Chapter Four: Mr. Malfoy's Monumental Misfortune

Draco shivered uncontrollably as the storm raged overhead, pelting him with rain and stray branches from the surrounding trees. It was day three of hell. Days one and two were spent walking. There had to be some kind of civilization nearby, he thought. But he was wrong—there was no one, magical or muggle, anywhere on this god forsaken island.

It was the beginning of day three that the weather first turned bad, and Draco tried to find shelter in the jungle. That had been short-lived. The Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts had nothing on this island's flora and fauna. Thanks to his foray into the trees, Draco was sporting a shredded cloak, a broken wand, and a sprained ankle—all caused by some kind of small, furry reptile that blew up to the size of an ape when someone, say a sixth year Slytherin, tried to cook it alive with his wand for breakfast. Potter and his band of misfits would pay for every wound and every embarrassment that befell him during his stay here—wherever here was.

He jumped at the sound of booming thunder and cowered when lightning flashed across the sky. Draco wasn't afraid of storms per se, but he had never been so exposed to one before. The island had no safe shelter, no reprieve. His chances of being struck by lightning were far better here than anywhere else in the world. Draco wrapped his tattered cloak tighter around him and hummed quietly as he waited—for what, he wasn't sure.

Another clap of thunder and a flash revealed a dark figure in the sand about twenty feet away and Draco let out a fearful squeak as his body shook. The air went dark again and Draco began crawling backwards towards the trees. The sky lit up again and the figure was directly in front of him. It went dark again before he could see the person's face. He felt claws gripping at his front and he was pulled to his feet. "Found you," came the playful rasp of a woman's voice. It was slightly familiar, but Draco was too frightened to think. "I had thought," She drawled meanly, "that you would prove more of a challenge."

"W-who are you?" He stuttered. "Did m-my father send you?"

"Your father," the woman sneered with a laugh. "Your father is still in Azkaban. Your real father, the father we all must answer to, sent me."

"I d-don't understand… please let me go. I don't know how I got here. I think Potter and his friends did s-some kind of spe—"

"I grow bored of this, nephew," she said apathetically. Lightning, his aunt's grotesque face and… "Crucio." Draco had never felt such pain in his life. Every nerve was on fire, every muscle was twitching, every bone locking up as he spasmed unnaturally. His vision went blurry at the edges and he heard her laughter as blackness engulfed him.

. . .

When Draco woke, he was glad to find that he was no longer on that dreadful island. He was curious however as to why he was on a bed of straw chained to the wall of what looked like a very dirty and dismal basement or dungeon… Who would dare presume to hold Draco Malfoy, the son of one of the most influential wizards in the world, captive?

He tried to think of the island and how he had gotten here, but all he could recall was excruciating pain and the expression of sheer hatred on the face of… his aunt Bella? Draco shook the image out of his head. He had obviously been struck by lightning during her rescue and imagined the pain was caused by her. Even as he nodded to himself confidently, a seed of doubt was growing. Something was terribly wrong in his world and he had a feeling it hadn't ended with his leaving the island. He felt different, almost like his skin didn't fit.

Upon some personal exploration, Draco realized that his body was all wrong. He was bigger and stronger, his feet were heavier than he remembered them being and he felt clumsy just moving his body. He longed for a mirror. He wanted to see what disgusting things Potter and his friends had done to him—even if it was horrid. They must have disfigured him or transformed him into something else. That would explain why he had been captured and dragged here… Yes… it was beginning to make sense.

He leaned his head back against the cold stone wall as he thought about how he was going to explain his situation to whoever was keeping him here. They would no doubt be horrified when they realized they had Draco Malfoy in their care rather than an ugly ogre. They would probably set him free immediately—or give him better accommodations until his father arrived to get him. His mouth watered at the thought of a nice warm butter beer. Draco tapped his fingers on his knee impatiently now. The sooner his captor came to beat, torture or kill him, the sooner he could explain the truth and be set free.

To his excitement, it was only an hour or two into his consciousness that he heard rapid footsteps, the turn of a very rusty key and lock, and a person entered. Their cloak was a dark blue and their hood hid their face.

"There's been a misunderstanding," Draco began, realizing his voice was all wrong too—it was annoyingly deep and hoarse from disuse. "I'm Draco Malfoy," he stated as if it would clear everything up.

"I know exactly who you are, traitor," said the woman beneath the cloak. She reached up and revealed her face to him. Draco let out a gasp of shock to behold none other than his aunt Bella. "My sister had the misfortune of giving birth to you."

For what seemed like hours there was only silence. Draco watched her as she walked to the corner of the room and delicately removed her velvet gloves one at a time. He didn't know what to say. His own aunt had betrayed him—had used an unforgivable curse on him, he was quite sure. Why?

"Why have you done this to me?" Draco asked.

"Your act is getting old, nephew," she growled, her cold dark eyes piercing through him like daggers. He had never seen her look so… evil. He remembered that after her escape, she had come to stay with the Malfoys—a very dirty secret, of course. She had taught him several advanced curses, taken him to a muggle bating, and had even bought him his first mummy hand…

"My mother won't be very pleased," Draco said. Appealing to whatever sense of skewed familial loyalty she had left seemed like the only route left to him now.

"Since when do you care about your mother? It's been four years since you've spoken to her," Bellatrix snapped. "You're right though. She won't be happy, but she'll understand this must be done. Your mother may still love you, but her dedication to Voldemort is stronger than whatever pathetic emotions the memory of your residency in her womb may excite."

"Four… years?" Draco asked incredulously. "I sent her an owl only last Saturday," he practically shouted. "I thanked her for the box of chocolate frogs and canary creams she sent me…" Bellatrix paused, her eyes barely betraying her sudden confusion.

"And where did your mother send this package?"

"To me. At Hogwarts… I'm a sixth year prefect there, remember?"

"You don't look like a sixth year Hogwarts student," she said bemusedly. With a wave of her wand, she conjured a mirror from thin air and Draco gaped open mouthed at what he saw. He wasn't a disgusting giant like he had thought. He was… him. Just older. Much older, he realized. His face was longer, more angular. There was a light silvery scar that ran from his left eyebrow to his chin. His platinum hair was short, cropped almost to his ears. His shoulders were broad and his athletic form had very much filled out. He had to be six feet tall…

"MERLIN," Draco roared. Potter couldn't have done this… This was the work of the most advanced aging spell or potion Draco had ever seen. Potter and his friends were abysmal at potions and only Granger excelled at charms—but this was beyond even her capabilities.

"Are you meaning to tell me that you aren't the Draco Malfoy that forsook his name and rank to marry a mudblood? That you didn't kill two Death Eaters three nights ago? That you didn't betray Lord Voldemort to join the ranks of Dumbledore's pathetic Order of the Phoenix?" Draco's eyes opened wide. He looked at himself in the mirror again and pulled up his left sleeve. He ran his fingers over the macabre tattoo that marred his pale flesh. It shouldn't have surprised him to see it—he had always known what he was destined for. But Draco didn't remember it. He didn't remember anything that she had related, things she obviously believed to be historical facts.

Draco dropped to his knees and sat back, suddenly feeling sick. Bellatrix approached him and crouched in front of him. "There is only one way to know the truth," she spat. "We'll let Him decide."

"Him?" Draco asked dumbly and she smiled her cruel smile, showing her yellowed teeth.

"You might be a very good liar or you really are my sixteen year old nephew trapped in the body of a traitor. Either way this is going to be most interesting." She stood and swept out of the room, the click of her heels echoing loudly off the stone floor and walls.

"Bollocks," Draco cursed. He couldn't take his eyes off of his reflection. Everything Bellatrix had said was swimming though his mind as fast as a golden snitch… Him marry a mudblood—betraying his family and his honor to do so? Him killing Death Eaters—his father's friends most likely? She had it all wrong. Draco was a good son... He did everything Lucius Malfoy had ever asked of him. He was an avid studier of his family's lines and he hated mudbloods and Muggles with the appropriate level of passion… How could this have happened?

Draco didn't have much time to ponder his misfortune. It wasn't long before Bellatrix returned to take him directly to Lord Voldemort himself. Draco couldn't stop shaking. He was ashamed of his cowardice and Bellatrix was disgusted, but there was no helping it. Lord Voldemort had always scared the magic out of him.

The air warmed considerably once they were above ground and Draco slowly gained control of his gigantic body. Every once in a while he managed to trip over his massive feet, but every time Bellatrix caught him before he fell on his face. As they walked, he observed their surroundings. They were in a very large house—one that Draco had never seen before. It was very old and had the strong smell of mold. The walls were lined with animated portraits and still ones alike. Every other hallway or so, Draco saw an interesting artifact that he would have liked the time to inspect more closely.

Finally they paused outside of a large, wooden door. Bellatrix knocked and hissed something Draco couldn't understand. There was a responding hiss and the door flew open with a bang.

Bellatrix shoved Draco roughly inside and slammed the door shut behind them. They were alone in the room with Voldemort, who was standing at the fireplace, his back to them. Draco jumped a foot in the air as something long and slimy slithered between his legs. Nagini…

"Hello, Draco," the Dark Lord said as he turned to face them and Draco cringed away. Voldemort was the most hideous person that Draco had ever seen. His face was pale and grotesque. His eyes were red and his nose wasn't a nose at all, merely two slits that looked eerily snake like. His mouth was lipless and thin…

Voldemort chuckled loudly and Bellatrix looked nervous. "You bring me a child, Bellatrix?"

"He's no child," Bellatrix snarled prodding at Draco's body with her wand.

"His body is not that of a child, you are right," Voldemort hissed. "But look at him and truly see him." He pointed his wand at Bellatrix and her eyes glazed over. She glanced at Draco and a frown flitted across her face.

"Of course," she said. Her eyes returned to their normal shade of black and she looked at Draco with even more loathing.

"This isn't a complete failure, dear Bella. We can use this…" Voldemort said quietly. "While you find the real traitor, wherever he may be, I will reintroduce Draco Malfoy into my innermost circle of Death Eaters. They will be elated that such a symbol of power has returned to us. Yes… This is an unexpected, but not unwelcome shift to our plans."

"He's just a boy," Bellatrix argued. "It will take five minutes for the others to realize he knows nothing."

"Yes, they will know the truth," he said excitedly. "But, they will keep our secret. After all, what do you think it will do to the morale of our enemies when Draco Malfoy, one of their most trusted members reveals that he was a traitor the whole time?" He asked. "That his marriage to the mudblood was merely a show and that when the moment was ripe, he killed Granger himself and set his Dark Lord's true plan into motion?"

Bellatrix's smile was the most awful thing Draco had ever seen. She looked hungry and disturbingly happy at the thought of so much misery. Draco felt like a rock had been forced down his throat and into his stomach. Even at sixteen, Draco didn't have much of a stomach for such cruelty…

Slowly, both his aunt and Voldemort turned their attention back to him. Their eyes were gleaming with greed and design. "You will do this, Malfoy," Voldemort commanded. "Or you will die, and your mother, and your father." Draco gulped and nodded.

"Yes… Lord." He bent his knee and knelt, knowing that sooner rather than later he would come to regret ever being rescued from that miserable island.

. . .

Ginny Weasley arrived at number twelve Grimmauld Place around noon and stormed into the kitchen where she knew a meeting of the Order was taking place. Seated around the table deep in discussion were Minerva McGonagall, Remus and Nymphadora Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Ronald Weasley, and Harry Potter.

"Is it true?" Ginny asked.

No one at the table spoke, they didn't have to. Not one pair of eyes would meet hers. Ginny's knees buckled and she would have fallen if it hadn't been for her husband's quick conjuring of a chair. Harry stood and walked to her, kneeling in front of her chair. The others dispersed, giving them the privacy they obviously needed. Ron was the only one to stay.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She whispered, tears filling her brown eyes.

"I didn't know how." Harry breathed, taking her hands in his.

"And you, Ronald? You didn't know how to tell me either?" She asked bitterly.

"Honestly, Ginny… I still don't believe it," Ron stated.

"Is there any possibility that the reports are false?" Ginny asked, her eyes full of desperate hope.

Harry slowly shook his head. "No. He's been seen… among them."

"The imperius curse?"

Again Harry shook his head. "Fred and George hid in the cellar while they ransacked Weasley Wizarding Wheezes last night. They overheard everything. This is very real."

"And no one else finds it the least bit suspicious that they ransacked Fred and George's shop? What other place in all of Diagon Alley could you expect a better chance of information getting back to me? To you, Harry?" Ginny could not wrap her head around the situation. The information received had everyone acting so wrongly.

"I always suspected—"

"Don't you 'I always suspected' me, Ronald Weasley. I may be six months pregnant but I will box you, just like mum," Ginny snarled. "Harry, I am surprised at you."

"He was a Death Eater for seven years, Gin," he said, his voice filled with hurt. "He was with us for just two and a half. Don't you think it's possible, if not probable, that he fooled us?"

"And Hermione?" The others looked shocked at the mention of the dead witch's name. "You think Draco Malfoy fooled Albus Freaking Dumbledore and Hermione Granger?"

"I think… I think that your doctor told you to rest and avoid stress, remember? It's why you haven't been coming to these meetings."

Ginny's eyes burned with anger. She stood abruptly, knocking Harry back with her large belly. "Sorry," she said gruffly and swept from the room.

"She'll calm down and see reason," Harry said. He glanced at Ron, who had a look of doubt on his face.

"Maybe in fifteen or twenty years, mate," he responded.

"Do you think she might be right?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. "He spent most of his life being a slimy git… I can't imagine it would be hard to crawl right back into the slime."

Harry called everyone back into the kitchen to finish their meeting. The others were saddened and scared by the news of Draco Malfoy returning to the Dark Lord's side. Enough so that Harry made looking into this development a topmost priority. Little did Harry guess that his wife, emboldened by anger and bereavement of her own, had similar ideas.

. . .

"You've done well, nephew." Bellatrix LeStrange's voice was soft and full of glee.

Draco was sitting on what was now his bed in the house of Lord Voldemort. In his lap was a book of dark spells. "All I did was memorize some lines. After learning all of these new spells, I didn't even get to torture Weasel's brothers—we knew they were there and we did nothing," Draco said.

"Patience, Draco," she hissed soothingly. "Sometimes an adversary is more useful to us alive. At least for a while…"

"And when they're not useful anymore?" He asked, glaring at his aunt.

"We will crush them…"

A/N: Another updated chapter with lots of additions and changes. Getting closer every day to new content. Thank you all for reading. If you liked it, leave a review. Have a great day :-)