Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling, and those corporate entities which have paid her good money for the rights they hold. This is a work of fanfiction, written for personal enjoyment, as a tribute to the fantastic universe that Ms. Rowling has created, and for no monetary gain whatsoever.

Metamorphosis: Chapter One

By RowanRhys

Friday, December 20, 1996

Draco could hear the suits of armor in the hallway outside the library singing Christmas carols as he approached them. He'd stayed up late, after Crabbe and Goyle had fallen asleep, packing his trunk for the trip back to Malfoy Manor for the holidays. He couldn't bring himself to call it 'home.' Not anymore. At the moment, they were cramming their things into their trunks. He'd told them that he was going to find Pansy "to say goodbye."

He hadn't actually lied. On his way to the library, he had found Pansy--in a lip lock with Malcolm Baddock under a floating sprig of mistletoe, in a niche near the girl's loo that had been marked 'out of order' ever since he'd started at Hogwart's six years before. He'd skirted around the occupied couple and continued to his goal.

The table tucked back near the restricted section was out of view of the library's entry and the circulation desk where Madam Pince presided. From a magically enlarged pocket of his robe, he pulled out his wand, an inkpot, a quill and several sheets of parchment and spread them out on the table before him.

To the casual eye they looked like ordinary letters.

Making sure there was no one about, Draco swished his wand in the air over the documents and whispered, "Veritas!"

The closely-penned text changed, and he was looking down on the words he'd written over the last year and a half in the middle of the night, a silencing charm on his bed curtains to keep his keepers from finding out what he was doing. Pouring out his feelings and fears to the only safe listener. And even then, he had to disguise them.

I envy Potter. I can't believe I'm saying that, but I do. His Muggle family doesn't want him home for the holidays, so once again he's staying at Hogwarts. I wish that I could stay this year. I don't want to have to make polite conversation with murderers and rapists. I don't want to become one of them. They all expect it, though. Young Draco Malfoy, following slavishly in his father's footsteps to fling himself in homage at the Dark Lord's feet. Like hell!

I especially don't want to face my father after last Saturday at the Three Broomsticks. He's given me orders I don't dare disobey. Even though I don't know the purpose behind them, whatever it is must be bad. I can't say that I'm ever going to really like Granger, but even a Mudblood doesn't deserve the sort of things that Father would likely do to her--or worse, make me do to her.

Draco winced as he remembered the Hogsmeade weekend just past. Zabini was his keeper that day. Blaise had gotten a growth spurt over the previous summer and had not only shot up, but filled out into a strongly muscled, but intelligent sixteen year old. During summer visits to Malfoy Manor, Zabini had been incorporated into the group of people that Lucius Malfoy used to keep his heir under strict control.

Lucius had sent an Owl to Draco at breakfast that morning, telling him and Blaise to meet him in a private parlour at the Three Broomsticks at two in the afternoon. When they got there, and Rosemerta had escorted the two boys into the chamber, they found Lucius seated before the fire in a velvet-upholstered armchair nursing a glass of some amber fluid in one hand and negligently dangling his wand from the fingers of the other. The flames' flickering made odd shadows move across Lucius' face. Draco remembered that Lucius was a variation of Lucifer, the fallen angel, and he had to admit that his father certainly would fit that description. He'd stood before his enthroned parent, wondering how long it would take for Lucius to lose his temper with him. He felt Zabini's hand on his shoulder, squeezing imperceptibly but painfully on the cracked collarbone that Goyle had given him two nights previous. Despite his best efforts, he flinched from the pain, and Lucius glared at him, tightening his grip on his wand.

Nausea roiled in Draco's stomach as the fight or flight response kicked in. Fighting was out of the question. As was flight. He'd swallowed down the bile in his throat as he clenched his fists at his side.

"You've been disobedient again."

Draco shook his head. "No, sir. Quidditch practice--"

"I can tell you're lying, boy. Mr. Zabini, please be so good as to remind my son of his duty."

Draco hunched down in the library chair as the memory of the beating replayed in his mind. He hadn't screamed, even though he'd nearly bitten through his lower lip by the time Blaise had finished. He'd lain face down on the rug at his father's feet, hardly able to breathe from the pain in his side and lower back from his Housemate's heavy shoes. He heard his father give his orders then, words that made no sense but had to be obeyed. He didn't even bother wondering how Lucius had found out that Granger was going home for the Christmas holidays.

He picked up his quill and dipped it into the inkpot.

Maybe she'll change her mind about going home at the last minute like she did last year. I hope she will.

TBC