Disclaimer: I guess I should be putting this in the beginning, huh? Sadly, I don't own any of the places, magical objects, or characters in my story. They begin to the fabulously lucky J.K Rowling. I own the plot, though, and that's all I've got. Oh, and the titles of the chapters and the story. Those I own, too.

Chapter 3- Flight

"You're getting remarried?" An incredulous shout echoed through the halls of the Malfoy Manor.

It had been two years since Lucius Malfoy had been let out of Azkaban. Four long years ago, the Dark Lord's reign had ended due to a certain pesky Harry Potter. Many Death Eaters, or at least those who had been within the 'Inner Circle' of Voldemort's, were placed in Azkaban for a period between two to five years. The ones who caused the most trouble might never escape, seeing as their jail time was still being argued among the Ministry members. Lucius Malfoy had been on the outer rim of the Inner Circle, so his time was two years, thankfully enough for him. Azkaban was a terrible place, and nobody should wish that residence upon another.

Narcissa had always been soft. She was soft for her son, for her husband's victims, soft and more loving than any Malfoy should be in general. This tenderness had always been kept in check when Lucius was around, and it killed her to cause this much pain to other people, but she did it for her husband. When he was taken to Azkaban, this softness and love was able to bloom and she became, well, an average person. It didn't seem like an average person's life to her, however, because she was able to appreciate so many things. To her, it was the life she had always desired.

Upon Lucius' return back to the normal Wizarding world, he expected to meet the same dark and snobby wife, and the same spoiled life he had always led. This new, caring wife of his was completely unexpected. Never one to deal with things he didn't feel like handling, he divorced Narcissa on the spot. Sadly, she took only what she came in to the marriage with, which was several pieces of furniture, some old dresses and robes, her wand, and about a fifth of the Malfoy fortune. Lucius was rather upset over the loss of the last, but he paid no heed.

He had met a new, wealthy widow- her husband, a former Death Eater, had died at the hands of none other than the despicable Ronald Weasley leaving this mildly-attractive woman all their small fortune. Lucius immediately took to courting her, and within a couple of months, they were engaged. He took his time, nearly a week, telling his son Draco about this marriage.

"Yes," Lucius drawled back, rather annoyed at Draco's response, "and she has two sons and a daughter." Draco stared back incredulously, wondering if he was dreaming all of this.

"I'll have… siblings?" He murmured almost incoherently in his musings. He had always heard about those despicable things- you always had to squabble and bicker with them, and worst of all, you had to share. Not to mention 'siblings' was a Weasley thing, and he simply couldn't have anything in common with those poor excuses for purebloods. This news had hit him like a rock to the gut. It was completely out of the blue, and shell-shocking.

"Well, technically, yes," Lucius smirked. He had been planning this conversation with his son for little over a day, and his son was reacting just as he had thought he would.

"What do you mean 'technically'?" Draco eyed him dubiously, knowing that there was definitely a catch. He knew his father well, and knew that something was afoot.

"Well, they'll be related to you, but you no longer are written in to my will."

"What?" Draco stared at his father, open-mouthed this time. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. His father was sick, or he was having a nightmare, or… well, he didn't know, but this was almost certainly anything but reality.

"You see, Draco," oh, how his name grated upon his ears when his father spoke in that falsely sweet voice, "with these three deserving children coming in to my marriage with my new wife, I decided that the Malfoy fortune would not be split in to four when I died. I chose the two most deserving of children to inherit." Draco could only stand and absorb the information. Something was to be wrong with his mouth today, for it could only hang slightly ajar rather than create the understandable syllables known as English.

"Draco, do close your mouth," his father remarked, a rather arrogant tone to his voice.

Rather than closing his mouth, Draco found it within him to open it wider and speak, "Doesn't the first son of your first marriage count as one deserving of half the Malfoy fortune?" Why wasn't he chosen? Damn this new woman, ruining all that he had known of life.

"I did consider you at first," Lucius spoke in an explaining tone, as if he was speaking to a two-year-old, "but I weighed the factors. You, in the time of our fallen Lord, would not become a Death Eater and follow in my footsteps. You have always been somewhat of a pesky child, and you are also half of the genes of that despicably soft woman living God-knows-where." Draco was astounded.

All he had ever known his entire life came crashing down upon him like a badly made house during a hurricane. He had always thought he was set for life, never needing to put his fine education to work and get a job. He had always gotten what he wanted. He had always thought he was a favorite of his father's.

Now, he was being cast aside, as if he had never existed his entire life. He didn't quite know how to respond, except that he knew that his pride was being injured. His dignity was slowly being torn to shreds, and he needed to do something radically different than just standing before his father.

"Well, father," he said in an even tone, completely opposite of how he felt, "I suppose if you obviously favor children you have not known for nearly half your life, this child should just be on his way."

"What are you saying, Draco?" His father had not expected this reaction. He had expected Draco to storm off with his tail between his legs, sulking for days, and feeding off of his money to live in his Manor.

"I'm saying," Draco hissed back at his father, "that I'm leaving this manor, you, and all that I knew about life." Draco stalked darkly out of the room, his mind swirling and his temper flared. Lucius merely smiled. He knew Draco couldn't make it alone- he'd been too dependent all his life. He'd be begging to come back, eventually. He'd be back.

Draco had no idea what he was doing. And it frustrated him. This frustration built upon his core fury at his father built upon his miserable confusion made him an extremely unhappy person at the moment. He was flying on his old Quidditch broom, a small bag hanging at the end. He had no idea what he had packed, save for all the money he could find and his wand. Of course he had packed some clothes, but he hadn't really been paying attention.

The height he was flying at made him numb, but that was better than the heated rage he had been experiencing previously. Where he was flying, he felt nearer to the stars, and as sappy and horridly romantic as it sounded, it slightly comforted him. He had no idea where he was going.

Flying for what felt like hours, he landed in the most remote alley he could find. Something in the back of his mind told him he was behind some building in Diagon Alley, but he paid little attention. Pulling out a cloak his mother had made for him a couple of years ago- here, he thought about how ungrateful he had been for it and felt the slightest twinge of the closest he had ever gotten to guilt- he wrapped it around him, and sunk against the wall of the alley. Slumping down on to his knees, he wished desperately for a Penseive.

Not hearing another approach, he was almost startled to hear a tentative, female voice rather nearby to him say, "Draco?"

Kitch says: Sorry for not warning you guys about the family trip to Canada sooner. Tee hee.

My Humble Thanks to- Serena Goodkey, attica, and teresz.