so weak and useless? Draco would never be able to manage what lay ahead of him and he did not have the courage to ask someone, anyone, for help.
It was strange, no one had come to tell him to get a move on, but Draco did not complain ether. He should not stay here. At the same time he wished half-hearted that another opportunity would appear. But Draco understood: No one knew so no one could help him. It was like a dark spiral, with walls to thick for him to get throw and to hi for him to climb.
Potter, perfect Potter, he had survived yet again. Draco had been standing just outside Albus Dumbledore's office and heard how his rival had shouted in rage and sorrow. Draco had given up his weak attempt to ask for help then. Mr. Scar Face was the last person he wanted to run into.
His rival had lost his godfather, and Draco would lose what was left of his freedom, if he returned to Malfoy Manor. The door to freedom had been shut for years: If he chose to do nothing now and stay, then that door would be looked and the key out of his reach for good.
The rain fell more heavily than before now, and the roar of the thunder where much louder. Draco's thoughts were to far away for him to notice how cold and wet he had become.
The memories of the Dark Lord's cold red eyes, filled with hatred and superiority, was enough to make him shiver for more reasons than cold. The only moment when Draco had met his gaze had been enough for him to understand. If he thought that life had been tough before, then it was nothing compared to what lay ahead.
The Dark Lord had came to Malfoy Manor a couple of days after Draco had came home after his forth year at Hogwarts. Lucius had spoken to his master the very same night and Draco knew better then to eavesdrop. But the missing peaces would fall to place soon enough.
"Draco," The cold and inhuman voice of the Dark Lord would for ever be in the back of his mind, "If Lucius fails me yet again, then you probably understand that my patience towards your family is starting to wear out… Hopefully you won't be such a disappointment as you're father has became."
It had only been simple words, but it weighed him down and hurt more that any punishment ever would be able to do.
Draco knew that his father had failed: the fact that Potter had survived was proof enough for him. He was sure that he did not what to be a part of the future that lay ahead. Lucius had failed his chance to redeem himself and it was clear that Draco had to follow in his footsteps. Draco did not see it as an honour to serve the Dark Lord. His father had done his best to make him believe it would be. It may seem like he had from another person's viewpoint, but that was a lie, a mask he had chosen to bear. The roles he had to follow had formed the person he had become. It had become a struggle, the older he got, to separate these lies from the truth.
Dracos right hand held a flat, round and metallic object in his pocket. Any other student would mistake it for an old silver coin, that had oxidized and lost its luster. Draco, however, knew better. This world would do better without him in it. Draco feared that he wasn't capable to completing whatever the Dark Lord had in store for him.
This coin would take him far away from it all. If Draco would turn out to become the cause of the death of the only person he recalled loving and trusted nowadays… The he would not be able to live with himself.
Yes, his mother would definitely be better of without him.
Draco's thoughts where interrupted by an old and crooked-backed man, that was standing a safe distance in front of him. The person held up a lantern in front of him, but it's yellowish light was faint.
It had became a lot darker, almost as if it day had turned into night, and the dark cloud bank would soon reach the port's shore. A lightning bolt between the clouds and it lit up the caretaker's grim and frowning face.
"What are you sitting there and looking miserable for, boy?" Draco met Mr. Filch eyes with a sigh, but sad nothing. "You should be on your way like all the other students. I do not care if your parents are a pair of high-class snobs, you are a student like the rest!"
Draco stepped down from where he sat and glared the old man in his bitter eyes, the caretaker glared back. Draco stopped himself from shouting a brazen comment, it wasn't worth it. Instead he started walking towards the last boat without uttering a single word. Draco passed Mr. Filch and pushed the old man with his left shoulder , hard enough for the old man to lose his balance and he almost dropped his lantern. People should not talk about things they did not understand, or know anything about. Draco himself may be to blame for the exact same actions, but he had his reasons.
Draco could hear Mr. Filch swear about the stupidity of the school's pupils from behind. The sound of the old mans dragging footsteps became weaker and the finally disappeared completely.
Ice cold rain was showering down from the sky now. The angry roar of the thunder reached his ears at the same time as the lighting struck. Heavy raindrops splashed against the grey, uneven pavement and in front of him lay the Black Lake. It truly lived up to its name now; the lake looked like a huge back hole. Ice blue light from the dark clouds lit up its surface and the rain fell like miniature bombs against its watery surface.
Draco sat down at the far back of the wooden boat, opened his right hand and studied the small silver coin. It was possible to make out that the object still had some of its lustre, thanks to the light from the lantern in the front.
The only thing he had to do would be to wish for a way out, a way away from it all. So simple, yet the hardest decision Draco had ever had to make. He was sure about wanting to get away and not turning out like his father. But forever…? Was there a way back? He could not be certain. It had been a close call when Draco had stolen the object, he never had the time to find out all the answers.
Was he prepared to give up the image he had created of himself? Was he prepared to let go of the mask he had carried for so long? It had became his second skin.
He was afraid, afraid of being free.
It could not have passed more than about half a minute when Draco heard someone calling. The voice was drowned out almost completely in the roar of the storm,
"Hurry up, I'm already soaking wet and do not want to miss the train!"
It was impossible to recognise the voice, but Draco could hear that it was a younger woman. Her steps where firm and sharp, and the water on the ground gave away splashing sounds with each step. Draco looked up carefully when the person came close enough to the lantern and made it possible for him identify her. He turned away directly when he saw who she was: Granger. Hadn't she and the rest of the Gryffindor-trio left the school earlier today?
"We won't miss it," That was defiantly Ron Weasley, sounding tired and annoyed, "and it is your fault that we are late this time."
Draco turned away from them and hoped that they would not recognize him. He did not have a hood to cover his face, so he understood that it was just a matter of time. Irritation slowly rose within him: Draco did not want to be dragged into an pointless argument, or become responsible for starting a fight himself. To step a shore would blow his cover directly, and it was to late for that now anyway. They had already left the dock.
The storm was over them now: There was no time delay between the sound of the thunder and the actual lightning. Luckily the school had prepared the boats with protective charms.
Draco continued to listen tensely to Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley´s nagging conversation when they both went completely silent. He sat still with his right side turned to them and faced the opposite direction. Was it to much to ask for to be left alone? For god's sake…
"Malfoy?" It was the first thing Potter had sad since he arrived, and the boy seamed puzzled, more the anything else.
Draco turned and stared his rival in his green eyes with a chilly gaze and then let it travel amongst the tree of them. They all seemed shocked at first, frozen solid where they sat next to one another, and did not know how to tackle the situation.
Ron Wesley was the first of the lot to gather his thought and the redhead's next reaction did not only shock Draco; Ron began to laugh out loud.
"You should see yourself, Malfoy!"
Draco narrowed his gaze while Ron collected himself after his laugh attack. A couple of seconds passed when no words were spoken.
"And you believe that you yourself look so much better, Weasley?" The low tone in Dracos voice mirrored his inner emotions precisely: Dislike and great irritation.
Everyone that sat in the boat looked just as miserable, soaking wet from head to toe and their luggage as well. Draco had sent his belongings to Malfoy Manor the day before. He had brought what he needed and it wasn't much.
The situation was rather ironic.
Ron Wesley's scornful grin had faded and been replaced with a sour look.
"Of course, what dose a Weasley know about style?" Ron's entire face looked more and more like the thunderclouds in the dark sky while Draco continued, "Your family have none to begin with. And a worse Quidditch player than you is hard to come by."
Draco had not meant to speak the two last sentences out loud. The words escaped his lips before he had given it a second thought. The small boat careened when Ron threw himself up towards Draco, his right fist ready to strike. The blond had lowered his gaze after he had spoken and had no time to react. The only thing Draco saw was the redhead's furious face when Ron's fist collided with his throat, dangerously close to his cheekbone, but not with the same force that Draco had expected.
Draco felt his upper body hurled backwards and he had to break his fall with his forearms where he sat. The punch may not been of full force, but it had left him breathless. He was gasping for air. The shock of what just happened blocked out all other emotions.
"Your bastard!" The sound of Ron's voice was in between the roar of a lion and a hissing snake.
Draco looked up when he had caught his breath enough and saw Ron was being held back, by no other than Harry Potter.
"Let me go, Harry! The coward deserves it and you know it!" The boy struggled wildly to get loose.
It seemed as if Harry was the weakest of the two friends, much to Draco's concern. Hermione was standing behind them and tried to talk some sense into Ron, but without any success. Potter lifted his gaze just for a minute and Draco's stormy-grey eyes met his rivals green ones. The Golden Gryffindor seamed emotionally exhausted and his eyes where filled with hateful regret.
Draco stood up when he had caught his breath completely, an uncomfortable feeling still in his throat. He had got up just in time to have a chance to defend himself, when Ron finally broke free from his friends tight grip. Draco stepped backwards as much as the boat would allow him and held his hands up in a defensive gesture. He felt the silver coin slide out of his grip.
Ron's fist never reached him.