Draco Malfoy sat at the head of an ancient wooden table, watching the activity around him with stunned senses. He was at Malfoy Manor, along with ministry officials. His house was being emptied of all moneyed things. Family heirlooms over a hundred years old passed into the hands of strangers. Mudbloods, halfbloods, squibs…who knew where the Malfoy goodies would go?
As he glanced around, he saw that most of the frames were empty…generations of Malfoys were walking out of here – literally and figuratively. He tried to keep an eye on what all was being taken and by whom. Maybe he could get some of the things back later?
His parents had been away on a vacation when the Ministry announced its new law. They had opted to remain in hiding, rather than come back to a life of degradation. Draco had had no news from them after they went into hiding. Again Draco had to face a tough situation with no help.
He shook his head and looked at the floor. He had to at least be grateful for the fact that no one was looking forward to having Draco as a slave. Everyone knew this slave thing was bullshit! You could make slaves, but how could you make one obey? Draco, known for his temper, colourful language, and connections, was still free. He could continue his work if no one chose him, and he expected to be left alone. There are some people you don't mess with – no matter what the circumstances.
There was some sort of commotion at the door. An agitated messenger was looking for Draco.
'Whats going on here?' asked Draco.
'Are you Draco Malfoy?' asked the messenger. 'I've been looking for you for the past half an hour. Anyway, I have summons here. It seems that someone has chosen you for their slave.'
'What!'
'I always get that reaction,' said the messenger to one official standing close by.
'You had better go,' said the official. 'The first thing that you will learn as a slave is to put yourself last and your master first'
Draco burst out laughing. It still seemed somewhat unreal to him. This whole thing of being poor and a slave. However, there was no option but to go. The world was not in his favour now, but Draco had to believe that it would soon balance itself out. Happy days would be back. He would not be slaved out for long. He would never put himself last.
Draco went outside with the messenger. There was a dirty ministry carriage waiting for him. He glanced at his own carriage – beautiful, expensive, and now someone else's. He turned to take a look at Malfoy Manor. It may not have been home, but it had been his refuge when he had had nowhere else to go. He promised himself that he would be back as the owner one day.
As soon as Draco was seated, the carriage took off. They passed many scenic views that Malfoy had earlier liked to watch – it had all belonged to him. Now all he could think of was his dismal future. As he watched the breathtaking scenery with unseeing eyes Draco's mind revolved around a number of questions: 'Who has chosen me? Is it Potter? Granger? Will I stay in London? Who has chosen me? Who would dare?'