AN: This chapter is a little longer than the last one. I hope you like it. If you read it, please review and tell me what you think. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter.
Draco apparated into the middle of an empty London street. If these were "normal" circumstances, then he would have been lost. But these are in no way "normal" circumstances. He did not just come here for an evening stroll, there was a higher cause for walking down the filthy street. He looked at the houses, carefully examining the numbers in order to find the correct address. Even though he had already made his decision, even though he was already sure of himself, there remained a prominent voice in his head screaming, This is wrong! I've made the wrong choice.
His unwelcome thoughts are interrupted as he found the address used as the headquarters. "12 Grimmauld Place." He knocked on the door and the most get-at-able person happened to answer.
"Weaselbee!" Draco said with mock happiness.
Obviously, the youngest Weasley boy didn't even try to play "happy". The door abruptly slammed shut Draco's face. He knocked once again, louder this time.
"Malfoy, give me one good reason why I shouldn't Avada Kedavra your ass!"
"Well, aren't we touchy this evening. Besides, I happen to like my ass and somehow I don't think the killing curse will have a positive affect on it. Anyways, I 'd love to stand here and chat with you some more, but I came to talk to Snape. Would you be a doll and tell him I'm here?" He had to admit, it was a lot of fun getting Weasley all boiled up again. His ears still turn that same shade of red. The only thing different was that this time his left clenched fist had a gold ring on it.
"So you and Potter finally tied the knot, eh? Congratulations." This smart-ass comment was the last straw. Ron joined Draco outside and shut the door behind him.
"Listen, Weaselbee, I don't think this is the right time for a snog session on the porch, seeing as you're married and all. I don't think it would be fair to Potter."
"You listen, Malfoy. I know that Snape's been trying to get you on our side. He has a crazy idea that your trustworthy. I don't. I could kill you and not even give it a second thought. You're nothing, do you understand? Know one would even shed a tear if you died."
Draco was taken aback by his words and the truth that they held. Who would mourn him if he died? No one. No one would water his lonely grave with their salty tears. But he'd known this, it was nothing he hadn't already contemplated; and yet hearing the words still made an impact, made it real.
Another thing that shocked Draco was the malice in the redhead's voice. Ron had actually become... intimidating— not to Draco of course, but that wasn't the point. Times really had changed.
He looked up to see Ron with a satisfied grin plastered on his befreckled face. The bastard struck a nerve and he knew it. The blond boy's temper was beginning to rise and he knew that this show of testosterone was starting to get old— fast.
"Just let me talk to Snape!" he snapped.
Ron opened the door and stepped aside to let him in.
"Up the stairs, third door on the left. Try to be quiet."
Malfoy stepped into the dark, dank house. He was surprised to see the living room full of people. For some reason, he pictured Potter command central as a place that was empty save for the wizards apparating in and out, receiving orders and leaving to carry them out. Instead it was full of people, some glum, some cheerful, and some staring at him. Staring seemed to be a popular trend that spread like wildfire through the house as he walked deeper inside. Most of the eyes that stared at him were half shocked and half loathing, save but one: those of Hermione Granger.
Her gaze was so focussed that he felt it burning him when he walked in. It was more curious than the rest. She was searching him with her big, brown eyes, looking for his purpose, his endgame. Draco looked right back at her, daring her to look away. She didn't. He was finally forced to break the connection by distracting whispers that engulfed the room.
Soon the whispers began to circulate, becoming increasingly louder as the seconds ticked on. The Slytherin felt self conscious, like he had just walked into the Great Hall dressed in a bright pink tutu. He decided to ignore the stares as best he could and hurriedly made his way to the second floor. Too hurriedly. He tripped over a poorly placed umbrella and didn't even see it coming.
Suddenly, there was a terrible scream. The curtains next to him burst open and an old woman in a portrait ranted in ear-piercing shrieks.
"STRAINS OF DISHONOR, FILTHY HALF-BREEDS, BLOOD TRAITORS, CHILDREN OF FILTH, MUDBLOOD..." Her shrieks died down and she spoke in a normal voice. Her already wrinkled face creased further in confusion. "You're pure. You're heart is the right place. Who are you?"
The boy recovered from his initial shock. "Draco Malfoy."
"Malfoy," the portrait said. "Tell me, boy. Are you Lucius's son?"
"Um, yes I am."
The woman smiled. "Well then, Draco. Welcome to the noble and most ancient house of Black." Her face changed as if she remember something and she eyed him warily for a moment. "How did you get in here? If you are what I think you are, if you are a spy, then how is it that you walk freely about this house?"
"I'm not a spy," he replied. "I walk freely because I was invited."
"Invited! You need not lie to me, it is of no use. I can sense people. I can sense that you are not here to benefit the filth downstairs. You're soul is not like their's, it is filled with..."
"Draco!" He jumped as Snape's voice pulled him out the strange conversation. For this Malfoy was grateful because the words spoken by the mysterious portrait were becoming eerily disquieting, although he regretted not finding out what his soul was filled with.
As Snape walked out his room the woman's eyes danced maliciously toward him and she recommenced with her ear-piercing ranting.
"YOU FILTHY UNTHANKFUL WRETCH! BLOOD TRAITOR, MUGGLE LOVER, SCUM..."
With an angry flick of his wand he sealed the curtains shut, effectively muffling the noise. "Follow me, Draco."
Draco followed him down the hall and into the third door on the left. Snape shut the door behind them.
The room they walked into was crammed to the ceiling with thousands of vials filled with different potions and ingredients. It was a small potions laboratory which is fitting since Snape is a potions master. He sat at a small desk speckled with empty glass vials and notes on bits of parchment.
"What was that about?" Draco asked, referring to the bizarre incident in the hall.
"The portrait out in the hall is Sirius Black's mother. She doesn't like us and she gets a little...eccentric at times. Just don't make too much noise and the old bat can be easily avoided."
"Do...Does she ever just talk?" The "yes" answer he was looking for would serve well to calm his fears, to prove that she really was only a crazy old bat.
The potions master looked at Draco like he had grown another head. "Talk? No. She screams, she shrieks, she insults, but she doesn't talk. I don't think she knows how to just talk."
Wrong answer. His response only served to prove that the blond's encounter in the hallway was probably one of a kind. Snape was the only one there that was "pure." If Snape didn't get a normal word out of her than it was not just blood that made her speak, it was Draco. It was his soul, the treachery that she sensed. Portraits don't lie, even he had to admit there was truth in her words.
Just then, Snape motioned for him to sit down in the seat across from his. He obliged.
"You've changed your mind."
"I suppose you want me to tell you everything."
"Naturally. Isn't that why you're here?"
"You want their battle plans?" He nodded. "My father's battalion will strike first. It won't be that many; it can be easily defeated."
An exasperated Snape interrupted. "You're lying."
The young wizard payed no attention to the older wizard's interruption and continued. "In fact, you'll think you've got them, you'll think you're going to win. That's when Voldemort's real forces will come in. They'll fly in on broomsticks from behind, wands at the ready; all while you lot are beginning to celebrate your victory. Everyone will die; women, children...even Harry. That is how your world will end."
The professor eyed him suspiciously. "How can I be sure you're not lying?"
"Don't ask questions that you can answer." He could see the wheels in the professor's head turning. He could see that the man was thinking of something— Veritaserum.
He got up from his chair and began rummaging through potions. He poured one into a small glass vial and handed it to Draco, grumbling "drink this."
Draco obeyed. Less than a second after he downed it, he felt it's terrible effects. His chest tightened. He felt as if his skin would rip apart, but if he ever learned anything from Voldemort it's to be tough like nails.
"I only gave you enough to last for about one minute, so speak quickly. Were you telling the truth before?"
Snape's voice seemed so distant, so small. Draco could barely distinguish it. "Yes," he said through clenched teeth.
"Tell me the Dark Lord's battle plans."
With the addition of some colorful four-letter words, the young man told him exactly what was said before.
Snape smiled. "The potion should wear off in about ten seconds. If you'll excuse me I have some business to attend to. Go down the living room, it's not wise to go traipsing around this house. There are rooms that have never been explored." With those parting words, he left Draco to his own devises.
As much as he detested the idea, Malfoy decided it was best to take his advice and go down to the living room. Nothing good could come of defying Snape's wishes. He made his way down the hall towards the staircase. He could feel the dark, eery stare of Mrs. Black from behind her curtain, but she did not stir. The living room and all it's occupants were waiting. Let the awkwardness begin.
AN: So what did you think? I decided to try out something not in first person. Which one do you think is better? Please review. BTW if you like this you might like my other story "Funeral for a Enemy."