Disclaimer: Harry Potter - J.K. Rowling. Song lyrics - The Beatles

A/N – Wow! Lots of reviews! My fingers were all inspired, so this came out far faster than usual… see what you guys achieve when you go the extra mile? Anyways, I hope it was worth the (smaller-than-usual) wait. Review if you want more.

Reunion

'All the lonely people, where do they all come from? All the lonely people, where do they all belong?'

The next day a conference was called. The entire family that was the Order of the Phoenix collected in the kitchen (except for Mrs Weasley, who was sitting up in bed in her room, staring at the ceiling and telling everyone who would listen that her babies shone among the stars). The invitation probably didn't extend to me, but I was damned if I was going to have the news come filtering second hand to me again. Sitting around the wooden table was Daddy Weasley (looking haggard), the Auror trio (Moody, a blue haired Tonks and the hulking great black man who called himself Shacklebolt), Lupin (also looking exhausted) and then us lot. By 'us lot' I mean Granger, who resolutely refused to meet my eye, Weasley R. (who seemed to be attempting to cultivate an interesting mould on his chin. Closer inspection proved that he hadn't shaved this morning, and Merlin did it show) who sat as far away from everyone as he could, the Weasley girl who sniffed wetly every few minutes, yours truly (handsome, mysterious, aloof etc) and Potter (who looked as if the trip from his bedroom to the kitchen threatened to cause him to collapse at any second). And that was it. The brilliant fighting force. No, I tell a lie. We were missing McGonagall, who, we were informed, had taken up the post of headmistress at Hogwarts. Good luck to her.

And we were missing the older members of the Weasley brood. Weasley B. (that's Bill for anyone who doesn't keep tabs on the litter) was having a jolly good time in France with his fiancée, attempting to cultivate support from our French allies (whilst dining on exquisite food, seeing the sights of Paris and visiting the museums, no doubt). Weasley C. (Charlie. Crap name, I know) was off in Romania trying to recruit an army of dragons or something. Anyway, both of them had pranced off at the first excuse, saddling their parents with the joint curse of a stroppy Weasley R. and a sniffling Weasley girl. Family ties, eh?

Gratitude flooded me that I was an only child. It was unconventional for pureblood families to only produce one heir; true witches and wizards were rare enough as it was, and should any misfortune befall me (as it had been threatening to since I turned 16) then the mighty Malfoy family would be without an heir. I could feel those ancestors of mine from centuries back all frowning at me as the weight descended onto my shoulders. It was up to me to sire a new heir for the Malfoy family, someone to continue the name, up to me… no, wait. I was disinherited. Cast off. My father had stripped me of the name, claiming that I was not fit to bear it. And once again the full realisation of what he had done hit me, making my knees go weak. He had disinherited me. He would rather see our mighty family end with him then pass its future into my hands. And that showed that he not only despised me, but that he could not believe my children would be worthy to carry the name either. Coldness gripped my heart. Would my children never see Malfoy Manor? Would my children never survey the portraits of our ancestors with the pride that I had felt to see eyes identical to mine glaring proudly from the painted canvas? What would they be without the name? Elegant oddities, with our silver hair and our golden eyes and our high cheekbones but no name. And what was I now? Draco NoName. The dragon without its fangs, who had fled to hide beneath the lion's paws. And that lion, with its hanging head and its tired claws and weary jaws, was my only defence against the snake that threatened to crush us both.

Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus

I'm sleeping, Dark Lord. But one day I will wake. And you, Cleopatra Fama. You too will feel the wrath of the dragon. Sitting there, watching through narrow eyes as Weasley picked at his nails, I swore a solemn oath. She will pay. The bitch will pay.

Daddy Weasley cleared his throat, and one look at his face told me what he would say.

"So far we've been unable to find Fred and George." His voice shook.

"You should let me help you, Dad," Weasley R. burst out. "I could help, but you keep me cooped up here!"

"Ron, we don't want to put you in any danger," Tonks interrupted gently.

"I'm 17," he begged. "I could join the Order. I'm old enough. I can Apparate!"

"No," Lupin said tiredly. "Ron, your brothers have gone missing probably because of their connection to the Order." Or they simply pushed it too far… 'My Little Voldemort' floated briefly into my mind. "The last thing we need is to have you involved as well. I'm sorry, but we must ask you to accept this in a mature way." Granger raised her eyes from her lap.

"You're not my parents, and I'm 18, legally an adult. You have no right to ban me from helping you." A frightening look of pure hopelessness darted across Daddy Weasley's face.

"Will you two please try and understand? I'd worry myself sick if you were out there."

"You'd let Harry join if he asked," Weasley R. muttered.

"Ron, right now our priorities are Fred and George and finding them," Lupin intervened again.

"There's still a chance your brothers are alive," Tonks added (Moody snorted). "We need to focus on them."

I'd heard enough and was fast growing impatient. It was obvious no new developments had occurred, and, glancing over, I noticed that Potter was studying the table surface with a depressed air. Did he feel guilty? I wondered. It was just like him to try and take personal responsibility for every blow Voldemort directed this way. And who among the Order of the Phoenix did not notice the burden they carried in sheltering him and me? Which of them could honestly say they did not blame him at all for this misfortune? Earlier this morning Mrs Weasley, more with it than the day before, had burst into tears upon seeing him when he dropped in on his way downstairs. The unspoken blame hovered there in the kitchen, and he must have felt it as strongly as I did. They're the ones He wants. They're the reason. As if Voldemort would halt his murderous rampage and settle down to a nice cottage in the country once Potter and I were dead. Still, I noticed a certain chill surrounding him, as if these people who loved him really didn't like him that much at the moment. As for me, well, the icy glares thrown my way had never thawed out.

"But…" Weasley R. began, and I snapped.

"What your father is trying to tell you, Ronald, is that by bothering him at this time you are acting like an irritating six year old."

"Draco…" Lupin interrupted. I ignored him.

"He's worrying awfully about his two sons who are in dire straits at the moment, and you're there, bleating about how life isn't fair and you want to play with the grown ups."

"Malfoy…" Moody warned, but I forged on.

"Could you be any more selfish, Ronald? Anyone would think you didn't care."

"That's enough!" Daddy Weasley roared. I jumped, unaccustomed to being bellowed at. Weasley R. had turned white (with anger, with shock?) but his father was flushed furious. "Draco, I think you should leave us now," he said, carefully controlling his tone. Angrily I felt a blush creep across my cheeks (the danger of pale skin), and left, my face burning with righteous anger. To be banished by a Weasley! It was not that I cared; not like I wanted to attend their stupid meeting. But my humiliation at being chastened by someone I had always been taught to despise as inferior showed embarrassingly in my flushed cheeks.

I took the stairs two at a time and slammed angrily into my room. An owl was sitting on my bed. I did a severe double take, recognising the bird.

"Mercury!" The Eagle Owl hooted at its name and I nearly collapsed. Somehow I had the presence of mind to shut the door behind me before running forward and doing my best to embrace the bird. "Mercury, oh Mercury. I never thought…" He nibbled my ear and then shifted uneasily in my grasp. Owls are not keen on being hugged. I released him and smiled fondly as he grumpily rearranged his mottled feathers. Through slightly blurry eyes I saw that a letter was tied to his leg, and reached for it with shaky fingers. The Malfoy seal on the back sent tendrils of weakness shooting through me again and I wanted to cry over that cat in the wax, with its serpent collar; wanted to cry and cry and cry. "Mercury, what have you brought me?" He clacked his beak impatiently and I managed a rueful smile. "I don't have anything for you, I'm afraid. You'll have to catch something on your way home." Disgruntled, he flapped to the top of my wardrobe, and I broke the seal on the letter with shaking fingers.

My hands were quivering so much that I would have sliced my fingers if the letter had been written on thin muggle paper. As it was, the soft parchment was forgiving, and I finally managed to ease it out of the envelope. Sitting on the bed, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I unfolded the parchment. My heart ached, as if the words had leapt off the page and wrapped themselves around it. It was his writing. His! Lucius Malfoy's. The man I once called 'Father'. Elegant, flowing, concise, it spread itself evenly across the parchment in the black ink, the rows precise and perfectly spaced. Hurriedly I wiped my eyes again; to have a tear fall and smudge the words beyond recognition would be unbearable! It was hard though, hard to read through blurred eyes the small words that shook as my hands shuddered. Forcing myself to move slowly, I placed the letter on the bed beside me, stood up, walked to the basin in my bathroom, dashed a handful of cold water on my face and returned to the parchment. Picking it up again, I ran my eyes eagerly over the words.

Draco,

It is a risk for me even to communicate with you – the Dark Lord wants you above all others and the punishment for correspondence with a traitor is extreme torture. Be that as it may, you were once my son. I do not know where you are, nor do I want to know. I will say only this: there are several items of yours still at Malfoy Manor. I can not send them to you, so if you would like them you must come and fetch them. If you have a grain of sense in you, you will believe this to be a trap, and I can not give you any assurances it is not except that tomorrow I swear before Salazar Slytherin and every Malfoy that ever breathed that I will observe a truce with you and you will be allowed to enter and leave Malfoy Manor at will. There will never be a repeat of this offer of clemency.

After that, we will have nothing more to say to each other. My wife loved the boy who was once my son. I can only hope that the man knows when he can trust.

Yours,

Lucius Malfoy.

I sat there, frozen as if petrified by a basilisk, for a long, long time. This man's offer was either extremely generous or extremely devious. For all his protestations that we were nothing to each other now, he still knew me better than any other. 'You were always too soft, Draco. If you want to be a true Malfoy you will have to learn to withhold your emotions and always, always question every man's motives'. And now that I questioned his motives I was at a loss. If he betrayed me to Voldemort, if this was a trap then that would be simple enough. The knowledge I had of the Order of The Phoenix was not unique: Fred and George would have known similar, but I still would give the Dark Lord a valuable insight into the condition of his enemies. Oh yeah. And he also wanted to kill me in a hundred horrible ways for deceiving him.

But what if this was a genuine truce? And I was inclined to believe in my heart that it was. 'You were always too soft, Draco.' But the man I had known, the Lucius Malfoy of my memories would never ever swear by Slytherin and by our ancestors and then break his vows. It was just not done. At times I had believed him to be torn between his duty to his family and to his Lord, but on this one thing I had no doubt. The Malfoy ancestry, the very thing Voldemort professed to be trying to preserve, was sacred. And this man would not break such a vow.

What's more, he was right. There were some things in Malfoy Manor that were mine and mine alone. My clothes, my books to name but a few. Things like my telescope or my cauldron or my chess set could be forsaken. But most of all, there was my cat. Misty. My tabby cat whom I missed so, so much. For the sake of seeing him again, of having him with me, I decided to trust the man who had disinherited me.

Reaching for some clean parchment from my supply, I sharpened a quill, dipped it into the ink and began before I could have second thoughts.

I will accept your offer and trust you will not disgrace the ancestors you swore by through breaking your word.

Draco

Mercury clicked his beak impatiently as I tied the letter to his leg. I carried him to the window, then paused. My stomach was roiling, my nerves fizzing as if they had been steeped in sherbet. I couldn't wait for the owl to make the journey to the manor and then return again. Letting Mercury hop from my wrist to the headboard of the bed, I reached for my wand. The spell was simple enough; a small piece of magic to send an owl with a message to a designated spot through impersonal Apparation. I muttered the charm to create a portal to the Malfoy Manor compost heaps, grabbed Mercury and flung him through the hole in the air. A second later the black chasm that yawned before me sealed itself, vanishing from human sight, telling me that Mercury had been safely deposited on the other side. He'd be disgruntled by his rough handling, but within minutes Lucius Malfoy would have my reply. I settled down to wait.

It didn't take long. In the intermittent time someone thundered upstairs angrily to the landing above me, and a door slammed. I doubted the great conference had gone well. Then there was a crackling sound, and Mercury appeared, looking distinctly ruffled by his journey. He snapped at me as I reached eagerly for the letter; his beak drew bright blood and I sucked my fingers ruefully. The next time his beak went for me I stuffed a sock in it, and took advantage of his temporary confusion to snatch the letter. Unfolded, it was short and brief.

Apparate here. Disguise yourself.

Disguise myself? The answer sprung instantly to mind, but my stomach objected violently at the thought of how. I will do it, I told myself sternly. I am strong enough. Grabbing Potter's leather jacket (I'd worn it so much now … surely it was mine?), I shut Mercury in my bathroom to allow him time to rest (and opened the bathroom window should he wish to leave), then used my wand to lock and seal the bedroom door behind me. No one was to be seen, although a babble of voices came from the kitchen, and I glided quietly through the hallway, trying hard not to waken the portrait behind the fraying curtains. I eased the front door open a crack and slid through, stepping out into the September sunlight which bathed the quiet street. A gentle breeze caressed my face, wrapping me in the scent of mown grass, which was still strong enough to mask the reek of the muggle cars that pervaded London. I set out briskly, making for the park and playground that was nearby. My eyes flicked left, right, left, ahead and I struggled to prevent myself from turning every few seconds to glance behind. It wasn't only the Deatheaters that were after me; the Aurors would still be hunting me too, and I fancied a term in Azkaban even less than I did a reunion with my old comrades in arms.

I reached the park without incident, and surveyed it. Disappointing; a gaggle of harried looking mothers and giggling children. Turning on my heel, I crossed the street, rounded a few corners and came to the muggle tube station. There were more people here: two ticket inspectors, several other specimens… but standing on the open platform were my targets. There were four of them: youngish men standing apart, two of them absorbed in muggle handheld gadgets and the other two staring vacantly into space as they waited for their train to whisk them away. I sized them up, then made a beeline for one who was staring into space. I walked straight up to him and smiled harmlessly.

"Hey, you don't happen to have the time do you?" He waved at the big platform clock.

"Says right there." I squinted.

"Look, I'm really sorry, but I forgot my glasses today."

"It's four thirty." I did a double take.

"Are you sure?" Beginning to lose his patience with me, he lifted his left wrist and glanced at his watch.

"Yes. Four thirty." I gripped his arm for a second, turning the watch face towards me, then released him and smiled.

"Thank you very much." I turned and walked away, wiping my hand on my jacket. But not before I had transferred the hairs I lifted off his sleeve into my pocket.

Polyjuice potion. Believe me; you should always have a few vials with you. And whilst I had been stuck in Grimwauld Place these past weeks I had sneaked the ingredients for it into my bathroom and brewed it. It had been done surreptitiously (I highly doubted Lupin or Moody would have approved of the Deatheater secretly making potions), but I had made about a pint of the potion, and had then deposited it in a number of vials I had lifted from bins, bathroom cupboards and bedside tables. Wealsey R's room had been a horror to raid; stinking heap of clothes had rendered the journey across his floor treacherous, and various bottles had cascaded out of his bathroom cupboard when it was opened. Potter had remained largely in his room, so I'd had little chance to investigate its resources, but Granger's had been a veritable gold mine of ingredients (some of which had not smelt completely legal), yielding most of what I had needed. The Weasley parents' joint bathroom had surrendered a number of dusty bottles and vials, their unused cosmetic contents sliding in an oily way down the plughole when I emptied them in the sink. Twp such vials nestled in my jean pocket, now full of Polyjuice potion. It was the work of a second to add the hairs to them, and the potion fizzed, turning an unexpectedly pretty cerulean colour.

Dinner was a strained affair that night. Granger was sulking as she had been forced to cook it all, with Mummy Weasley out of action, Potter had been unable to face a second expedition downstairs and was eating in his room and Weasley R. glowered at his chops as if they had done him a severe injustice at some time. The Weasley girl picked moodily at her food and the only 'adult' to mind this little hoard of moody children was Lupin, who wolfed his chops down with the appetite of a… well, with the hunger of a man who feels the full moon approaching with its promise of blood.

I tossed and turned that night, fretting about the next day. I had resolved not to tell anyone I was going, thinking that if it were a trap then it'd be better if I appeared to disappear completely than if people were able to sit there in the future, shaking their heads and saying 'well, we all knew it was a trap'. I am very proud, and if I was going to die I didn't want to look foolish. But stronger than that was the fear that ran cold shivers through me, as I huddled beneath the blanket. Could I trust him, this man who had cast me off? Would his fierce pride, a pride that rivalled mine, have forgiven the slight I had dealt him yet? Or would he still bear a grudge because my fall from grace had spawned his further loss of favour with the Dark Lord? Round and round and round the argument rattled through my head. The only certain thing I had was that I'd said I would go. I could break my word of course, but I'd said.

And that mattered.

Which is why I set out in the brisk early morning chill the next day, with cloudless skies overhead and the air so cold and crisp you felt it could snap between your fingers. A taste of the cold that was coming: the afternoon sunshine in September may have spoken of summer, but the morning air warned of winter. I slunk down the quiet street, my nerves jittering as if I'd drunken five cups of black coffee, and stepped into a dark alley. In there I pulled out my first vial of Polyjuice potion, removed the stopper and drank the mixture down. It slid over my tongue, the taste unusual (as always) and indefinable. The changes were swift; my silvery hair turned a common shade of brown, my eyes lost their harsh predatory gold and softened to a gentle hazel, and I bulked up, muscles piling onto my slender build. I had already jinxed my clothes to stretch with my growth, and my shirt expanded dramatically as my chest developed. I was naturally sinewy, and possessed strength which people never expected from my slim frame, but the man I'd chosen had muscle and the difference was amazing. Gone was the grace, the Malfoy ability to flow through the air. Replacing it was a strange feeling; I could settle into my feet and shift my weight so that I stood in a permanent 'you looking at me?' stance. It was damned difficult not to swagger in an 'I will kick your arse if you piss me off' way. It was a funny feeling, and I wasn't sure I wanted to relax into it, so I Apparated quickly before I grew too comfortable in my new body.

I landed in the Malfoy compost heaps and overbalanced instantly as my new weight caught up with me.

"Aaargh!"

And that is how I ended up crossing the immaculate lawns to Malfoy Manor smelling ever so slightly earthy, with a brown stain on my jeans. Was this the sort of entrance I had hoped to achieve? Noooo. The House Elves opened the back door (the tradesman's entrance!) when I knocked, and bowed deferentially, not recognising me in the least.

"I have an appointment with your master," I announced. I was ushered in, and oh, did it feel strange to be treated as a guest in one's own home! Only it was not my home… but still, I had to fight the urge to turn towards the study before they did, had to struggle to pretend that I could not have found my way blindfolded. The Elf who was leading me took me up the stairs to his study and knocked on the closed door.

"Enter." His voice shook me, and I grew angry with myself. Develop some control Draco, or he'll simply despise you! I could only imagine the contempt he'd hold me in if I collapsed into tears in front of him.

The House Elf scuttled in and muttered something in a low voice. The reply rolled through the space between the half open door and the door frame to me, and I stood up straighter. Pull yourself together! The Elf reappeared a second later and gestured for me to go in. I entered the familiar room, focusing on my surroundings, the stuccoed frieze where the walls met the ceiling, the book shelves, anything but the figure in front of me. The Elf shut the door behind me.

"That form you have chosen is, of course, designed to impose," he said coldly. "How very crude and predictable of you." I lifted my head, forcing myself to meet his gaze, as he regarded me with a gaze of molten silver. I kept my own eyes steady.

"Mr Malfoy. I have business here."

"You do indeed. I trust you can find your own room? I can have an Elf conduct you there if you wish."

"Thank you Mr Malfoy; that will not be necessary." I made my voice match his; impersonal, distant. Not bored, but lacking in any warmth, any acknowledgement of our shared past. We could as well have met yesterday. He nodded to me, the movement sending his silvery hair rippling across his shoulders. Now that I studied him closer I could see the grey shadows under his eyes, could see that he was thinner than before, and something very like guilt gnawed at me. He had suffered for my actions. But I kept my features impassive and returned his nod, then turned and left the room.

As I walked through the familiar corridors a memory sprang to the front of my mind, unbidden. A memory of a sunny afternoon in a conservatory, when I had clutched a man as if he could save me.

"Promise me."
"Hmm?"
"Promise me…"
"Yes?"
"Promise me you will not forget me."

I walked to my room, resolving to swallow all emotion. And it worked, for a while. I packed clothes into a suitcase with a professional detachment, packed a photo album without opening it to see my beautiful mother dazzle me from the pages, and rationally chose the books I thought I'd need. I left my pots of cosmetics untouched; living it rough (so to speak) had broken my addiction to hair gel and emery boards. My true appearance (as opposed to the grimy muggle form that I currently wore) was still something to be proud of, but it had changed: I no longer looked like a flawless model who had stepped straight out of a muggle magazine. Instead my silvery hair was generally ruffled, my cheeks tinged with life and my appearance more of the casual-yet-damn-beautiful look. Beauty. That was my heritage, and something which could not be taken away from me by anyone.

As I placed the last of the books in my second bag there was a patter in the corridor, and then a paw slid through the gap, forcing the door open. Misty trotted in, and mewed when he saw me. He didn't recognise me, of course, but I wanted to cry all the same.

"Misty! Misty boy. Come here, Misty. Come here." I whistled for him, holding my fingers above the bed, and he sprang up to meet them, purring with the joy of accepting attention from anyone. I wondered if he'd been starved of affection in my absence and ran my hands through his fur, rubbing his ears, finding the spot under his chin that made him close his eyes in bliss. "You're coming with me," I told him. I stroked him for at least half an hour, allowing him to settle down, not noticing the time fly. I didn't notice as my fingers grew slimmer, more tapered, and didn't notice as I shrunk, as I grew more comfortable in my own skin.

"Draco…" I glanced up at my name guiltily and saw him standing there. Pain entered his eyes, and I wondered why, then realised that the sun behind me was shining through my hair, bequeathing the edges of my pale skin with a brilliance, outlining my form in a golden halo of light. This man was not entirely emotionless at the sight of his son before him, it seemed, but he composed himself swiftly, reconfiguring the blank mask that was his face.

"Do not worry, I will not stay much longer," I said quietly.

"Draco," he repeated huskily, then drew himself up again. "You have the means to disguise yourself again, I presume."

"Yes."

"Then, you must leave soon." He paused, hesitating, then said softly. "Do you really share a house with him?" The distaste in his voice stung me.

"How do you know where I live?"

"Your Weasley friends have been most… informative," he replied. "The Dark Lord has learnt much from them." My heart skipped a beat, and I struggled to remain calm.

"They are no friends of mine." He laughed slightly.

"Then you have not lost your senses completely, as I feared." A momentary sadness crossed his face, but it was only fleeting and he composed himself quickly. His fingers reached to his hair subconsciously, braiding it as they always did when he was thinking. "Have you heard from your aunt?"

"That is not a question I choose to answer," I replied, inside wondering desperately if this meant that she was alive, or if he simply didn't know whether she was dead or not.

"Don't go looking for her," he said softly. "Don't go to Erebos, Draco. There is nothing there but death and pain." This was not news to me, but I was surprised he was mentioning it. I did not reply. He continued. "It is heavily shielded anyway. You will not find it, nor will any Auror … no matter what they were searching for." And in that second I understood.

The twins were at Erebos.

Why was he telling me? Did it matter? This was my way to proving once and for to the Weasley brood and anyone else who doubted all that I had allied myself with the Order, that I was not betraying them. And I thought of a small figure, sitting alone in a bed, with red hair falling untidily over her shoulders, staring gauntly into the abyss. If I could bring peace… well then, maybe I would be less of a bad person.

"You must leave now," he said abruptly. "Disguise yourself and go. Don't ever return." He glanced at Misty, curled up and purring somnolently. "Take him. Or don't. I care neither way." On an impulse I started towards him and he flinched away. "Get away! You are a danger to me. The Dark Lord wants you as much as he wants the boy whose bed you have climbed into, Draco." I flinched at the implication, spat out in such a sudden bitter tone.

"I barely deign to reply to that remark. It seems your respect for me is completely gone. We truly have nothing more to say to each other." I shrunk the two suitcases with the same spell I had used to shrink Potter over a month ago, and placed them in my pocket. I pulled out the second vial of Polyjuice potion, flicked the stopper and swallowed it in one gulp. The blonde haired man's eyes did not even flicker as his biological son transformed into the stranger I had become to him. Then I picked up Misty, who wriggled in protest, and walked past him, out of the room. Down the stairs. Out, through the back door, held open by an obsequious Elf, and then across the lawns. I stopped on the green grass and turned. Malfoy Manor. The house I would never see again. And through the glass of my bedroom window I made out a pale face, lined with silver hair, watching me go.