Run Boy Run

by Woodkid

"Tomorrow is another day

And you won't have to hide away

You'll be a man, boy!

But for now it's time to run, its time to run!"

Chapter Three

Draco Malfoy delivered a quick volley of strikes to the stomach of a man with dark brown hair and blue eyes. He took a step to the left and threw another punch to his opponent's stomach. His opponent dodged and managed to hit Draco in the chest. The man took advantage of Draco's staggering form and took another swipe at the blonde, this time hitting Draco square in the face. Draco landed on his back. As his vision cleared, he saw the grinning face of the man who had sent him flying to his feet. Draco pulled himself to his feet and took on a fighting stance.

"Again," Draco said, raising his fists up to his face. He wore a long-sleeved black shirt and black pants, his hands were wrapped in fingerless gloves. Muggle-attire.

"That was already the fifth time tonight." The man said stepping out of the ring that they were standing on. "What's got you all wound up and eager to serve as my punching bag?"

"Work," Draco replied. Flexing his fingers, he tugged at the tight sleeves that covered his left forearm. Eren had commented once that the clothes Draco chose to wear weren't exactly ideal for fighting. Draco had refused to wear anything that exposed his forearms. He reached for the cigarette that he was offered as he followed his friend outside of the building.

The days following the night Dark Lord killed Harry Potter were spent by the Dark Side in celebration. Death Eaters had wreaked havoc in different wizarding communities in Britain. They had gone on killing sprees, high on their triumph, buzzing with blood-lust. They got drunk on bottles of firewhiskey that were offered to them by women who were eager to capture the attention of the Death Eaters. Draco had watch in silent horror as other Death Eaters strung up a blonde muggle-born boy that looked younger than Draco. They took turns casting the cruciatus curse on him as they drank amber liquid with women crawling on their laps.

Draco had also spent the days after the death of his childhood nemesis drunk but always in the safety of his room, and for reasons that were far from celebratory. He never got along with the Boy-Who-Had-Lived and had always disliked him from the moment his offer of friendship was refused, but Draco never actually wished the man dead. Draco didn't believe in Divination. He had thought that the Dark Lord had forgotten about the Prophecy and had moved on to different tactics to expel muggle-borns from the wizarding world when he ordered Draco to kill Dumbledore and find a way to get Death Eaters into Hogwarts. When the Dark Lord continued his obsession over the green-eyed boy, Draco couldn't understand why. When he learned that Harry Potter was dead, the sliver of hope that Draco did not know he had, vanished. He had not wanted to live his life serving a dark wizard. He hated that his life and his parent's lives were dependent on the success of every mission they were assigned.

Angry at his father for leading their family down the path of servitude, angry at Potter for dying when the whole fucking world needed him to live, and angry at the Dark Lord for turning their world into a living nightmare, Draco found himself in the streets of Muggle London one night. Shit-faced, Draco could barely hold himself up. He stumbled in his way to find a dark alley so he could apparate back to the Manor when he crashed hard into a group of muggle men.

"Muggles." Draco had slurred at them.

A bald muggle spat at him, "What in the bloody hell does that mean?"

"The Dark Lord... Everything's going to be a fucking nightmare from now on. You should count yourselves lucky for your… for your ignorant little brains." Draco was almost incoherent when he replied, but the men were able to understand enough of his words to conclude that they were being insulted.

Before Draco could gather his bearings, one of the muggles had punched him in his face. He could have had easily blast them all off their feet and stunned them with a few simple flicks of his wrist, but Draco did not bother to reach for his wand as the punches kept coming. He keeled over and his face hit the pavement. He felt his ribs crack as the muggles kicked him. He let the pain consume him. At the corner of his blurred vision, he could see one of them pull out something silver and pointy. A knife. It a funny way to die, Draco thought humorlessly, as he closed his eyes. Killed off by the very people that he was taught were consider as lesser than him.

Eren Johnson had stepped out of the bookstore he worked in for a smoke. He was just about to light up his cigarette when he heard the commotion coming from the alley. When he saw the pale and bleeding young man sprawled on the ground being beaten senseless by some thugs, he had no second thoughts as he ran towards the chaos and kicked the arm of the dark-haired man who preparing to stab the bleeding blonde man. Eren ducked as the other man moved to throw a swing at him and slammed his shoulder against his attacker. A few punches later, Eren had the men on their groaning the floor of the dark alley.

Fucking Griffyndor, Draco had thought before he lost consciousness.

He had woken up to a strange beeping noise coming from foreign machines, people in funny-looking white robes poking him, and a needle sticking out of his arm. He tugged the wires that clung to his body and demanded that he be released at once. He later found out that the man who saved him had carried him to a muggle hospital. He apparently had a few broken ribs, a fractured skull, and a shit-ton of bruises. Muggles had done that to him, but it was also muggles that had saved him.

His savior had introduced himself and sat on an ugly brown chair beside Draco's bed as the young female healer blushed while checking Draco's injuries. It was the first time Draco was anywhere near a muggle and he couldn't help but notice that they weren't as stupid or as hideous as his father had made them out to be. Eren had chattered on about his life as if he had known Draco his whole life, oblivious to the internal struggle the silver-haired man beside him was having as all the prejudice he was taught began to slowly unravel. He had asked for Draco's name but Draco just glared at him and kept silent the whole time. As Eren stood to leave the room, Draco had managed to mutter a quick thank you. He knew Eren heard him when the man raised a brow before grinning at him.

A few days after Draco arrived home and had his injuries properly tended to by his personal house-elf, Draco sought Eren out in the bookshop he had talked about, "Teach me how to fight like that."

Eren introduced Draco to an underground bare-knuckle boxing ring and Draco had relished every second he spent sweating and bleeding in it. His first match gave a black eye and rendered him unconscious in under a minute. The brown-haired man knew that Draco only sought him out for two things only. Either to beat the bloody fuck out of his poor opponent or get the bloody fuck beat out of him. Draco was funny a bloke like that, Eren had soon come to realize.

"So," Eren said after a few minutes of puffing out smoke. "How's work?"

Draco glared at his nosy friend, pointedly ignoring his question. Eren knew that Draco didn't like talking about his life.

"Stop it with the evil eyes," Eren said. He paused a bit before continuing, "it's Nana's birthday on the twentieth. She's been asking for you. You haven't visited in a while."

Draco had visited Eren's apartment enough times to be familiar with his grandmother and younger brother. Draco had found out that Eren's father had left them years ago and his mother had already passed away. That left the young Johnsons under the care of their grandmother, but she had soon started getting tired and weary at her old age. Eren was only five years older than Draco but at twenty-three, he was working two day jobs and goes to seedy fighting rings at weekends to provide for what was left of his family. He had not told Draco about his problems with money but Draco had been able to gather as much with the stories he was told. When Draco won matches, he had made sure to tell the bookie to add the money he earned to Eren's loot. I don't care for the muggle, Draco thought in justification for his actions. I just don't care for muggle money.

Draco's usual cold eyes softened a bit at the mention of the kind old lady, "I'll be there."

"Thanks."

Draco hissed as a sharp pain erupted from his arm. His master was calling.

Deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, in one of the large courtrooms in Basement Level 10, a thin pale man, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's but with slits for nostrils, sat on a throne. The imposing seat was made out of black stone, carved to portray hundreds of naked bodies, men, women, and children, all with screaming and pained faces, twisted and pressed together. Unlike the Magic is Might statue it was based on, the muggles that made up the throne were enchanted to move as if they were writhing in pain against one another. Draco could almost hear the soft whimpers of pain coming from the throne's horrific depiction from where he stood. His silver-blonde hair was distinguishable against the wall of Death Eaters behind him wearing dark robes.

"Young Malfoy. Stay behind." The Dark Lord's high and cold voice had echoed in the large room that was lit by torches. The benches that rose in levels along each wall were empty, instead, Death Eaters stood in front of the entrance in lines of four. Those who were most trusted stationed themselves in the front of the lines. A woman with thick, shining dark hair sat on the raised platform where the throne stood. Draco's Aunt Bellatrix purred as she lounged against the feet of her Master. Draco made his way to the center of the room, where a defendant's seat used to stand before it had been ripped out in an attempt to fashion the courtroom into a throne room. Draco knelt before the Dark Lord.

As the Death Eaters filed out of the room, save for Bellatrix, Draco raised his head. Grey eyes met scarlet. "You wanted to speak to me, My Lord?"

"Draco," Draco's face remained impassive as the Dark Lord spoke his name what could almost be described as a soft caress. "It worries me that the Malfoy line isn't as formidable as it once was. Lucius has not been of significant value to me since his failure to retrieve the Prophecy in the Department of Mysteries."

Bellatrix cackled gleefully at the obvious insult to brother-in-law. Her disdain towards Draco's father is well known among their ranks.

"The Prophecy is of no importance anymore, of course." The Dark Lord leaned back in his throne. His unnaturally long and pale fingers were a shard contrast against the arms of the dark stone. "You, Draco, you also failed me when you couldn't kill Albus Dumbledore. You should be punished for your failures."

"Now that the war is won, I feel like I should be more… magnanimous… to my followers. After all, if I killed everyone who has failed me in the past and will fail me in the future, I will be left with no followers. For only I am without fault or failure."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix looked up at the Dark Lord reverently. "Only you, and I am your loyal servant."

Draco responded immediately. "As am I, My Lord." He had learned that the Dark Lord despises those who were not quick to show their devotion.

"Young Malfoy. I see myself in you." The Dark Lord's mouth stretched and the corners lifted. Is that an attempt to smile? Draco hid the revulsion he felt behind his cold mask. Fucking bastard. "I am born of the House of Gaunt. The Heir of Slytherin, his blood flows in my veins. Like me, you are born from a well-known, ancient, and powerful family."

"It did not escape my notice that you had been successful in missions that others had failed. While it is convenient to have hundreds of mindless followers that are willing to kill, I prefer cunning and intelligent Death Eaters." Draco knew that the Dark Lord was referring to the first mission he had been assigned after their triumph. The Dark Lord had sent Death Eater after Death Eater to Greece to retrieve the lost journals of Herpo the Foul. Draco was mostly ignored by the Dark Lord after punishing him together with his family when Potter and his friends escaped Malfoy Manor two months before their Victory at Hogwarts. The Dark Lord ordered to find the lost journals when the third Death Eater he had sent failed. After spending only days researching in libraries, he had determined the location of the ruins of the ancient dark wizard's home. It had taken him a week to breach through vile curses surrounding the area that had withstood the passage of centuries. "I can sense that you have what it takes to achieve a greater purpose for our cause, for me."

Bellatrix looked proudly at her nephew, "I expected nothing less of him. He is of Black blood, My Lord."

The Dark Lord stood and glided towards Draco who was still kneeling. "You have been trained by my best soldiers, Young Malfoy. Before his death, Severus had been teaching you how to brew brewing highly complicated potions. In the past year, in addition to Lucius teaching you the art of ancient magic, you have also been trained by Bellatrix in dueling, occlumency, and in building resistance against the Dark Arts."

The Dark Lord had ordered Bellatrix to teach Draco the art of mastering the Unforgivable Curses. They had started with imperius curse. In order to be able to effectively perform this spell, there is a battle of strength between the wills of the caster and the victim. The victim would be placed under the full control of the caster when the latter's will proves to be stronger than the former's. Death Eaters usually trained in perfecting the imperius curse by practicing on muggles, who were easier to put under this unforgivable than wizards. Draco, however, had already successfully cast the imperius curse during his sixth year in Hogwarts. He had demonstrated exceptional willpower at 16 when the imperiused Madame Rosemarta, under Draco's spell, had been able to place an unsuspecting Katie Bell under her control. Bellatrix had deemed Draco's ability to cast the unforgivable as outstanding and proceeded to train him the next unforgivable, her specialty.

The second unforgivable Draco had to master was the cruciatus. Bellatrix had barely flinched when Draco hit her with a weak crucio. His Aunt had begun using the torture curse since she was a student at Hogwarts. Bellatrix had the natural ability to cast it successfully due to her utter lack of conscience. She also had the talent to make the unforgivable last for hours, a feat she had learned under the guidance of the Dark Lord. She had also built a remarkable tolerance to the curse cast when cast by lesser people, having been trained to do so under the Dark Lord's powerful crucio.

The average Dark Arts practitioner would be able to crucio a person for an hour with intervals. Bellatrix, however, had been able to cast it for hours on the Longbottoms. Bartemius Crouch Jr. and Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange had taken turns torturing the aurors for information after the fall of the Dark Lord in Godric's Hollow, but Bellatrix's sadism and religious fervor towards Lord Voldemort ran deep in the very fiber of her being. She was able to cast an unending cruciatus curse on the Longbottoms for hours. She had tortured them to the point of irreversible insanity.

After the first torture session he had with his cruel aunt, Draco did not wake up for three days. You have to mean it, Draco! Bellatrix had said, before pointing her wand at her nephew. Draco slammed against the wall behind them when the curse hit him. It felt like he was going to burst from the white-hot pain that threatened to burst his body. His aunt placed him under the cruciatus for only a few minutes, but Draco felt like the agony had lasted for hours. He had to endure training sessions under the torture curse for months until he was able to endure the pain without fainting. Lucius nodded at Draco in appreciation when he heard that he was finally able to crucio his Aunt with such strength that she had fallen to her knees. Aside from the Dark Lord, none had the opportunity or power to do so.

As for the last unforgivable, the Dark Lord has sent Draco to participate in the Mudblood games to get over Draco's aversion to killing. He had refused at first, but when the Dark Lord threatened to let Narcissa join the games instead of him, Draco had marched into the arena and had participated in the three games that had been held since its creation. Draco had vowed to protect his mother ever since the Dark Lord began threatening her life. The first one was to motivate Draco to repair the Vanishing Cabinet. He couldn't protect his father's safety because he was a servant to the Dark Lord himself, but Draco would rather endure hours under the full power of the Dark Lord's cruciatus curse than have even a bit of harm befall his mother.

Draco could still remember being the spoiled and disdainful brat that he was at Hogwarts. Was winning Quidditch matches and obtaining the House Cup really the only troubles he had three years ago? Having his life and the lives of his parents threatened on a daily basis had effectively stomped out the privilege that had been ingrained in him his whole life.

"Young Malfoy," The Dark Lord continued, snapping Draco's attention back to the present. "All of the skills you had been trained for are necessary for your next mission. Rise."

Slowly, Draco stood to his full height. "My Lord, whatever task you want me to do, I will succeed."

"Tell me, Young Malfoy," the Dark Lord's scarlet eyes bore into Draco's head. "What do you know about horcruxes?"

"When you spend so long trapped in darkness, you find that the darkness begins to stare back."

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury