Contrary to his father's belief, Draco did not meet the Dark Lord during the break.

The Slytherin was glad it did not happen, if a tad disappointed. He knew he had to impress him, for his sake, and most importantly for the sake of his parents. Sleep deprived and thoroughly shaken by his conversation with his parents, Draco knew he was not in his best state to meet the man his father had raised him to admire. Relief, however, tasted bitter. Potter haunted his every waking moment, taunting him with his abhorrent satisfied smile.

You want me.

Preposterous. He was not bent. He was the last heir to the Malfoy family. He would find a pure-blooded witch, marry, have an heir, and go into business, politics, or both. Like every Malfoy before him.

Draco sighed. A few days ago, he was sure his future was set in stone. But now, the game had changed. The Dark Lord was back and he was, in an unknown amount of time, expected to join. What would be his role as a Death Eater? Would he assume a position in the ministry, influencing politics through the Malfoy's name and money? Draco could live with that. Hell, he would even enjoy it. Sparing with mere words, tearing his opponents apart for the right cause. Avenging his uncle. Make his father proud. Be the brilliant mind behind the start of a revolutionary society, standing, well respected, beside the Dark Lord...

Draco knew he was deluding himself. His name had a political weight that would benefit the Dark side. That much was true. However, his father already occupied the political position, leaving no room for a new, unexperienced, pawn in the game of power. Draco would have to prove itself before earning a position he could be proud of. As of now, he had nothing to offer to the Dark lord.

What could possibly have a fifteen years old that the most powerful wizard alive had not?

Draco did not know.

He was not familiar with the man's politics. His father had always been silent on the specifics. Speaking about his rise of power was impossible in open society, and not exactly welcomed by his parents either. Draco knew his father had escaped prison using a shaky excuse. Being under the imperius curse could not be proved, much to the Barty Crouch's chagrin, and the lack of evidence against this version had been enough to keep Lucius Malfoy out of prison. However, he had been under scrupulous watch during Draco's childhood. And the risk of a toddler babbling about the Dark Lord had been too high to speak about it. But pregnant silence, and discreet hints here and there over the years had been enough for the blond to realise the truth.

On the day of his eleventh birthday, he had asked his father to speak about the Dark Lord. Lucius had been cautious. He told him the man was a incredible powerful wizard, capable of great, but also terrible things. Knowing the imperius excuse, Draco had taken to heart the praise, and dismissed the critiques. He had started to admire the man his father seemed to be impressed by and never questioned it.

The conversation they had the first day of the holidays had been the first time Lucius had confirmed he had joined the Dark Lord of his own free will. His father had been blunt. The Lord had to be admired. But he also had to be feared. Draco shivered. What horror had he done to warrant such fear from a Malfoy?

And what could possibly do a fifteen years old to earn a Dark Lord's appreciation?

Draco looked at his parchment. A stain of black ink was spreading on the paper. The teen let out a desperate sigh, destroyed the parchment, and cleaned his massive desk. He had been thinking in circles for a few days and knew he was in an impasse.

He needed more informations to elaborate a strategy.

Maybe... Yes! Books may have been written on the Dark Lord's ascension to power. That would give him more insights on the man's he had to impress!

Draco rushed to his personal study. A few minutes later, he was sitting in an enormous coach, holding a large book in his hands. The book read Instant delivery service catalogue, by Flourish and Blott.

Draco nervously flipped the pages. Arithmancy, Herbology...there, History. His finger trailed trough the subjects and years, until he got to 1975-1981- The Dark Years. Under his finger, around twenty books were available. Draco dismissed angrily the numerous ones on – infuriating – Potter (amongst which The Legend Behind The Scar, Harry Potter, Story Of A Salvation, He Who Survived).

One title caught the blond's attention: The Rise And Fall Of A Dark Lord, A Critical Analysis. No author name, but a publishing house – The Quibbler Editions.

Draco huffed. He knew the name. He had heard Lord Nott complain to his father about it more than once. Something about not being able to shut it down. The publisher, Lovegood or something, was... what had Nott said alread? Uncontrollable.

Would that mean the book would disclose real political secret? If so, then he needed it, badly. Slightly shaking – too eager or too nervous, he was not sure anymore - , Draco took his wand out of his pocket and tapped on the title three times. A bright flash, and suddenly an purple grimoire was floating in front of the blond teen.

"With the compliments of Flourish and Blotts, your favourite Bookseller in Diagon Alley since 1454."

The metallic voice made Draco jump, before he remembered it was the usual delivery message. He glanced at the door of his study, before grabbing the grimoire and opening it.

"The background history of He Who Must Not Be Named is unclear. There are no traces of his existence prior to 1975, when he started to appear in various high political circles of old wizarding families. He is rumoured to be the last heir of Salazar Slytherin himself, as he possesses the ability to speak with snakes. Other informations about his young years are today still unavailable.

In the present chapter, we will try to understand and analyse how an unknown figure could rise to command the old wizarding families. The first part will address his early years, during which propaganda and blackmail where the main means to assert his power over the old families. The second part will address his transformation from a political figure to a Dark Lord, an era during which terror and death where his most used tools.

The Dark Lord's rise was founded on segregation of various groups, traditionally looked upon in wizarding history. His political discourse was mostly based on three groups: muggle and muggleborn (for more on blood purity, see below 1.1); werewolves, merefolks, centaurs and goblins (for more on magical creatures, see below 1.2); and deviant sexual behaviours (for more on homosexuality and other deviances, see below 1.3)."

Draco inhaled sharply. He stared at the last sentence, his heart missing a beat. Could the book know how to heal from... potential sick desire? Not that he had desired Potter, he justified himself, but his body had reacted. Maybe it was possible to get a potion to suppress these reactions, like the one to reduce fever... He flipped the pages breathlessly.

" Homosexuality:

In addition to blood purity and magical creatures, He Who Must Not Be Named has used the old prejudice regarding same sex relationships to build political support and justify his violent actions. His propaganda used several myths regarding homosexuality, amongst which: No one is born gay, gay men molest children at far higher rates than heterosexuals, same-sex parents harm children, people become homosexual because they were sexually abused as children or there was a deficiency in sex-role modelling by their parents, hate crime law will lead to the jailing of the Purebloods warning against homosexuality and lead to the legalisation of necrophilia and other deviances. While still controversial, all these arguments have been refuted by scientific muggle studies.

It is interesting to note that a huge political campaign was realised in 1975, aiming at raising awareness about mental health of homosexuals. The campaign lead to the recognition of homosexuality as a mental illness. A special ward was added to St Mungo, were patients suffering from deviant sexual behaviours were admitted. It is yet unclear which kind of treatment was given. Through cautious investigations, it seems that every patient who underwent treatment in the facility became fervent Death Eaters, the most infamous example being Bellatrix Lestrange. While it can not be proved by hard facts, it is the author's guess that the St Mungo ward was used as a way to brainwash young people already rejected by society in order to mould perfect devoted soldiers.

During the years of terror, it was common practice for a wizard to denounce his family members, friends, neighbours, for alleged homosexual acts. Officials would confirm the homosexuality of the person through the spell Attractio Revelo. The wand of the caster would pulse white if the victim is sexually attracted to male. It would pulse red if the victim is sexually attracted to female. Cases of different shades going from deep red to pure white have been recorded, leading to a certain margin of error in the interpretation of the spell."

The book went on, but Draco stopped reading. Could he dare cast the spell? At least he would know if Potter was just messing with his head. But what if the light was white? It could not be white, right? Draco had not chosen to be attracted to male, nor suffered from sexual abuse during his childhood. There was no reason why the light would turn white. Absolutely none. So why was he so afraid?

"Come on, Draco, you're not a coward." He mumbled, violently grabing his wand "Attractio Revelo!"

A soft, warm light filled the room.

It was pure white.


The Gala organised by the Malfoy on New Year's Eve was the most awaited event by the Pureblood Elite. Tasteful decorations covered the Ball room, only subdued by the splendid clothes twirling here, shining there. Young girls were flashing dazzling smiles to their male counterparts. Young men were drinking, spread thorough the ball room. In the middle of the champagne frenzy, a few daring couples were opening the dance. Head of families were observing the interactions with indulgent, yet attentive eyes. Alliance, lineage, and potential weddings were the peaceful guest of the gala.

" You surpassed yourself, Narcissa, my dear. The party is absolutely marvellous!" A large woman giggled, trying to hide tastefully behind a golden fan.

Narcissa Malfoy smiled gracefully, and waved her frail hand, dismissing the compliment. "Do not mention it, Lady Parkinson, it is an honour to host you this year again."

"The pleasure is all ours, I assure you! I can't help but notice that young Draco has yet to make an appearance."

" I'm afraid my son is unwell. He had sadly not left his rooms for a few days and excused himself for the night. He very much regretted missing an evening in such brilliant company."

"Oh, dear, I hope it's nothing serious..."

Narcissa hummed noncommittally, embracing the ball room in a glance. Everything was going well, indeed. Wait. One of the curtain was forming an odd bump. Frowning, Narcissa excused herself and reached for the odd fold, revealing an adorable young blond girl.

"Astoria? Why are standing behind the curtain, child?"

"Excuse me, Lady Malfoy, I was merely looking at your garden. They are beautiful." The voice was soft, even.

Narcissa smiled warmly and gazed at her through white eyelashes. It was the girl first ball. She must be intimidated. " Indeed, dear. You should go back to the room, now. I am sure your friends await you."

"Yes, Lady Malfoy." Astoria smiled, and left the safety of the curtain.

Narcissa looked at her for a few seconds, charmed by the grace of the child. Soon enough, Lady Parkinson reclaimed her attention to gossip on the newly couple dancing.

Astoria, however, did not join any group of friend. Eyes fixed on her shoes to avoid unnecessary eye contact, she walked calmly through the crowd, and left the dance, searching for the loo. She knew she could hide there for a moment without looking suspicious.

No one, not even her, noticed she took the wrong turn. A few minutes later, she was wandering aimlessly in the large and empty corridors. Being lost in the Manor was a perfect excuse too, she thought, listening to the faint rumour of the dance. No need to go back there. No talk about betrothal. No need to be sold tonight. Another ebony door crossed, and the music could not be heard anymore. No suitor could notice her anymore. That was a relief.

"What are you doing here?"

An hoarse voice made her jump backwards.

"Who... Who is there?" She squealed, searching for the voice.

"On the coach, you moron."

Sprawled on the coach was indeed a teenager – Draco Malfoy, 5th year, Slytherin – her mind supplied. Heavy bags under red eyes, wax-like tan, he looked ill.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm hiding." She answered without thinking, before mentally slapping herself. Why did she say that? No one should know!

"Oh well, that makes two of us then." Draco mumbled, rubbing tiredly his hands against his eyes. "What's your name?"

"I'm Astoria, Astoria Greengrass. You are hiding too? What from?"

Her naïve question made the teen smile.

"What do you think is there to hide from down there?" He said waving carelessly in the direction of the Ball room. "Pureblood duties. Reality. Marriage. Pick one."

Astoria looked at the teen with wide eyes. "Well... You're right, that makes two of us, hiding."she said. There was a pregnant pause. " Can I hide with you? In here?"

"Sure, as long as you're silent." He answered, closing his eyes, visibly intent on going back to sleep. "Make yourself comfortable."

Astoria looked around her. She was in a small, cozy study. Draco was lying on the only coach, but there was a desk barely visible under a stack of books, and a chair in the opposite corner. That would do. She could sit there and read for an hour or two, before going back to the dreaded Ball room.

She sat silently, and – not wanting to disturb the teen – started to read the book already opened in front of her.


A dream. Flashes of white lights. A voice.

"You want me, I won."

It was true - Potter had won.

But he was not one to go down without a fight.


Draco woke up a second time this evening at the sound of muffled sobs.

Disoriented, he blinked his eyes several times, trying to chase the blurriness away. Draco slowly raised his head. The girl from earlier was sitting at his desk. Tears were running down her face in soundless streams.

"What's happening?" He groaned sourly. He was not in the mood to deal with anyone's problem.

Wide blue eyes looked fearfully at him, before looking at the table.

The sobs increased.

Draco followed the stare. In front of the girl, and on that damned book, lay a wand – his wand. A soft, warm, red light was pulsing from the magical item. What the – and then it struck. The girl had done it. The Attractio Revelo. She was... she was like him.

"Oh, Merlin..."

"I - I...No! I don't... I..." She wailed.

The sound was heart-wrenching. Draco approached the crying girl and put his shaky arms around the frail body.

"Shhh... Don't cry..."

Ragged breath were his only answer.

He pulled her closer.

"I... You won't tell. Swear – Swear it!"

"I swear, Astoria. I swear I won't tell anyone."

"O-on your magic?"

"Yes, on my magic."

She cried harder.

He kept silent, unable to whisper reassuring words. But he held her tighter, rocking back and forth, unable to grasp what just happened.

This little girl, still not quite out of childhood, had her world turned upside down by a single spell, just like him. She was... she was gay, just like him.

He rocked back and forth for a long time, unable to fight against the helplessness that hit him, wave after wave. Slowly, the wails stopped, the sobs subdued. The girl had cried herself to sleep.

She was broken. Just like him.

Life was fucking unfair.