Title: Fire and Powder
Chapter: 2
Necessary disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling. I don't own Harry Potter nor am I in any way legally affiliated with the series. I just like to play with the characters sometimes, especially Draco. Please don't sue me.
Note: HURRAY, this is a super quick update. A big thank you to all of you who reviewed and followed/favorite. I've also posted this story on Archive of Our Own, so feel free to search for it there if you prefer. I AM IN DESPARATE NEED OF A BETA, PLEASE MESSAGE ME/EMAIL ME/WHATEVER IF YOU ARE CAPABLE AND WILLING, I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER!
"The loneliest moment in someone's life is when they're watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald (The Great Gatsby)
Draco was surprised. He didn't expect his father to apparate them one of their many vacation homes. This particular one was located in the Swiss alps. He had been particularly fond of this wintery location on their numerous skiing trips before the Dark Lords return to power.
"Is this safe?" his mother asked, her pale eyes deliberating.
Lucius nodded curtly, offering no further explanation, and headed towards the snowy cottage. Draco and his mother followed closely behind him, eyes darting around them as though afraid someone was lurking in the shadows.
The house was almost as cold as the air outside, and Lucius quickly ignited the fireplace in the small living room. The cottage smelt stale and unused, and looked as though it hadn't been touched in years, which, of course, it hadn't. Draco idly wondered where the house elves were, before it occurred to him that of course they couldn't be brought along.
This was one of the more modest homes in the Malfoy family, saved exclusively for skiing excursions. The furnishings were lavish and expensive, of course, but the house itself was not very impressive in size. Draco had always preferred it though, feeling it held a warmth that the larger manors lacked. He wandered the few rooms, finding his old bedroom. There was a full bed with a plush emerald comforter and a dark wooden headboard engraved with the Malfoy family crest. A small scattering of Quidditch posters littered the walls, the hovering figures waving at him like long lost friends. There was a single window in center of the far wall, the glass icy against his hand. He breathed against it, and rubbed with his hand to see the view he had adored so much as a child. There, at last, loomed the alps, menacing and glorious in the distance, covered in snow and skiers. His younger self would have been practically jumping up and down with anticipation—that is, if Malfoy's partook in such frivolous, childish behavior—and begging Father to let him go on one of the larger slopes. But those days were in the past.
"Draco?" his mother prompted from the open door. Draco turned abruptly away from the view as his mother continued, "Your father wishes to speak with you."
Draco nodded, and moved past her into the hallway and towards the living area once again. The room was warmer now, and he settled into the large couch in front of the fireplace, relishing how the flames eased the chill in his hands.
Lucius was sitting in the large armchair next to the couch, looking pensively into a glass filled with a dark liquid. Draco longed to ask him what was happening, what they were going to do, but he knew better. He would let his father do the talking.
"Do you understand what is happening?" Lucius asked after a moment.
"I believe so," Draco replied, hoping, despite his answer, that his father would elaborate further.
"Hm, well, so you understand the extremely precarious situation we have found ourselves in?"
Draco looked down at his forearm, able to tell exactly where the Dark Mark was even though it was below layers of clothing. "We can't out run him."
"Indeed, son, we cannot," Lucius responded, in a grave voice. "We can leave the country, leave the continent even, but we cannot escape the Mark."
The resignation in his voice wrenched at Draco's heart. Surely they weren't just giving up? "So we're doomed? That's it then?"
Lucius looked at his son with sad eyes and didn't respond, he just took another sip of the dark liquid.
Draco let out a heavy sigh, wishing that he was brave enough to ask his father for a glass of whatever liquor he was currently drowning his sorrows with. "What do we do now?"
Lucius swallowed the last of the alcohol. "We wait."
Draco watched out his window as families in the distance laughed and enjoyed the winter evening. They were heading back to their separate lodges, oblivious of the war around them. Draco never understood why his father, who passionately detested Muggles, had kept this property even though it was so close in relation to Muggle lodges. When he was little he used to watch the Muggle children building snowmen and playing and he would feel pity. They would never know magic, he had thought.
He was never allowed to play with them, not that he would have wanted to associate with such filth anyway, but it was often lonely. His father was always sure to invite another pureblood family with them on their vacations in order to allow him to associate with other well-bred children. It was purely politics, though, and Draco wouldn't have minded more company than the stiff children of his fathers allies.
Now, he was alone, save his mother and father. It was only a matter of time until the Dark Lord caught up to them. Surely he was already furious, it must only have been his desperation to find Potter that had kept the Dark lord from trying to summon them through the Mark. It was only a matter of time. Draco knew his aunt Bellatrix would do nothing to protect them, she was most likely the one to turn in her sister, brother in law, and nephew to the Dark Lord.
This was all Potters fault. If only him and his stupid blood-traitor sidekick had stayed put and faced their fate like the ridiculous Gryffindors they were, his family wouldn't be facing imminent doom. Hatred wound itself around Draco like a boa constrictor, preventing him from thinking of anything except revenge on his schoolboy rival who had ruined his life from the moment he stepped into Hogwarts when they were eleven.
Draco woke abruptly from a nightmare, jerking completely upright in his bed, green sheets sticking to his sweaty body. The images from his sleep were fleeting fast, and he only remembered flashes of a rope being pulled taught, a knot tied tightly in place. Sinking and suffocating.
It was only a dream. He was overreacting like some little kid. He pressed his hands to his face, pushing the ridiculous thoughts from his mind while his heartbeat slowed.
"Malfoy."
The voice caused him to jump, instinctively grabbing his wand from under his pillow and pointing it at the corner of his room where the sound orignated.
A shadowy form took a step forward.
Draco's breath caught in his throat as a shard of moonlight reflected against furious brown eyes.
End Note: Sorry for the cliff hanger, I'll get the next chapter out soon though. I'm quite taken with this story and am interested to see how it pans out. Please review :)