Nothing is Ever Easy

Author: Renegade Moon

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy are killed by the Dark Lord. But Draco is in danger too, Voldemort has vowed to kill every Malfoy so that he would be the one and only Slytherin heir. Draco has to change his identity, and that means a new appearance, a new name, a new life. Things will be hard for him. But then again, nothing is ever easy.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling, except the plot.

Author's Note: Hey evryone! Here's chappie 6! I know there's not much Draco/Hermione stuff yet, but I'm getting there, don't worry. I just don't think it's right for them to fall in love too quickly, it would make them out of character and I really don't want that to happen. And I think this story will be quite long so... And anyway Draco and Hermione are very different, so it's not that easy. Well, nothing is ever easy, right? ^_^

Thank you : Seiji's_flame (you're a Fushigi Yugi fan, aren't you ? Me too !), princess-snake, katrina, Gooey Gooey Coca Beans, Sara, sweetSlytherin, Wondergirl, f0xyness39 (Calm down ! You'll get more, don't worry ! LOL), arlen (I did get the name from Roswell !!), Arial, anarkeya, AtePogs (I know she did find out fast, but she's clever, isn't she ?) Thank you so much to you all !!

Chapter 6 : The Army

The young man apparated in the middle of a small clearing. It was a very cloudy night, allowing little moonlight to help him find his way through the thick forest. He took out his wand and whispered "Lumos", which provided him with just enough light to see where he was going, then he looked around.

He knew where he was, he recognized the clearing—he had come here before. He winced at the memory and shook his head to chase the painful thoughts out of his mind. At the time, he had been determined, he knew he was fighting on the right side and for the good cause, and would have done anything to defend this cause. But now, as he stood alone in that clearing... he wasn't so sure anymore.

He had been ordered to go on a mission a few months ago, and now he was coming back with good news. He had been successful and what he brought back in the leather bag that hung on his soulder was so precious that he was sure to be rewarded. He had fulfilled his task, he should be proud—but somehow, he wasn't. Why wasn't he proud? Why did he feel this way?

For a brief second, he thought that strange feeling might be guilt. After all, the boy was already dead when he had arrived to kill him, and he only brought back the proof of his death. He could have felt guilt when he had taken that proof— after all the boy had been killed by someone else— but he hadn't. He was used to this kind of tasks and had cheated many people before without a trace of guilt, so that couldn't be how he felt right now. It must be something else, and though he didn't quite understand what it was, he decided to trust his instincts. No, his instincts had never decieved him.

No longer hesitating, the young man walked at a steady pace toward the larger clearing where the Camp was. It was still about twenty minutes away, but he knew better than to apparate directly inside the Camp or he would immediately suffer the Avada Kedavra curse as any other intruder. As he made his way through the trees, he wondered if the Camp had changed while he was gone. After all those days he'd been away on his mission, he guessed more wizards must have joined the Master's cause now. The Master had been trying to gather all the pureblooded wizards and wirches who fought for the same ideals since his return to power. For the past few months he had tried to raise an army of witches and wizards to fight against the mudbloods, and they were all secretly settled in the Camp, hidden and protected by complicated spells.

But as he got closer and closer to the Camp, the man felt his determination and self-confidence fade quickly, to be replaced by that strange feeling again. Somehow, deep inside, he knew what was going to happen to him. Sure, what he brought were good news, but for some reason he couldn't help but fear what was to come. He knew it wouldn't be enough to please his Master, he had been away on his mission for too long and would probably have lost the trust the Dark Lord had in him.

With a wave of his wand and an incantation, he sent a flah of green light that ondulated out of his wand like a snake. It was the secret Sign, to let the guards know he wasn't ennemy. He entered the Camp and made his way to a huge black tent beside a fire and stepped inside. Scouts must have seen him apparate in the small clearing and reported his coming to the master, because the Dark Lord seemed to be waiting for him in the tent.

"I brought you what you wanted, Master," the man said as he fell to one knee and bowed before Voldemort.

"Is he dead?" The Dark Lord said in a dangerous voice that sent a shiver down the man's spine.

"Yes, Master. Draco Malfoy is dead. I brought you the proof of his death, Master," the man answered, standing and holding the leather bag open in front of him.

Voldemort took a step forward and took a bundle of cloth covered with dried blood out of the bag. He unwrapped it and held out the heart in his left hand. The man waited as Voldemort took out his wand with his right hand, pointed it on the heart, and muttered an incantation to make sure this truly was Draco Malfoy's heart. The heart turned greenish and, apparently satisfied, Voldemort tossed it aside on a small table with the leather bag and the piece of cloth.

"You did a very good job, this is the heart of the last Malfoy," The Dark Lord said with an evil laugh. "Now I am the one and only Slytherin Heir!"

The young man smiled proudly, but before he could say anything— Avada Kedavra! —there was a flash of blinding green light and he fell to the ground, dead.

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Draco was tired of this life. It hadn't been long— barely more than two months— but he was already tired of his life as Alex White, the new Gryffindor, tired of playing this role, tired of not being himself again. And he wished he had asked Hermione how she had figured it all out, the night before. Had he been so obvious? Hermione was smart, but Voldemort was even smarter. If a fifteen-year-old Mudblood could discover his secret, then surely Voldemort would discover it in no time. If he hadn't already.

Dumbledore, along with a few teachers, had done a great job faking Draco's death. They had managed to duplicate Draco's body with magic, before he had changed into Alex White, so that there would be a proof of Draco's "death". Ordinarily, such a spell wasn't so efficient, because you could tell which was the real person and which was the copy. With a simple spell of Identification, you could tell if it was real or fake, because both were linked. If you cut the connection between both, then both would be identified as real. But it was impossible to cut the connection, unless the real one died. When Draco had changed into Alex White, his "real" body had disappeared, and the copy was to be identified as the real one.

Draco jumped out of his four-poster bed in his dormitory and walked over to the window as quietly as possible so as not to wake the other fifth year boys up. On his way, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the full-length mirror, and stopped. He looked sadly at the person looking back at him. Draco didn't know this person, it was a complete stranger. He wished, though, that he could see himself— his real self— one more time. Just one last time.

Yet, Alex was who he was now, who he would always be— but not who he had always been. He had no past, Draco Malfoy didn't exist anymore; Alex White was his present and future. But Alex White was a Gryffindor fifteen-year-old boy, who hated Slytherins, hated to call people a "mudblood", hated dark magic, hated discrimination against muggles and muggle-borns, and... hated Draco Malfoy.

But all this wasn't him. Draco wasn't anything like that boy, he was all the opposite. The only thing that Draco and Alex had in common was that they both hated Voldemort— though for different reasons. Draco was playing the role of his ennemy.

Draco had changed since he'd become Alex White, he knew it: he had made friends with Potter and Weasley, though the person he liked best was Hermione, and he also saw things in different ways now. But there were things that couldn't change, things that he had believed in with all his heart, and Hermione couldn't change his opinion in this.

All of his life he had been taught that muggle-borns were inferior, that pureblooded wizards like him were the best and the only true wizards. Mudbloods didn't deserve to use magic, and they along with all the muggles were to serve the purebloods. Wizards born from muggle parents were mistakes, they didn't have the right to live. They were dangerous to the pureblood wizards, for they were only fakes trying to take their superior's place. But pureblood wizards like Draco were the rightful leaders of the muggle and wizarding worlds, they deserved power and shouldn't mix with the fifthy traitors that were muggles and mudbloods.

Hermione was a mudblood. She was the only one in Gryffindor that Draco could bear and talk with, but she still was a mudblood— a mistake. Draco didn't like Hermione, Alex did. The real Draco deep inside, the one hidden under the "Alex" cover, despised that mudblood, know-it-all girl.

But the real Draco, deep inside, also knew that he was only trying to justify his feelings.

A/N: Did you like it? I hope you did, I loved writing this chapter... I dunno why... Anyways, please review, even flames are welcome as long as they're constructive!