Oh shit, Draco thought as the footsteps grew louder. By the time they reached him they were again mere whispers. The tapestry he had hid behind at the last moment flung back the light, though dim, flooded his hiding spot.

"My my, look at what we have here." The Voice said.

Draco looked up, mercy and fear in his eyes, "Please, don't."

"Don't what, Draco." The Voice said in a hiss.

"Please, My Lord. Please don't kill me." Draco said, the tears burning like Dragon's breath behind his eyes.

"I'm not planning to kill you, Draco. At least, not yet." The Dark Lord said with a snaky-whisper.

After a pause he added, "Your services are much required at this point."

"What do I have to do My Lord?" Draco asked, the fear in his voice still lingering.

"You'll learn that soon enough."

*Two Months Later*

"Have a good year Drake, see you at Christmas." The gentle soothing voice of Narcissa Malfoy whispered in her son's ear.

"Love you mom, I'll write." Draco whispered in his mother's ear.

For however cold Slytherins are said to be, that didn't apply to the relationship between Draco and Narcissa. Whenever they spoke to each other the conversation was warm, loving, and beyond all measures, a chat that led them to be close. They did not talk that way around Lucius, Draco's father, mostly because he was a cold man and neither of them liked how he choose The Dark Lord over family each and every time Voldermort had handed out an assignment.

The Dark Lord, as we know, liked to screw with people's minds. Anything to cause the person pain, and he often made a point of it to break his followers. Lucius's only pride remained in his pure-blood lineage along with the duty he was to uphold as a father. Voldermort's darkest plans often led to Lucius's involvement. For two reasons, Lucius was a devoted follower and would go to the edge of the universe to please his lord, and the second being that it destroyed Lucius to be smudge his family name.

Deep down, Narcissa and Draco both despised Voldermort, as he had many times destroyed families and people, and in their case nearly cleaved the family in twain. Narcissa, despite her lineage of the noble family of Black, thought she deserved better than a man at second rank instead of the head. She would never leave Lucius, at least she told herself until Draco is grown.

The train lay in wait, ready for the rest of the incumbent students, and new students to board. Draco entered the cabin of the train, from here on out he would have to block out the fact that he had emotions and act like a Slytherin.

The terms at Hogwarts leading up to this year had been getting harder. Since the age of 12, his first year at Hogwarts his inner self begged day after day to express themselves. Even though the Sorting Hat could read the thoughts of every head it sat on, Draco, like Harry, had urged it not to stick it with the house it had seen fit. Draco had thought hard and long before going up to the stool. The moment that hat sat on top his head Draco held his breath and kept thinking, Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin. The one thing he would live with for the rest of his life. The nagging voice of the Sorting Hat in his head, your true place should be Gryffindor; I see a heart of cold that beats with the warmth of affection and thoughts clouded with emotion. The Sorting Hat, which would proceed to choose Harry's home for the duration of Hogwarts, ruled in favor of the being's wishes.

The train reached the station where they would disembark for Hogwarts. Draco was distraught as it was, and now a ride in the seemingly enchanted carriages. As his fellow students got out of the train, Draco waited. After someone had thrown something, probably Peruvian Instant Dark Powder, that instantly blacked the train car out; he had seen something white flash behind his friend's heads. He knew that it must be Potter, or someone trying to spy on him.

Everyone had left the car, Draco turned to walk out, and as he reached the door he turned back and threw a Full Body Bind curse at the spot where he'd seen the white flash. Harry, who had been watching went to defend himself, of course, meanwhile falling out of the baggage rack and landing on the floor of the train car. Draco, with a sneer, walked over to the paralyzed Harry and proceeded to remove the cloak, seeing Harry's face only proved the earlier inference he had made. Draco rolled Harry onto his back and kicked his nose, breaking it. It killed Draco to do it, but he did. Potter's disfigured face bored holes in the ceiling of the train car. Draco couldn't stand to look at Harry any longer, so he left, throwing the cloak back over Potter's body.

Draco wanted to cry as he left the train and headed down the ramp of the station. He told himself repeatedly you can't Cry, Not Here, Not Now. Amazingly Draco held the tears at bay until late into the night he was in his room, no one else was to be seen or to see, heard or hear. Draco let go a frightful wail; still be cautious not to be too loud. His tears rolled from the corner of each eye, down each cheek leaving watery trails in their wake, to the pillow; where they collected in puddles soaking the fabric of the pillow case.

Draco cried himself to sleep that night, wishing his mother were there to comfort him. Although, she would not understand why he was crying, for there were things about Draco that no one else knew or would ever know.

The next morning, Draco's crusted eyes open to the dim light of the fire burning in the small hearth across the room. As pure instinct, Draco had woken at 4:30, the time left him a gap, for which he used to bathe along with get himself emotionally prepped for the day ahead. Like many other times, Draco pulled large leather bound, leather covered book full of crisp paper. The title on the front embroidered with the words, Draco Lucius Malfoy. The words spelled out in beautiful handwriting, belong to his mother. Draco turned to his last entry, the one marked from the day prior.

He wrote, pouring his heart out to the little book, with his own unique handwriting filling the lines of the paper.

I have done something for which I am greatly torn by. I have harmed he who I love, he who I loathe, he who is spoke of many times in the past. He being, Harry James Potter. I know now of my task that I must complete on Master's orders. The last line nearly torn with the anger Draco was feeling as he thought of his master. He continued writing, the near engraving of the paper slowed until his hand was once more writing in the usual light, airy, strokes. I feel the need to confess to him, to tell him of my love. But I know I shall not, for I'll be rejected by My Lord, My Father, and My House.

Draco's tear stained cheeks mocked him as he looked into the mirror, the boy in the mirror, however adult he might seem, looked frightened, scared of what lay in wait. Draco left his room, not going to the bath, but to go to breakfast in The Great Hall, with all the other subjects of the school. He thought to himself as he walked silently, I don't need to bathe; I bathed yesterday before we went to the station. He did take enough note to stop at the bathroom and was his face, the tear's paths could be seen, but as the cold water washed them away Draco felt better. Like his problems had been washed away with the water.

There Shall Be More! Soon hopefully. I wrote this as part of a longer story, which is to be my first based off a prompt. I apologize for the tone, and way in which I present Draco. I would also like to inform those of my readership, if I have a readership, that I am now on Blogger. Information about that will be placed on my profile, if interested please check that out. ~Author