Within the Folds of Darkness
A Life He Never Knew
"Oy! He's coming to!" someone called. That someone looked back down at Harry and when he finally saw clearly who it was, he gasped in shock.
"Malfoy?" he whispered incredulously. The man standing over him was certainly Malfoy, but he looked much older as if he had gone through far too much. With long platinum hair tied back at the nape of his neck, silver eyes, porcelain skin etched with lines of premature aging, Malfoy still held his looks that must have broken a thousand hearts.
"Of course, who else?" Malfoy rolled his eyes. "And since when are we using last names? I swear, we've been living together for the past three bloody years and you still forget. Let's go. You'll be late for your interview."
"My what?" he asked, extremely confused as Malfoy was hauling him off the bed.
Malfoy massaged his temples with a look of exasperation on his face. "I didn't think you had been that pissed last night, but obviously I was wrong. Just get dressed and come to the kitchen." Malfoy shook his head, muttering something unintelligible as he walked out. A woman who had entered earlier followed Malfoy out.
Harry took a moment to look at his surroundings, taking in the large ornate four-poster, the expensive furniture, the high ceilings and the tall Gothic windows. There were oriental carpets set on the floor and a large wardrobe off to one side, with a door hanging open revealing very expensive looking clothes. Harry walked over there cautiously, not sure if he was dreaming but certainly hoping he was. Where am I? Why is Malfoy here? What's going on? He opened the other door and had to grip onto the edge of the door to keep from reeling back. On the inside of the door was a long mirror and he just stared. The reflection he saw was not one he remembered. The once-handsome man looking back at him had shoulder-length shaggy black hair, no glasses, dulled green eyes, and though the lightning scar still remained, another jagged scar cut across the bridge of his nose. His skin was darker and the clothes he wore were foreign to him: black silken pajamas that fit perfectly to his strong body. Why am I wearing these? Where are my glasses? He reached up instinctively, as if hoping that the reflection was false, but his glasses weren't there. He looked around, surprised at how clear things were. Why hadn't he realized that before? I'm used to wearing glasses...I didn't even think...but...why can I see so well?
He turned from the mirror and walked to one of the windows, looking out over a misty foreign landscape. Stone buildings and other constructions poked lazily above the fog, scattered about the land that seemed to be endless. Where am I? What is this place? He looked away, his eyes falling once again on the wardrobe. I guess I'd better get dressed and figure all this out. He walked over, pulling out a pair of trousers and a long-sleeved shirt. It was black, as everything else was in the wardrobe. Dressing, he set the pajamas on the foot of the bed. Searching the floor, he finally found black shoes and slipped them on. Running a hand through his unruly hair, he spotted a black hair band on the bedside table. Taking it, he tied back what he could of his hair, but a few strands still fell to frame his face. He glanced back at the mirror and he had to fight back the pain that gripped his heart. The reflection looked just like Sirius, save for a few minor details. Why, Sirius? Why? His vision went blurry and he realized that he was crying. Wiping the tears away, he looked down at his hands. Even his hands didn't seem the same, calloused from hard work, scarred from who knew what. He sighed, dropping his hands to his sides. With one last look around the spacious room, he walked out in an attempt to find the kitchen.
&&&
"Yes, I'll be there James. Yes. Yes. Right. Of course. You know I keep trying. He's as stubborn as you. He won't listen; won't hear a word of it. It's been like that for the past couple of years, I doubt anything will really change it. He doesn't care. Yes. I know. Alright. I'll be there in a tick. I've got to make sure he gets to his interview at Gringotts. At least he's working. Yes. Right. He's a little off right now; probably from all he drank last night. Well, I'd better get going. He'll be down here soon enough. What? Tell Sirius to shove it. He can kiss my arse. I don't care. Alright. Bye."
Draco sighed, hanging up the phone. The manor was safe and charmed heavily so no spy could find out what went on. The Order had been moving around as of late, keeping out of Voldemort's radar. They probably would end up staying at the manor for a short time, since it was one of the safest places. Narcissa had been the one to suggest that and although Draco was head of the house, Narcissa was the backbone. She had entered the Order of the Phoenix shortly after Lucius had been killed by none other than Draco. He was glad to see his mother so strong.
Rubbing his temples, a thing he always did when frustrated, he looked down at the copy of the Daily Prophet that lay on the table. The war was getting worse, if that was even possible. They were barely holding their own. Once Harry gets back on his feet, he's going to be annoyed, as usual. I can see it now. He'll go on and on about how much time I spend with the 'bloody pathetic Order' as he calls it and that I don't spend enough time with him. Then he'll be in a fuss about being bored, wanting more parties...It's all I can do to keep him from drinking himself to death. He doesn't care and he gets colder by the year. Brought up on fame and wealth, he's had everything handed to him. If I didn't know him as well as I do, I would think that he'd join the dark side for the hell of it. But even he isn't stupid.
Draco heard footsteps and lifted his head to see Harry standing in the doorway. "About time. Breakfast is on the counter." He waved his hand towards the plates of food. It was times like these he wished the house elves were still around. But magic did the trick.
He watched as Harry moved silently to the counter, dishing out a fair amount of food and taking a seat at the table. As Harry ate silently, Draco wondered what was wrong. Harry was never this silent. He was always complaining or giving everyone cold looks. And he definitely would have complained about having to get his own breakfast. The boy was used to too much being handed to him. Maybe he still has a hangover from last night, Draco thought, but even that didn't make sense.
"I have to leave," Draco said, deciding to break the silence. "Order business." He waited for Harry to make a smart remark but none came. Instead, quite the opposite happened.
"The Order? Where? When?" Harry's eyes went wide, looking at Draco.
"Since when do you care about the Order?" Draco asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"Oh," Harry looked confused and then looked back down at his food. "Never mind. Sorry."
Draco gave him an odd look. "You're acting very...odd as of late. You sure you're alright?"
"Fine."
"Alright. Your dad says you still have a place in the Order." Harry choked on the piece of sausage that he had been eating and Draco reached over, hitting him on the back. "You alright there, mate?"
"F-Fine," Harry gasped, his eyes wide, looking at Draco. "M-My dad?"
"Yeah, the same guy you emancipated yourself from when you were sixteen. Remember?"
"I – I'll be right back." Harry stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair in the process and ran out. There was a sound of something crashing to the floor and then footsteps disappearing into the distance.
"Don't hurt yourself!" Draco yelled after him. "Your interview is in fifteen minutes!" Draco sighed. "Why do I even bother anymore?" he muttered, standing and clearing the dishes with a swish of his wand.
&&&
Harry stumbled into the room he had awakened in and just collapsed onto the floor. It's not possible. It's not! My dad's dead...he was killed by Voldemort. Why is Malfoy nice to me? What is going on? He's acting like he's my friend...and the Order! Why am I not in it? Still have a place? Emancipated? I left my dad? This has to be a dream! It's not possible, it's not possible... he repeated over and over in his head. He hugged his knees to his chest, staring at the floor, shocked.
This was how Draco found him ten minutes later. He crouched down next to Harry, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Are you going to be alright?"
Harry nodded mutely, still looking at the floor. "My parents, they're alive?"
Draco looked at him oddly. "I should hope so. I just talked to James and he didn't sound like he was dead. What's gotten into you? You know this."
"Where do they live?"
"Why do you care suddenly? You never have before."
"Where do they live, M – Draco?" Harry looked at Draco, his face set with determination.
"Godric's Hollow, why?"
Harry stood. "I've got to go."
"Harry, are you forgetting something?"
"No." Harry looked at him.
"You interview, dimwit. Don't be late."
"What?"
Draco rolled his eyes, standing. "You've never worked and while I could care less about you getting a job, you're the one that made such a fuss about finally working. Because you're bored or something. Gringotts won't wait for you."
"Alright." Harry moved to leave and Draco grabbed his arm.
"Where are you going?"
"My interview."
"Walking?" Draco asked, arching an eyebrow. "Just Apparate."
Harry's eyes widened and he looked scared for a moment. "Um, well, I don't think I should. I'm still not steady enough."
Draco didn't push it, but he wanted to know what was going on. Harry was acting very strange. "Then Floo there."
"Right." Harry nodded, moving to leave.
"Harry."
Harry turned and Draco held up his coat. "Might need this." Draco threw the coat at Harry, who caught it. He really must be out of it, Draco thought. Doesn't even know its winter...
"Thanks." Harry walked out, glancing only once at Draco with a confused look before leaving.
"I'm surprised he didn't yell at you for this morning," Narcissa said, stepping into the room. The war had taken its toll on Narcissa and although she still kept her regal nature and her beauty, it was a thin shell covering years of pain and worry. If a person looked close enough, they could see past her cover.
Draco turned to his mother and shrugged. "Who knows what's going on. I think he's still out of it."
"Well hopefully he remains out of it, because I rather like him like this," Narcissa said with a smile.
Draco smiled back, a rarity now-a-days. "It is good not to be yelled at constantly." He glanced at his watch. "I'd better get going. James called me earlier this morning. Wants a quick meeting with a few of the Aurors."
Narcissa nodded. "Just be careful."
Draco smirked, a ghost of his old self. "Always am." And he Disapparated.
&&&
Harry kept his hands shoved in his pockets as he walked the streets of Diagon Alley. A thin layer of snow covered the ground and most of the shops were closed. Some looked as if they had sustained heavy damage and Harry wondered vaguely if the war was still going on. So much didn't make sense and there was too much to comprehend. Why is Malfoy like this? Why is this place familiar yet so strange? The streets were eerily silent and as he walked to Gringotts, he stopped, looking up at the leaning building. He debated on whether or not to enter and then turned, walking away. He needed time to think.
If my dad's alive...then is there a possibility that...Sirius? He brushed off that thought, not wanting to get his hopes up. Then Malfoy's words came back to him: the same guy you emancipated yourself from when you were sixteen. Harry furrowed his eyebrows, watching his breath come out in clouds. Sixteen? So...how old am I? Why aren't I fighting? I need to see my dad. I need to know. He stopped, looking up at the cloudy sky where a few snow flakes had begun to fall. Then, pulling his hood up over his head, he began walking once again.