Chapter. 3
Draco was pacing restlessly back and forth. He was breathing heavily, and his steps were unsteady.
Any fool could see that something was bothering him...
He took a deep breath, and sank down on his bed, with his head resting in the palms of his hands.
The 'thing' that was bothering him, lay with its arms and legs tied up behind its back in a dark cupboard down in the basement, still fast asleep.
What was he going to do?
There was a living creature, a human being in his basement, and he, Draco Malfoy had the power to decide whether this young human would live or die!
He had wanted to kill it. Not personally, of course. But to hand it over to the Death Eaters, to his father, would mean death...
No, not death. Death would come as a last blessing to this human after the torture he would endure.
Merely killing it wouldn't satisfy them. Not anymore.
The 'thing' was older now, and... they wouldn't be satisfied that easily this time. They would want more.
Who was he to doom another human being to a fate such as this?
What right did he have to decide between life and death?
He took a deep breath and shook his head slightly to rid himself of the chaos that raged inside his mind.
The 'thing' wouldn't wake up until tomorrow night at least. He had plenty of time to decide on what to do with it. He deserved rest now.
He undressed quickly and krept down into the warm bed.
When Draco woke up the next morning, there was someone in his room. He noticed it right away, and didn't open his eyes.
He searched frantically trough his mind, trying to find a reason why anyone would be in his room this early in the morning. He found nothing.
"Who is it?" he asked, still not opening his eyes or sitting up.
"Ah, so you're finally awake, huh?" a voice said from somewhere by the mirror. Draco recognised it at once!
"Father?" he sat up and rubbed the sleep off his eyes with the back of his hand. He blinked a couple of times to clear his vision, and removed the warm sheets covering his body.
Lucius Malfoy was indeed standing by the mirror with his arms crossed, contemplating his son as this one got out of bed and into a robe of fine, black silk with red Japanese letters embroided on the back.
They looked remarkably alike, the two of them.
Any random stranger could tell they were related.
They had the same silver blond hair, the same pale skin, and the same stormy grey eyes. They could've been twins...
Lucius had always been proud of his son, and he never bothered to pretend otherwise.
He was quite a young man himself, and looked even younger than he really was.
He hadn't been in the same year as James Potter, or his bride-to-be, back when he had attended Hogwarts. They were already in their third year when he had started, and he had never really offered much thought to any of them back then.
Not until later...
All of these memories came rushing back to him now, when he saw Draco. He reminded him so much of himself, when he had been that young. Many, many eternities ago...
"So... you're back then?" Draco drew his fingers trough his hair, and glanced at his father. There was a suspicious undertone in his voice as he said it.
Lucius bit his lip and looked away for a moment, he had noticed the undertone, and he knew why it was there. There was of course a reason why he had come home. He didn't want to say it aloud to Draco, but he could see that his son understood. There was no need for words...
"I'll be leaving shortly, I'm afraid," he began quietly, without looking his son in the eyes. Afraid of what he might find in them.
Draco nodded slowly. He had expected this, and it came as no surprise to him.
"When?"
"Tonight."
"Why? Where are you going?"
"I'm not allowed to tell you that, but I will be back soon. I promise!"
Yeah, Draco thought to himself, just like you promised last time, and every time before that...
But he didn't say any of this out loud. Instead he asked: "Will you be staying for dinner?"
His father smiled, and nodded.
Draco walked towards the library. His steps were steady, and he wore an expression of determination on his face.
He had made a decision.
He had to do it! Now! Now, before he-
Suddenly, a glimpse of insecurity was visible in his silvery eyes.
The sound of his steps became suddenly less frequent, until, finally, they stopped.
He bit his lip thoughtfully, and glanced nervously at the heavy oak doors that lead into the library.
His father had spendt the better part of the day in his secret chamber, "preparing something important", and hadn't been present except at breakfast and lunch.
Draco was hurt.
Hurt, becuase his father wouldn't spend any time with the family he claimed to be so proud of.
But also, he was relieved that he didn't have to look his father in the eyes...
He was afraid that his own eyes would betray him, and reveal to him the secrets hidden deep in his heart.
He had failed to concentrate about even the slightest thing. His mind kept wandering down to the dark cupboard in the basement. Down to his dark, dirty little secret.
He had tried to convince himself all day that the best thing he could do was tell his father about it right away, and get it over with as soon as possible.
But something inside him, seemed to think otherwise.
He didn't want to tell anyone about it. Not yet. Not even his father.
For the third time that day, Draco lowered his gaze, turned his back against the library, and walked slowly away...
Dinner was a quiet affair, and ended all too quickly for Draco's liking.
They talked about nothing in particular, while eating a rather fine meal.
Draco told his father a little more about school, just a few minor details of no great importance he had forgotten to tell him about last time he had been home.
Narcissa told him about the dinner party she had attended the night before, and a letter she had recieved a few days ago which, judging by the look on her face, was concerning something rather important.
Lucius told them nothing.
He was listening, politely interested in their stories, but his mind was somewhere else.
Draco saw it, and laughed silently to himself. Oh, father, if only you knew...
But his father didn't know, and he left later that evening without knowing...
Draco hadn't told him, and now it was too late...
Draco checked his watch. 11.55...
The moon was shining trough the row of windows lining the corridor, painting the floor in silver.
His dark shadow was easily visible against the wall.
He was tip toing down the hallway, careful not to make a sound.
He was carrying a small, black bag, and a bottle of water. The bag contained food, and the water was mostly clean, except for a few drops of the "sleeping beauty" potion to keep the 'thing' from regaining its full strenght and consciousness.
He figured the 'thing' would probably be hungry when it woke up.
Draco prefered to refer to Potter as 'the thing'. For some reason, he figured it would be a lot easier as long as he didn't think of his victim as a person.
A human being with friends, and people who cared about him...
He opened the door to the basement, slowly. This door always creaked, no matter how slight the touch, and Draco hated it.
Fortunately, it didn't creak very much tonight. Perhaps it sensed that something important was going on.
He walked carefully down the stairs, and entered the first basement.
It was a large, dusty room with loads of old rubbish which, for some reason, they hadn't thrown away.
He wondered vaguely whether there might be something of interest in there. Among the piles of old books, paintings, each worth several hundred galleons, hidden beneath layers of thin fabric, and all the other things stowed away down here, covered beneath a thick blanket of dust.
Didn't anyone ever clean this place? For some reason, he didn't think so.
He found the door he was looking for in the very corner of the room. He had shoved an old desk in front of it, to prevent the 'thing' from getting out that way, should it manage to escape from the cupboard.
He wasn't afraid that anyone would find it. No one ever came down here. And even during the precious few occasions when they did, they never went further than the first basement.
He pushed the desk aside.
His heart was pounding in his chest, threathening to explode, and the sound of blood rushing trough his ears was the only sound he could hear, as he slowly put his hand to the handle.
He took a deep breath, and opened the door...
Draco was pacing restlessly back and forth. He was breathing heavily, and his steps were unsteady.
Any fool could see that something was bothering him...
He took a deep breath, and sank down on his bed, with his head resting in the palms of his hands.
The 'thing' that was bothering him, lay with its arms and legs tied up behind its back in a dark cupboard down in the basement, still fast asleep.
What was he going to do?
There was a living creature, a human being in his basement, and he, Draco Malfoy had the power to decide whether this young human would live or die!
He had wanted to kill it. Not personally, of course. But to hand it over to the Death Eaters, to his father, would mean death...
No, not death. Death would come as a last blessing to this human after the torture he would endure.
Merely killing it wouldn't satisfy them. Not anymore.
The 'thing' was older now, and... they wouldn't be satisfied that easily this time. They would want more.
Who was he to doom another human being to a fate such as this?
What right did he have to decide between life and death?
He took a deep breath and shook his head slightly to rid himself of the chaos that raged inside his mind.
The 'thing' wouldn't wake up until tomorrow night at least. He had plenty of time to decide on what to do with it. He deserved rest now.
He undressed quickly and krept down into the warm bed.
When Draco woke up the next morning, there was someone in his room. He noticed it right away, and didn't open his eyes.
He searched frantically trough his mind, trying to find a reason why anyone would be in his room this early in the morning. He found nothing.
"Who is it?" he asked, still not opening his eyes or sitting up.
"Ah, so you're finally awake, huh?" a voice said from somewhere by the mirror. Draco recognised it at once!
"Father?" he sat up and rubbed the sleep off his eyes with the back of his hand. He blinked a couple of times to clear his vision, and removed the warm sheets covering his body.
Lucius Malfoy was indeed standing by the mirror with his arms crossed, contemplating his son as this one got out of bed and into a robe of fine, black silk with red Japanese letters embroided on the back.
They looked remarkably alike, the two of them.
Any random stranger could tell they were related.
They had the same silver blond hair, the same pale skin, and the same stormy grey eyes. They could've been twins...
Lucius had always been proud of his son, and he never bothered to pretend otherwise.
He was quite a young man himself, and looked even younger than he really was.
He hadn't been in the same year as James Potter, or his bride-to-be, back when he had attended Hogwarts. They were already in their third year when he had started, and he had never really offered much thought to any of them back then.
Not until later...
All of these memories came rushing back to him now, when he saw Draco. He reminded him so much of himself, when he had been that young. Many, many eternities ago...
"So... you're back then?" Draco drew his fingers trough his hair, and glanced at his father. There was a suspicious undertone in his voice as he said it.
Lucius bit his lip and looked away for a moment, he had noticed the undertone, and he knew why it was there. There was of course a reason why he had come home. He didn't want to say it aloud to Draco, but he could see that his son understood. There was no need for words...
"I'll be leaving shortly, I'm afraid," he began quietly, without looking his son in the eyes. Afraid of what he might find in them.
Draco nodded slowly. He had expected this, and it came as no surprise to him.
"When?"
"Tonight."
"Why? Where are you going?"
"I'm not allowed to tell you that, but I will be back soon. I promise!"
Yeah, Draco thought to himself, just like you promised last time, and every time before that...
But he didn't say any of this out loud. Instead he asked: "Will you be staying for dinner?"
His father smiled, and nodded.
Draco walked towards the library. His steps were steady, and he wore an expression of determination on his face.
He had made a decision.
He had to do it! Now! Now, before he-
Suddenly, a glimpse of insecurity was visible in his silvery eyes.
The sound of his steps became suddenly less frequent, until, finally, they stopped.
He bit his lip thoughtfully, and glanced nervously at the heavy oak doors that lead into the library.
His father had spendt the better part of the day in his secret chamber, "preparing something important", and hadn't been present except at breakfast and lunch.
Draco was hurt.
Hurt, becuase his father wouldn't spend any time with the family he claimed to be so proud of.
But also, he was relieved that he didn't have to look his father in the eyes...
He was afraid that his own eyes would betray him, and reveal to him the secrets hidden deep in his heart.
He had failed to concentrate about even the slightest thing. His mind kept wandering down to the dark cupboard in the basement. Down to his dark, dirty little secret.
He had tried to convince himself all day that the best thing he could do was tell his father about it right away, and get it over with as soon as possible.
But something inside him, seemed to think otherwise.
He didn't want to tell anyone about it. Not yet. Not even his father.
For the third time that day, Draco lowered his gaze, turned his back against the library, and walked slowly away...
Dinner was a quiet affair, and ended all too quickly for Draco's liking.
They talked about nothing in particular, while eating a rather fine meal.
Draco told his father a little more about school, just a few minor details of no great importance he had forgotten to tell him about last time he had been home.
Narcissa told him about the dinner party she had attended the night before, and a letter she had recieved a few days ago which, judging by the look on her face, was concerning something rather important.
Lucius told them nothing.
He was listening, politely interested in their stories, but his mind was somewhere else.
Draco saw it, and laughed silently to himself. Oh, father, if only you knew...
But his father didn't know, and he left later that evening without knowing...
Draco hadn't told him, and now it was too late...
Draco checked his watch. 11.55...
The moon was shining trough the row of windows lining the corridor, painting the floor in silver.
His dark shadow was easily visible against the wall.
He was tip toing down the hallway, careful not to make a sound.
He was carrying a small, black bag, and a bottle of water. The bag contained food, and the water was mostly clean, except for a few drops of the "sleeping beauty" potion to keep the 'thing' from regaining its full strenght and consciousness.
He figured the 'thing' would probably be hungry when it woke up.
Draco prefered to refer to Potter as 'the thing'. For some reason, he figured it would be a lot easier as long as he didn't think of his victim as a person.
A human being with friends, and people who cared about him...
He opened the door to the basement, slowly. This door always creaked, no matter how slight the touch, and Draco hated it.
Fortunately, it didn't creak very much tonight. Perhaps it sensed that something important was going on.
He walked carefully down the stairs, and entered the first basement.
It was a large, dusty room with loads of old rubbish which, for some reason, they hadn't thrown away.
He wondered vaguely whether there might be something of interest in there. Among the piles of old books, paintings, each worth several hundred galleons, hidden beneath layers of thin fabric, and all the other things stowed away down here, covered beneath a thick blanket of dust.
Didn't anyone ever clean this place? For some reason, he didn't think so.
He found the door he was looking for in the very corner of the room. He had shoved an old desk in front of it, to prevent the 'thing' from getting out that way, should it manage to escape from the cupboard.
He wasn't afraid that anyone would find it. No one ever came down here. And even during the precious few occasions when they did, they never went further than the first basement.
He pushed the desk aside.
His heart was pounding in his chest, threathening to explode, and the sound of blood rushing trough his ears was the only sound he could hear, as he slowly put his hand to the handle.
He took a deep breath, and opened the door...