First I'd just like to say thanks for reading my stories!
Ok this story takes place after Half Blood Prince so it may have some spoilers!
"Welcome home, Draco. Don't bother unpacking; you leave for Durmstrang in the morning." School is going to be very different for Draco this year. How will he fit in at the infamous Durmstrang Academy?
Also, check out my "Twisted Nerve" story. It also takes place after HBP. I'm currently half way through chapter two on that one.
I really appreciate all reviews so much! And I promise I'll do my best at replying to every review I receive! Thanks so much you wonderful, wonderful people,
T. J. Wardle
Fillius Niger, Fillius Argentum - Black Son, Silver Son
Filium Nigerum Boreas Celat
C H A P T E R
I
Heather is not an unusual thing to see on the moor land. It blossoms a brilliant purple, but when the blossoms die all that is left is the dead-looking, weedy, brown bracken. Yet every year the Heather bloom again and is more radiant than ever before. Unfortunately, on the late summer's eve our story begins, the Heather was almost all dead. The brittle twigs had grown over the grassy, dirt road and snapped under the wheels of the carriage. The pink clouds, which drifted across the evening sky, grew thick and black and it wasn't long before the clouds broke allowing their heavy water charge to fall in the form of rain. It was sparse at first, but with heavy drops, each sending a replenishing flow of water to the Heather, which rippled across the moor with the warm breeze, almost beckoning to the water.
The coachman whipped the two giant, black coach horses in front of him and withdrew a silver coloured stick-like object from the heavy woollen robe he was wearing,
"Aquae Repellae!" Instantly the rain the hit him simply began to bounce off. He leant back and to the right,
"All right there, young master Malfoy?" He said.
"Could you just concentrate to where we're going, thankyou?" came a cold drawl from inside the formidable looking black carriage.
Draco Malfoy gazed out onto the more as the rain fell heavier, his head moving rhythmically to the movement of the coach. It was getting darker earlier theses days. It wasn't normal at this time of year, but then … nothing was normal now… Draco tried to block out the image that had plagued him since the end of the school year, but to no avail. He saw Dumbledore's lifeless body again and it made him sick to the stomach. Who was he kidding getting himself involved in all of this death eater business? He wasn't ready for this life; he was still a boy even at seventeen years. Draco pulled up the sleeve of his green robe and gazed at the black mark, magically burned into his forearm. He had made an oath and there was no going back on it now. He would surely be killed if he so much as considered the possibility. No. He could never go back on it now.
Returning his gaze to the moor Draco noticed how heavy the rain had become, the rain pelting against the glass. He could no longer see anything more than 20 feet away through the downpour, but he didn't need to see any further to know where he was. The carriage drew to a sudden halt at a huge black iron gate in a stone wall. Draco ignited the oil lamp in the carriage with a few words and a flick of his wand and watched the flame dance in front of him while he waited for the coachman to open the gate. A few minutes later the gate was closed again and they were on the Malfoy estate, the carriage moving more smoothly on the long gravel path. Finally the vehicle stopped outside the Malfoy Manor.
Even when barely visible in the rainstorm the manor was an imposing site. It was more of a palace than a manor, with its stone exterior and fine masonry. The Manor towered at three stories high with sinister looking gargoyles on the edges of the roof. Fine hedges lined the front of the building and behind it a vast lake tossed water onto the shore in huge wind blown torrents. Draco didn't so much as glance at his home; he was too busy grumbling at the coachman, who had arrived at the cab door with a large black umbrella,
"It took you long enough!" Draco scowled at his servant and snatched the umbrella from him stalking across the gravel stones and up the large stone steps to his house.
Draco took the cold silver doorknocker in his waxy white hand and slammed it against the door three times. Two fast knocks and one a few seconds later. He had been taught the door knocking code by his father as a child. That was the code for family. Five fast knocks for dark business and any other knocks were simply ignored. The Malfoys had many secrets, none of them to be revealed to strangers of members of the Ministry of Magic; especially now the Lucius Malfoy was an escaped prisoner of Azkaban.
The heavy door opened slowly and a woman with silky shoulder length, platinum blonde tresses emerged from behind it.
"Draco!" The woman pulled her son inside and held him in a tight embrace.
"Hello, Mother." Said Draco, impassively, "It's nice to see you."
"Oh I missed you so much!" Mrs Malfoy kissed her son's forehead as he pulled away from her.
"Where's father?" said Draco, a hint of anxiety in his voice. Draco didn't know if he could stand it if his father was captured again; he had only been at home a few weeks.
"He's here, sweetheart; he's upstairs in the library…"
Upon hearing is father's location Draco made his way swiftly across the parlour to a large stone flight of steps and ascended to the third floor. A series of corridors later he found himself in the large Malfoy Library. Thousands of volumes lined the walls, all labelled according to their magical qualities. Lucius Malfoy however wasn't reading any of the books. He stood at the far window, gazing across the rain drenched moors to the west; his long silk purple and green robe shone in the watery light of the moon. Draco coughed slightly, making his presence known to his father. Lucius turned away from the window,
"How was Germany? Was Uncle Schwarz still ill?"
"It was very nice, father … I'm very sorry to tell you, but Uncle Schwarz is dea-"
"I thought as much. Well … Welcome home, Draco. But don't bother unpacking; you leave for Durmstrang in the morning." And with that Lucius swiftly exited the library through the gothic arched door. Draco followed just as speedily.
"Father, wait!" Draco called after Lucius. Lucius slowed to a stop and stood waiting at the top of the stair.
"What do you mean I'm going to Durmstrang? I thought I wasn't going back to school. You said I could have a tutor! You sai-"
"I know what I said, Draco. Do not insult the capacity of my memory. I have changed my mind. The ministry isn't watching Durmstrang and I feel that in the Durmstrang environment you education would benefit greatly. Any tutor I hire to teach you could be a spy from the ministry and quite frankly I have very important matters to see to and I do not need you here in the house and in my way. Many people are going to pass through our front door in the next few months and I don't need the annoyance of your presence. Understood?"
"B-But Karkaroff is dead" Draco struggled to find a reason not to go to Durmstrang. His father had never treated him warmly, but never this coldly either. Draco wanted to be with his family at the moment and now he was to be carted off to northern Europe.
"Don't be stupid, boy! They have a new Headmaster!" without warning Lucius slapped Draco across the face. Draco stood still for a long time, gazing at his feet, tears welling in his grey eyes. He finally muttered, "Yes father." and descended the staircase to his bedroom on the second floor.
Draco slammed the door shut and moved to his bed. He sank into the green silk sheets and placed his head on his pillow. He stared blankly at his Tudor style window as the rain pelted against the glass. His life was not what he wanted it to be at the moment. He didn't want his family to be involved with Voldemort. He didn't want to go the Durmstrang. He just wanted to be at Hogwarts with his friends.
"What friends?" he muttered to himself. He had no friends; only cronies; sidekicks. Pulling a silver fob watch from his pocket, Draco sighed as he checked the time. 8:59 pm. He lay in still silence watching the second hand tick around. He watched it pass twelve again. 9:00 pm. There was no reason for him to be awake anymore. He had nothing to do. He couldn't even unpack his things. He sighed again and pulled his knees up to his chin, closing his eyes to the rain on the window pane and, indeed, to the world.
Draco awoke the next morning bleary eyed and covered in a cold sweat. He showered and dressed in a set of navy-blue velvet robes with a high collar before heading downstairs to the dining hall for breakfast. The hall was empty when Draco entered. He crossed to a seat facing the window, noticing it was still pouring with rain. Draco leaned over the fine maple table and clutched hold of a small glass bell before ringing it three times. Almost instantly a little house elf entered carrying a silver platter laden with toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, a pitcher of orange juice and a tea set. The house elf didn't utter a word as he went about his business unloading the food onto the table before bowing low to his master and exiting. Draco began to pile his plate up with food when his mother entered.
"Good morning Draco." She said, taking a seat opposite her son.
"Good morning…" The two consumed their breakfast in an awkward silence. Couldn't Draco's mother have persuaded her husband to change his mind? Couldn't she have done anything? Draco knew there was no use bringing the subject up any longer and so sat in awkward silence, relieved when the house elf appeared at the door and squeaked,
"Begging your pardon, master Malfoy, but your coach is ready." Draco stood and slowly exited the room, making his way to the front door.
Draco sat back in his seat, nose buried in a book about German magic. It seemed that for the past few weeks he'd spent most of his time in this carriage, traveling to and from destinations within days of arrival. What Draco needed was a chance to be stationary; to have something stable in his life. School was a good thing, but Durmstrang? Draco had wanted to go to Durmstrang a few years ago, but his mother wouldn't have him living too far away. Now, though, Draco was sick of dark magic. He had followed dark philosophies all his life and it had killed the most powerful wizard in existence and nearly got him locked up in Azkaban.
Admitting defeat before the fight was the best course of action in this circumstance. There was no changing Lucius' mind and even attempting would earn Draco swift punishment. Draco supposed Durmstrang would have to do anyway. There was no way he could go back to Hogwarts now. Not after what he'd done – or tried to do. Exhausted with depression Draco placed his book on the leather upholstered seat beside him and gazed wearily out the window at the huge beech trees flying past him.
A few hours of traveling across the English countryside saw Draco leaving the coach and walking through a thicket of fur trees. Beyond the copse stood a small congregation of people about Draco's age standing around a small tin rowboat, which was over grown with weeds. Draco glanced at his fob watch. Thirty seconds to go. He made his way to the rowboat, indicating for his driver to bring his trunk, and placed a hand on the rim of the boat. A few seconds later he, and all the others, were hurtling through the air, spinning almost out of control.
The landing was hard. Draco bounced off the cobblestones, noticing with dismay that his cloak was covered in mud and gravel. He climbed up from the ground to take in his surroundings. He was standing on a dock. Hundred of people milled around him, but he wasn't concentrating on them. His eyes were above the people and fixed on the imposing site beyond them. In the black waters of the vast river the Durmstrang ship heaved proudly, it's flag flapping wildly in the cold north wind.
"Ouch!" Draco was driven out of his astonished reverie as a heavy set body barged into him, nearly sending him flying into a group of angry looking witches.
"I am sorry!" The boy was about Draco's height, but his chest and shoulders were broad and built. His eyes were murky brown in colour and his hair, cropped to about half an inch in length, was jet black. Physically he was almost like an opposite of Draco whose figure had slimmed somewhat over the past year due to stress.
Draco opened his mouth to shout at the ill-mannered fool, but shut it almost instantly. This wasn't his territory; he couldn't just do what he wanted and say whatever came to his head.
"It's fine." He mumbled, brushing off his shoulder.
"Rasmus Markinov." The boy extended a hand, "I'm starting my seventh year at Durmstrang this year. You must be new." Draco took Rasmus' hand,
"Yes. I used to go to Hogwarts, but … Draco Malfoy. I'm in seventh year too." The boy looked puzzled,
"I can't understand you. Are you speaking English?"
Draco felt like a fool. He hadn't even noticed the other boy was speaking German; he'd known the language fluently himself since he was six.
"I'm sorry," he said in fluent German, "I speak so many languages … it's hard to-"
"It's fine! It's nice to meet you, Draco. You mentioned Hogwarts?"
"Oh yes. I used to attend Hogwarts but there were complications. I'm a seventh year too."
"I wish I had gone to Hogwarts, but it only accepts British students" Rasmus looked crestfallen for a few moments before a huge ringing reverberated throughout the port. Draco picked up his travel case, his bags having been sent ahead, and made his way with Rasmus towards the huge vessel and his new life at Durmstrang.