1992-1993- Voldemort

Voldemort was not pleased. Being fused to the back of this pathetic, greedy fool's head, covered by a turban all the time, had not been on his agenda of regaining power. At least the fool believed his empty promises- he did everything Voldemort ordered. Despite knowing it would curse him to a terrible half-life, Quirrell drank unicorn blood to keep them alive. His desperation to dominate those who had wronged him helped him get through the piercing headaches that plagued him after Voldemort possessed him.

Still, it was not enough. Voldemort was unsure of who he could trust to bring him back fully. His most trusted death eater, Bellatrix, was dead, and the rest had fled or pled innocence after his downfall. He had to wait, and bide his time.

Then, the petrifications began. He knew his diary had been activated. With each petrification, and with every drop of ink poured into the book, the fragment of his soul from the diary would become stronger, and eventually be able to break free. Voldemort knew that if he wanted to attain full humanity, he and Quirrell would have to find the writer, and fuse the two soul pieces together.

Quirrell investigated each student, and they narrowed down their suspects to one child. They followed this child, until they saw them enter the Chamber several times, and Voldemort knew. Soon, it would be time for the souls to unite, and he would be whole again.

Summer 1992- Easter 1993- Draco

Nothing he ever did was good enough for Father. Draco had come second in first year exams, beaten only by Hermione Granger. Father glanced at the report with contempt, ignoring the positive comments about Draco's intellect, coldly suggesting that he might want to do some extra studying that summer. Mother comforted him, and had Draco's favourite drink- hot chocolate with marshmallows- sent to his room. Creamy and rich, it warmed him for a while, but a chill remained in the pit of his stomach. He wanted so badly to make Father proud, and he had failed.

For the rest of the summer, Draco studied continuously, occasionally skipping meals to complete his work. He became thin and pale and Mother worried for him. Father, though, didn't seem to notice or care. He was wrapped up in his feud with Arthur Weasley, making Draco resent the redheaded family even more. It was all Lucius Malfoy could talk about- Mr Weasley being a blood traitor, and 'giving him what he deserved'.

At breakfast one morning, as Draco listlessly pushed some porridge around his plate, Father snapped suddenly. 'Draco, pay attention! Did you hear what I said?'

Mother, gentle as always, came to his defense. 'Draco is just lost in his school work, dear. He's been working quite hard.'

Father huffed, but Draco thought he caught the hint of a smile. 'We will be going to Diagon Alley in an hour for your school books. See that you are ready.'

'Yes, father,' said Draco in surprise. Father had not cared to accompany them the year before. Mother had done everything. He was secretly pleased, wondering if his efforts at studying had impressed his father.

Excited and nervous, Draco rushed about getting ready to go to Diagon Alley with his parents. He did not want to risk being late. He dressed as smartly as he could, in dark blue robes with a pressed shirt underneath. Father hated people who looked unkempt, and Draco wanted to impress him. He waited in the drawing room, next to the grand fire place, and listened as Mother nattered on about the new school robes she planned to get for him. At precisely eleven o'clock, Father arrived, impeccably dressed in robes of forest green. Together, the three of them flooed to Diagon Alley. Walking down the street, Draco swelled with pride as people cleared the way for them, staring at the richly attired trio. He wanted nothing more than to command that sort of respect, just like his father and mother did. Nothing out of the ordinary happened at first- they visited a few shops, getting preferential treatment at each. At lunch, they dined at the fanciest restaurant on the street, the Vintage Walk. Draco thought he spotted Celestina Warbeck, the famed singer, sitting in one of the booths, and he tried not to stare. A few higher ups from the Ministry of Magic passed by and greeted his parents. Draco smiled to himself as he munched on delicately flavoured mussels and pasta- there would be no chance for those ginger nuisances to disrupt his wonderful day. They couldn't even afford to step foot in here! Father had filet mignon (the most expensive dish on the menu), and Mother ate a salad. Cutlery clinked softly, and a harp strummed by itself in a corner as Draco did his best to mind his table manners.

Unfortunately, things went awry at Flourish and Blotts. The entire Weasley clan was there, and Draco's heart sank. He could see Father's lips thinning. He only hoped that the Weasleys wouldn't provoke Father. He badly wanted to have a perfect day with his parents.

The two families ignored each other at first, and Draco was hopeful that his perfect day would not be ruined. They collected his books for the new year and he stood stiffly to the side, wishing he could look at the new prank spell books that had just come out. But, no, a Malfoy had to have a sense of decorum. He couldn't wander off the way Ron Weasley did, and laugh with his companions across the store. The Weasley's carefree attitudes struck a chord of jealousy in him, and he wished, just for a moment, that he could trade places. An unexpected crash in the quiet bookstore shook him out of his reverie. His father, the most dignified person he knew, was tussling with Mr. Weasley, knocking over shelves and displays. Mr. Weasley shoved him, and his father staggered back, almost colliding with the youngest Weasley. Distracted by the mess and chaos, no one saw Lucius Malfoy slipping a small, black book onto the small Weasley's pile of battered books. No one, except his son. A wave of resentment washed over the boy. This trip to Diagon Alley had not been about him at all. It was only ever about ruining Mr. Weasley. Angrily, Draco snatched the book, and hid it in his robes. He had tried so hard that summer to make his father proud, and it was all for nothing. If all his father cared about was some vendetta against the Weasleys', then Draco would see to it that he didn't get what he wanted. He tucked the book securely into his pocket, and followed his parents out of the store.

That night, Father was in a good mood. He smiled, and joked with them, and was almost kind to Dobby, their house elf. Had Draco not realised the real reason for Father's sudden desire to help with his school shopping, he might have been happy. He forced a smile at Father's good mood, and quietly ate his roast chicken and baked potatoes.

Later, in his room, he glared at the small, unassuming book. The book was blank, and the only bit of writing on it was the name T.M Riddle inscribed on the first page. Draco had never heard of T.M Riddle, and assumed he (or she) was a muggle who owned the book before. Why Father was so delighted at having passed it on to the Weasleys was a mystery to Draco. Frustrated, he flung the book onto his desk. A quill, still wet with ink from his studies, slid on to it, splattering ink over the blank page. To Draco's amazement, the ink sank into the pages, leaving no trace. Snatching his quill, he carefully scribbled a word.

'Hello?'

The word sank into the page, leaving it pristine. For a few minutes, nothing happened. Just as Draco was about to decide that book was simply spelled with a good cleaning charm, words began to appear.

'Hello. My name is Tom Riddle. What is your name? How did you come by my book?'

Excitedly, Draco began scrawling. Tom Riddle told him that he was simply a memory in the book, much like a magical painting. In return, Draco told him about himself, his woes with Father's disapproval over his school marks, his dislike of the Weasleys, his desire to be as great and powerful as his parents. Tom sympathised, listened to him, and reassured him that he would indeed be great. He agreed that Father was far too harsh, and should pay more attention to him. As summer faded, Draco wrote more and more in the diary. He was secretive about his book, spending hours talking with Tom. He poured his heart into it, and Tom Riddle became his best friend.

For a while, Draco was happy. Father's buoyant mood continued, and he spent more time with Draco and Mother than usual. He joined them for supper more times than he had all summer, and even gifted Draco a Nimbus 2001- the expectation, of course, being that Draco make the Quidditch team that year. Draco didn't care though. The gift of the broom meant that Father had faith in him and that was all that he wanted. He returned to Hogwarts in September with a friend in his pocket, and his hope for the semester (and beating Hermione Granger) renewed. He was pleased that Father seemed to want to be closer to him.

It began to fall apart on Halloween. Draco wrote home often, breezy epithets describing his classes that week, his silent academic competition with Hermione Granger, and his friends (only the 'proper' pureblood Slytherin friends though. He never mentioned Harry Dursley, a Hufflepuff muggleborn). Mother wrote back frequently, usually about the house, and the house elves and what dinner party she had been to recently. Father had never replied, and Draco assumed that he never bothered to read his letters. The week before Halloween, he carelessly mentioned the lower mark he had received for a piece of homework. His essay on the advantages and disadvantages of the expelliarmus spell had gotten only an Acceptable. He didn't think twice about it- Mother wasn't as strict about school as Father, and he would do better on the next bit of homework.

On October 31st, tea time found Draco at the Slytherin table tucking into some hearty chicken sandwiches, rich chocolate cake, and scones. Biting into a buttery scone, he spotted his black owl, Berian, fluttering into the Great Hall, a thick letter clutched in his talons. His scone, forgotten on his plate, grew cold as he eagerly tore the envelope open. His heart sank as he recognised Father's precise penmanship. Instead of a cheerful reply from Mother, he had gotten a stinging letter from Father, detailing what a disappointment he was yet again. Malfoys didn't receive marks below Exceeds Expectations, and even that would be pushing it. At this rate, his father wrote, he wasn't even fit to work in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office. Draco furiously blinked away tears. Slytherin house would have a field day if they saw him crying. Fortunately, at that moment, Berian nipped at his finger expectantly. An owl treat after a letter was tradition, and Draco had none on him. He excused himself and hurried to the Owlery. He fed Berian his treat, but fled when the smallest Weasley entered, herself in tears over something. Draco angrily wondered what she had to cry about. Her stupid family was so happy and loving. All he got was a father who only ever saw him when he had done something wrong. He slipped into a dark, cold alcove outside the Great Hall, and curled up to have a good cry and write to Tom. He could hear the other students chattering as they entered the hall for the Halloween Feast, and warm smells of pumpkin pie and caramel coated apples wafted out occasionally. Tom replied with such empathy, agreeing that father was unfair.

A voice startled him. 'Hey… you alright, mate?'

Through his red and swollen eyes, he saw Justin Finch-Fletchley. A stupid Hufflepuff. He absolutely didn't want him tittering to his housemates about seeing Draco Malfoy crying in the dark.

'I'm fine! Leave me alone!' Draco's voice broke a bit as he held back tears.

Justin looked at him uncertainly. 'You don't seem okay… do you want to talk about it? It might make you feel better.'

'I said, leave me alone!' shouted Draco angrily, tears freely coursing down his face now.

Justin backed up a bit, but a determined look crossed his face. 'Look mate, you don't seem okay. Let me get Madam Pomfrey for you, or something?'

Draco wasn't sure what happened after that. He felt oddly light, and Justin's voice echoed in the distance, muffled by a strange hissing. The hissing was close, and Draco realised it was coming from him. Tranquility washed over him, and he was no longer in control of his body. Later, he would struggle to remember what happened. Something large emerged from an opening in the wall, and Justin turned and ran, freezing and falling to the ground after passing a gleaming suit of armour. It was darkness after that. He came back to himself as the school was heading back to the dormitories after the feast. The wall was now painted with words, and Draco couldn't remember them being there before.

'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened, enemies of the heir, beware'

Draco vaguely remembered stories about the Chamber of Secrets, told to him by his parents, but he had always assumed that it wasn't real. Now, he wasn't sure. Students tramped into the corridor, full of good food and laughter, and Draco did his best to blend in. He tried to recover himself, and jauntily shouted out the phrase written on the wall, earning him a severe look from Harry. The students were hurried away from the scene, and Draco hoped that that was the end of it. But as he got ready for bed, he found his robes stained with paint. That night, his dreams teemed with monsters, who often turned into his father.

He told Tom about what had happened, and he reassured him that it was just a dream. He had been so tired from crying he imagined it all. Silly muggleborn had done it to himself, Tom insisted. Draco almost believed it. The rest of the semester passed by, and Draco managed to keep his marks up, making sure to write home about it. Father didn't write again, but Mother seemed proud. Holiday decorations went up in the castle, and Draco packed his belongings in anticipation of his trip home. Christmas at Malfoy Manor was always beautiful, and Father usually took time off to spend a few hours with Draco and Mother. They usually even held a massive ball, and invited the crème de la crème of Pureblood society. The day before he was due to return, he received an unexpected letter from Mother.

December 2nd 1992

Dearest Draco,

I am so sorry, my love, but unfortunately Father and I have decided that it's best that you stay at Hogwarts this year for Christmas. We've got ever so many meetings with Father's associates, and we aren't even having a ball this year. It won't much fun for you at all, my dear. You'll have a grand time with your friends at school though! You'll love the feast, and Christmas crackers that Professor Dumbledore orders. And Uncle Sev will keep you company! And of course you'll get loads of presents from Father and me. Doesn't that sound so much better than spending the holiday going to stuffy meetings? And trust me, my dearest boy, Father and I are trying to make the world a better place for you. You'll appreciate it when we've accomplished what we're setting out to do. We are doing what we must, to make a better life for you, and you must do your duty too, and stay at Hogwarts without a fuss. Remember, sweetheart, a Malfoy always does his duty.

Love,

Mother.

Draco crumbled the letter in his fist, his eyes dry this time. Of course they didn't want him at home. He methodically unpacked his trunk and went to bed, his mind numb. He couldn't sleep. He tried to maintain a sense of blank calm, but intrusive thoughts kept popping into his head. What if his parents didn't want him anymore? What if he was relegated to staying at Hogwarts all the time like an orphan? He got up and poured his feelings into the diary. Tom wrote back words of comfort. He had never written so much before… he felt oddly weak, but happier. Still, he couldn't sleep. He snuck out of the Slytherin common room and wandered about the dark, still castle. The only sound he could hear was the soft breathing of the portraits as they slumbered. He approached the library, thinking of getting a book to bore himself to sleep, but a blue flickering light caught his eye. Someone else was out and about. Noiselessly, he approached from the shadows, and caught a glimpse of his fellow rule-breaker- Hermione Granger. Irritation swept over him. She didn't need to swot any more than she already did. Clearly, beating him, and the rest of the year wasn't enough for her. Stupid muggleborn, constantly trying outshine everyone, he thought angrily. As his rage at the girl spiked, the airy feeling came over him again, and he gave into it. He didn't think about it when he got back to his bed, and he didn't think about it when Hermione was found and panicked whispers floated through the school. He nodded and agreed when Uncle Sev made him promise not to go anywhere alone. He carried on through the Christmas holiday, and did his duty, like he was supposed to.

Term started again, and Draco dreaded seeing Harry. He had boasted to his friend about the wonderful Malfoy Christmas parties, and had been too embarrassed to admit that he had had to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas after all. He stiffly confessed to remaining at the castle. Pity filled Harry's eyes, and Draco could not bear it. Accepting Harry's sympathy would mean admitting that his parents were less than perfect, and he simply couldn't. Besides, Tom had told him that Harry could never understand, coming from a house where he was constantly fussed over. Draco rushed off, and let his feet take him wherever they wanted. He found himself outside a disused bathroom. Water dripped incessantly, and the room smelt of mildew. Turning in disgust, he made to leave the room… but he couldn't. His legs moved without his command while he sank into a dreamy state. He watched as he hissed at the sink. A hole opened up, and he slid into it, falling and slipping until he reached the bottom. A vast cavern, filled with snake carvings, greeted him at the bottom. All night, he wandered the tunnels leading out of chamber, never stopping, always followed by something large, with rotting breath. Finally, he emerged from a hole on the lake shore. Covered by years of growth of shrubbery, it was hidden to the school. Dawn coloured the sky pink as he dreamily walked the edge of the lake. A girl sat at the lakeshore, tying the laces of her skates. Draco didn't know her, and in his dream state, didn't particularly care. He was so tired. He let the monster have what it wanted, and he slipped back into the tunnel. Later, he heard that Cho Chang from Ravenclaw had been found petrified. Rumours swirled around the school, but Draco kept quiet and plodded on through his studies. He barely slept and when he did his dreams were filled with hissing and the rotten breath of the monster. He fell into himself and relied on the diary even more than ever. Uncle Sev pulled him aside several times to question on him, to check his temperature. He always looked dissatisfied when he allowed Draco to leave. Harry kept shooting him concerned glances during their potions sessions. Draco did not care. All he cared about was his diary.

Just before the Easter holiday, Draco received another letter from Mother, telling him that he would again be staying at Hogwarts. He had been expecting it and hadn't bothered packing anything. He didn't care much. It just meant more time to talk to Tom. He had fallen into a blank complacency, doing what he needed to do at school, chatting with his housemates to keep up a facade of normalcy, but he constantly itched to write in the diary. He felt nothing… until his last potions class with Uncle Sev, and Harry. His friend was leaving Hogwarts. Draco would be alone. Until that moment, Draco thought all he needed was the diary to be happy. Now that he was losing his friend, he knew the diary, and Tom, were not enough. He confronted Harry, and as they argued, he could feel the weightless sensation enveloping him again.

'Not… Harry,' he thought incoherently, and ran. He fled through the halls of the school, Harry close at his heels. Draco couldn't bear it if his friend were to fall victim to the monster. He fought the light feeling as hard as he could. He tried to maintain control. It was in vain. The monster struck again, and he was powerless to stop it. When he came back to himself, Harry was lay on the wet floor of the bathroom, petrified. The monster silently slid back into the passage, and Draco was left sobbing over his friend's body. He hadn't meant for it to happen. All he had wanted was for Harry to stay at Hogwarts, to not leave him alone. Now, he was alone anyway.

The following night, Draco quietly visited Harry in the hospital wing. A woman sat on an armchair next to his bed, dozing. With her blonde hair and fair skin, he might have thought her his mother, though her face was softer, and lacked Narcissa Malfoy's sharp features. This must be Harry's aunt. Draco's guilt intensified.

He leant down to Harry's stiff body and whispered, 'I'm sorry Harry. I swear I'll fix this somehow.'

Tears welled in his eyes, and he fled the hospital wing, fearing another incident. Weeks passed, and Uncle Sev kept assuring him that the mandrakes would soon be mature, and Harry would be back in no time. Draco nodded listlessly. He tried to stop writing in the diary, believing that it was the cause of his problems. But it called to him. The monster hissed at him from the bowels of the castle, and the more he avoided the diary, the louder the hissing became. Draco begged Tom to tell him what was going on.

'I'm sorry Draco, but I might have not told you the entire truth when we first met. I was trapped in the diary by a terrible person, and I've got to get out. The petrifications will help to set me free. I need you to help me do this.'

'But it's hurting people!' Draco tearfully wrote back.

'Friends help friends, don't they Draco? And aren't we friends?' Tom wrote to him, beguiling him, convincing him. 'I promise when I get what I need, I'll stop. And besides, all of your friends will be fine.'

Draco couldn't argue with that. Uncle Sev had promised that the potion made from the mandrakes would cure the petrified students. And, despite everything, he still trusted Tom. He had been there for him when no one else was. That made Tom good, didn't it? He wrote furiously in the diary after that.

Tom boasted to him about his plans often. 'After I'm free from the diary, I'll need to make some more horcruxes. I've got a few you know. I've made a ring into one, and a locket. Old Hufflepuff's cup. Ravenclaw's diadem.'

Curiously, Draco asked, 'What's a horcrux?'

There was a long pause. 'They are objects that will help me get what I want.'

Confused, Draco wrote back, 'What do you need them for Tom? I thought all you needed was to get out of the diary?'

'Getting out of this wretched book will give me life, yes. But creating more horcruxes will ensure my immortality.'

Draco was bewildered. For the first time, he truly wondered who Tom Riddle really was.

The mandrakes grew stronger and matured, and Draco became thinner and paler. He thought he could hear Tom whispering to him in his dreams, and felt his presence strongly. He knew the time was getting closer to release Tom from the book, and he was relieved. Soon, this nightmare would be over. Tom would be free, and Harry would be back.

Nearly a month after Harry had been petrified, the mandrakes were mature, Uncle Sev set about brewing the potion to bring the students back. Tom called to Draco, and instructed him to go to the Chamber of Secrets. He was strong enough now. There, he said, they would complete the ritual to set him free.

Draco drifted down to the Chamber. He was so weak now. Only the thought of being free of this gave him the strength to walk to the vast atrium. Pillars encircled by carvings of writhing serpents towered over a stone altar. Their eyes glimmered greenly at Draco as he set the diary in front of him. A silver knife, encrusted by emeralds gleamed brightly next to the cold shrine. Words began to appear on the page. 'Now, Draco, you must cut your hand and let a drop fall onto the book. It will give me the strength to break free.'

Draco obediently made a small cut on his finger, and watched as a single crimson droplet fell onto the book. Like the ink before it, the blood disappeared into the page, leaving it pristine. Draco sighed in relief. It was over. This was the end of his part. He turned to leave, but found he couldn't. He was rooted to the floor, and worse, his finger had begun to spurt copious amounts of blood onto the diary. A small cut such as his shouldn't have bled so much. A flood of ink burst through the pages of the book as a hand escaped the pages and gripped his tightly. More of his blood drained into the book and Draco could feel his life force draining away as more of Tom Riddle emerged.

Soon, Tom Riddle escaped the pages that had trapped him. Dark hair, fair skin and strikingly refined features made him a handsome boy. He wore Slytherin robes, and a Head Boy's badge was pinned to his chest. In other circumstances, he might have been someone that Draco would have looked up to.

He smiled at Draco, his teeth white and perfect. 'Thank you, Draco Malfoy. Your sacrifice will be appreciated. Now, I must say goodbye.'

He left Draco lying in a crumbled heap on the dirty floor, and sauntered off. Draco could do nothing but watch as Tom left him to die. Defeated, he closed his eyes, not caring if he ever opened them again. In his heart, he had known that Tom would not keep his promise. He would never truly be free.

A voice woke him out of his doze. 'Well, well, Mr. Malfoy, whatever are you doing here?'

It was Professor Quirrell. A spark of hope electrified him, and he found the strength to sit up. 'Professor, help, please. I need to go to Madam Pomfrey.'

A low, hissing voice sounded from behind Quirrell. 'Quirrell, he is the child who activated the diary. My soul fragment must be here somewhere. We must find him, and join.'

Horrified, Draco watched as Quirrell unwound his turban, and turned around. Instead of hair, or skin, the back of the teacher's head was marred by a twisted face. Draco had seen enough photographs from his parents' glory days as Death Eaters to know who it was- Lord Voldemort. Weakly, he dragged himself away. He knew enough of the Dark Lord's merciless ways, and his disgust for weakness to remain in his sight. It didn't seem that either Quirrell or the Dark Lord cared about him though. Quirrell was too busy trying to find Tom to bother about a dying boy.

A smooth voice echoed in the chamber, and Tom Riddle strode out of the shadows. 'Well, well, if it isn't… me. Hello, Lord Voldemort.'

The face at the back of Quirrell's head smirked. 'Finally. I have waited so long for this. Let us join. Together we will be strong.'

Draco realised that he had been conversing with a young Lord Voldemort for months.

Tom Riddle and his older incarnation gripped hands and chanted, 'Simul animabus nostris, simul animabus nostris, simul animabus nostris.'

Slumped on the ground, Draco heard a sickening, wet rip as Quirrell began shrieking. Voldemort's face tore itself away from Quirrell's head, leaving a gaping, bloody wound. The Dark Lord began to melt into Tom, whose skin rippled and stretched as his bones shattered and cracked. His robes ripped and tore as his body changed. Finally, they were one. The new Lord Voldemort looked as snake like as ever, but younger and stronger. Quirrell fell to the floor, twitching, as Voldemort flexed his long fingers.

'Pl- please. My Lord… it hurts,' Quirrell moaned, a pool of blood widening around him.

Voldemort glanced at the prone, bloody figure at his feet. 'A pity. You would have made quite the loyal soldier, with your desperation.'

He pressed his fingers to his forearm, and a black tattoo appeared. 'I've called my loyal followers. You have done me an immeasurable service.'

He raised his head and hissed. Draco knew he was calling the monster from the depths of the chamber.

'My basilisk will attend to you, Quirrell. You have been honoured beyond measure, my boy. First, you gave me life, and now you will feed my pet.'

Quirrell gurgled in pain and reached out, his fingers barely brushing the hem of Voldemort's tattered robe as he disappeared into the darkness of the chamber. His footsteps faded into the shadows and were replaced by a loud slither. Draco curled into the corner, terrified.

'No, no, no…,' whispered Quirrell. 'Please, not like this… not like this!'

Draco screwed his eyes shut as the basilisk entered the chamber. But he couldn't block out the sounds. Quirrell's screams were soon replaced by the sickening crunch of bones and tearing of flesh. It seemed like an eternity to Draco, but it was soon over. Quirrell was not a large man. Its belly now full, the snake slithered further into the chamber. Draco tried to stand, but he was far too weak. He had lost too much blood, and had been frail even before that. If he couldn't get out himself, he would have to call someone who could.

'Dobby. Help.'

A loud crack echoed through the vast room, and Draco was afraid that the basilisk would return.

'Master Draco! What is happening?' the elf screeched.

'Dobby, please, get me out of here!' whispered Draco.

Dobby grabbed his arm, and tried to apparate. A deafening boom shook the room. Dust and stone rained down upon them.

Tears filled Dobby's eyes. 'Dobby is sorry master Draco, but Dobby cannot apparate with you out of here. The magic is too strong.'

Draco slumped back hopelessly. He was dying, he knew that. He could close his eyes and go to sleep forever in this dark, cold cavern. His parents would be sad for a while, but they would get over it, he thought. But he could also use his last moments for good. He knew some of Tom's- the Dark Lord's- plan. He told Dobby as much as he could remember- about the diary that his father had tried to slip to Ginny Weasley, how he had written in it and started the petrifications, the horcruxes Tom had told him about, the Dark Lord coming back. He knew now that no matter what his parents said or thought, the Dark Lord was evil. He had to do whatever he could to ensure that people knew he was coming back.

'Dobby, get Uncle Sev. Tell him everything.'

The elf's ears flattened, and his eyes filled with tears. 'Dobby cannot. Dobby is bound to keep the secrets of the Malfoy's.'

Draco made a snap decision. He wrenched off his Slytherin house tie, now stained with dust and dried blood. He thrust the tie into Dobby's small hands.

'You're free now, Dobby. Tell Uncle Sev what happened. Please.'

Dobby's eyes glittered with tears, and he disappeared with a crack. Draco closed his eyes. For months, Tom had been a voice in his head, the basilisk constantly hissing in his dreams. Now, all was quiet. He slipped in and out of consciousness. The sound of Dobby apparating back woke him briefly. He could hear sounds of yelling, running, metal clanging, curses being shouted. He could hear the basilisk moving in the chamber, hissing at someone, or something. A loud thud sounded throughout the chamber and all was silent again.

'Draco, oh my dear child. Draco can you hear me?'

It was Uncle Sev. Draco smiled. 'You came. Did Dobby give you my message?'

'Yes, he did. Thank you, Draco.'

'Good,' whispered Draco, his vision beginning to fade. 'Tell Father I'm sorry, Uncle Sev. I shouldn't have taken the diary.'

Uncle Sev's eyes were curiously shiny. 'Don't worry about that my dear. You were very brave.'

He had never seen Uncle Sev cry before. There was no hope then. Weariness pulled him into a pool of darkness and he closed his eyes. 'Tell Mother…'

Draco was gone.

AN: Sorry I haven't updated in so long! I went through some life changes recently, so I've been occupied. Hope you guys enjoy this update!