It was early morning, the sun was rising and Draco watched it with a steady look. He didn't care about the blasted sunrise, and in honesty, had always hated sunrises.

He had the letters in his hands again.

A knock on the door sent fear pumping through his veins and he turned around with a quick jolt of hidden energy in his lifeless body.

"Draco? Can I come in, Dear?"

Draco recognized it as Mrs. Weasley and though fearful of her judgment and her intrusion, felt that the voice though not smooth, was soothing in a maternal way similar to his mother's. He was surprised to find this quality in a woman he'd been taught was beneath him and was wicked, such a kind face and a loving heart. He'd been taught this was attributed to ignorance, but through dinner didn't find the woman to be ignorant. Ron Weasley was a different story, but Molly Weasley was a caring soul.

Which was something that he feared and made him almost nervous. It was like walking up to the sorting hat for the first time. A nervous butterfly-in-stomach effect every time she doted over one of her children, it happened worst when she called him dear.

"Yes." He responded dryly, turning himself around to face her. He hung his legs over the edge of the bed, looking up steadily at the woman who entered the room. He was dressed already in a slightly loose dark green sweater and black pants, on his feet were grey winter boots, his pants already tucked behind the bill of the shoe. His elbows rested against his knees, letter still in his hand.

His hair was done in it's normal precise look and Molly smiled at his early cleanliness.

"I see you found the bathroom fine."

Draco nodded a little and took to spinning the letter in his hands again.

She the door behind herself and slowly sat beside him on the bed, hands folded in her lap, she gave him a soft smile "I just want to talk. You don't have to say a word if you don't feel like it."

Draco tightened his hand at the silence, nervously twitching.

"It's...hard to trust someone you've been taught not to."

Draco snapped his head to look into her eyes, searching for some misheard words within her cool and sympathetic gaze looking at him, he was reassured he must've heard wrong.

"I know this isn't what you're used to either. Living like we do, I mean. And you must feel out of place. I would in your position. But, Dear, it's time to heal. What's happened is done and we're a family through and through. Harry may not be blood, but he's as much a part of our family as any of my children. Hermione Granger's my daughter as much as Ginny is. I love them. You are a part of my family now too. You can resist it and I won't force you. But, I'll be here. Like a mother will, she'll forgive and accept you again and again."

A brief memory of Percy's bright-eyed smile flashed across her mind.

Draco felt that familiar shaky feeling, a nervous flutter entered his stomach, he found it hard to breath and bit the inside of his cheek. He looked down at the letter in his hand again and then back up at Molly Weasley.

"Why would you accept me? After what my father's said about your family publicly, he openly ridiculed you, and what I've said to your son and daughter? What I've done to Potter? Wouldn't you find more enjoyment in seeing me homeless?"

Molly gave a look of shock, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly open. "I-...No. No, of course not. What an awful thought. Two wrongs don't make a right, Draco Malfoy."

Draco looked at her steadily and then turned back to looking at the letter.

"You're one of those people, then." Draco murmured.

"And proud to be." Mrs. Weasley replied, putting a hand on Draco's shoulder, "Breakfast will be ready soon, Dear."

She had a smile on her face, standing to exit out the bedroom.

"We'll be going to Diagon Alley today, we're Christmas shopping."


Song Bird Sacrifice


CHAPTER 4


"Diagon Alley." Draco said quickly with a clear voice, one that Harry thought died away a long time ago, though the deathly droll to it remained, the voice and origin was gone within an instant, in a heated blast of floo powder.

Draco kept a dignified stance, now standing beside Ron Weasley who seemed all too quick to move towards Harry once he apparated, Hermione and Ginny clumped together as a group, already talking about what kind of gifts they'd possibly get for their loved ones. Hermione spoke excitedly about the muggle world and how excited her parents would be to witness the ever heart stopping gift that was magic. Though illegal, Draco noticed Granger was much more reckless than the first year he once knew.

Draco again, felt distant. Wizards and witches were crowded all around them, bustling from store to store, balancing box on box on box and yet felt more alone than in the confines of his new bedroom and more isolated than ever.

He felt like the kids he used to mock.

Without purpose.

He turned his eyes to stores, a shadowy ghost-like memory of his father taking him into each shop, through every twisted looking doorway, entered his mind and then ones of his mother. Secretly, he'd enjoyed going with his mother more. She listened to him when he spoke and acted like he was more than a money-grubbing heir, he didn't feel like 'young master Malfoy', he felt like Draco.

A pair of eyes suddenly caught his attention and realized they belonged to Ginny. She looked back to the group, then back to him. She motioned for him to join them and though the thought wasn't pleasurable, he started his way towards them.

A blinding light overtook him mid-step, he shielded his eyes and in an attempt to step back from the offending bright flash, he slipped on an icy brick and fell on his back, arm over his eyes.

Blinking and regaining himself, he took away his momentary shield to be enveloped in bright lights. Using his feet, he pushed himself from them.

"Ah..." He groaned, the pain behind his eyes still lingering, he reopened his eyes to view the crowding press that surrounded him like at his fathers trial that seemed so long ago, though that hadn't taken him off guard as this had.

Now he was lying on the ground undignified with a shocked expression on his face as words he couldn't comprehend formed questions that he not only wouldn't answer, but couldn't.

"Don't you have a soul?" Mrs. Weasley grumbled irritably, "Come off it, all of you." She stood like his savior before him, separating the offending media from his helplessly immobile body. He felt a sense of gratitude within him, and then at the same time a deep rooted humility that instantly made him feel sick.

He swallowed, his blanched skin blended with the grey ground and froze to the ground at the sight of a close group of familiar faces.

"Draco?" one whispered sharply with a look of disbelief gripping her expressions into frozen horror.

"Draco Malfoy? Being saved by a Weasley?" Another Slytherin asked in a mocking way, "And so ends an era."

"Another charity case now I suppose."

The others laughed and watched with amusement at the young Malfoy as he scrambled as best he could to his feet, a look of haughty sophistication took over where humility and shock had once resided. The regal air of disapproval was fake, like McGonagall's threats, but the mask was set. He could feel his reputation being torn from him with every laugh that escaped those lips. The one thing he thought he'd be able to hold onto. Slipping so fast. Everything would be in ruins, gone faster than his parents.

"I was perfectly able." Draco said roughly, adjusting his sweater by pulling at the hem, he looked to Molly Weasley, "If I had needed your help, I would've asked."

"Was only trying to help, Dear, I-"

"And I certainly didn't give you permission to call me your dear." Draco looked out of the corner of his eye for good measure that the Slytherins beside him were watching, they were smirking.

A certain shadow overcast their group like smoke, it was like their souls were burning internally and with every word or sound they gave out, a long string of black charred steam. How long had it been since he'd been at the front of that group? Did blackness surround his every move like a veil?

In front of of him, a light overtook Molly Weasley, whose eyes searched his face in confusion, her eyes begged him to step forward into her light as he took a step backwards, she wanted him to say he didn't mean it, to break in front of her and give into her warm compassion.

But a Malfoy was strong.

Draco looked down at himself, wondering if a light would come over him or if black was seeping from his lungs. It was a silly thought. Molly was in front of the rising run, the Slytherins were in a shadow. Explainable by basic science, but yet Draco looked.

All he saw was grey.

"I'm Draco Malfoy. I wouldn't have asked for your help."

The words were painful, every biting sound left slits across his tongue. His hands shook and he attempted to conceal them by putting them into his parka. Molly watched his face contort, his countenance displaying a cocktail of emotions. Hatred and guilt in one. Was his hatred directed at her?

He gave that look just as much at the other Slytherins.

He turned away from her, his eyes tearing from her body, and instantly, Molly felt something break from her. She took a step forward, as if to grasp something unattainable. When he looked at her with those eyes, she saw Percy. A boy put in a tight place and staged, having to choose between what he thought he was always meant to be, and what he was supposed to be.

Percy who sent back her Christmas sweaters every year. Percy who she hadn't seen since...when?

One last look, and he was gone in the shadows, in a shady alleyway, and whispers of "I knew it. Knew this would happen." came from her youngest son.

No one said another word. A hand squeezed hers in a reassuring way, to remind her this wasn't her fault. But the feeling wouldn't assuage her emotion.


Draco exited down the alleyway, lanterns making light of a pathway, and the walks his father used to take him on to discuss business with fellow death eaters came to the surface of his inky mind, rising from the black water where light reached the memory's burnt and fragile edges.

He ran along the cobblestone, pulling his arms away from outreaching dirt-coated hands. From old men who begged for money, from old women who offered him their cats, from the diseased who tried to make their peace with God.

He ran faster and faster, down alley after alley, making turns into crevices he knew no one but the truly desperate and broken would find in their mindless searching, searching for a place as close to heart as to a lemming. A place to die.

Truly, deep in side, he knew he wasn't strong enough. He wanted to give in now, before anything got worse, but in confliction, wanted to mend what he'd done. But for now, wanted somewhere dark enough that he didn't see the spiders crawling across the walls or the people's tear streaked faces, or the ragged clothes children wore who slept in the holes of the walls.

He wanted to find a place where peace could be made, and he knew this was somewhere even the room of requirement couldn't produce for him. It was somewhere inside, beyond his touch, beyond himself.

His lungs burned, his knees ached, and stopped just to catch his breathe, but catching his breathe turned to lying against the wall of an empty store building on the floor beside forgotten turkey bones, or he at least hoped it was turkey bones.

He felt the pit of hatred rising in him, taking over his thoughts until he'd decided everyone and everything in the world could very well implode and he'd be perfectly happy to live out the rest of his days alone.

Perfectly alone.


He woke and fell back to sleep in fits, he'd open his eyes to see the cold concrete as a reassuring constant, instantly feel better, and fall back into some form of sleep. Somehow, out in the open, amongst so many moaning victims, he felt safer than behind locked doors in a dark room.

It was only when someone attempted to mug him that he decided he should find a new space.

It was sunset by that time, when a man's hands begun to fish around in the pockets of his trousers and when he moved from his touch, the man seemed genuinely surprised. "Oh. Thought you was dead."

"No, unfortunately...alive. And penniless. So you might as well move along." Draco replied quietly, almost unfazed.

"Alive, yes. Penniless? What a laugh. You're a Malfoy, ain't you? Your father used to visit my store now and then. That is, that's the store you be lying on."

"My father is dead. My mother has disappeared. Isn't it common knowledge by now?"

"Mm. Orphan then are you? Tut tut, would'a thought somebody'd take you in with your inheritance and all. Shame, that is."

"Shamefully untrue. I was taken in. By the Weasley's." He said the name in a plain way, as though thoughtful of the fact, and swallowed down something more painful than his pride; his guilt. "They were nicer to me than..." anyone has ever been to a Malfoy. But the words refused to leave himself.

"Well," The man begun with a tedious eye roll, "way I see it, seeing as you're lying in my spot, it's only courtesy that you...pay me a fee."

"I told you, I have nothing."

"Oh no no, I get it perfectly well, my boy. You ain't got a piece of metal to your name at the moment. But you've got other things just as valuable to a lonely, broke, old man."

Draco looked to him in a confused way, "I was moving on anyway...I'm finding another pl-"

"No, no, no. Stay, stay. Price is fair, it's cheap."

The man reached out to touch the porcelain skin of the boy, his skin dirtied by the ground he'd been lying on. A humbled look glistened in his eyes that had never crossed his father's face except when in the presence of the Dark Lord.

The man pressed his thumb against the dark ring beneath his left eye and smile intently, "We can make an easy agreement, your father forgiven and the night in my spot for just...something so fast...so easy and..."

Draco felt his heart fall into the pit of his stomach, "Get...Get away from me."

"Oh, no, shhh..."

The man's dirtied hand moved to the button of his parka and as Draco attempted to move from the man's grasp at the same time, he pulled out a shining blade, reflecting the crazed look in the old man's eye and the fearful quivering of Draco's body.

The knife ruggedly cut the button of the parka, with the other hand he set to the next one, moving the blade to Draco's throat.

"Quiet now, quiet. Don't even think of touching your wand."

The man pushed himself ontop of him, positioning his knees on either side of Draco's body that lie against the cobblestone, wide eyed.

Just as his eyes diverted to the full attention of a stuck button, Draco quickly with dexterous movements, grabbed the man's arm and scrabbled out from beneath him, pushing off from the ground and taking off at a run.

The knife slicing his neck in the process, it left the remnants of an event he'd of liked to deny and pretend never happened in the form of a jagged cut across his neck. One he knew he'd feel the pain from for a long time to come. Healed and scarred, he knew it would still burn, like the cuts and bumps along his back and arms that still ached when he thought about them.

This one would burn and bring him to seething tears. Hot cries of why that couldn't escape the bubbles in his throat.

But for now, he didn't feel anything but the biting cold.


Draco stood at the edge of the fields surrounding the stacked home, add-ons supported by magical binds, looking at the lighted entrance way and the many shadows moving about the home. In the immense field, filled with nothing but a breeze, he could hear shouting coming from the home.

Questions of, 'where is he?'

Answers like, 'Found his stuff sir, no Malfoy though.'

Demands such as, 'He's here somewhere! Search harder. Little wanker's hiding.'

'We haven't seen him since this morning. Honest.'

Interrogations going, 'Where were you when you last saw him?'

Mrs. Weasley's lies saying, 'I can't remember.'

Silence.

Draco emerged from the brush, still holding onto the bleeding wound with one hand and with the other, grasping his wand.

He made it to the door, opening it up with slightly labored breath, growing weak from blood loss and exhaustion.

"Malfoy." Goyle whispered, eyes intense on his figure, "Just the man I was looking for."

Draco looked to him with rounded eyes though his brow was set in it's determined glare, he looked toward the table, a wand to Mrs. Weasley's head and the others tied up with a guards surrounding them.

"Draco?" Hermione whispered beneath her breath, she'd been the first to doubt he'd ever show his face at the house again besides Ron.

Other guards were swarming the house, the patting of their feet distant and hollow sounding.

"We've found him! The magical Malfoy has finally made his grand entrance."

Malfoy worked up all of his strength and swallowed, "How dare you speak to me like that, Goyle. Think because my father's dead you've got some form of power now? The Dark Lord would never put your father in his position. Idiot."

"Didn't you even read my letter, Draco?"

"No. I don't have time to read your ninny rantings Goyle."

"This is about your mission."

"What of it? There was no determined date to it's completion and I hardly think you have the authority to-"

"I have more power than you think. With your father dead, what place do you think the Malfoy's have in the future? With one heir? What a laugh."

"One Malfoy heir is more powerful than the whole Goyle family. Get out of here Greg, or I swear your last words will be, forgive me Draco."

"...Read my letter, Malfoy."

Draco pulled his wand from beneath his parka, wet with snow and frost, stained by the stream of blood from his neck. Pointing the instrument at Goyle, he felt his chest begin to heave with wracking anxiety and frustration, a boy he once controlled so easily beneath his thumb here with a smirk at him. Where had he even gotten this man power?

"You think you've got so much power, hm?"

Malfoy looked to the people surrounding that table, all looking onto him with an intense gaze. He pulled his parka from himself and using his wand wielding hand, he pulled his left sleeve up to bare against pale skin a black mark.

Molly looked to Arthur and then back to Draco with a hitch in her breath.

Goyle's smirk flat-lined to a sharp glare and quickly put his wand back into the waistband of his pants, not removing his eyes from his he commanded his men and watched him every moment as the men shuffled out the door.

When the last had exited, Malfoy, still pointing his wand at him, motioned for him to go on.

"Read the letter." Goyle murmured, "...we all know what really happened to your parents, don't we Malfoy? You're next...Isn't that right? So help me, the Malfoy name won't mean anything by the time I'm done with you."

"Get Crabbe on board with that too, won't you? Would love to see a world ruled by the most elite morons England has to offer."

Goyle slammed the door shut behind himself and all became silent.

"Liberum Obligatus." Draco said evenly with the frustration from Goyle tinging every word.

The binding around their wrists fell to the floor simultaneously.

"I owe an apology to you, Mrs. Weasley, and I'll be getting my things."

"Getting your...Draco, I-...I wasn't going to just kick you out over this." Mrs. Weasley sucked in a breath feeling overwhelmed, "Let me just have a moment dear and we can talk about...everything."

"There's not a moment to waste, Mrs. Weasley, it's not safe for me to be here. I have to-"

"Where will you go and- Oh my good gracious, what's happened to your neck?"

"A small accident. Never mind that. I'll be going home. Malfoy Manor."

"Not with that nasty cut you've got there you won't." Molly whispered quietly.


Molly held her wand close to the cleaned area of the wound, small trails of blood still seeping from the cut. A curved needle hung in the air with thread at the command of her wand, "Ternemus" She whispered quietly in a business-like manner with a thin lipped expression.

"You've got the dark mark." Hermione suddenly spoke, looking at the mark that Draco still hadn't concealed. He pulled his sleeve down onto his arm in response.

"Stay still." Mrs. Weasley said.

"What's your mission, Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Wha-?"

"Oh, don't play stupid." Hermione replied.

"I-..."

"And what did happen to your parents?" Ron stepped forward, arms folded, looking down at Draco who sat on the couch, flinching each time the needle dug beneath his skin, "I think we deserve some answers after this."

'You're next...'

'What really happened to your parents...'

'All my fault.'

"Deserving and receiving are two separate things." Malfoy replied desperately, a quote from his father that sounded so much better coming from his lips, like a conversation was closed, but from him it sounded like just the beginning.

A rattling breaking sound emerged from his mind and dropped down into his stomach.

"You're a deatheater. At seventeen. You're parents must've been proud." Hermione said with a snide expression.

"My parents are who forced me into this- don't you get it?" Draco swallowed as the last stitch was put into place and the needle rested on the coffee table, "I'm next."

The others looked to him, waiting for more. Mrs. Weasley paused, holding the gauze bandage in her hands.

"Next for what?"

Draco looked up to Harry who asked the question as though it were lunch and Draco was having a difficult time between choosing the pasta or sandwich. Perhaps he assumed he meant he was next in line for the throne of the Malfoy prestige, the patriarchy.

Draco's hands shook with every word that crossed his head.

His fault.

He's next.

Kill Dumbledore.

Traitor.

Deatheater.

Malfoy.

"Everything!"

Around him, something that he'd kept under control for so many years happened and a shattering noise filled his ears. Hands on either side of his head, shaking like a frozen leaf in the wind, when he opened his eyes, he'd broken every window, shattered into a million pieces, like crystals all around them.

"I...I thought I had that under control." Was all Draco could manage to whisper.

The family looked around the room, looking for a single window left untouched but none could be spotted.

Draco wanted to say something, so he started shakily, allowing his mouth to take over as his brain reeled for an explanation, "I've been doing that since I was young...I-...It's disgraceful for a Malfoy to do unintentional magic. I'm really...What I mean to say is..." He was silent for a few moments and then looked back up to Mrs. Weasley, "I apologize. For everything."

She smiled at him warmly, a look of sympathy swimming in her eyes, "Our main problem is not the windows dear, those can be fixed with a flick of a wand. Why don't you just tell us what's happening, Draco, dear." She sat beside him slowly, hand moving to touch his gently, "We'll try and solve this as a family. You're not alone anymore."

Not alone anymore? When had he ever been able to discuss his status as a deatheater openly? Without fear of persecution? Or his mission or his future in general?

"I'm not allowed." Draco replied stiffly, "If he should ever know that you know..Look, I've been enough trouble to your family as it is. You shouldn't have spend every moment fearing...him for something you're not even involved in."

"We gave up fearing him a long time ago." Harry stepped in, "It's the only way you'll ever beat him."

Draco went numb at these words. Not fearing him would be suicide, not just suicide, but murder. If he stood against the Dark Lord, he'd been killing off not only himself but his mother and possibly the Weasley family now as well, not to mention Potter and Granger. He'd be a serial killer for even giving him a smirk.

"No. No, you're family isn't in his hands. He's killed my father and he has my mother and-" Draco stopped himself, "You don't understand half of this war, Potter. You understand your side and that's it. You don't know what it's like for those of us who pray you kill him and have no choice but to serve him. My mother's life is at risk and...I don't even know if he's already decided to kill her and he's just using me by this point, but if you were in this position wouldn't you do anything for your family? You're the heroic type, aren't you, Gryffindor?"

Harry was in shock. Draco, rooting for him? The thought had never even crossed his mind for a moment with all the resistance Draco had always provided. His mind moved sluggishly, the stunned silence ran on as he thought briefly of the Dursleys and saving them. Then the Weasleys, and Hermione. Wouldn't he do whatever it took to keep them safe? But to serve him? To give \your loyalty and serve the one true darkness in the world.

Was he so narrow minded to refuse the guise of a evil accomplice to save the ones he loved? Or was that in itself cowardly? Couldn't he find any other way around such an option? But what if he couldn't? What if for once, he wasn't truly the hero?

"It was Voldemort then?" Harry replied slowly, his mind still wandering along the fields of self doubt at Draco's question, "He's killed your father and got your mother?"

"My mother is more than likely dead as well..." Draco replied quietly, "He swore that-..." Draco trailed off, "Anyway. It's my fault. It's my fault they're dead. I didn't complete my mission in time." He said it steadily, "All I know is I'm next."

"That's why Goyle was over then? About this mission?" Hermione asked, "Made quite the fuss over you. This mission must be important."

"It is." Draco murmured, "My father's loyalty was always questionable to him...so this is my punishment...and my father's."

"How would-?" Ginny begun.

"...It's complicated. You wouldn't understand, and I don't say that to be rude. I've done that enough. I say that because it's the truth."

"Try us." Ginny replied in a frosty tone that made Draco look up.

He watched her unamused expression steadily and then nodded slowly, pushing a hand through his hair, "It's my punishment because of the simple fact that it would be dishonorable to be so disinclined to complete a mission that your parents die because of your disloyalty or incompetence, or both." Draco said this as though it bored him, quickly as though rehearsed,"My father's punishment is obvious." He said this slower with some more thought, "Everyday up to his death, he was on the verge of an anxiety attack."

"I don't understand...don't the other families understand your position if they've been through something similar?" Ginny replied.

"They'd never admit they're private struggles. They pretend they live a perfect life...that they've never doubted him for a second. I'm an outcast by now. I could go home, live as a recluse, but no family would ever want to be associated with my name ever again by this point. I've dishonored my family name. Singlehandedly."

Draco clenched his fists and set his jaw stiff, thinking back on all the times he'd promised his parents nothing but pride in the future. Disgraced. Dishonored. Gone. All he ever wanted in life- dead.

And here he was, fresh out of options, giving away the last few grains of privacy he had, the last few things he kept confidential to a group of people he once swore his enemies.

Draco Malfoy. The boy who dishonored his family. The boy who was the last remnants of a family's crown. Draco Malfoy, just a boy.