Vonne: Thanks so much for all the reviews. As always, I really do appreciate them. I've said this before- I love seeing that many of you put my story on alert, but I really want to hear back from you. Of course, something is better than NOTHING, but I do have a requirement when I post stories on the website. Someone asked me here how many reviews it takes for me to want to update on my fictions. Usually my answer is about ten reviews per chapter. So, please, humor me, at least. I don't even care if the reviews are negative; tell me if I've messed up, if I should focus on some other subject more. You can even tell me what you'd like to see come up as this progresses. It's all welcome to me.
That being said, I have gotten a great amount of reviews I require for updating. Please, again- humor me.
Anyway, check your name below for any responses I may have for your reviews. Maybe you're down there? :)
Rosebud23: You ask, you get! HA-HA. Hopefully this chapter is chalk full of Draco memories for you. Of course, keep a look out for the next chapter. There will be much, much more in the next chapter coming up.
Dramione1996: HA-HA it's okay to be confused. I'll try to clarify anything you might have been confused with below. Hopefully this helps:
Unlike the others at the therapy center, Draco has therapy sessions with Ashby at midnight, due to the request of his father. After Draco's sessions he feels consistently confused and sick, for the most part due to his guilt. In the last chapter, Draco is watching a conversation between Ron and Hermione in the backyard of the therapy center. Ron, like Draco, is having somewhat of a meltdown and Hermione is there to pick him back up. It is this realization that he is all alone that ultimately pushes Draco to face reality. That's all that's really happened so far concerning Chapter nine. Hopefully that's helped you and if not, I'll further explain anything else you need to know. Sorry about the confusion. I'm trying to write as clearly as I can.
Rin5o: I love that you're so constant with your reviews. Good or bad, it's all good to me. So, thanks again. :)
Reidluver: I know! Ugh, killing off Fred was absolutely horrible. I remember reading that part in the book and having to re-read it over and over to make sure that it really happened. Horrible, but I think that it made me realize how horrible JK was trying to make the battle. By killing him off, she just showed how brutal everything got.
These Trees Rule: Guess you're going to have to keep reading to find out. ;)
Chapter Ten
Hide and Seek
Malfoy Manor
Months Earlier, 11:00pm
Click. Click. Click.
Sheer white curtains draped the window sill loose and ghost-like, rushing forward in the gust of wind that flowed through the house. Like a phantom, they whirled around the figure that sat before them, hunched over on the bed with his hands upholding his very head. Through the view under the dark shadow, there was seemingly nothing to the figure that sat so still in front of the window. Under the bleakness, the darkness concealed his pale white face and made him almost uninteresting. Although, it was from a closer perspective that the figure's timid face really resembled that of a boy, alone and distraught. Under his stony face were two black bag and beneath his set of thin lips was the mark of a cut just barely beginning to heal. There was a look of pure misery in his dazed eyes, but it was impossible to ignore the anger that lurked in his dreamy visage. And there was no mistaking the discontent that currently defined him; his fingers dug into his throbbing temples, and his pieced breath came out in sections. The shadowy figure inhaled deeply and endured the sinking feeling in his chest.
The curtains blew open and barely brushed the boy's forward arched back. In the white moonlight, Draco Malfoy blinked down at his shoes, black leather and perfectly polished. Physically, despite his beaten and bruised face, he was the picture of glowing perfection. He was surely striking with his cold eyes and, even angered and shaking, he'd managed to pull off looking sleek and rather composed. However, there was a little sob that shook in his throat and only once did he let it escape from his throat. Afterward and befuddled, he smoothed back his shockingly blond hair and regained himself. Oh sweet tranquility, oh faltering dignity.
Click. Click. Click.
Malfoy looked up. Outside his door echoed the pacing footsteps of an unknown someone; Wormtail most likely had been put watch on the room's front exit. But Malfoy wasn't as trapped as the other Death Eaters had assumed him to be. They had, of course, underestimated the boy. He was young, sure, but he wasn't stupid. If he wanted to, he could find someway to leave the black room, for there were many hidden exit ways. However, it was something else that kept Draco rooted to the spot on the hardened bed. The room he sat it, it used to be his room; there was a collection of Slytherin Quidditch posters on the wall and family photos that lined the top of the dressers. An old letter lay open on the floor underneath him, Pansy Parkinson's neat handwriting was sprawled across the parchment. She wrote, among other things, "I, as everyone else does, know that Dumbledore is dead. Why have you kept me in the dark about all this, Draco? I don't know what the Dark Lord has planned, and I don't pretend to, but my guess is that he has given you a great mission to complete. Draco, this is a blessing and an honor-- just remember that."
When he'd first read it he'd laughed. A blessing, she says? An honor, she says? Because Draco didn't quite see it that way. He'd once overheard his father speaking with his mother during a late night. His father had described to her the same blessing, "Narcissa," he'd said, once he'd had her calm and still, "this is a blessing in disguise." To Draco it had only been the other way around-- a horrible destiny disguised as some great blessing. But that was beside the point. Blessing or no, he'd failed and the old letter sat as a mockery. Pansy hadn't written him back in months, no doubt due to word of Draco's let down. And although it wasn't Pansy he cared about, it was the idea of the failed blessing that truly haunted him. Outside the clicking noises of Peter Pettigrew's shoe soles continued and Draco huffed to conceal his jittery butterflies.
Click. Click. Click. There was the sound of hushed whispering and suddenly the clicking stopped.
Draco looked up from his bed and he felt his heart plummet. The door to his room opened and standing in the doorframe was Bellatrix. She looked excited and her beautifully captivating smile shone through the night like a Cheshier cat's. "Draco," she said with a simper that was oddly sultry and sadistic, "you've been given permission to come down now." Slowly Draco pulled himself up off the mattress and moved towards his deranged aunt. Bellatrix brushed his cheek as he passed, the smile still lingering on her dirty visage. "Follow the snake," she advised and out of the shadows slithered the great reptile, hissing as it looked up at Draco and then back down the staircase. The long animal led the way past Wormtail, who had taken to talking to himself, and down the grand steps. Behind him, Bellatrix skipped downward after him and, in order to not appear nervous, he had to grip the sturdy railing just to keep himself on his feet. The kissing doors to the great dining room stood like a menace and Bellatrix whispered for her nephew to open them.
Sure enough behind the two large doors sat the cluster of stone-faced Death Eaters. At Draco's arrival the face of the half-rotting human smiled at him. He beckoned him forward with his long stick-like fingers and said with a high-pitched voice, "Ah, Draco, please sit." Instinct took over and Draco scanned the table for the faces of his parents. When he didn't spot either of them, he felt as if he could faint. The blood drained from his face and as if Voldemort had noticed this, the Dark Lord's smile flickered with satisfaction. Bellatrix strode forward, but Voldemort's eyes did not move away from the young blond, "Ah, Bellatrix, that will be all." Bellatrix Black looked as if he'd just socked her in the face. She stood for a moment in the space between the table and the door and then, with a little sob, made her way out of the dining room and left the remaining Death Eaters in their newfound silence.
It was as if the Unforgivable Curse had never happened all those days ago; Voldemort did not pay any attention to the black and blue marks on the side of Draco's head, did not seem to mind that the skin on the bottom of his chin was only just beginning to heal. However, Draco assumed his position at the table nearest the menacing man and held his spotted breath. As always, his eyes flickered to the shine that shone blatantly on his black shoes. Voldemort's mouth opened ever so slightly, but to Draco, it looked as if he were about to completely consume the entire space in front of him. "Draco," Voldemort said slowly, "it has been discussed that you assume your return back to Hogwarts in the upcoming months."
Back? Draco's breathing was put on hold. "B-but," he said forgetting any manners, "I c-can't-- go back. I can't go back t-there. Everyone--"
"No one can prove anything." Voldemort assured him. "Your return, Draco, is not a question. You will go back and keep an eye out for Potter." Draco gapped in disbelief, but Voldemort motioned to the man on his opposite side welcomingly, "you will be under supervision, of course. Severus Snape is the new Headmaster of Hogwarts." The rest was a blur. At Voldemort's side sat Severus Snape, perfect in posture. His face was sheer white, but he had looked as composed as Draco only wished to appear. His eyes sat fixed on Draco and Draco's eyes now stared back at him. Professor Snape, the man who Draco had once looked up to, appeared to be nothing more than an amused black crow, watchful of Draco's every last move.
"S-Snape?" Draco could only manage to mutter, "H-head--Headmaster?"
And then Voldemort's voice cut through the air once again, "You will complete this mission, Draco. Am I right?" Draco could only find the strength to nod for the sake of his parents, for the sake of the name of Malfoy. "Good," Voldemort's raspy voice said, "that will be all." And he raised his wand at Draco Malfoy's chest. Before he was jinxed unconscious, Draco Malfoy was almost positive he saw Snape flinch for a fraction of a second before regaining his strangely straight composure. The body of Draco Malfoy went instantly limp and he slunk forward in his chair, colliding with the edge of the table before being knocked to the ground. Neither men rose to their feet and Draco's body lay mangled on the floor, utterly ignored. Blood trickled from the spot where he'd hit his head and the healing look he'd had about his face was instantly ruined.
Severus Snape said carefully, "Should I call Wormtail to remove him?" Why Voldemort had knocked out Draco was slightly curious in the mind of Severus Snape, but he teetered between the idea that Draco was becoming a slight bother in the house.
"Wormtail!" Voldemort raised his wand and the kissing doors whipped open. Wormtail, who had been standing outside them the whole time, looked up in fear at the call of his own name. "Take out the trash, would you?" And he nudged the cheek of Draco Malfoy with his bare foot. At the sight of the body Wormtail's eyes widened. He looked to Snape slightly fearful, but when he was given nothing of a glance in return, he approached the body and looped his arms under Draco Malfoy's. When he felt the faint pulse of the boy his nerves slightly rested. However, besides continuing the raise the boy from the ground with his hands, Wormtail lifted up his own shaky wand.
"Levacorpus!" He said harshly. Before the three pairs of eyes, the boy was whisked off the ground into the air. The body dangled upside down before the group and then, wasting no time, Wormtail lead the floating body out of the dining room and through the great doors of the Malfoy Manor.
1:00 am
Present Time, Dr. Ashby's Therapy Center
The sudden rush about the air was what initially woke Draco Malfoy up from his sleep. He was sitting slumped against the large tree trunk outside the grounds of the therapy center, looking around oddly confused. There was a whoosh of wind around him and the scarf wrapped around his neck wriggled around in the air before him. Behind the large tree trunk, the center was pitch black and there was not a sound about him. Ron and Hermione had probably eaten what they'd needed and gone off to sleep. As it so appeared, Draco was absolutely alone and, breathing hard, he scanned the space around him. In the darkness, the emerald grass shone at his feet and, dizzily, his eyes only just started to blink back into focus. The realization that he'd missed Ashby's therapy session hit him softly and, lightened by the fact, he managed a little smile despite his sheer confusion.
Back up against the tree, Draco was sure he'd missed his therapy session with Ashby. Something in his chest lightened and, for a single moment, he found himself lightly satisfied. As if a heavy weight had been lifted off his chest, he was relaxed knowing that he had somehow managed to escape another mind-numbing session. Sinking, he relaxed, shutting his stinging eyes and swallowing a rather large lump in his croaky throat. The wind blew lightly against his blank face and, oddly enough, Draco was beginning to feel slightly safe. However, the peaceful feeling vanished as he heard something rustle in the trees around him. Draco's eyes flew open and he sat still with a perplexed look mounted on his newly drained face. "Hello?" He asked the nothingness.
He heard a little whisper behind him and he spun around; no one was in sight. The uplifting feeling he'd once felt was instantly gone with the notion that he was not alone outside. Nothing that he could see stood hidden behind the clustered green bushes. He stood up, despite his blindness, and scanned the area, now taking on the same vulnerable loneliness that Ron had taken only hours before by the very tree. "Lumos!" he whispered and when the tip of his wand only light up miserably he corrected himself hastily, "Lumos maxima!" Draco swerved around and the icy feeling in his chest intensified. "I know you're there!" He shouted rather manically, "come out where I can see you!" For a moment, nothing emerged, but then, out from the darkness, Ashby showed himself bitterly, his hands held high in a surrender above his head. "You!" Draco shouted, tightening his grip on his now steady wand.
"Draco," once again Ashby coaxed the blond boy, "put down your wand. I've come looking for you. You haven't shown up to your session and you weren't in your--"
"I waited for you." Draco said suspiciously, his wand still outstretched at Ashby's heaving chest, "you never checked up on me tonight." Although the accusation was not something Draco had known for sure; no matter how hard he racked his brain, all he could remember was his time on the window ledge and he walk past both Mort's and Ashby's dimly lit offices. However, Draco's bluff prooved to be somewhat accurate. Ashby's shoulders sunk and his slightly stone-faced expression deflated. With a little sigh, Ashby strode forward, this time more comfortably.
"I fell asleep--"
"You don't 'fall asleep'. I see you up all the time reviewing your silly little files." Draco's wand didn't quiver.
Ashby, of course, spoke rather quickly. He said matter-of-factly, "well if I hadn't been feeling a bit under the weather..." Instantly Draco lowered his hand and let it fall loosely at his side. His entire person took a bit of a sorrowful stance and he looked back at Ashby with a mix of hatred and defeat. "Now, let's just go inside, alright? You'll feel better once you've better relaxed."
"I was relaxed," Draco muttered, picking up his scarf from the ground and, wasting no time, Ashby hurried forward and grabbed hold of Draco's free arm. Curiously, Draco looked up at Ashby with a raised eyebrow and allowed himself to be pulled several feet before interjecting. "I was relaxed out here by myself. That's some sort of therapeutic technique, isn't it?" He stopped moving his feet and rooted himself on the spot only several feet from the large tree. "Personal solitary?" Draco's last words were desperate and pleading and with a little pull he tried to release his arm. Ashby, however, seemed to have different plans.
The thick fingers that belonged to Ashby remained rooted into Draco's clammy flesh. With an expression that was rather annoyed, he said, "Draco, stop. I've had enough of your--"
Draco's eyes, however, blatantly narrowed. "Ashby, let go of me." With a sudden gust of strength, Draco whisked his arm free from Ashby's tight grasp and he stood across from him momentarily, pressing him with a look of sheer disbelief. When the moment had passed, Draco teetered in his spot and made his way back to the tree for his previously forgotten leather shoes.
"No!" Hastily Ashby strode forward and harshly seized Draco by the roots of his hair. It took no longer than a second; Draco's back arched and, upside down, he looked back up at Ashby. There was a desperate hint about him that sparkled obviously in the hint of night. His eyes were bloodshot and, in the light of the moon, they bore into Draco's. "You're not going anywhere, Mr. Malfoy. You're coming with me." Draco's arms raised and he tried vastly to free himself. He was unsuccessful and Ashby, with a strong grip, dragged the boy by his blond hair along the dewy grass.
"Let me go!" Draco grunted, but Ashby spun around, his wand threateningly out. With a little gab, Ashby poked the thing at the spot between Draco's eyes.
Ashby said in a voice that Draco had never head from him before, "Do not test me."
At the tip of the wand, Draco's eyes crossed and he remembered with a strike of fear that his wand was stashed away someplace in Ashby's clustered office. He let out a little yelp at the tug from his scalp and made a quick move to dive at Ashby's wand. It was Ashby's turn to yell. Diving to save himself from Draco's desperate notion, Ashby's hard grip released Draco's hair and, at the realization of his release, Draco's feet carried him faster and farther than he'd ever thought he could sprint. Heaving fearfully, Draco carried himself past the large tree trunk and, behind him, heard the sound of Ashby's loud holler, "Steupify!" A gust of light shot towards him and Draco ducked, barely missing the harsh curse. Behind him, Ashby took off, running rather fast for a man of his size. From his mouth he shouted stunning spell after another. "Draco Malfoy! Come back here! Steupify!"
But Draco was far from giving in to Ashby's demands; he ran through the center grounds and broke through the cluster of massive trees. Ashby's footsteps rushed on behind him and Draco's breath was running thin. Fearful, Draco's eyes scanned the open forest; it was messy with trees and bushes. Discarded branches and twigs lay around his feet and with every fast step he dodged them. It was a part of the center he had never seen before and he wondered how far he had to run to fully escape Ashby and his building. "Malfoy!" Came Ashby's voice, half pleading and half angry. "Malfoy! Come back here! Your father---"
But his calls were drowned out by Draco's running mind. His father. What would his father do if he knew his son had been running?
"Steupify! STEUPIFY! Draco! Draco!" And there there was utter silence. Draco had stopped running, his hands on his knees, he scanned the area around him for an escape- for something to free him. Every angle looked like another path to more and more trees. Behind him, Ashby's voice had vanished and no one called for him. In the silence, the only ting that Draco could hear was the pounding sensation in the hold of his chest.
And then it came like a whispered cry, "Humenum Revelio!" and then, "Steupify!"
Draco Malfoy's POV:
I knew he'd cursed me before he'd done it. Why did I stop running? Why did I quit? Was this a new habit of mine that I'd so recently picked up? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
What I would soon find out was that Ashby had, in fact, caught me when I did halt, had cursed me before I could even spot him hiding there behind me. When I do wake up, it is not in his office, but in the depths of a memory that I do not wish to remember. The scene before me is that of a dark and grassy field. The grass is tall and swaying in the wind and I see myself standing there, face drenched with sweat, mud, and tears. Standing in the middle of my memory I cry out to Ashby to stop. "Please!" I yell around me and I want to run to the memory version of me and tackle myself to the ground. I want to stop this before anyone can see. My feet, however, stay rooted to the ground and I know any movement is useless.
The memory-me, he bends over and retches. The smell around me is so bad that even know I can remember it. It is the smell of a rotting body, lying face down in the dewy grass. Off to my right, the little pond glistens in the moonlight. The moon- it is the only source of light. The others have taken my wand and out here I am defenseless. The fact that Ashby has found his way here mortifies me and I squeeze my eyes shut to block the memory.
Much to my horror it is when I open them that I realize I am still here. Memory-me bends over and finally is sick all over the grass in front of his feet. I watch myself gag and choke as the smell floats around the air. The shovel rests on the middle of a tree trunk beside me and it waits to be picked up, waits for me to finish what I've been ordered to start. The words of Peter Pettigrew echo in my head. It is something he has said in his defense many times while in public after many close captures. "The Dark Lord," his disembodied voice whispers to me, "can be very persuasive."
But I hadn't needed much persuasion. It was the painful memory of the Cruciatus Curse that hadn't really given me a choice. My parent's name was in the gutter- we were a joke. And it was because of me. Because of me and my weak stomach and my damn conscience. I'm spineless, useless, and easy. As I watch myself get sick all over the grass , I completely forget about any feeling of freedom I've ever had. I am a robot. I am nothing more than a common coward.
I watch myself do it. I watch myself lift up the shovel and wipe my mouth with my rolled up shirt sleeve. And, bawling, I start the hole. It is at first hard to make and, with my foot as extra weight, I shove the shovel into the ground and scoop away the earth. Even after a long amount of time, there is only a little dent to show proof of my hard work. I gag as I dig through the ground and every so once in a while my eyes catch it. The massive shadow, it is hidden away under the wisps of green grass and I hope that it is unobtainable to Ashby's curious eyes.
I wonder what Ahsby thinks when he watches me dig. No matter what he thinks, I am thinking worse.
I shut my eyes tighter, once last hope of reassurance. One last hope to remove myself before he sees it all. At my chance of undeserved freedom, I am unsuccessful. I sink down against a tree trunk from my past. I cannot stop it.
What a horrible feeling it is when you realize that there's nothing you can possibly do.