Summary

(Because I don't know how to work this thing...)

**Meet Draco Malfoy. Though perhaps you don't want to.
Stuck-up and self-obsessed, Draco's made a reputation for himself as Harry Potter's arch-nemesis. When things got rough before, Draco had his father to bail him out.

But not anymore. His father locked away in the depths of Azkaban, Draco must complete the Dark Lord's newest - and hardest - assignment for him alone, with only the incompetent fools Crabbe and Goyle for assistance.

In order to survive, Draco's going to need to drop the 'conceited-rich-kid' act and resort to some crude methods of devilry and debauchery to complete his task; maybe it'll even include seducing the infamous goody-two-shoes Harry James Potter.**

Set at the beginning of The Half Blood Prince, book seven.
Pairings: Drarry (Draco x Harry)

Owls didn't fly to Azkaban.

Thus, no letters were read by prisoners.

Perhaps the Dementors read them instead. Draco amused himself briefly with the thought of the hooded, demonic beings kicking back on a leather sofa and having a good laugh at the letter Draco had written to his father. Except, of course, Dementors no longer guarded the gates of Azkaban. And they certainly didn't laugh.

But the letters probably don't even make it that far, Draco mused. His eagle owl, Aquila, had only been away for a day before returning: certainly not enough time for her to reach the isle upon which Azkaban was located.

"Draco?"

Staring blindly out of the train compartment's window, Draco blinked. Pansy's voice had startled him out of his thoughts, which - naturally - had come to rest on his own appearance after briefly lingering on his father's imprisonment in Azkaban.

"What?" Draco demanded, trying not to let his mask of patience slip. Bad for your reputation, really, if you got annoyed at people who you classed as 'friends'.

Not that Draco would confide in them. Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle: idiots, the lot of them. And Blaise Zabini wasn't much better - he, like Draco, was a little too obsessed with his own reflection.

"I asked you if you did anything interesting this summer?" Pansy tilted her head questioningly, her small, dull eyes brimming with concern and devotion.

"No." Draco replied shortly. In fact, countless interesting things had happened over the course of summer - but he wasn't about to share them with her. Pansy, despite her apparent loyalty, would most likely share anything he told her with her closest friends, which included Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass.

Liabilities, the lot of them.

"Oh... okay." Pansy sounded uncertain.

Draco was eager to return to his own thoughts, but the logical part of him urged him to re-establish the trust Pansy Parkinson placed in him.

Who knows if I might need her in the future?

Though why Draco would need Pansy Parkinson, he didn't know. Certainly not as a bride or girlfriend of any sort... but would it be safer to marry her, than fall in love with a half-blood - or, even worse, a Mudblood or... God forbid... a muggle?

No matter. If Draco fell in love with the wrong person, he'd cast his affections aside. What was more important - much more important - was cementing a place for himself in the world.

"Did you do anything interesting this summer, Pansy?" Draco decided on asking. He really had no interest in anything Pansy may or may not have done - he had other things to think about than her exploits - but it would be polite to ask.

"Oh, yes!" Pansy beamed at his interest, and Draco smothered the urge to roll his eyes under a mask of polite intrigue and a nod of acknowledgement.

As she began prattling on - something about her father's chalet in the South of France and her neon-pink bikini (Draco didn't want to think about her rolls of barely-concealed blubber forced into a bikini) - Draco stared at the faint reflection of himself in the window pane.

He didn't pride himself on being the model Zabini was. Not at all.

But he did have the high cheekbones; they cast shadows down his jaw, something which he knew girls found attractive (at least, Pansy liked pointing them out). His eyes, a pale blue, were arctic and aloof and alluring all at once. A pointed jaw made his face slim, not the pudgy balls Crabbe and Goyle's faces were. And his hair, while it wasn't dark and invitingly ruffled like Zabini's was, wasn't greasy or stringy or bushy (like that Mudblood Granger's hair).

"Blaise!"

Alerted to the seventh-year's arrival by Pansy's pause in her monologue, Draco summoned a smirk as the attractive boy sloped into the compartment, pulling the door open.

However, he struggled to shut it. Draco watched - barely concealing his amusement, and not feeling any guilt over the fact he had no interest in helping - as Zabini tugged at the sliding the door, swearing softly. Suddenly, the door shot open - Draco laughed outright - and Zabini was sent sprawling into Goyle.

"What the -?" Goyle growled furiously at Zabini. His pink cheeks and darting eyes revealed that he didn't really mind Zabini sitting in his lap, and Draco smiled coyly, reveling in the fact he had a new secret about one of his 'friends'. So Goyle liked Zabini, huh?

Draco wasn't really sure about the Dark Lord's view on homosexuality. It was probably disapproved of - how were pure-blood families supposed to reproduce? - and Draco's smile widened. Another positively easy way to blackmail Goyle into servitude, though the boulder of a boy hardly needed any encouragement on the loyalty front.

"What - hell - idiot!" Zabini blustered. He obviously wasn't impressed.

Curiosity pulled at Draco's thoughts. Why wasn't the door shutting -?

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco thought he caught a glimpse of motion. A floating - wait, a floating shoe? The faint snap of a cloak heard over the growls as Zabini and Goyle raged at one another?

Draco's lips pinched with suspicion, but he pushed it aside. Until he thought of an answer, there was no use pointing fingers and randomly accusing people. Though, quite obviously, the source was probably Potter.

Harry Goody-Two-Shoes Potter, determined to tattle on his nasty enemy, Draco Malfoy.

Harry Potter's world was black and white, goodies and baddies, heroes and criminals. Draco's world was more blurred: if he didn't help the Dark Lord, his father would end up imprisoned in Azkaban for the rest of his life. Yes, he'd made mistakes (being caught was one of them) but he was Draco's father. Public humiliation and disgrace didn't come into it. Blood - especially pure blood - was thicker than water, after all.

"So -" now that Zabini and Goyle had sorted out their feud (Goyle's cheeks still tinged red) Draco felt he could start talking "- Zabini, what did Slughorn want?"

"Just trying to make up to well-connected people," Zabini replied dismissively, still fuming at Goyle, who seemed to be secretly enjoying the attention. Draco - tempted to point out Goyle's accidental attraction for all to see - leaned into Pansy's lap, and tried to suppress the want - no, need - to humiliate his 'friend'. "Not that he managed to find many."

Draco frowned to himself. Surely Slughorn would want him in his little collection, too? Hadn't his father - before he was shipped off to Azkaban - told him all about Horace Slughorn, about how Lucius had been chosen?

"Who else had he invited?" Draco demanded irritably, grudgingly allowing Pansy to stoke his hair. No harm in it, when all was said and done.

"McLaggen from Gryffindor -" Draco recalled that the boy, wiry-haired and ridiculously well-built (pumped on steroids? Draco had to investigate, perhaps McLaggen could become an asset through a little blackmail) had superb connections throughout the Ministry - "someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw -" nope, Draco didn't know any 'Belby', though since Pansy declared he was 'a prat', he probably wasn't of any use or interest - "and Longbottom, Potter and that Weasley girl."

Longbottom? What's that idiot got to do with this?

Draco bolted upright, alarmed. A gap in his information. That idiot wasn't connected - aside from the fact Longbottom had been involved in the Ministry exploit last year - he had nothing going for him. Did he? Draco would have to find out.

"He invited Longbottom?" Draco repeated incredulously.

"Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there," Zabini wasn't amused by the fact Draco doubted him.

"What's Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?" Draco asked himself feverishly; unnoticed by Draco, Zabini shrugged, and Crabbe and Goyle shared equally clueless glances (Goyle's cheeks had finally returned to their usual colour).

Shaking off the uncertainty, Draco considered the last two names Zabini had recited.

"Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at the Chosen One," Draco sneered angrily. His thoughts steered violently from Goyle's hilarious crush on Zabini to Potter, with his vivid green eyes and long legs and - well, whatever. "But that Weasley girl! What's so special about her?"

"A lot of boys like her," Pansy said quickly - a dab nervously. "Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!"

Draco deliberately thought of the Weasley girl - Ginny, or something ridiculous. Pretty, he guessed. Not really something he'd go for... but then again, what would he go for? Definitely not a round, curvy girl like Pansy (though he knew Crabbe liked those sorts, not that he'd ever get a girlfriend - not with that face). Not a skinny, sallow-faced girl like Daphne Greengrass, or a horse-faced troll of a girl like Millicent Bulstrode. Nor a pretty, warm-looking girl like Ginny Weasley (no matter how pure her blood was). So - who?

"...whatever she looked like." Zabini had been talking, but Draco wasn't interested. The conversation strayed back to Slughorn; Draco felt annoyed as Zabini revealed that Slughorn wasn't 'interested in Death Eaters'. It was only a matter of time before the Ministry fell, and then that old man wouldn't feel so confident going against the Dark Lord's followers then.

Draco crushed his irritation and attempted a laugh.

It came out hollow and empty, humourless. A pang of grief at his father's absence coursed through him.

"Well, who cares what he's interested in?" Draco barked, blinking at the tears of injustice and hurt and anger, the black, boiling pain that had been brewing since his father had left. "I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?"

"What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" Pansy sounded upset and Draco's insides burned with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

And fear. There was plenty of fear in there.

"Well, you never know," Draco attempted to smirk, despite the writhing snakes in his stomach. Snakes were a good thing. Slytherin was represented by them, wasn't it? "I might have - er - moved on to bigger and better things."

Draco paused to allow his words to sink into the consciousness of his companions. Zabini looked darkly intrigued. Crabbe and Goyle gaped like aired fish. Pansy looked stupefied (not much different from her normal expression, then) and continued petting Draco like her favourite cat.

"Mother wants me to complete my education..." Draco began, the nerves in his gut settling as he noted the awe in his colleagues' faces. "...the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown..."

"And you think you'll be able to do something for him?" Zabini sounded incredulous. "Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?"

Sixteen years old. It sounded so mature, so grown-up... but inside, Draco still felt like the anxious first-year he'd been at the beginning. Back when everything was different; less complicated.

"I've just said, haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for." Draco murmured softly - he hadn't meant for it to slip. They might call themselves 'friends' but they could still tell someone - threaten him - and Draco pursed his lips. He'd said too much.

"I can see Hogwarts," Draco removed himself from Pansy's lap, feeling slightly flustered - but proud of himself too. A little pompous. But being self-confident had never hurt anyone... at least, not anyone who hadn't made mistakes. "We'd better get our robes on."

Draco watched as Goyle, Crabbe, Zabini and Pansy shook off their stupor and fumbled for their uniform a little dazedly. Goyle moved to reach his trunk; Draco's eyes followed his action out of boredom.

A gasp of pain sounded; Draco stiffened as the sound came from thin air. What - ?

Realisation came to him.

"When I was a Prefect, there was always one trouble-maker who managed to evade me: James Potter, and his little band of merry-men. It did not take me long to work out that he was sneaking around after-hours in an Invisibility Cloak; he was inexperienced at concealing crucial details (such as his feet and ankles). I followed up the matter with Dumbledore, but naturally, the fool took no further action and James Potter was allowed to continue his jokes and pranks all over the school.

Though it's unlikely, Harry Potter may have inherited said Invisibility Cloak - no doubt with a little help from Dumbledore. Watch out for that, Draco. Potter will no doubt target you because of our previous ties with the Dark Lord... and because he'll be a pretentious little git, just like his father."

"Draco?"

Draco had been pulling on his cloak, barely aware of his surroundings as he recalled one of his father's warnings from the summer before first year.

"You go on," Draco ordered of Pansy, who'd been offering her hand hopefully. He decided against a derisive snort - did she honestly expect him to hold hands with a girl like her in public? So they were friends - so what? He'd rather gut himself with a blunt knife than be seen showing affection toward her. "I just want to check something."

Pansy pouted, leaving the compartment after the direct command. Draco's heart was in his mouth. What if he was wrong? He was almost certain he wasn't - but what if...?

"Petrificus Totalus!"

A painful-sounding crash. As Draco suspected, Harry Jack-Ass Potter tumbled from where he'd been crouched in the luggage rack.

Staring down at him, Draco felt a pang of sympathy for the attractive - wait, no - annoying boy he'd come to call enemy. It looked a little uncomfortable, lying on his back, his legs still curled in a kneeling position. But the short-lived sympathy was quickly replaced by jubilation at his correct assumption.

"I thought so!" Draco declared triumphantly. Finally - something going his way. "I heard Goyle's trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back..."

Slow down, Draco, he told himself. Happiness and pride coursed through him; he wanted to show Potter his incredible skills of deduction. How he'd figured it out. Draco deserved some praise, for once.

"That was you blocking the door when Zabini came back in, I suppose?" Well, he couldn't answer, so Draco guessed so. He stared down at Potter, considering the handsome face, the bright eyes (currently burning with anger).

"You didn't hear anything I care about, Potter." Draco reasoned slowly. "But while I've got you here... "

If Potter was expecting a kiss, or a love confession (why would he? Draco mentally told himself off for thinking such strange thoughts. Perhaps Goyle's desires were affecting him?) he didn't get it. Draco raised a food and stamped on Potter's face.

"That's from my father. Now, let's see..."

Taking a hold of the slippery material of the fabled Invisibility Cloak, Draco admired it for a few seconds. He was tempted to take it for himself. But something stopped him - this had been a gift to Potter, from his father. His dead father.

Draco knew how it was to be without a father.

So, instead, he threw the Cloak over Potter's frozen frame and took a step back. "I don't reckon they'll find you till the train's back in London," Draco informed Potter quietly. "See you around, Potter... or not."

Draco turned and left the compartment.

Well... uh... Draco, meet reader. Reader, Draco.
So he's not some goodie-goodie filled with morality. Boo-hoo.

Well, either way, I hope you enjoyed it c: