Hey, guys! Happy Friday! I kept my promise and figured this thing out. Yay!
So. To clear something up, most of this story is a flashback. We will catch up to real time, though (Chapter Fifteen, I think).
In this chapter, the summer before Order of the Phoenix as well as the Fifth Year itself is covered.
Copyright: I own nothing. There is one Original Character named Loft (you meet him in this chapter), but I do not own the concept for House Elves. No other Copyright infringement intended.
Chapter Two
I was almost entirely silent throughout the two weeks I was given to decide. I had nothing to say. Both of my parents threw expectant glances at me as they awaited my decision, but even when my last day to choose drew to a close, I hadn't made one yet.
It was either my life and my parent's lives, or Harry's life and anyone else who stood in the Dark Lord's way, and considering how many friends Harry has made, that would be quite a few people.
Logically, to avoid the maximum loss of life, I should refuse what Voldemort had offered and let him kill us, but my heart wouldn't let me. These were my parents, and I did not want to die.
I sat on the sheets of my bed, staring at the dancing flames of the fire as the orange light of sunset glowed through my window, contemplating everything.
How did I get here?
I was only fourteen-almost fifteen then-but I shouldn't have been asked to choose who lives and who dies.
"Hello, sir," a small voice greeted from the doorway.
I glanced towards where I heard it from and found one of our House Elves standing in his rags, hesitating at the doorway. "You can come in," I muttered.
The Elf nodded and entered. "Loft is just here to change the wood in the fire, young master Malfoy," he informed.
I didn't say anything, but the small creature moved forward anyway, and I watched him wordlessly as he worked.
After a few moments of flying embers, the House Elf bowed to me and moved towards the door.
"What should I do?" I blurted out, stopping the Elf his tracks.
The little creature froze for a moment before turning back to me. "About what, sir," he wondered.
Realizing what I said, I paused, trying to think of a cover, but nothing came to mind. I needed to talk about this with someone, and my parents were out of the question. The House Elves have seen a lot, and even when they don't actually do anything wrong, they hurt themselves because they were programmed to. It tore at my heart to see them do it, but I learned a long time ago that it can't be prevented.
"Uh...," I hesitated, but with a sigh, I finally voiced everything. "I have to make a choice. It's basically between who lives and who dies, and I don't know which way to lean."
"Are you asking Loft's opinion, sir?" the Elf questioned, surprise ringing in his voice as his eyes slightly widened.
"Yes," I voiced, "or at least some advice on which to choose."
"Loft does not know, sir," the creature began, "but if it was Loft's choice, Loft would chose the option that killed the least amount of people, sir."
"Yeah," I agreed. "I would, too."
"Then what is the problem, sir?"
"If I take that option, I also choose to kill my family and myself," I answered, my chest tightening at the thought.
"Loft used to have a family, sir, but we were separated when we grew capable enough to serve," the servant explained, "so if it was a choice between Loft's own family and others, Loft would choose his family, even if it meant a greater amount of death."
I huffed out my anxiety, his words cementing my decision. "Thank you," I uttered.
"You are welcome, sir," the Elf responded with a bow before turning back to the door.
"Loft," I called, getting him to look back at me.
"Sir?"
"Don't tell my parents or anyone about this conversation," I ordered, fearing what might happen if he did. What would my father have to say about my taking advice from a House Elf?
"No, sir," he agreed with another small bow.
As the Elf turned back to the door, my father moved briskly through it, hitting the pale creature out of his way.
The servant gave a cry of pain as my father harshly whispered, "Get out of here."
The House Elf nodded as he held his injured arm, taking his leave with a small bow.
"What's your decision?" Father demanded, staring at me with something akin to panic in his eyes.
"Yes," I answered slowly, and with a preparatory breath, I continued, "I'll help him. I'll help the Dark Lord."
My father smiled softly at me upon hearing my answer. "You have made the best decision of your life, Draco," he said. "I will inform our Dark Lord, and we will begin your training as a Death Eater tomorrow."
That was all I did that summer break.
They installed some kind of Dark Arts shield so I could practice without being caught by the Ministry for the use of underaged magic outside of school, so I trained, and trained, and trained. I never got a break.
The Death Eaters that were not currently housed in Azkaban Prison took care of my preparation for becoming one of them. My father couldn't do it because he was biased towards me or something like that. That was all I was ever told. My father watched on the sidelines as I progressed, or that's what they called it.
I was trained in the Dark Arts and taught every spell; they wormed their way into my mind and wand, infecting me. They were so draining. I could only take so much before I collapsed. I became deathly ill for an entire month of the summer. I couldn't keep any food down, and I ran a constant high temperature. I was weak and bedridden, and I slept through most of the month. Thankfully, my Death Eater trainers gave me some reprieve.
We ended training a week before school began, so I would have time to prepare. I thought that the lapse in training was so I could take the time to look normal again.
My skin had paled significantly, and my cheeks had sunken in. I still looked ill, and the more Dark Arts spells I casted, the worse my sickness got. They must have given me that time at the end of the summer to regain some of my lost health.
As the school year began, I could tell that there was something different about the atmosphere around the school, and it wasn't just Professor Umbridge or the O. looming over the other Fifth Years. The air was tense and a sense of foreboding hovered over the students.
Preparing for my O. gave me a chance to process everything. Crabbe and Goyle constantly tried to converse with me and make jokes, but I was never in the mood for it.
"Gotta study," I said over and over again.
"You're starting to sound like a Ravenclaw, Malfoy," Crabbe mocked.
I laughed slightly and retreated to an unoccupied corner of our dungeon common room. I pulled out a textbook and opened it to a random page. My mind drifted as I scanned the words.
I was reporting everything to my father through owl messages. They were done in code so that if the owl was intercepted, they would seem like harmless correspondence between a father and son. I told him how Potter was acting differently: Harry was distant and short tempered. It had to be related to You-Know-Who's return, but Father wanted to know everything anyways, so when Umbridge practically took over Hogwarts, I told him that, too.
Father…suggested that I join the Professor's Inquisitorial Squad, saying that it would not only help train me to take orders without question, but it would make my task of spying on Potter easier. And we had finally gotten a lead that seemed promising.
The rest of the Squad and I watched Potter as he and his friends disappeared through a door practically everyday. The door shrunk in size every time we got close to it. We would burst through it and it was just a storage closet. At first I despised the job of spying on Potter, but now my curiosity was piqued. Where did they go everyday?
My father suggested that we interrogate the people who Potter snuck around with using a truth-telling potion. That earned us what we needed. Cho told us everything about Dumbledore's Army.
Potter grew even more distant after that. He just wasn't the same person he was the first four years of school. With the whole thing about his secret Army resolved, I thought I could wash my hands of the whole affair. I thought I was done.
But I couldn't have been more wrong.
When those Weasley twins interrupted everyone's O. by setting off fireworks inside the school and leading everyone outside, it was quite the show-even though they chased me with one of those fireworks. After that, Potter and a few others disappeared.
No one could find Harry, that Weasley girl with a crush on him and her older brother, that insane blonde girl, the boy who likes plants and that smart girl with the puffy brown hair. Despite that fact, everything at the school resumed. The professors told us that they were looking for Potter and his friends, and we all went home that summer as usual .
I had no idea what awaited me at home. I knew I was in for more intense training, but Potter looked triumphant when he returned to the school. I have been around Hogwarts long enough to know that Potter disappearing combined with a look of triumph upon his return meant that he had faced Voldemort or something of that nature.
My father didn't waste any time when the Hogwarts Express pulled into Platform Nine and Three Quarters. I barely had time to gather my luggage. He was limping but rushed me away faster than I could keep up .
I protested against him, but he held fast to my arm and didn't let me go until we got to our Manor.
"It's my turn to train you," he said between panicked, gasping breaths, finally releasing his hold on me in our courtyard.
"I thought you couldn't," I reminded, dropping my luggage and massaging my sore arm.
"Well, I have to, now," he told me.
"Why?" I questioned, his panic affecting my own nerves.
Father looked back at me with a hardened expression and remained silent for a moment before reluctantly saying, "I made a mistake. I had to get something for our Dark Lord, and I f-failed. I lost what he needed, and now I have to train you."
"As a punishment?" I pressed.
"Yes," Father answered.
"How is training me a punishment for you?" I asked, a fearful curiosity eating away at me.
"I'm sure you've noticed by now that casting Dark Spells drains you and makes you ill ," he began, nervously. "The more powerful the spell, the more energy you lose. Eventually you build up an endurance and are able to tolerate it, but at your level, you can barely stand it. I have to train you in the hardest and most powerful spells. They could kill you."
I didn't respond. I looked back at him, an ice cold fear coiling in my chest. "He's making you kill me?" I hesitantly questioned.
"No," he instantly responded. "I won't do that. But if you don't listen to my advice about these spells, that will happen, and I'm afraid that neither of us have a say in the matter. You have to train, and I have to train you."
What did you guys think? I've gotten good reviews so far. Hopefully this chapter went over as well as the first.
Guess what. I'm actually excited for this upcoming Monday. The Eclipse...School is practically canceled (though I still have to get up at 5-flippin'-30 for a sort of Bible Study class). We'll get to see about 90% of the Eclipse. *Casually plays the Eclipse episode of Avatar and rants about Yue*