To Get Back Life

Chapter 2
Draco


The marble floor cooled his feet as he walked across it with no shoes or socks. It was a pleasant contrast from the heat that the concrete had soaked up from the glaring sun outside. He was wearing clothing that wizards had made to blend in with the Muggles if they had to leave the Wizarding world. It was almost identical to that sold in Muggle shops apart from the fact that the label flashed different colours when you read it. He had on deep blue jean and a green t-shirt.

The only distinctive Wizarding object that he had upon him was the amulet that he had to wear at all times. It was what repelled Dementors; every Pureblood in the country possessed one. It was what kept them alive.

With a loud 'pop' his father appeared in the room, still wearing the uniform of the Deatheater, a black robe with the hood pull up and a mask to hide his facial features. Although not many of the Deatheaters wore that masks when they were out hunting they were still made to when they had meetings with the Dark Lord.

That's where he's been, Draco thought, and he's probably spoken about me and the others had given him more ideas of ways to get me to join.

As usual, Draco was right about his father.

"Boy, come into my study." His father barked and he silently followed that old man that he hated so much.

Inside Lucias Malfoy took a seat in the high-backed chair that sat behind the desk before motioning his son to take the chair opposite. Draco quickly did as he was told.

"I've been talking to some of my colleagues and their boys have all joined up and got their mark. One's only fifteen but he was so eager The Dark Lord allowed him to join. How do you think I felt having to make up excuses as to why you still have a bare arm? They won't believe your focusing on your education for much longer you know boy!" He yelled at his son.

"I'm not getting the Mark." Draco said quietly, through clenched teeth.

Whack, the cane that Mr Malfoy carried had been brought down on the knuckles of Draco's left hand that had been resting upon the desk.

"You think you're too good for us do you?" He yelled, standing up to use advantage of his height, "Think you're too good for the Dark Lord?"

"No father. I just don't see how killing people will do our country any good." Draco told him, using the same explanation he did whenever they had this argument.

"Mudbloods too good for being killed! Oh that's rich. They are worthless boy; we're doing the world favour to get rid of them all. They're not like us; they shouldn't be allowed to have magic if they haven't got the heritage. It's bad blood." Lucias Malfoy snapped before ordering his son to leave and telling him that the matter wasn't over.

He went up to his large bedroom containing a four-poster bed with deep green sheets, a redwood desk with a pot of large eagle quills and neat stacks of parchment upon it, bookcases with old books on the history of magic and all the ones that he had brought back from school when he had left two years before, he had gone away to Hogwarts. The room was very dark and grown-up, not at all what you would picture a nineteen-year-old boy's room to look like.

But he had never really been allowed a childhood, he had always been expected to follow orders and behave. As a toddler he was told off for speaking out of turn and at seven he had been sent to a boarding school for young wizards, only coming home for the summer. He had then gone to Hogwarts at the age of eleven and as the Deatheaters started to plot their second war his father had tried to bully him into joining.

Standing strong Draco had firmly refused every time his Father had brought up the subject. This was not a good idea, Draco knew, as some of the things they did to the Pure-bloods that didn't not join the Deatheaters ranks were worse than what they did to the Muggle-borns and Half-bloods. His parents knew this too and that was why whenever the subject of his son was brought up Lucias Malfoy made excuses to put off telling them that his son was a Mudblood lover.

Draco's mother, Narcissa Malfoy, was also from a long line of Purebloods and was also a Deatheater, although she didn't go out on hunts as his father did. She visited Riddle House often and spoke with The Dark Lord.

He had, of course met Voldemort and hated the sight of him. His was shockingly thin and frail looking but very powerful and strong. His eyes still matched those of a snake yet were blood red. His skin, so pale it was almost white and his voice made terror run through Draco's body.


Hours later he was still in his room, lay upon the bed staring at the canopy above him. With a swift knock his mother walked in and he scrambled to his feet. He quelled the feelings or hate and rage as she walked over to him. She was tall, very thin and had the iciest eyes he could ever imagine. It was hard to think of her as a mother when she looked so hard, tough and downright scary at all times.

"Draco, your father tells me that you have shouted at him again." She spoke in her chilling tone, her voice may have been quiet but it was also filled with disgust and bitterness. It was a voice that you would always listen to for fear of what she would do if you didn't.

"Yes Mother." He whispered hoarsely hanging his head so he wouldn't have to look at her face.

"Why must you be so awkward? Why must you be such a disappointment? Why can't you be more like Thomas?" She asked as she had done so many times before.

Thomas, Draco's cousin, was three years older. A Deatheater at sixteen; killed more Mudbloods than anyone could ever remember, just twenty-one and already married to a pureblooded woman with a highly regarded also with the name Malfoy and had already brought a son into the world to carry it on. What more could an aunt and uncle ask for in a nephew? Except maybe that there own son would follow the example.

"I'm not my bloody cousin I'm so sorry if that disappoints you! Maybe I should just move out?" Draco hissed.

"You will do not such thing! If you move out we won't be able to answer for you and you'll go and get yourself killed by pointing out your ridiculous views on the world." She snapped.

Draco sighed and shrugged his shoulders. He was at a loss, they didn't want him to be the way he was but he wasn't going to change and they didn't want him to move out but they hated him being around. How could he fight that?

"Your dear cousin and his family will be coming to stay in a month and the Dark Lord shall be gracing us with his presence." She informed him, "I suggest that you have changed your attitude by then before you put the family name in disgrace."

She then turned and stalked out of the room closing the door firmly behind her.


The next morning Draco awoke early to the sound of tapping at his large bedroom window. He pulled back the thick, green blinds and revealed his large eagle owl, Mercury, sat on the ledge knocking its beak against the glass to get his attention.

"Alright, alright I'm coming hold on to your tail feathers!" He grumbled as he crossed the room to the window. He opened it up and the owl swooped in circled the room twice before landing on the desk.

Draco took the letter from its beak with a grin he had been anticipating it for a long time and was glad to finally get a reply. But as he turned the letter over his smile faltered and then faded all together. This was not a reply from Cassandra, the Muggle-born girl he had befriended one summer when he was staying away from home. This was the letter that he had sent to her a week ago, unopened the wax seal still in tact.

This could mean only one thing, Mercury was one of the best breed of owl in the world and had never failed to deliver a letter; this meant that Cassandra was dead.

"No, not you too Cass, please not you!" He pleaded into empty room.

Quickly grabbing his wand he disapperated, appearing a few seconds later outside a block of houses. He entered one without knocking and made his way round the house he knew very well. Starting at the top of the house he worked his way down searching each and every room.

Draco paused briefly inside her bedroom, even though he knew it would be empty. There were clothes tossed on the floor like usual as Cassandra could never be bothered to hang them up again. Her desk was covered in lip-glosses, mascaras, eye shadows and many more tubes of make-up. The room still looked lived in, that gave him a tiny glimmer of hope.

Only in the basement was this hope fully distinguished. He found a boy around fourteen curled up in a tiny hole. He was still alive thankfully and Draco was able to get him to come out.

"What happened?" He demanded.

"They came and took Abby and Ruben one night Cassandra was down here with me, she told me to hind and not to come out until she got back for me. There was a lot of shouting but I didn't come out. She's not coming back is she?" The boy asked solemnly.

"No I don't think so." Draco said with a sigh. "Have you got somewhere you can go? I would offer you a place to stay but my parents are Deatheaters so that wouldn't go too well."

Once reassured that the boy would be safe Draco apperated back to his room ready to start the day. On the outside he was the same as ever but on the inside his mind was churning. He'd never really thought much about the deaths of the Muggle-borns apart from that it shouldn't happen. He being pureblooded would never experience it so he could never imagine what it would feel like. But now he had lost a close friend and now he was even more determined to help these people not hurt them.

He had been writing to Cassandra for three years, he had met her at his friend Jake's house when he stayed there one summer to escape the ever-disapproving looks from his parents. She was Jake's next-door neighbour so she had spent time with them, playing Quidditch or going to Diagon Alley and sometimes Hogsmade. They had become fast friends. Cassandra had a spark of optimism that Draco had never encountered before. It was a welcome change.

She was the one that Draco voiced all of his concerns to, told his true feelings about his family and how they felt about him. He was open to the fact that his family was close to the Dark Lord and was comfortable discussing it as Cassandra knew that he did not share in these prejudices. And in return she told him about her dreams to get out of England and move to a country where they did not judge you on your parentage, somewhere where she could get a job and not be held back because of her blood.

Although they lived miles and miles apart they stayed in touch through letters they exchanged every week. But over the past few months the letters on Cassandra's part had become less frequent as the Deatheaters became more and more thorough with their searches so Cassandra's family had built a safe house underground that they spent time in when the threat came too close. This meant that it took a while for her to get the letter and send a reply. But Mercury always delivered it to her so Draco would know that she was ok.

Now his only true friend was dead. Killed by people like his parents. Bye the people that they wanted him to be. It felt to him like it was his fault. He could have prevented it some way.

'What ifs' ran through his mind confusing and depressing him.

What if I had hidden her?

What if I had given her my amulet, she could have pretended to be a pureblood?

What if I had fallen in love with her? We could have gotten away from this place and she wouldn't be dead by now.

The last was ridiculous though, he knew that he would never love Cassandra and she would never love him. It just wasn't that type of relationship that they had, but it was still idealistic that they could have escaped from the horrible country that surrounded him.

But maybe I can still make it; the thought hit him as he sat alone mourning the loss of his best friend, what is there for me to stay for? I have no ties that I can't break; I have nothing to hold me back. I don't care what my family think about it; once I'm gone I never have to see them again.

So a plan began to form in Draco's mind. He did not know how, where or when he would go but he knew that he defiantly would. And he'd go as soon as he could manage it.

But having the parents he did he knew that he needed to plan this out strategically, he couldn't be spontaneous, he could just up and leave. He needed to know he would be safe and that he would have security where ever he went.

Fir this he would need money, travel plans, clothes, a place to stay, a job at where ever he was going. It would take a while but it would be worth it. If he did it properly he would never have to come back into England again. He would never be forced to become a Deatheater. He wouldn't have to wear the stupid amulet at all time he would have to carry an identity card, birth certificate and passport just in case he got stopped by an authority figure in the street.

It soothed him, just thinking about all of it, what he would do, how he would do it. But what gave him pure unbridled pleasure was picturing the looks of anger that his parents would wear. The shame they would go through when their friends found out that their son was not a supporter of the Dark Lord, would not be joining the Deatheaters' ranks. It gave him the power to start the plans.

The first thing he did was to go down to the library where the grand fireplace was set into the wall behind the desk. A fire always roared in the hearth as a quick way of travel and an old antique pot sat on the mantel above it. It contained Floo power; Draco grabbed a handful and threw it into the flames that quickly turned green. He stepped inside them, enjoying the way the flick against his skin, and declared his destination in a clear but quiet voice. He did not want anyone to overhear.

"Gringotts Bank." He said firmly and a second later he was pushed into motion.

Soon the dizzying journey came to an end and he stepped out into the bustling bank. He walked over to a desk where a goblin sat reading through papers.

"May I help you sir?" It asked as he approached.

"Yes I would like to take out my own bank account. I am currently sharing one with my parents but would like one of my own." Draco told him confidently as he could, he couldn't help it but the workers of Gringotts had always unnerved him, it was their cruel eyes and spindly fingers.

"Certainly sir, if you would like to fill in this form, just a few details, and we can cut you a key." The goblin informed him as he pushed a form and a large quill from a peacock feather over the desk.

"Oh, but could you not tell my parents about this, it's a surprise." He said anxiously.

"Of course Sir, we are always discreet." The goblin reassured him with a sly smile.