Part One
Draco Malfoy barely even saw Harry Potter any more. Not that he considered this a bad thing. It was just that occasionally, when he'd had an argument and felt like punching someone, or had had a bad lesson and needed to be mean to someone, that he really noticed Potter's elusiveness over the last six months they'd been at school.
It was the beginning of March, over half way through the school year, and Draco had only managed to have two fights with Potter. The first, the clichéd confrontation on the Hogwarts Express on September 1st, wasn't even a proper fight. They had muttered a few mild insults at each other, Draco calling Potter childish names such as "Scar-head" and Potter retorting, just as immaturely, "Ferret-face". Then had been the overdone "Mudblood and Weasel; two mouldy boulders" routine. Then they ran out of things to say. Draco never ran out of things to say. He was quite alarmed. Draco had just muttered, "Muggle loving wanker," at Potter, and walked off, Goyle and Crabbe following in his wake, Weasley gaping like a fish, Granger telling him to mind his language, and not to insult the Head Girl or she'd slap him again, and Potter saying, "Er… so? What's it to you?" down the hall. Their second fight though, had been classified as the best fight ever in Draco's opinion. He'd been in the hospital wing for three entire days with a broken jaw and a black eye, and Potter slightly worse off with a broken nose, a cracked rib and a black eye as well. He'd only got a month worth of detention for his troubles as well. They hadn't attempted to make him and Potter even vaguely amicable, like he had suspected and Dumbledore had put him with Snape. Snape, of all people. Draco wondered if Dumbledore even knew it was his Godfather. Snape (who couldn't tell him off about hating Potter) just told him to simmer down a bit, then told him which potion they were doing next lesson, and he started to prepare a warm-up attempt. God knows what Potter had to do. Draco hoped he had to clear the Owlery of bird excrement by hand, write out ten thousand lines of 'I am a twit, Draco Malfoy is a god', or something Potter would find equally as demeaning.
But Potter was rarely in classes, just missed out random days and Draco knew he never got detention for skipping class, so there must have been a legitimate reason for him missing class. The most popular rumours of the week were that he had fathered a baby in the holidays and was helping to look after it, that he was running off everyday to fight Death Eaters and that he was having an affair with Dumbledore. All of them were completely rubbish. Draco figured that seen as it hadn't been in the papers, and Potter was a complete twit, that he was still an innocent virgin that hadn't been 'de-flowered' by a Muggle in the holidays. Potter may be a Muggle-loving git with a hero-complex, but again, there hadn't been anything in the paper or from his mother about Death Eater attacks, so he figured this was rubbish as well. And the last one was just… wrong. On so many levels. So Draco really didn't know where he was, and it was only on the rare occasion that he bothered to think about Potter. Even that was when he wanted to hit him.
The next morning, Draco sat down to eat his breakfast (poached egg on toast, salt, pepper and a cup of tea, one milk, two sugars) and the post was delivered by his brand new Eagle Owl. The last one had accidentally delivered a letter to Malcolm Baddock, and had unfortunately died of natural causes the same day. At least that was what he'd been told by his mother. He couldn't find a reason to not believe her, and he got a new owl out of it all. The letter had the usual seal on it, dark green; it was from his mother. He opened it and pulled out the letter, trying not to show his alarm and dismay as he read through it. Malfoys never showed excessive amounts of emotion.
His father had been released from Azkaban on a technicality. Draco wondered why they hadn't found this technicality 18 months ago when he had been imprisoned to start with. He wasn't stupid, he knew his father was a Death Eater, and that it was expected that he would be one too. Draco thought it was quite likely too. He didn't especially like Muggles or Mudbloods, but he didn't want to kill them. But it was his father. His father was a Death Eater and a politician. He knew he didn't have to do the same, and that some people didn't want him to, but to most people they just figured it was inevitable. He didn't know what he wanted, he just wanted someone to tell him, give him a nudge in the right direction. But different people had different ideas on what was right. Seen as no one but his parents were giving him any sort of help, he'd accepted, nearly 100 that he would become a Death Eater. That's all there was to it.
A copy of the Quibbler was thrust under his nose. He scowled at the person next to him, Pansy pissing Parkinson. She gave him 'the look' which basically told him that she was completely unaffected by him, and to read the pissing paper.
"MALFOY RELEASED; CONSPIRACY SUSPECTED," glared at him from the front page. He scanned through the article, which told him less than his letter anyway. He looked on the back of the letter. It told him to come home.
88—
Draco looked at his home, it was in the country, not a house for miles, forests just a few miles away. They were on the border of Scotland, Hogwarts only a few hours away. It was a large place, a wizarding house, which meant there were many more room that you could see, and enough room to get lost if you didn't know where you were. There were dungeons, a potion's lab, a ballroom, and a vast arrangement of other rooms, some that were there every day, and some that weren't. He got the letter about his father two days ago. He'd told Professor Snape, who looked at him rather oddly, he knew he hadn't seen pity in the man's eyes, he wasn't capable of that emotion. As he left his office Snape called out to him, "Draco, you always have a choice." Snape had arranged for him to visit his home, and gave him a Port-key that would bring him back in four days.
He walked in the front doors as the guards opened them and a house-elf ran up to him, "Morning Master Draco. I is taking your bags?" the little creature asked.
Draco nodded, dismissing him, and addressed another elf, "Where is my mother?"
"Mistress Narcissia is in the library. Is you wanting Isis to take Master Malfoy to her?" Isis asked eagerly.
Draco made a face. "I do know where the library is." He waved his hand and the elf scurried away. He walked quickly up the stairs and down the hall. He knocked on the door.
A soft voice called, "Come in."
Draco opened the door. His mother was sitting at the desk and his father was perched on the edge. His father looked… good. He'd seen the pictures of Sirius Black when he'd been in Azkaban, and the man had looked absolutely awful. Draco didn't know what he had been expecting, but it was definitely to see his father in some state of dishevelment. His hair had obviously been recently cut, and he was wearing his finest day robes. He looked rather skinny, and had a strange air about him. His mother looked as she always did, perfect.
"Mother. Father. It is so good to see you." He walked into the room, completely unsure of what to do.
Lucius looked Draco over and nodded. "Draco. It has been a while."
Draco almost smiled and nodded. "Indeed it has. Are you well?"
Lucius looked thoughtful and said slowly. "It has been a difficult time. Rather a miracle that this little hitch was found out. I don't think I could have taken much more without going completely barking. Don't know how Black did it." He studied a chip on his nail.
Draco knew his father had known Sirius Black. Lucius had been in his 7th Year when Black had started Hogwarts. Apparently you would be hard pushed to find someone who didn't know the boy; he had been expected in Slytherin, and everyone had been shocked when he had been put in Gryffindor and taken up with James Potter. Of course there was also that Lucius had been present at the man's death. Draco nodded at his father. "Well, it certainly has been good fortune then." Lucius smirked, and so did Draco. They both knew it was anything but. Draco didn't know details, but he knew his father; there wasn't a technicality. It was either bribery on Lucius' part or Narcissias'. Perhaps both.
"Mother?" Draco asked. "How are you?"
Narcissia smiled. "I am very well. It is such a relief to see you both here. How has school been?"
Draco knew his cue; it was rehearsed. "Oh everything is fine Mother. My schoolwork has been going very well, as has Quidditch. We are set to win the cup this year. Gryffindor hasn't been on form this year." He didn't know if this was good or bad. It was obviously good because they would win; Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were a joke. It was bad because they had no competition, and without Potter as Seeker Gryffindor had no chance whatsoever.
"We haven't had any more… incidents with Mr Potter then?" Narcissia rebuked.
Draco almost flushed. "No Mother. Apart from the incident at Christmas there has been very little of Potter around the school." He grinned wickedly. "Rumour has it he's having an affair with a teacher."
Lucius chuckled. "I do hope you take no heed of these rumours Draco."
"Of course not," Draco said. "They are mere entertainment."
Lucius and Narcissia nodded. "Draco, after dinner we would like to introduce you to someone."
"I see," Draco said calmly. "May I… enquire to who it is?"
Lucius chuckled, and said, "Yes you may. That does not mean you will be told."
Draco smiled. "Fine. May I go to my room to change?"
"Of course. Dinner is as seven o'clock, Draco," Lucius told him. Draco left the library. He didn't dwell on who he would be meeting. It was only a few hours to wait. There more important things to think about.
88—
It was only when Draco was being led to the dungeons by his father, who seemed slightly more… eccentric than Draco remembered him to be, that he started to wonder, and worry slightly.
"Father?" he queried.
Lucius sounded amused. Why, Draco didn't have a clue. "Be patient Draco. You will like my surprise."
Draco thought it was a guest he was meeting, not getting a surprise. He decided it was probably not the best idea to contradict his father. He was obviously still disturbed by his stay in Azkaban. Even he hadn't discussed killing Muggles at the dinner table before Azkaban. He didn't say anything. Best to play it safe.
Lucius led him further down, further that Draco had ever been before. He'd only been down there a couple of times anyway, and they weren't the most pleasant experiences he'd ever had. Suddenly, Draco felt a surge of magic.
"Father?" he said again.
Lucius turned around. The torch he held cast odd shadows over his face, and contorted the fierce cheekbones and aristocratic nose. He looked like hell warmed up. "Surprise," he said, and moved out of the way.
Harry Potter. Bound, gagged and behind bars.