Although it being quite early in the summer, it was dreadfully hot and stuff. The people of New Birchton had retreated to the cold depths of their basements leaving only the random cat or child outside. It was not as though the town was unsocial, on any other day the streets would be filled with shoppers from around the small city, salesman trying to swindle customers into buying their products, and children with their faces lined up against the window to the candy shop, Oldmans, waiting for the opportune moment to sneak some candy into their pockets, only to get caught moments later. The shops today, however, were closed in order to preserve energy, and the windows of the cottage like houses closed to all signs of heat. The only place where a living soul could be seen was through a window in the large multi-million dollar manor that backed up to a spacious crystal blue lake.
If one looked through this window, all they would see was a lanky, blonde haired boy, lying on his back on the spacious four poster bed that was equipped with flowing green hangings, his eyes closed, clearly lost in thought. A lot had happened to the boy in the last week or so. He had discovered a new side of his family, along with some dangerous encounters. Try as he may to not think of it, the memories flooded through his brain every time he looked at something that triggered his brain to relive his deepest fears. Some of these memories too sickly to even imagine.
After what seemed like hours of thought, Draco Malfoy lazily opened his eyes to take in his bedroom. The young man's living quarters were anything but ordinary. One of the cottages from the town below his second story bedroom could have easily fit into it. Complete with it's own bathroom, guestroom, and library, it was a perfect haven to about anyone. The expansive main room contained beautiful mahogany night tables and armoire, a full length mirror with bore the Malfoy crest, and a closet full of the most beautiful broomsticks one may ever see. The best thing about it was that the room was all Draco Malfoy's.
As his eyes lingered on the room, a sudden, wonderful thought struck Draco Malfoy as though it was a rock thrown through the window. He got up at last and staggered drunkly toward the beautiful cherry-framed mirror. Shaking his head clear, Draco Malfoy studied his reflection, evaluating it, figuring out what he could do to make it presentable.
The thing was that the fifteen-year-old always looked presentable. His white blond locks that draped so casually over his forehead, sometimes ending up over his blue-gray eyes, were even enough to make him look good. His abundance of money also helped him. Although he was only wearing a set of plain black wizard robes, they were accented with a black Armani roll-neck sweater, a pair of khaki pants, and a small pin that bore the crest of Malfoy. All of these things together looked elegant, let alone cost a small fortune, but Draco only looked at it with bored eyes. After what he'd faced, he'd prefer to not be a Malfoy at all.
Although it was only two weeks into summer vacation from his fifth year, the boy had faced more than a grown man. He had not, perhaps, done some things that a man had, but he faced more pain than one, more pain in his heart, body, and soul. Shortly after getting back from holidays at school, the youngest Malfoy had encountered two of the people he feared most: his father and Lord Voldemort.
Sure, his meeting with his father wasn't the unsettling, but it was uncomfortable. Lucius Malfoy, having escaped Azkaban with a ban of other Death Eaters, had come back looking a different man. His usually sleek, blonde hair was matted in places and lost it's elegant, flow. There seemed to have been a number of wrinkles that appeared on Draco's father since he had last seen him, his black robes had also been torn and smudged with mud. But the feature that had changed most about Lucius Malfoy was his eyes. Once bright and menacing, the eyes were now sad and mournful, as though some one had died, laughter barely reaching them. His mouth was little more than a thin line these days and a smile there was even rarer than a laughter in his eyes. Once a cunning, powerful man, Mr. Malfoy was now despised among most and only befriended by his small band of Death Eaters.
Even though Lucius was living in secret under the drawing room floor, Draco rarely saw him, let alone talked to him. The few times the teenager saw his father, they were brief and neither let their guard down. One of the more memorable meetings was when the young man had asked for a new broomstick.
"Father, when can I get a new broom? Mine is easily outstripped my Potter's Firebolt," Draco had said.
Lucius' face darkened slightly. In a voice filled with the most control he could muster, he replied, "Draco, how can you think of a new broomstick now? I'm in hiding, I can't just go out and walk into a broomstick store, think about me going into Diagon Ally, surely with all the Ministry looking for me I won't be caught. No Draco, if you must go, go by yourself." And that was the end of that, Draco never pressed the matter, although he realized that things were going to be different now that his father was on the run.
Just last Saturday, the Dark Lord came to Malfoy Manor to discuss certain ideas and strategies with Lucius. When he came, Draco tried the best he could to avoid him. Encounters with most powerful Dark Wizards of the age were not a top priority of his, in fact, it wasn't even on his agenda. He stayed as long as he could in his second floor "apartment", but being a teenager, he got quite hungry past noon and went down the marble staircase for a small lunch. As he stepped into the heavily high-ceilinged kitchen, it felt as though a heavy cold had hit him dead on in the stomach. He staggered backward, looking for any dementors near, but instead found a man with long fingers and a deathly white face in a cloak, talking quietly with his father. Draco whirled around to start to run away when his father glanced up, delighted to see him.
"Draco," he called. "Please come back, join the conversation, it's about time you met Our Lord."
Draco Malfoy froze, a look of pure dread on his face. He tried to cover it up before he sat down at heavy wood table that was large enough to have a large dinner party at, way to large for only three people. Unsuccessful, the young man focussed his gaze at the leg of his chair, not at the two men seated.
"Hello My Lord," he muttered to his chair leg. It would have been quite funny if the situation was not like so. "It is a pleasure to be in your presence."
Then, Lord Voldemort spoke audibly for the first time. "Don't lie to me boy," his high cold voice echoed off the walls. "I know you register this as the worst moment of your life. You loathe me, as you loathe your father and all the Death Eaters." Draco's face must have erupted with great shook, as Voldemort continued. "We're nothing evil, just merely trying to gain power in the world. And those who stand in our way…well…we deal with them. Would you like to experience real pain boy?"
"My Lord, please don't," came Lucius' voice. "He's merely a boy, and boy's can be taught, their thoughts tamed, the can-"
"Lucius, he is no longer a boy, but a young man. Same age as I when I started the Dark Arts, when I discovered the wonders of power and ways to get it. He needs to know and experience it." He paused for a second, then, in his high cold voice, whispered, "Crucio."
It was the most sensational feeling in Draco Malfoy's life. It seemed as though his whole body was screaming, not just his mind. Bullets shot through his arms and legs, stunning him greatly. His vision was hazy, but he could make out the outline his father, a look of pure horror on his face. Stop him, Draco wanted to shout, Stop him now Dad, it kills like hell. But he had lost control of himself. The teenager toppled over, waiting for the pain to stop. Within seconds it was released. There was a burning sensation, then nothing more. Finally looking Voldemort in the face, Malfoy said, "May I go My Lord?"
Draco didn't even wait for an answer, he just left. Listening to Voldemort's laughter bouncing off the walls in his head.
He cringed at the thought of these memories that he needed to escape from. There were many more of course, most concerning his father and one while he watched Voldemort leave from his bedroom window, staring at the back of the bald white head in loathing.
Turning away from his mirror, Draco stripped out of his fancy clothes and put on a simple pair of khakis and a hand knit green sweater with the Slytherin serpent sewn into the right side just above his breast.
Then, he walked with purpose to his broom closet and took a look around at the brooms. The variety of broomsticks was fantastic. Each broomstick hung on a rack in his gold colored closest. Below each of the brooms there was a sign bearing the model, age, and year bought. The most famous broom he had was a 1896 Silver Arrow broomstick that belonged to Adrian McKelave, the most famous better ever for the Swedish team. That was the year the Swedish Team won the Quidditch Cup, McKelave sending a bludger at the British chaser heading toward the goal, just as Nora Steen, the Swedish Seeker, caught the snitch. Draco was, of course, a collector. With his ten-digit trust found and good taste in style, what could be a better hobby?
Selecting his newest and favorite broomstick, Draco Malfoy headed out the sturdy wooden door, Nimbus 2001 in hand. Heading into the hallway caked with old tapestries and pictures of his ancestors, the fifteen-year-old made a sharp turn and found himself in a recently discovered passage way that lead down to the kitchen. Draco liked this small hallway. It ensured his privacy and provided him with a little secret place to hang out. Not only that, but it had the most beautiful décor in the whole house. The dark red walls were lined with the most interesting items one could imagine. At one point there could be a table full of maps and another a small glowing orb that was unmistakably a crystal ball. But Malfoy's favorite part about the passage was right before it widened and appeared as a door in the kitchen. Smiling sincerely, Malfoy waited, arms folded, leaning against the wall across from a picture frame.
The canvas contained the most beautiful scenery ever imagined. It was a small cove by a waterfall; the water as it flowed off the cliff really moving. Every so often, Draco saw members from other portraits lounging in the ever-present sun. But there was a certain character that Malfoy saw that filled him with a joy not imaginable. And he needed to see her presence. Then, there she came.
Wearing a long, flowing white gown that just shouted, "I feel free", and small white sandals that seemed to go perfectly with her feet, she entered. Her dark brown hair flowing loosely behind her as she ran, and seemed to stay in perfect condition when she sat. Although her hair was beautiful, her face was even more wonderful. Her dark brown hair fit flawlessly with her brownish eyes, them almost being a shade of orange. Her lips were painted fully in a wonderful way that Draco could only guess what they would feel like kissed. Her nose was absolutely fabulous, curving upwardly in perfection, and her eyebrows flawless. Her body was full of beautiful curves that could only be imaginable on the most beautiful woman in the world. She, to Malfoy, was the most beautiful woman in the world.
"Oh hello Draco," she said, tossing her hair knowingly. "I'm quite glad you're here, lately, a certain older gentleman from the portrait down the hall has taken a liking to me. And, as you know, he's not quite the gentleman."
Draco snorted with laughter at the thought of this beautiful woman and the man in tights who looked like an ugly version of Shakespeare running off together into the night to have beautiful enlightenment. "Just tell me…and I'll…handle it," Malfoy said through his laughter. Finally he got over the laughing fit and said, "I'm going to go for a broomstick ride. It would be so much better if you were on the back of my broom though."
"And I too," the woman in the painting replied. "I'd give anything to be in the real world again…but I'm a mere painting, hanging here on this wall for the right man to come along." She looked downward and then looked up, smiling weakly. "Don't waste your young heart on me Draco. I'll be here as a friend, but I can never provide you with the love your heart needs, or the physical reassurance. I'm a mere painting and you are a wonderful young man who needs to find a real life woman. I'm sorry I can't be it."
Draco forced a smile and whispered, "I know. It's just that you're so beautiful and you actually like me. No girl would ever want to go out with a guy like me. I'm too…sarcastic…I wish life could be different…but it of course doesn't work on wishes. I'll see you later. I really need a broomstick ride." He unfolded his arms, picked up his shiny, black broomstick, and finished his journey through to the kitchen, disappointed in a way. Checking before he entered incase his father there, Draco opened the door and strode through the kitchen and out the door that led to his patio.
This patio was another one his favorite places to be. It contained stunning wood furniture and absorbed the most sunlight in the late afternoon due to it's position on the west side of the house. This was where Draco went when he just wanted to sit outside, and meander through his thoughts. The early afternoon sun shone brightly, but it was intercepted by the tall towers of the house. This patio was also directly in front of the expansive lake. It was this lake where Malfoy spent a few of his days on holiday. Having been taught to swim at a young age, Draco had no fear of the water or falling in it. Flying over it was simply marvelous. There was a wonderful little cove, much like the one in the painting only a little less heavenous, that was a just a great place to watch over the town of New Birchton. Remembering all of the great times he had, Draco mounted his broomstick and set off into the afternoon sun.