The Canon in Draconis Major series:

1. Draco Malfoy and the Boy Who Lived
2. Draco Malfoy and the Bane of Slytherin
3. Draco Malfoy and the Will to Power
4. (in development)
5. (in development)
6. (in development)
7. (in development)
8. (in development)

A/N: Hello! Like the story summary states, this fic will cover Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban from the perspective of Draco Malfoy. If you've arrived as a first time reader, Draco's first two years at Hogwarts are also available through my profile.

I altered and condensed the notes for this series as a whole (available in the first chapter of Draco Malfoy and the Boy Who Lived), and they all broadly apply here. Specific to this fic, Draco will begin to delve into romantic relationships and exploration of his sexuality. I put great effort in to depict everything respectfully. It will be handled realistically to a thirteen year old's experience - as far as I remember things being at that age, anyway. It is not explicit enough to justify an M rating.

Chapter 1: Black At Large

Although the early morning humidity had departed from the manor land, Draco wiped his damp forehead. Standing in shade helped to cool him down, but the thick trousers and wellies he wore worked to the contrary.

A piece of Draco's hair took to brushing his brow in the slight breeze. He wiped again at his face, this time trying to scratch the itch with a woollen sleeve. A few twigs tipped out of the shallow pail he carried.

Beside Draco, Father pointed his wand upward at the most extraneous branches of the ash tree they stood beneath. He moved his hand and wrist very deliberately. "Careful."

"I am." Draco bent to pick the twigs up.

"I'd rather not start over."

"I know."

To do so would mean another month of work. This part of the ritual for drawing a wild elf required certain types of wood be collected from the land on the first day of each new lunar phase. Today being the third quarter was the final of the four.

Father ended up with another twig fit for the pail, and they carried on further south. Every once in a while, the sun would peak through the canopies above.

"We could stop for lunch," Father eventually suggested.

"All right."

They found a log. Father sat, and Draco took to the ground with his back against it. While chewing on a sandwich, Draco poured himself some tea from his vacuum flask.

He made a face after sipping it. "Could you warm this up for me?"

"Here."

Steam rose from the flask lid once Father's Warming Charm took, and they fell back into comfortable silence. It left Draco's mind free to wander.

Father bumped his knee against Draco's arm. "Is everything all right? You've hardly complained at all."

Draco laughed, and Father joined in as far as a chuckle. When they trailed off, Father's question left the air between them tangled with seriousness. "I'm just thinking."

"What about?"

This had been a common preface to any discussion about Draco's previous school year. The further away from it all Draco got, the more unreal it seemed. Sometimes he still felt as though he could go into his desk and Tom's diary would be there, in the same condition it had been before it was destroyed. Draco still dreamed about Tom, as if he'd taken to haunting the manor house.

"Why did you get Dumbledore suspended?" Draco asked. "Was that when you'd figured me out?"

"I wasn't absolutely certain until I saw the look on your face when you saw the diary."

"Right," Draco hastily said. "But did that have anything to do with it?"

Father considered Draco, lips bunched off to one side. He slid off the log with a slight grunt to join Draco on the moss patch. "I'd started to concern you might have something to do with it all. So, yes, I took the final Petrifications as an opportunity to ease Dumbledore aside."

"Why didn't you just ask me if I had the diary?"

"I thought it more productive to send Dobby to search your things instead."

Draco's cheeks warmed, even if he had nothing to feel anxious about anymore. "Oh."

All over again, he started to feel stupid. Draco knew he shouldn't—or that was what he'd been told, anyway. Tom had sunk his teeth right into him.

"Our secrets will be safe, won't they?" Draco asked.

"All this business about the diary will be, at least until you're of age." Father sipped his tea. "Although Dobby was rather miserable here, I believe you and I may have reached a point of understanding with him. Our interests were aligned in that bringing Tom to heel would inadvertently help Potter. Dobby's loyalty at some point sprung a runner for him. If Potter was the one behind the attacks, I don't see Dobby saying anything about it at all. He wouldn't want to betray his new. . .friend."

Draco idly pulled at the moss between them. "How did that happen, with Dobby and Potter?"

"I'm not certain. Elves talk, of course. I imagine an elf as eccentric as Dobby would have seen Potter as some sort of harbinger for change in the wizarding world."

"Because he killed the Dark Lord?"

"Yes."

Draco poked a bony elbow into one knee, his brow furrowing as his fist pushed his cheek up toward his eye. "Tom told me that people liked the Dark Lord because he was going to change things to be better."

"They did."

"Did things just go back to how they'd been before, after the Dark Lord died?" Draco asked.

"For the most part." Father poured himself more tea. "Why?"

"I've been thinking about Potter a lot, and the things he's done," Draco said. "He killed the Dark Lord. He killed Quirrell. Now he's killed Tom and a Basilisk, and one of our house-elves went against its magic to put him before us."

"He didn't kill Quirrell—"

"You know what I mean." Draco waved his free hand. "He has the markings of a Dark wizard. Don't you think?"

"He's only thirteen—or just about is, anyway."

"I'm thirteen," Draco replied. "But I don't have a body count."

Draco looked at Father, then wished he hadn't. He went back to plucking moss to distract himself from the idea he could have had a body count, had Tom actually succeeded in killing anybody.

A flurry of familiar anger fluttered to life in Draco's stomach. Maybe at face value that was true, but what had led to Tom gaining enough power to open the Chamber of Secrets in the first place? Draco had had the diary at Hogwarts for an entire year before things got out of hand. He'd been driven to feed into Tom, and by who? Potter, Hagrid, and the rest of that unsavoury lot, all because of that bloody dragon.

"Maybe he did kill Professor Quirrell," Draco said.

"Draco—"

"You really don't think there's a chance?" Draco asked. "He killed Tom. I don't think it was supposed to be easy. It probably took Dark magic to do it."

"He stabbed it with a Basilisk fang."

"And where did he get that?"

"From the Basilisk, I would imagine."

"And how did he kill the Basilisk?"

Father sighed, for he couldn't answer that. All he could say was that Potter had been covered in filth and blood afterward.

"How did he survive the Basilisk?" Draco pressed. "I really wonder just how much Potter is like Tom, you know."

Father grew serious. "What do you mean?"

"In the very first memory Tom showed me, Great-Grandfather said that Tom was a little orphan boy raised by Muggles. He was a half-blood, like Potter."

"Sure."

"I thought Tom was my friend. He fooled me, and you said he fooled a lot of people. Is that not what Potter's doing right now?" Draco asked. "All the people he's killed, people like Dumbledore say it was all right that happened. The Dark Lord was going to change things, so it was fine he died. Quirrell was going to steal something, so who cares. The Basilisk was Petrifying Mudbloods, so that's okay. Tom—well, even I don't mind Tom being gone."

"It's something to keep an eye on."

Draco studied Father as both of them took another bite of their sandwiches. "You aren't just saying that, are you? You believe me?"

"I see your point," Father said after swallowing. "You're right. Tom hadn't done anything like Potter has until he was older. He had everyone wrapped around his little finger. Armando Dippet, the Headmaster during his time, certainly was. The only one that wasn't was Dumbledore."

"So why doesn't Dumbledore see it with Potter?"

"Maybe he does." Father shrugged. "Maybe he thinks an early guiding hand could lead Potter to being controlled, like Tom couldn't be."

"He's doing a rather poor job of it."

"Controlled, Draco. Not curbed."

Draco's insides squirmed slightly with discomfort. "I suppose he's done a good job of that. Potter would kiss the ground Dumbledore walks on."

"I don't doubt it." Father sipped his tea. "I'm curious if Dumbledore knows I actually had nothing to do with Tom's diary entering the school."

That cold flush was back in Draco's stomach. "Like that he might suspect me?"

"Well, no," Father said. "I've been thinking about what Dumbledore said to me. He's very subtle when he threatens someone. That nothing can be proven with Tom's diary goes both ways. Whose word would hold up better, between mine and his?"

"And I don't suppose the school governors would be of help."

Father laughed mirthlessly. "No."

"Would you really have cursed their families?"

"For you?" Father nudged Draco with his elbow. "Without hesitation."

Draco smiled, warm despite the ghost of feeling stupid for not going to his parents for help sooner.

"Someday when you have a child, you'll find there's very little you won't do for them," Father said. "You would kill."

"Would you?"

The corners of Father's mouth straightened out as he and Draco looked at each other, as did the corners of his eyes.

"Without hesitation," Father repeated. "I would simply rather die than see you hurt, of course, but dying doesn't do much to ensure a threat is properly eliminated."

"I would also rather you were still around," Draco said. "I'm scared about you and Mum dying."

Father furrowed his brow. "Why?"

"You're all I have."

The thought was enough to bring a lump to Draco's throat, let alone speaking it aloud.

"All the more reason to stay on guard, I suppose." Father put an arm around Draco's shoulders. "If it's any consolation, your mother and I are in prime health. I know we probably seem ancient to you, but someday you'll be thirty-eight and you'll realize just how young that is."

"You're almost thirty-nine."

"Hey now."

They laughed again. When Father tapered off, his gaze shifted past Draco. Something white approached them. Draco's first instinct was Vega, but they'd made sure that he and Nova, the new peachick Father adopted, were in their enclosure when they left.

It was an arctic fox: Mum's Patronus.

"Lucius," it said with Mum's voice, sounding anxious, "Aurors are calling at the house."

The fox vanished. Father continued to study where it had stood, and Draco started to feel very, very nervous.

"Why are there Aurors at the house?" he asked. "Do you think—?"

"Don't say a word if it is about Tom." Father stood. "We'll pick this up later. Come."

Draco held the pail, and Father took his elbow. After a dark squeeze, they stood in the manor house's lobby. Echoing voices wafted in from the Atrium. Mum stood at the bottom of the grand staircase with about a dozen Aurors. Draco's heart pounded as he followed Father toward them.

"Go upstairs," Father told him.

"I must request he remain in our company for the moment," one of the Aurors, a tall black man with a hoop earring, said. He extended a hand to Father. "Lucius."

"Kingsley," Father greeted him in kind before they shook. "What's this about?"

"To get straight to the point, Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban."

Draco's stomach didn't know where to go with that. It wanted to leap up from relief because this visit had nothing to do with Tom, but. . .Sirius. Draco looked at his parents for some idea how to feel about that. Both had lost all colour in their faces. The smudges of dirt on Father's cheeks and forehead stood out like ash on parchment.

"He's escaped," Father repeated, deadpan.

Mum moved to Draco's other side and looped an arm tightly around his. "How?"

"We don't know." Kingsley sighed. "We're searching the most likely places for him to have gone. Your manor is on that list, as is Number Twelve Grimmauld Place."

"I understand searching Grimmauld Place, but why here?" Mum went a little terse. "Surely you don't believe we're housing him."

"I didn't intend to imply that." Kingsley remained blasé. "He's familiar with the property, and you're his closest living family. Your house is large enough that a hiding spot would be easy to slip into unnoticed. There's also a concern that Black might use this break as opportunity to take revenge on others he perceives to have turned their back on his old master."

"You think he might hide in the house and murder us in the night," Father flatly said.

Draco felt colder than the depths of winter at that. To think, he could have been asleep in his bed last night while some mad nutter watched him from a dark corner, having already disemboweled his parents.

Kingsley nodded gravely in response to Father's statement. "We can't put it against him. Will you consent to my team searching the house?"

"Yes," Father replied. "Please do, as a matter of fact."

The other Aurors all split into pairs. Kingsley stayed with Draco and his parents. As Draco's heart started to slow, for surely they would find Sirius if he was here, he realized how silly he and Father probably looked. They'd tracked mud on their boots into the Atrium. Father had a wet green patch on his trouser bum from sitting on the moss. Draco likely had the same thing on his.

Kingsley watched a few of the Aurors take the western stairs down to the dungeons. "Have you any secret areas in the house Black might have known about?"

Gaze darting as he thought, Father hummed. "I don't reckon so."

"What about underneath the drawing room?"

Father raised an eyebrow at Kingsley. "He would be rather foolish to have gone down there, had he even known about it."

"And why would that be?"

"There is no physical entrance, and it's protected by a one-way blood enchantment." Father tipped his head toward Mum. "Even Narcissa would be trapped down there should she enter it, given she has no Malfoy blood in her veins."

"Bypassing a blood enchantment isn't impossible," Kingsley replied.

Draco schooled his face straight and took a slow, deep breath. That hit a bit too close to the things he'd done in attempt to get Tom's diary back last year.

"Do you believe Sirius to be in possession of something like a Sanguidis Potion?" Father asked. "I imagine he would have had a time brewing one while in Azkaban, or since his departure from there. I take it he hasn't been out for that long?"

"Since night before last," Kingsley said. "Where were you yesterday?"

"Here," Father answered. "The end of the month is upon us, so I've been preparing to close it for the estate."

"I see."

"I can show you the ledger work from yesterday, when the last of the month's invoices and receipts came in for reconciliation," Father offered.

"That shouldn't be necessary."

With that, they all fell quiet. Draco looked between his parents, who were both unreadable. His father eventually met his gaze. With the tiniest shake of his head, he returned to idly looking around the Atrium.

Draco ended up sitting on the stairs as a tense but boring hour passed. The Aurors gradually returned, claiming different areas of the house to be clear of intruders.

Kingsley looked then to Mum. "You are the current steward of Grimmauld Place, are you not?"

"That role came to me after my father died, yes." Mum hesitated. "It may have changed, now that Sirius is about."

"Would you still have access?"

Mum nodded, then cleared her throat. "Kreacher."

A small pop sounded, and then a wrinkly mess of a house-elf appeared. He turned his focus completely on Mum, sinking into a deep bow.

"Miss Cissy," he croaked in his deep voice. "Always was my Mistress' favourite—such a sweet girl, married so well, my Mistress always said. . ."

Mum smiled a little before returning to seriousness. "Have you been well, Kreacher?"

"Oh yes, Kreacher has been very well." Kreacher stooped again, his snout-like nose never quite directed anywhere but the floor. "Kreacher has been keeping the house like my Mistress always wanted it. . .Kreacher misses her dearly, so very dearly."

"So do I," Mum gently said. "Have you had any company lately?"

"When Kreacher visits, Miss, but Kreacher does not visit often, for the noble elves of Malfoy Manor have much work to do, and so does Kreacher."

"Has anyone visited you?"

"No, Miss, my Master and Mistress did not like the company of low creatures like Kreacher at the house, and Kreacher has always kept the house the way my Mistress wanted it."

"Of course," Mum replied, and Kreacher used the small modicum of praise as opportunity to sink again into a deep bow. "Have you had any human company?"

"No, Miss." Kreacher bowed again. No wonder his back was so stooped, Draco thought. "No human company, no, Miss. It has only been Kreacher at the house, Miss, just like my Mistress wants it."

"Sirius hasn't been by?"

Kreacher stiffened. Still bowed, he lifted his head to look at Mum with bloodshot, grey eyes. He started to mutter mutinously under his breath.

"Never forgiven. . .my Mistress was quite clear on that. . .never come home. . .my Mistress died of her broken heart after Master Regulus vanished. . .noble, he was. . .my Mistress' favourite son—"

"Sirius, Kreacher," Mum said. "Not Regulus."

"Murderer," Kreacher muttered. "Murderer, he was."

"Has Sirius been to the house?" Mum tried again.

"My Mistress would turn in her grave, Miss, for the House of Black to be so defiled with the most disgraceful of—"

"Has the house been defiled?"

Kreacher shook his head so hard that he stumbled a little. "The house is clean, it stays clean so long as Kreacher keeps it. . ."

He kept going under his breath. Mum turned to Kingsley.

"Sirius hasn't been by." Mum gestured at Kreacher. "It would be quite the little display, if he had. Aunt Walburga was very vocal in her disapproval of Sirius."

Kingsley regarded Kreacher with a tilted head. Kreacher took a few steps away from Mum, hands over his ears. "Miss Cissy speaks of him, oh, it puts chills down Kreacher's spine to hear that name again. . .my Mistress, my poor Mistress, to have had a son like that one. . ."

"I'm still quite happy to escort you to Grimmauld Place, if you would like to check for yourself," Mum offered when Kingsley didn't say anything.

"Please," Kingsley replied in that deep, slow voice. "If you would be so kind."

"Kreacher." Mum got his attention. "You may go home."

He popped out, and Mum headed for the lobby with all but two of the Aurors. Once the others had all Disapparated, Father turned to them. One was Mr Yaxley.

"Is there a reason you're remaining here with me and Draco?" Father asked.

Mr Yaxley shrugged, looking unconcerned. "It's just protocol, Lucius."

"Of course."

Father and Mr Yaxley were normally more friendly with each other than that. Draco wagered it was the other Auror being there that kept them aloof. Mr Yaxley regarded Draco, eyes slightly narrowed. The smallest smile pulled on one end of his mouth, and he blinked in a way that looked more like a wink. Draco dipped his head to avoid the other Auror seeing that he'd relaxed, reassured. It was hard to think that they would all find trouble with Mr Yaxley here.

Mum returned a few minutes later. Only Kingsley was with her.

"The search is underway," Kingsley told Mr Yaxley and the other. "I'll return to collect you once we've finished."

Draco's elbows dug into his knees, his fists bunched up against his cheeks. He sighed through his nose while peering at the pail of twigs situated against the nearest newel post.

"Father," he said. "We aren't going to have to start over because of all this, are we?"

"We shouldn't," Father replied. "So long as we manage to collect what we need before sundown, we'll carry on."

The other Auror peered at the pail with interest. "What're you doing?"

"I freed a house-elf a little over a month ago," Father told him. "We're in the market for a new one—wild, this time."

"How does one go about that?"

Father went into explaining the process, but didn't have a chance to finish before Kingsley had returned.

"Grimmauld Place is clear," he said. "It certainly hasn't seen any human activity in some time."

Father hummed. "Well, I wish we could have been of more help. As little I would have wanted Sirius that close to my family, it would be much for my peace of mind if you could have carted him immediately back to Azkaban."

"Mine as well," Kingsley replied.

Following offer from Father to help in any way he could moving forward, Kingsley, Mr Yaxley, and the other Auror departed. Mum and Father both sighed in the manor house's new silence.

Mum folded her arms, shoulders hunched as though chilled. "Well, that was certainly unexpected. Merlin, Sirius."

"Escaped Azkaban," Father mused. "How do you reckon he managed that?"

"Not a clue," Mum said. "I hope he's all right."

Father grunted, grimacing. "After Azkaban? I doubt it—"

"Wouldn't he kill us?" Draco asked. "What about what all the Aurors said?"

"He's family." Mum ran her fingers affectionately through Draco's hair. "Regardless, we'll be careful. Sirius doesn't have to show up here to make contact with me. We can help him from a distance, should he ask for it."

Father let out a little scoff. "The Auror office certainly believes we'll accommodate Sirius, should he seek shelter here."

"That was my read, as well," Mum replied. "I can at least appreciate that Kingsley was tactful in his approach."

Draco furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Coming from a point of concern, he was giving us the opportunity to let his team find Sirius under the guise we had no prior knowledge of his presence here."

"Oh."

Father migrated toward their pail of sticks. He contemplated it, then exhaled.

"Let's you and I lock the house down a bit tighter, Narcissa, and then I'll tend to the rest of this alone," he said. "You ought to stay home, Draco."

Draco's shoulders slumped. "Is this going to mean no more flying this summer?"

Mum and Father looked at each other, thinking.

"For the time being," Father said. "We don't want Sirius to tuck himself away in a foxhole somewhere, just in case he does have malicious intent. I'll lock down the land, and then we'll settle in until things are sorted."