"No, I refuse. I won't bow down before anyone, even if he is the Dark Lord." Eighteen-year old Draco Malfoy was having the same argument with his father. Lucius wanted him to become a Death Eater, and Draco didn't want to be below anyone. But this time, it was more serious. Lord Voldemort had decided that Draco's Dark Mark ceremony was to take place in three days. If he refused, he would be killed. Still, not even the threat of death would allow Draco to concede to anyone's will but his own.

"Draco, you will get the Mark, and you will get it in three days, as the Lord has declared!" Lucius' cold silver eyes, so like his son's, flashed dangerously.

"No, Father, I will not. I will die before I become a servant to anyone, least of all a mudblood!" It was true; Voldemort's father had been a muggle. His power was such, though, that it mattered to almost no one what His heritage was. Few dared to speak of it anyway; there was no way of knowing when He would be listening.

"Then die you shall, for no one escapes the will of the Dark Lord!"

"If that is the price to pay for being my own master, then I will pay it," he said simply. The pride and arrogance he held during his stay at Hogwarts had not subsided in the least since his graduation from it; in the year since he had left Hogwarts, he had become, if anything, more stubborn and proud. In truth, he feared the pain and death he had just earned, for even if he received the Mark, he would pay for his words; but nothing would stop him from having his own will be done.

"For your sake, Draco, I hope you change your mind." Lucius walked out of the large, finely decorated room and slammed the door after him, muttering slightly to himself. Draco just stood in the center of the room, hard-faced, staring at the door with his cold grey eyes.

Once he knew his father was out of earshot, Draco threw himself down into a chair and closed his eyes, thinking. He didn't want to die, but he refused to join the ranks of the Death Eaters. What were his options? He thought for a wild moment about killing himself, not giving Lord Voldemort the chance to torture him, but he quickly shook the thought out of his head. He didn't want to die, by any hand.

Suddenly, inspiration struck. If He thinks I'm dead, he won't bother killing me. He knew he could fake his death easily, but there was a problem. Once everyone thought him dead, he would have nowhere to go. The Dark Lord's servants were many; if any of them saw him, they would not hesitate to end his existence. There was only one solution; he would have to find somewhere to live, a permanent residence where there was no chance of him being caught.

He needed protection from the enemies he was about to make, and could think of only one person who would be willing and able to give it to him. Desperate, he went to his bedroom and pulled out a quill and some ink. On a piece of parchment, he wrote:

I'm refusing the Dark Mark, and I need protection. Will you give it to me?

D.M.

He wrote the name "Dumbledore" on the outside and gave it to his owl, which promptly flew out the window and into the black, moonless night. He sighed softly and hoped for a quick response before lying down on his bed and falling into a light, wary sleep.

The owl came late the next morning. Draco had not left his bedroom since he wrote the letter the previous night. His stomach was craving food, but he ignored its pleas, not wanting anyone besides himself to find the owl. It would have to be a secret, and secrets were not easily kept from the Dark Lord.

He jumped when the owl tapped on the window; he had been deep in thought about what would happen. He tore the letter off of the owl, frightening it, and read the letter written in large, loopy handwriting.

I offer protection to anyone who is not loyal to Lord Voldemort. Be in the Leaky Cauldron tonight at 6 o'clock, and we'll discuss the problem at hand.

Draco was hardly pleased with the answer. He didn't have the time to sit around talking; he needed action. He had to fake his death in two days, and he still didn't know if he had anywhere to go. But Dumbledore had said he offered his protection, and that was better than nothing.

Finally, he didn't have to worry about the owl being intercepted, so he went into the kitchen and ate. He had to get it himself for once; some organization called 'spew' or something had successfully passed legislation to free all house elves.

As always, his father was gone. If it weren't for the fact that Lucius always left in the early hours of the morning and usually didn't come back until late at night, Draco would have gone against his father's wishes and moved out. His mother was in St. Mungo's. She had cursed herself within an inch of her life when Lucius was sent to Azkaban, ashamed of her family. The Malfoys were supposed to do whatever they want, then pay off the Ministry later; but for once, bribery wasn't an option. The family name was disgraced.

He ate quickly and glanced at the clock; it was 12:30 p.m. Five and a half hours until his fate was decided. He went back up to his room and started putting a few things into his bags; if it was to be done properly, he would need to be able to take whatever he needed quickly and leave. He couldn't take everything; anything that would be missed would have to stay. He put two sets of robes and a cloak into the bag. If he took anything more, it would be obvious that things were missing, which would result in questions about who took them, which would not be good for him. He stuffed it under his bed, in case his father found a reason to go into his bedroom. It was not a likely possibility, but he wasn't taking any chances.

It was 2 o'clock by the time he had taken a shower and gotten dressed, and he couldn't stand to spend another minute in his father's house. He thought about how he was going to get to The Leaky Cauldron. Briefly, he considered apparating, but it was too dangerous; he was likely to be sensed somehow by the Dark Lord and intercepted. Flying, too, was out of the question; he might be seen by a muggle or Death Eater. Disgusted, he realized he had only one option: The Knight Bus.

He considered the Knight Bus to be below him. It was for common wizards, not Malfoys. But there was no other option for him. He, of course, knew how to call the Knight Bus. Just stick out your wand arm, and it'll come. He cautiously stepped outside his house, though no one was watching him, and walked to the edge of the property. Once he was standing on ground he didn't own, he held out his right arm and jumped back when he heard a loud BANG. A young man, not much older than himself, stepped out and began to talk.

"'Ello. My name's Stan Shunpike, and this 'ere's the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. It costs –" Draco cut him off.

"The price doesn't matter. Can this – thing get me to the Leaky Cauldron in London?" Draco was unsure of its capabilities.

"It'll take you anywhere on land," he nodded.

He was doubtful of that claim, but had no choice. He stepped onto the purple, triple-decker bus, giving a handful of wizard gold to Stan.

"Right then," said Stan, staring at the money in awe and debating whether or not to give Draco the change. He held out most of the gold and offered it to Draco, who shook his head.

"Keep it. I won't be needing it."

Stan shook himself out of his temporary, money-induced stupor. "Where was it 'choo said you 'ad to go, Mr. …?"

He ignored the request for his name. "Leaky Cauldron. London. I'm in no hurry, but I have to be there by six."

Stan nodded. "Can do."

Draco sat down on a chair on the uppermost level of the bus, where it was completely deserted. Somehow, between the frequent BANGs, the jumps the bus made, and the nauseating feeling of growing hopelessness, he managed to fall asleep, and was woken by Stan telling him he was at his destination. He came to full consciousness within seconds and walked off the bus.

By the watch on his wrist he saw that it was 5:38. He had roughly twenty minutes until his meeting. Slowly, he walked into the small, dingy building, looking around warily for anyone who might notice him. He opened the door and walked in. He was only slightly surprised to see Albus Dumbledore sitting at a table in the back with a several other people, most of whom Draco didn't recognize. He did, however, recognize Saint Potter, the Weasel King, and the Mudblood. There were also several older people with them. Draco hesitated, not sure whether he should wait for the rest of them to leave.

Dumbledore looked up and saw Draco Malfoy standing near the door to the Leaky Cauldron, looking hesitant. He gestured for him to join the group.

"Mr. Malfoy." Draco shot him a warning look at the mention of his name. Dumbledore didn't seem to notice. "I wasn't expecting you for another twenty minutes. But perhaps it is better that you were here. We were just discussing your – er – situation. Figuring out what would be best, for everyone. Sit, please." He gestured to an empty chair opposite himself that had not been there when Draco walked in. Draco did as he was asked. "Now, it is a lucky chance that you came early; in your letter, you seemed to have forgotten to tell me what I need to know. So, please, start at the beginning. Don't be afraid; none of His servants are here tonight. I made sure of that."

Draco briefly wondered how, but decided it wasn't important. "As you know, my father is Lucius Malfoy, a Death Eater. Most of my life, he has been teaching me Dark Magic, trying to lead me to the side of the Dark Lord.

It was not until recently that I decided against it; when I came of age, I realized that magic would be a waste if I used it for someone else." There was no point in lying; if he tried to tell Dumbledore that he hated his father and wanted to fight on the side of Saint Potter, he would know. "I refuse to bow before anyone. The Dark Lord is no exception.

"My father expects me to get the Dark Mark on my arm soon. The Dark Lord has declared that the ceremony will take place in two days time. I want to refuse, but I don't want to die by his hand.

"What I intend to do, if you will help me, is fake my own death before the ceremony, then go into hiding. I can fake my death easily enough; all it takes is a potion, which I already have, and I'll be 'dead' for about a week. My father will have me buried in the family graveyard, near our manor. Tradition's important to him, there's no chance of him doing anything else.

"What I need is a place to stay, safe from the Dark Lord's servants. I'm not asking for charity. In exchange, I can give you information, money, almost anything. Will you grant me that?"

Potter didn't believe him. "How do we know you're telling the truth, that you're not a spy?"

"What kind of proof can I give you? I don't have the Mark, though everyone except my father believes I'm going to receive it in two days; I'm not exactly in the position to kill a Death Eater and bring you their body; what kind of proof is there? Feel free to look in my mind, if that will assuage your fears. I know that Dumbledore, at least, is an extremely skilled Legillmens." He spoke simply, hiding the fact that he was getting irritated.

"I sense no lies, Harry. And his information would be invaluable to us."

There was never any point in arguing with Albus Dumbledore. No matter what, he always won. "If you think he's telling the truth, I believe him," said Harry, though he still looked skeptical.

"Do you think that Headquarters would be an acceptable residence? As I understand it, there are still quite a few uninhabitable rooms."

"I suppose he could make himself useful." He seemed to consider it for some time before finally, "All right. But if it even seems like he's working for Voldemort," Draco winced slightly at the name, though not as much as most wizards would, "he's out, and I don't care if there're fifty Death Eaters standing outside waiting for him." He turned to Draco. "Listen carefully, because I'm not going to repeat this. Your Death Eater ceremony takes place in two days, right?" Draco nodded. "Tomorrow, then, take the potion. One week after, exactly, someone will retrieve you from your grave. You will stay in a safe-house until you wake up. Once you do, Dumbledore will tell you where to go. If I find out that you've breathed one word of this to anyone, you will be dead, I guarantee you. Do you understand?" Harry had spoken seriously, and Draco had listened to every syllable as if his life depended on it; because, in fact, it did. He thought quickly; now was his last chance. He would be joining up with his enemies: The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Pain-In-The-Ass, the mudblood, and the Weasel King. He would be betraying his father, going against his entire family. Was it worth it?

"Yes," he said solemnly. "I understand."

"If all goes as planned, I will see you in eight days time," spoke Dumbledore. "Good luck."

Draco nodded, stood up, and walked out of the pub, sticking his arm out once more, summoning the Knight Bus. "Malfoy Manor. I trust the gold from earlier is enough to cover it," he told Stan. God, what have I gotten myself into?