A true knight is fuller of bravery in the midst than in the beginning of danger.

- Philip Sidney

The First Knight

The Shield, the Protector

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It was Dray who was her first friend. The one who made others curious enough, interested enough to approach her (Not that she was not charismatic on her own. It was just that he understood her so well, knowing her thoughts and understanding her actions without her need to explain. Having him as her friend, it was suddenly easier to breathe. Ever since the first day that they met when their skins touch and her fire provided him with the feeling he had always longing but not knowing what).

It was from her first entrance to the Wizarding World, the first time she set foot to somewhere magical. Where she still just a little girl, feeling so overwhelmed with all these new sensations (Hagrid had been helpful, really. But he was also not very smart, and observant). So it was very welcoming when she heard a voice that could only belong to a child, but also educated enough for her to make friends with.

It was when as he stood as patiently as an eleven-year-old boy could for the seamstress to prod her needles at him, Draco Malfoy distinguished a sudden warmth washing over Madam Malkin's. The crackling emerald green fire inside him almost purred with pleasure when he had a taste what could only be described as home, that he noticed her. So skinny and scrawny back then, but still had an air of a lady-in-making which made him curious enough to want to know (and he also so so desperately wanted to find someone look at him for who he was, as Draco Malfoy, instead of mini-Lucius, baby Death Eaters in training).

"Hello. Hogwarts, too?"

That was when he saw the emerald green that had always provided him the feeling of warmness and safety. The green that was his favourite, his security blanket. Therefore, it was no wondered that it had been her eyes that drawled him in. (Later, when he had got to know her better, it was the passion, the affection, the pride and the love that she held for her friends, the emotion that she could not hide, that made him wanted to protect).

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When Draco was eight, there was a kidnapping. This goes to show that even if your father was free from Azkaban and was declared being Imperius when the Dark Lord still alive, not everyone was agreeable to it. There were people who hated the dark and wanted revenge, people who had lost everything and everyone they hold dear under the hands of Death Eaters, people who had nothing else to lose.

So, it was a cold day in December that Draco was abducted from the Malfoy's manor.

He was scared (who would not?), he was terrified (everything was so dark, so cold and so quiet). For days he cried and prayed (always praying, always begging for his parents to come and rescue him). For all his maturity, he was only eight, he was still only a child. He had the rights to feel petrified, to allow himself to have doubts. His parents had hardly told him that they loved him (never knowing what it was like to be loved, to be treasured). Why went through such hassle, he thought, for only a boy? Heir he might be, it was not like his mother could not bear any more children. For his father was always strict, for his mother was always so distant.

That night, the nightmares that came to him were not pleasant. As was the feeling of hands squeezing his neck so tight that he could hardly breathe. His ear ringing with the unpleasant voice of his kidnapper 'You bloody son of a Death Eater. Your bastard of a father murdered my own wife and son, burned down our house and left me alive just to watch helplessly over the remains of a family I once had. There is no justice in this world. The fucking Ministry won't put the bastard in Azkaban. I'm at the end of my rope. I want revenge revenge revenge.'

In the end, it was the crackling fire, the emerald green light, that save his neck from being broken by the rough, calloused hands. It was green for all he could see. It was fire, for he could feel the warmth, but it was not painful. However, his captor was not as lucky, for his scream was full of agony and pain. He screamed and screamed until his voice was raw, his skin was burning hot fire red, and his conscience was gone.

Draco was still young back then, when he activated his Flame, for all that he thought about was oh Merlin no no no / somebody anybody please help me / I don't want to die. He hadn't had enough will to kill, only wanted to be safe from the person that wanted to kill him I'm NOT my father you bloody fuck of dragon dungs.

He then dragged himself out, searching for an exit while repeating the name of his personal house-elf like a mantra.

'Master Draco!' was the last thing he heard when darkness developed him.

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When Draco woke up again, he found himself looking up at a familiar ceiling, felt a familiar softness that was his bed. Finding out he had been missing for more than a month was somewhat shocking (it felt much much longer than that) but then feeling sick when was told his parents only just notice a week ago. And how fucked up was it that the house-elves, who his family had treated worse than dirt, had been so frantically worried about him, had been searching for him high and low, putting so much more effort finding him even more than his own parents.

He wanted to scream, to shout, to cry his eyes out, and to show his parents the despair that he had felt. He was not tortured physically, but mentally he was just a child. And children needed their parents love and care in order to grow.

It was because of the father who was never there, but still expected so much from him (one who expected him to become a second Lucius Malfoy), that he was abducted.

The resentment was not there, not yet, for all their faults they were still his parents, but the experience created a seed in his mind (then again, sometimes, a seed was all you need).