Disclaimer: The Harry Potter novels belong to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers and various other entities that are not me. The vast majority of the characters in this fanfiction are borrowed for my own use but do not belong to me. If they did, I’d be a lot wealthier and wouldn’t be spending my time writing silly stories for free. The only thing I get out of it is a bit of enjoyment and less sleep at night, so don’t sue. Unless you want an ulcer too.
Notes: This fanfiction is told through the eyes of one Draco Malfoy. If you don’t like him and think he should rot in the fiery pits of hell, this is probably not the story for you. But if you, like me, think that no one could really be that evil and want to delve a little deeper into his psyche, then come on down. Also, there will be an original character introduced in here. I took the Mary Sue test and I promise she’s not one but if that sort of thing pisses you off, again, this is not the fic for you.
Dedication: Let me tell you a story, one day I was happily writing the last three chapters of “The Replacements” (which I swear, one day will be finished.) and then I innocently read a bit of fanfiction by w&m_law. Then, the plot bunnies attacked. I complained to her and told her it was all her fault, I had this story in my head and it wouldn’t go away. Instead of being all apologetic she somehow hoodwinked me into writing it. She also put up with my incessant IMs on the topic, let me bounce ideas off her pretty much every night and then gracefully became my beta reader. So I’m starting to think she should get writing credits on this thing!
To Amy, for putting up with me... And if it sucks, it’s all her fault! ::eg::
* *
Draco Malfoy looked up at the towering, imposing form that was his childhood home. Malfoy Manor always seemed like the type of mansion some helpless traveler would come across one dark and stormy night while a brilliant crack of lightning illuminated the sky. He sighed deeply and put his bags down on the ground for the house elves to take care of. The place was as dank and cheerless as ever, but now it felt different somehow. He felt an unexplained gnawing at the back of his head telling him to run -- run like crazy. He had never felt that way before, even though most people who visited the old mansion had.
As he entered, he turned around glancing at all the hallways and staircases. He didn’t exactly have lovely memories of his time there. The last year he had spent roaming aimlessly around Europe had been far more enjoyable. He had started out in London and somehow ended up in Stockholm, Prague, Barcelona, Vienna, and Lisbon to name a few cities. It was part of the freedom being young, reckless, rich and handsome. There was always something new to see, do or spend money on. And there was always a different woman in his bed.
Draco sauntered down the hallway to the sitting room where he knew he would find his mother, Narcissa. He could hear her shouting at the house elves. They really were quite incompetent and couldn’t do anything to Narcissa’s liking. She was standing in the middle of the room while the elves bustled around her. Her long, lean figure was in sharp contrast to the dumpy, little elves. It looked to be the natural order of things. They were, after all, beneath her.
When Narcissa saw Draco appear in the doorway she waved the elves off with a flip of her hand. The corner of her mouth turned slightly up in what, for her, was a large smile.
“Draco,” she gushed.
He strode over to her and kissed her cheek gingerly. “Hello, Mum.”
Draco and his mother had always been very fond of one another. They just didn‘t show it in normal ways. She never hugged him or told him how handsome he was. But when other young men where in her presence she’d turn her nose up at them so they’d know she thought Draco was much finer. Narcissa had the ability to make anyone she thought inferior know it too.
He had learned at a young age not to cross her for she was very formidable woman. And if someone ever crossed him, she would surely take care of it. One couldn’t live with Lucius Malfoy for very long without developing a thick skin and learning a few tricks as to how to take care of troublemakers.
Today, Narcissa looked tired. It struck Draco as odd because in all his nineteen years he had never seen her look tired before. Narcissa was true to her namesake in the way that she was concerned with appearances, not just her own but that of the whole family.
“You look sick, Mum,” he commented.
She tried to force her face into its normal state. “Why do you say that?” The movement was definitely not lost on her son. Usually, when she was sick she demanded that everyone wait on her hand and foot until she was back in perfect health.
“No reason,” he lied not wanting to push her.
With that, the subject was dropped.
“I’m glad you’re home, Draco.” She bustled around the room trying to look busy so she wouldn’t have to look him in the face. It didn’t matter. He knew she meant it. That in and of itself brought the feeling that his home was different now back to the forefront of his mind.
It wasn’t that she usually didn’t miss him. She did. She used to send him heaps of presents while he was at Hogwarts trying to make up for the distance between them. She just didn’t usually say things like “I’m glad you’re home, Draco.” She also rarely tried to look busy. She was rich, after all, and shouldn’t ever have to be busy.
“Mum, what’s going on?” he asked abruptly.
She dropped the book she was straightening up and looked up at him. It was obvious that he already knew something was up and there was no point in lying. “Your father’s friends are here, dear.”
Draco cringed. She meant the Death Eaters. His father, Lucius Malfoy, had been a servant of Lord Voldemort since long before Draco had been born. But he rarely brought them to Malfoy Manor because the majority of them were not as well bred as the Malfoys and they made a horrible mess and because he knew Narcissa didn’t like having them around.
It must be something important for him to allow them to have the run of the place, Draco mused.
He turned to leave. “I’ll go unpack,” he said with his mind still on what she had told him.
“Draco...” Her voice made him stop. He turned around. There was something else she wanted to tell him. “The Dark Lord was here last night.”
He blinked unsure what to make of this new revelation. Voldemort had never set foot in Malfoy Manor before, as far as he knew. This was their home, not Voldemort’s lair. Narcissa sighed. He knew she didn’t like it any better than he did. Of course, she wasn’t on the side of the resistance but she wasn’t a Death Eater either. She wasn’t the type of woman to go out making trouble with Muggles and Mudbloods. She’d just simply refuse to associate with them.
She cut him off before he could ask the millions of questions running through his head. “Supper is at six,” she said trying to pretend everything was as it should be.
He nodded and headed up the stairs thinking about Voldemort and the Death Eaters. What were they doing? When he reached the landing those questions were pushed out of his mind by new ones. There was a rather large Death Eater standing at the end of the hallway. He seemed liked he was guarding something.
Draco knew the room he was standing in front of was an old guest bedroom. But it wasn’t as nice as the ones in the other wing of the house so it was usually reserved for Draco’s friends, which there weren’t very many of. He noticed that the hand carved, wooden door that usually marked the entrance to the room had been replaced by a much thicker, less expensive one. Now, Draco was certain that the Death Eater was guarding something but he couldn’t tell what it was as the new door didn’t have any openings, not even a keyhole or doorknob, which meant it, could only be opened with magic.
The Death Eater saw Draco and scowled, silently telling the boy to move it along quickly. Draco, never one to do what others told him, casually continued on his way to his room, which was at the opposite end of the hall. Before entering his room, he threw one last glance down the hall at the Death Eater. He smiled smugly. He lived here after all; he wasn’t going to let them take control of his own house.
Just to be spiteful, he left the door open.
Draco glanced around his room. It was exactly the same as he had left it. With its high, vaulted ceiling and large four-poster bed, the room did not look like a young boy had lived a great part of his life there. It lacked anything childish or sentimental and all the furniture was polished until it shone. It was almost like a museum or an antique display.
His things were already unpacked by the house elves. He checked around to make sure everything was satisfactory. His mind kept wandering back to the Death Eater in the hallway and whatever he was guarding, so he didn’t think of something that the elves hadn’t done right to complain about at dinner, as was standard procedure.
That night, they ate in silence. Lucius and Narcissa at either end of the ridiculously long table while Draco placed himself squarely in the middle. Draco thought it was a lovely metaphor for their relationship. Narcissa was at one end, Lucius at the other, Draco somewhere in the middle and lots of plates, candles and stuff in between them all. Lucius barely acknowledged Narcissa’s presence throughout the entire meal although he kept shooting fleeting glances at Draco as if there were something he wanted to say.
After dinner, they went into Draco’s father’s study and had tea. They talked about the news, gossip and generally said absolutely nothing that was on their minds. They all carried on as if nothing was any different. That seemed to be the theme for the next few days. There was no mention of the Death Eaters or Lord Voldemort, only business as usual. Narcissa entertained guests, Draco told (appropriate) stories of his holiday and Lucius did whatever it was he did when he was pretending he wasn’t evil.
He even went as far as to invite the Minister of Magic himself over for tea on Monday. Draco heard the Death Eaters snickering outside his door. They all thought Fudge was a complete idiot. Draco had no opinion on the man but couldn’t help but marvel at the size of his father’s balls.
Only once was anything out of the ordinary mentioned. The second night at dinner, Draco excused himself and rose to retire to his room telling his parents he didn’t feel well and wanted to go lay down. His father halted him with a gesture.
“Draco,” he said pompously. “You are not to go near the room at the end of upstairs hall. I am sure you know the one I mean.”
Draco nodded. “Yes, Father.”
When Draco reached his hallway again, this time it was the Death Eater who was smiling smugly at him. Draco barely restrained the urge to stick his tongue out at the man.
* *
Draco had been at home for nearly a week when he started to realize that whether he liked it or not, he was involved with whatever the Death Eaters were doing.
It was a dreary, gray day. He had gone to bed early the night before out of sheer boredom. Instead of finding himself refreshed. Draco woke up with his head pounding and all his muscles aching. He felt like he had a wicked hangover or he had been hit in the head repeatedly.
He slowly ambled out of bed without his usual grace. Somehow he managed to get dressed without any major mishaps. He glanced up at the mirror and found a nearly unrecognizable man staring back at him. His hair was all out of place and wouldn’t stand flat. There were what appeared to be bruises all along his neck. And what were even weirder, scratches running up and down his legs.
“Rough night?” the mirror asked. Draco ignored it.
When he showed up for breakfast, his mother gasped. “Draco!” He grasped his head in pain. Oh, why did she have to talk so loud? His father peered at him from behind the paper. He appeared a bit curious but not at all concerned. Lucius shrugged Draco’s appearance off nonchalantly and returned to his reading.
“Did you go out last night?” Narcissa asked worriedly.
“No,” he answered truthfully not that he would‘ve told her if he had.
Draco was notorious for sneaking out. Narcissa had tried to stop him on a number of occasions but had never managed to catch him in the act. He knew every passage in the house like the back of his hand. Besides, he was sneakier than the average boy his age. It was one of the personality traits he was most proud of.
Lucius threw the paper down on his plate. “I’m off,” he announced as he rose to his feet. Without so much as a look in his wife or son’s direction he disapparated leaving Draco and Narcissa alone at the table.
“He has business with the Minister today,” she explained.
“Oh,” Draco said nonplussed. “Anything good in the paper?” he asked hoping to change the topic away from how bad he looked.
Narcissa shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Draco wondered if that meant there was. It seemed all the Daily Prophet wrote about these days was how close Voldemort was to capture and how the war was almost over. Of course, Voldemort wasn’t any closer to capture than he had been when he rose to power in the first place but they were just trying to keep the masses calm. Draco doubted anyone was stupid enough to believe it.
He made the paper fly into his hand. He unfolded it carefully revealing the front page and a headline that read:
Ministry Official’s Daughter Missing
LONDON - Yesterday, the Ministry of Magic confirmed reports that the only daughter of Arthur Weasley, head of the Ministry’s Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department, is missing. Ginny Weasley, 18, disappeared from King’s Cross Station after returning from her final year at Hogwarts last week.
“She was on the train,” says fellow Hogwarts student, Colin Creevey, “I got off with her. Her family just never found her. At first we thought she had gotten lost in the crowd but she just vanished.” Creevey’s testimony supports the theory that the girl was, in fact, kidnapped although the Ministry denies these claims.
“We are greatly saddened by this tragic event,” says a Ministry spokesman, “but wish to assure the public that there is not evidence supporting the rumor that You-Know-Who was involved.” He went on to say that “she probably just got lost and will turn up.”
Weasley and his wife, Molly, have six other children. None of the Weasleys could be reached for comment. Sources close to the family say they are devastated by the loss and are trying to pull together in an effort to find their missing member, still remaining hopeful that she will be returned home soon.
Ginny Weasley is eighteen years old, medium height and build and has very distinctive red hair. She has been missing for six days and is presumed to still be in the area. If anyone has any information on her whereabouts, they are asked to contact the Ministry immediately.
*
Next to the article was a large picture of Ginny. Draco had never paid much attention to the girl while he was at school with her. He only saw her when she was trailing after Harry Potter with a rapt statement on her face. But in the picture, she didn’t look at all like he remembered. She was smiling broadly and looked full of life. She was almost pretty if you liked that girl-next-door look.
While he was examining the photo, a strange image forced itself into his head. It was him in a dark room. He couldn’t see anything but felt passionate kisses on his neck. It was a girl, she was breathing heavily. So was he.
Draco jerked. Narcissa was staring at him. He realized he must have looked very peculiar when he zoned out like that. He shook himself.
“Humph,” Draco snorted. “You’d think they wouldn’t care so much. They have plenty of other kids, what’s it matter if they lost one?” he smirked sarcastically.
His mother dropped her fork to her plate. “Draco,” she admonished sternly.
“What? You don’t like the Weasleys any more than I do.”
“I know...” She looked away and sniffed. He got the impression that she was holding back tears. “I was just thinking how horrible it would be to lose your child.”
Draco sighed. Well, now he felt like an ass. She was probably the only person who could ever make him feel guilty. “Sorry, Mum.”
She smiled weakly. “Forget it.”
* *
Draco returned to his room. He threw himself onto his bed. The Death Eater was still in that same spot, guarding that room. He must be getting tired of standing there, Draco thought. He wondered if his legs were tired and cramping by now. He hadn’t moved since Friday. Of course, Draco had only arrived on Saturday but he was no less certain that the Death Eater had been standing in front of that room since Friday, a little after the Hogwarts Express arrived in London.
He now knew who was occupying that room.
He was surprised at how much the idea bothered him. Voldemort was holding a prisoner at Malfoy Mansion. But why? He shuddered, glad he wasn’t in Ginny Weasley’s shoes. Whatever the Dark Lord held in store for her, he was sure it wouldn’t be pleasant.
He didn’t understand why he felt compelled to go help her -- to rescue her. After all, he hated all the Weasleys and he wasn’t the heroic type. Perhaps it was how sad his mother looked this morning when she had thought of losing him. Or perhaps it was because he knew how horrible it was to be trapped within these walls.
Draco sighed. He really did hate this place. He wanted to leave more than ever. But now, for whatever reason, he couldn’t.
* *
In the days following, Draco tried his damnedest to get in to see Ginny but he never had any luck. Normally he could get into any room in the house without being seen, heard, or leaving any indication that he had been there. This particular week however, he was way off his game. Every morning he woke up more tired and with more scratches and bruises on him than before. He was starting to feel dizzy and would sometimes have trouble standing up. His mother became increasingly concerned about her son, while his father shrugged it off with indifference.
“He will be fine, Narcissa,” Draco overheard his father tell his mother one night before dinner. “It’s almost over...”
Draco started. Did his father know something about why he was sick? Or did he just assume that it was almost over since it had been a few days and he had told them he was starting to feel better? He wasn’t really, he just didn’t want to worry his Mum. Plus, she had threatened to call the doctor and Draco hated the old quack.
One day, Draco was trudging up the stairs to his room. He needed to get some sleep; he was practically falling over on his feet. He had reached the landing and was about to throw his patented sinister glare at the Death Eater when he heard it. From inside the guest room someone screamed. It wasn’t out of fright or pain. They didn’t scare her. It was the low guttural cry of a caged animal. She was frustrated and wanted out.
Draco clutched his head in agony. Why did she have to scream right then when his head was pounding so? He looked up from behind his hands and saw the Death Eater disappear into the room to shut her up. In that brief moment, Draco’s suspicions were confirmed. There was a flash of red when he opened the door, it was unmistakable: Ginny Weasley’s hair. She stood at the threshold, ready and fully expecting him come in.
“Shut up,” the Death Eater commanded her. She only glared at him in response.
Then the door swung shut and Draco was left alone in the hallway with horrendous pain in his head.
Hours later, he still couldn’t get the memory of her standing in the doorway out his head. It was almost as if she had been testing him. Seeing how long it would take for him to come into her room and force her to be quiet. Draco couldn’t get over how different she looked, powerful, courageous and almost beautiful. For someone who had been held prisoner for the last week, she looked in complete control of the situation.
And then there was something else. Every time he thought about it, he got these flashes. They were like bits of a dream he couldn’t remember. There was a voice calling out his name, soft moaning and rustling of bed sheets. He tried to concentrate, to force the fleeting images into his mind but that only served to make them disappear for good. So he shrugged it off and tried to forget about it, but the moment his mind began to wander, there they were. He felt something tickle his chest and nails raking down his legs. Someone was giggling -- a woman. Then more laughter joined hers. It was male. Was it him? He couldn’t tell. He never remembered laughing like that.
Draco wasn’t sure what these odd visions meant. He examined it from every angle. It was possible he was just sleep deprived or that the sickness was making him delusional. But not even the most gullible part of his brain believed that.
It all had to do with a particular image that he couldn’t forget no matter how hard he tried. One morning, he woke up with a start. He looked down and found himself covered in fresh bruises and scratches. Suddenly the images flooded his head again.
The woman was kissing him fiercely. His head was swimming with lust. Her eyes were filled with raw emotion as they always had been in the dreams. Then for one brief second, she looked down at him. The fire was gone. She looked lost and scared.
“Draco, help me,” she pleaded.
Draco lay back on his bed wondering what to do. He had tried to ignore Voldemort and the Death Eaters. But now it was clear to him that he couldn’t ignore them anymore. He knew that they were doing something to him. He knew because the woman in his dreams was Ginny Weasley.
And he wasn’t so sure they were dreams anymore.
* *
The next day, Draco woke up just as weary as the days before. He forced himself out of bed and down to breakfast. The previous evening he had made a decision: he was going to find out what the heck was going on. He didn’t care if it meant breaking every rule his father had ever set for him. He didn’t care if Voldemort himself would be angry with him. Draco didn’t like being used. If he was caught up in their plan then he would be damned if he didn’t know what it was.
His father was absent from breakfast that morning. Narcissa explained that he had business in the city. Draco grinned to himself. How convenient, he thought. That meant that Lucius wouldn’t be around all day and that Draco had the run of the place.
Around lunchtime when Narcissa was in the garden, he slipped into his father’s study undetected. Lucius Malfoy kept his personal journal wrapped in a scrap of Invisibility Cloak behind a painting of Draco’s great, great grandfather. Draco had found it once when he was a boy. He had been looking for money to buy himself a pet dragon. He never had got the dragon, but he did find out that his parents were married because his mother’s family went bankrupt and she didn’t want to lose her position in life. It was in that journal that he had first learned his father was a Death Eater.
Draco was sure that Lucius never found out that he had discovered the journal, and therefore would find no reason to move it. Sure enough, the journal was in exactly the same spot it had been ten years ago. Draco flipped it open to the entry on the Thursday before he arrived.
There, in Lucius’ neat, sloping scrawl were all the answers Draco needed.
The Dark Lord has expressed interest in creating an heir for the sad day when he is no longer around to lead us. (Should his many spells and Dark Magic fail to grant him eternal life.) Unfortunately, because our Master has been so long without a body, he has been rendered unable to create one on his own. I immediately offered him the services of the Malfoy family and he accepted.
Draco scoffed. He supposed in some twisted way, Lucius thought he was doing this for the good of the family. After all, what could bring them more prestige than to have the Dark Lord’s heir be a Malfoy? His father had never bothered to take into consideration Draco’s feelings or anyone else’s, for that matter. He just did what he wanted when he wanted and expected everyone to be pleased with it.
Draco will return home in a week, then he will be used to father the child.
So it was true. Draco hung his head. Up until now he had been holding out some hope. Hope that his father wouldn’t do this to him and hope that he wasn’t really living this nightmare.
When the topic of a suitable mother for the child was raised, I naturally suggested some of the finer bred girls in the area. All of them were rejected by the Dark Lord. In his infinite wisdom, he had decided to select a girl who was not associated with the Cause but rather with the Resistance, as the Aurors would be less likely to kill the child should he ever be found.
The Dark Lord selected Ginny Weasley himself as he remembered her from the Chamber of Secrets...
The leather bound book fell from Draco’s hand. It landed roughly on the marble floor.
Draco was feeling light headed. He reached his hand behind him searching for a chair. Part of him was vindicated, knowing that his hunches were correct. The other part of him was shocked and couldn’t believe it. He buried his head in his hands trying to settle his rattling nerves.
A baby, he thought. He couldn’t get over it. A baby. A tiny, little, innocent baby. His tiny, little, innocent baby.
Things made sense now. Why his father had invited him home for the summer. Why Ginny was kidnapped. Why he had been feeling so tired. Why he had been having those visions. It all pieced together into a horrible, creepy jigsaw puzzle that Voldemort was putting together for the purpose of turning a harmless baby into the most evil creature ever born.
And there was more. Now that he knew, the gates in his mind that had kept his memories bottle up seemed to have sprung a leak.
It was the night he had arrived. He was laying in bed half asleep when he heard commotion outside his door. It sounded like voices. He couldn’t make out what they were saying. He grumbled about the “lousy Death Eaters” taking over his home and tried futilely to return to dreamland.
Suddenly, the door to his room swung open. Draco sat bolt upright in bed. His father stood in the door staring at his son wearing an expression Draco had never seen before.
“Father?” Draco asked. “What’s going on?”
Lucius didn’t answer. The shadows of the night played off his face creating a demonic look. There was darkness in his cold, gray eyes. They were same eyes Draco saw in the mirror but Draco couldn’t see the resemblance anymore. Those little warning bells that had been ringing in Draco’s head since he had arrived were now full blown alarms going off. He wanted to leave. He wanted to say something, to do something -- anything. But he found himself paralyzed, perhaps by fear or perhaps by something else.
His father reached into his robes, searching for his wand. He removed the long, wooden object and pointed it directly at his son’s heart.
Draco finally found his voice. “Father, don’t,” he begged hoarsely not knowing exactly what was about to happen but certain that he wouldn’t like it.
Again, Lucius didn’t respond.
For the first time, it was very clear to Draco that the man who stood before him, the same man who called himself his “father,” would turn him over to Voldemort in a beat of his nonexistent heart. And Draco was afraid. Afraid because he didn’t know what Lucius was about to do to him. But even more than that, it was because every second of his life up until this moment, Draco had strived to be exactly like Lucius Malfoy, a man who would kill him if it would make the Dark Lord happy. And all those years would probably screw him up more than any spell ever could.
“Father, please.” He tried again to appeal to something within his father, something that probably wasn’t there. “Daddy?”
Lucius never spoke. He barely even looked at his son before began to chant something in a language Draco didn’t understand and light gushed from his wand...
* *
That night, Draco was determined to stay up and wait for them to come to him. He wanted to confront them. No matter how much it would cost him, he had to let them know that he didn’t want to be a part of this and that he would never join a group that let people like his father in.
So he lay awake, listening to the sounds in the hallway while pretending to be asleep so they wouldn’t suspect anything. He felt his insides crawl at the thought of what was out there. It wasn’t the Death Eaters or even the Dark Lord. It was the house. The house itself was evil. Little things, like the ticking of the old clock reminded him of where he was and how badly he didn’t want to be there.
But perhaps the worst thing of all was the silence. The silence that echoed throughout the house while he waited. He was ready to burst, ready to jump at every shadow. But the hallway remained still, and no sound ever disturbed the hallway.
No one ever disturbed the hallway.
The dawn came and went. Somehow the sun never seemed to illuminate Malfoy Manor so Draco barely noticed. It was only then when the sun was high in the sky outside his window that he finally admitted to himself that they weren’t coming. They had no need for him anymore. His part was finished.
Then one sound ripped through the stillness. For Draco, it was amplified by the fact that it didn’t belong there. It wasn’t part of the house. And he wasn’t sure if he welcomed it or not.
Down the hall, Ginny was retching.
*
Notes: This fanfiction is told through the eyes of one Draco Malfoy. If you don’t like him and think he should rot in the fiery pits of hell, this is probably not the story for you. But if you, like me, think that no one could really be that evil and want to delve a little deeper into his psyche, then come on down. Also, there will be an original character introduced in here. I took the Mary Sue test and I promise she’s not one but if that sort of thing pisses you off, again, this is not the fic for you.
Dedication: Let me tell you a story, one day I was happily writing the last three chapters of “The Replacements” (which I swear, one day will be finished.) and then I innocently read a bit of fanfiction by w&m_law. Then, the plot bunnies attacked. I complained to her and told her it was all her fault, I had this story in my head and it wouldn’t go away. Instead of being all apologetic she somehow hoodwinked me into writing it. She also put up with my incessant IMs on the topic, let me bounce ideas off her pretty much every night and then gracefully became my beta reader. So I’m starting to think she should get writing credits on this thing!
To Amy, for putting up with me... And if it sucks, it’s all her fault! ::eg::
* *
Draco Malfoy looked up at the towering, imposing form that was his childhood home. Malfoy Manor always seemed like the type of mansion some helpless traveler would come across one dark and stormy night while a brilliant crack of lightning illuminated the sky. He sighed deeply and put his bags down on the ground for the house elves to take care of. The place was as dank and cheerless as ever, but now it felt different somehow. He felt an unexplained gnawing at the back of his head telling him to run -- run like crazy. He had never felt that way before, even though most people who visited the old mansion had.
As he entered, he turned around glancing at all the hallways and staircases. He didn’t exactly have lovely memories of his time there. The last year he had spent roaming aimlessly around Europe had been far more enjoyable. He had started out in London and somehow ended up in Stockholm, Prague, Barcelona, Vienna, and Lisbon to name a few cities. It was part of the freedom being young, reckless, rich and handsome. There was always something new to see, do or spend money on. And there was always a different woman in his bed.
Draco sauntered down the hallway to the sitting room where he knew he would find his mother, Narcissa. He could hear her shouting at the house elves. They really were quite incompetent and couldn’t do anything to Narcissa’s liking. She was standing in the middle of the room while the elves bustled around her. Her long, lean figure was in sharp contrast to the dumpy, little elves. It looked to be the natural order of things. They were, after all, beneath her.
When Narcissa saw Draco appear in the doorway she waved the elves off with a flip of her hand. The corner of her mouth turned slightly up in what, for her, was a large smile.
“Draco,” she gushed.
He strode over to her and kissed her cheek gingerly. “Hello, Mum.”
Draco and his mother had always been very fond of one another. They just didn‘t show it in normal ways. She never hugged him or told him how handsome he was. But when other young men where in her presence she’d turn her nose up at them so they’d know she thought Draco was much finer. Narcissa had the ability to make anyone she thought inferior know it too.
He had learned at a young age not to cross her for she was very formidable woman. And if someone ever crossed him, she would surely take care of it. One couldn’t live with Lucius Malfoy for very long without developing a thick skin and learning a few tricks as to how to take care of troublemakers.
Today, Narcissa looked tired. It struck Draco as odd because in all his nineteen years he had never seen her look tired before. Narcissa was true to her namesake in the way that she was concerned with appearances, not just her own but that of the whole family.
“You look sick, Mum,” he commented.
She tried to force her face into its normal state. “Why do you say that?” The movement was definitely not lost on her son. Usually, when she was sick she demanded that everyone wait on her hand and foot until she was back in perfect health.
“No reason,” he lied not wanting to push her.
With that, the subject was dropped.
“I’m glad you’re home, Draco.” She bustled around the room trying to look busy so she wouldn’t have to look him in the face. It didn’t matter. He knew she meant it. That in and of itself brought the feeling that his home was different now back to the forefront of his mind.
It wasn’t that she usually didn’t miss him. She did. She used to send him heaps of presents while he was at Hogwarts trying to make up for the distance between them. She just didn’t usually say things like “I’m glad you’re home, Draco.” She also rarely tried to look busy. She was rich, after all, and shouldn’t ever have to be busy.
“Mum, what’s going on?” he asked abruptly.
She dropped the book she was straightening up and looked up at him. It was obvious that he already knew something was up and there was no point in lying. “Your father’s friends are here, dear.”
Draco cringed. She meant the Death Eaters. His father, Lucius Malfoy, had been a servant of Lord Voldemort since long before Draco had been born. But he rarely brought them to Malfoy Manor because the majority of them were not as well bred as the Malfoys and they made a horrible mess and because he knew Narcissa didn’t like having them around.
It must be something important for him to allow them to have the run of the place, Draco mused.
He turned to leave. “I’ll go unpack,” he said with his mind still on what she had told him.
“Draco...” Her voice made him stop. He turned around. There was something else she wanted to tell him. “The Dark Lord was here last night.”
He blinked unsure what to make of this new revelation. Voldemort had never set foot in Malfoy Manor before, as far as he knew. This was their home, not Voldemort’s lair. Narcissa sighed. He knew she didn’t like it any better than he did. Of course, she wasn’t on the side of the resistance but she wasn’t a Death Eater either. She wasn’t the type of woman to go out making trouble with Muggles and Mudbloods. She’d just simply refuse to associate with them.
She cut him off before he could ask the millions of questions running through his head. “Supper is at six,” she said trying to pretend everything was as it should be.
He nodded and headed up the stairs thinking about Voldemort and the Death Eaters. What were they doing? When he reached the landing those questions were pushed out of his mind by new ones. There was a rather large Death Eater standing at the end of the hallway. He seemed liked he was guarding something.
Draco knew the room he was standing in front of was an old guest bedroom. But it wasn’t as nice as the ones in the other wing of the house so it was usually reserved for Draco’s friends, which there weren’t very many of. He noticed that the hand carved, wooden door that usually marked the entrance to the room had been replaced by a much thicker, less expensive one. Now, Draco was certain that the Death Eater was guarding something but he couldn’t tell what it was as the new door didn’t have any openings, not even a keyhole or doorknob, which meant it, could only be opened with magic.
The Death Eater saw Draco and scowled, silently telling the boy to move it along quickly. Draco, never one to do what others told him, casually continued on his way to his room, which was at the opposite end of the hall. Before entering his room, he threw one last glance down the hall at the Death Eater. He smiled smugly. He lived here after all; he wasn’t going to let them take control of his own house.
Just to be spiteful, he left the door open.
Draco glanced around his room. It was exactly the same as he had left it. With its high, vaulted ceiling and large four-poster bed, the room did not look like a young boy had lived a great part of his life there. It lacked anything childish or sentimental and all the furniture was polished until it shone. It was almost like a museum or an antique display.
His things were already unpacked by the house elves. He checked around to make sure everything was satisfactory. His mind kept wandering back to the Death Eater in the hallway and whatever he was guarding, so he didn’t think of something that the elves hadn’t done right to complain about at dinner, as was standard procedure.
That night, they ate in silence. Lucius and Narcissa at either end of the ridiculously long table while Draco placed himself squarely in the middle. Draco thought it was a lovely metaphor for their relationship. Narcissa was at one end, Lucius at the other, Draco somewhere in the middle and lots of plates, candles and stuff in between them all. Lucius barely acknowledged Narcissa’s presence throughout the entire meal although he kept shooting fleeting glances at Draco as if there were something he wanted to say.
After dinner, they went into Draco’s father’s study and had tea. They talked about the news, gossip and generally said absolutely nothing that was on their minds. They all carried on as if nothing was any different. That seemed to be the theme for the next few days. There was no mention of the Death Eaters or Lord Voldemort, only business as usual. Narcissa entertained guests, Draco told (appropriate) stories of his holiday and Lucius did whatever it was he did when he was pretending he wasn’t evil.
He even went as far as to invite the Minister of Magic himself over for tea on Monday. Draco heard the Death Eaters snickering outside his door. They all thought Fudge was a complete idiot. Draco had no opinion on the man but couldn’t help but marvel at the size of his father’s balls.
Only once was anything out of the ordinary mentioned. The second night at dinner, Draco excused himself and rose to retire to his room telling his parents he didn’t feel well and wanted to go lay down. His father halted him with a gesture.
“Draco,” he said pompously. “You are not to go near the room at the end of upstairs hall. I am sure you know the one I mean.”
Draco nodded. “Yes, Father.”
When Draco reached his hallway again, this time it was the Death Eater who was smiling smugly at him. Draco barely restrained the urge to stick his tongue out at the man.
* *
Draco had been at home for nearly a week when he started to realize that whether he liked it or not, he was involved with whatever the Death Eaters were doing.
It was a dreary, gray day. He had gone to bed early the night before out of sheer boredom. Instead of finding himself refreshed. Draco woke up with his head pounding and all his muscles aching. He felt like he had a wicked hangover or he had been hit in the head repeatedly.
He slowly ambled out of bed without his usual grace. Somehow he managed to get dressed without any major mishaps. He glanced up at the mirror and found a nearly unrecognizable man staring back at him. His hair was all out of place and wouldn’t stand flat. There were what appeared to be bruises all along his neck. And what were even weirder, scratches running up and down his legs.
“Rough night?” the mirror asked. Draco ignored it.
When he showed up for breakfast, his mother gasped. “Draco!” He grasped his head in pain. Oh, why did she have to talk so loud? His father peered at him from behind the paper. He appeared a bit curious but not at all concerned. Lucius shrugged Draco’s appearance off nonchalantly and returned to his reading.
“Did you go out last night?” Narcissa asked worriedly.
“No,” he answered truthfully not that he would‘ve told her if he had.
Draco was notorious for sneaking out. Narcissa had tried to stop him on a number of occasions but had never managed to catch him in the act. He knew every passage in the house like the back of his hand. Besides, he was sneakier than the average boy his age. It was one of the personality traits he was most proud of.
Lucius threw the paper down on his plate. “I’m off,” he announced as he rose to his feet. Without so much as a look in his wife or son’s direction he disapparated leaving Draco and Narcissa alone at the table.
“He has business with the Minister today,” she explained.
“Oh,” Draco said nonplussed. “Anything good in the paper?” he asked hoping to change the topic away from how bad he looked.
Narcissa shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Draco wondered if that meant there was. It seemed all the Daily Prophet wrote about these days was how close Voldemort was to capture and how the war was almost over. Of course, Voldemort wasn’t any closer to capture than he had been when he rose to power in the first place but they were just trying to keep the masses calm. Draco doubted anyone was stupid enough to believe it.
He made the paper fly into his hand. He unfolded it carefully revealing the front page and a headline that read:
Ministry Official’s Daughter Missing
LONDON - Yesterday, the Ministry of Magic confirmed reports that the only daughter of Arthur Weasley, head of the Ministry’s Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department, is missing. Ginny Weasley, 18, disappeared from King’s Cross Station after returning from her final year at Hogwarts last week.
“She was on the train,” says fellow Hogwarts student, Colin Creevey, “I got off with her. Her family just never found her. At first we thought she had gotten lost in the crowd but she just vanished.” Creevey’s testimony supports the theory that the girl was, in fact, kidnapped although the Ministry denies these claims.
“We are greatly saddened by this tragic event,” says a Ministry spokesman, “but wish to assure the public that there is not evidence supporting the rumor that You-Know-Who was involved.” He went on to say that “she probably just got lost and will turn up.”
Weasley and his wife, Molly, have six other children. None of the Weasleys could be reached for comment. Sources close to the family say they are devastated by the loss and are trying to pull together in an effort to find their missing member, still remaining hopeful that she will be returned home soon.
Ginny Weasley is eighteen years old, medium height and build and has very distinctive red hair. She has been missing for six days and is presumed to still be in the area. If anyone has any information on her whereabouts, they are asked to contact the Ministry immediately.
*
Next to the article was a large picture of Ginny. Draco had never paid much attention to the girl while he was at school with her. He only saw her when she was trailing after Harry Potter with a rapt statement on her face. But in the picture, she didn’t look at all like he remembered. She was smiling broadly and looked full of life. She was almost pretty if you liked that girl-next-door look.
While he was examining the photo, a strange image forced itself into his head. It was him in a dark room. He couldn’t see anything but felt passionate kisses on his neck. It was a girl, she was breathing heavily. So was he.
Draco jerked. Narcissa was staring at him. He realized he must have looked very peculiar when he zoned out like that. He shook himself.
“Humph,” Draco snorted. “You’d think they wouldn’t care so much. They have plenty of other kids, what’s it matter if they lost one?” he smirked sarcastically.
His mother dropped her fork to her plate. “Draco,” she admonished sternly.
“What? You don’t like the Weasleys any more than I do.”
“I know...” She looked away and sniffed. He got the impression that she was holding back tears. “I was just thinking how horrible it would be to lose your child.”
Draco sighed. Well, now he felt like an ass. She was probably the only person who could ever make him feel guilty. “Sorry, Mum.”
She smiled weakly. “Forget it.”
* *
Draco returned to his room. He threw himself onto his bed. The Death Eater was still in that same spot, guarding that room. He must be getting tired of standing there, Draco thought. He wondered if his legs were tired and cramping by now. He hadn’t moved since Friday. Of course, Draco had only arrived on Saturday but he was no less certain that the Death Eater had been standing in front of that room since Friday, a little after the Hogwarts Express arrived in London.
He now knew who was occupying that room.
He was surprised at how much the idea bothered him. Voldemort was holding a prisoner at Malfoy Mansion. But why? He shuddered, glad he wasn’t in Ginny Weasley’s shoes. Whatever the Dark Lord held in store for her, he was sure it wouldn’t be pleasant.
He didn’t understand why he felt compelled to go help her -- to rescue her. After all, he hated all the Weasleys and he wasn’t the heroic type. Perhaps it was how sad his mother looked this morning when she had thought of losing him. Or perhaps it was because he knew how horrible it was to be trapped within these walls.
Draco sighed. He really did hate this place. He wanted to leave more than ever. But now, for whatever reason, he couldn’t.
* *
In the days following, Draco tried his damnedest to get in to see Ginny but he never had any luck. Normally he could get into any room in the house without being seen, heard, or leaving any indication that he had been there. This particular week however, he was way off his game. Every morning he woke up more tired and with more scratches and bruises on him than before. He was starting to feel dizzy and would sometimes have trouble standing up. His mother became increasingly concerned about her son, while his father shrugged it off with indifference.
“He will be fine, Narcissa,” Draco overheard his father tell his mother one night before dinner. “It’s almost over...”
Draco started. Did his father know something about why he was sick? Or did he just assume that it was almost over since it had been a few days and he had told them he was starting to feel better? He wasn’t really, he just didn’t want to worry his Mum. Plus, she had threatened to call the doctor and Draco hated the old quack.
One day, Draco was trudging up the stairs to his room. He needed to get some sleep; he was practically falling over on his feet. He had reached the landing and was about to throw his patented sinister glare at the Death Eater when he heard it. From inside the guest room someone screamed. It wasn’t out of fright or pain. They didn’t scare her. It was the low guttural cry of a caged animal. She was frustrated and wanted out.
Draco clutched his head in agony. Why did she have to scream right then when his head was pounding so? He looked up from behind his hands and saw the Death Eater disappear into the room to shut her up. In that brief moment, Draco’s suspicions were confirmed. There was a flash of red when he opened the door, it was unmistakable: Ginny Weasley’s hair. She stood at the threshold, ready and fully expecting him come in.
“Shut up,” the Death Eater commanded her. She only glared at him in response.
Then the door swung shut and Draco was left alone in the hallway with horrendous pain in his head.
Hours later, he still couldn’t get the memory of her standing in the doorway out his head. It was almost as if she had been testing him. Seeing how long it would take for him to come into her room and force her to be quiet. Draco couldn’t get over how different she looked, powerful, courageous and almost beautiful. For someone who had been held prisoner for the last week, she looked in complete control of the situation.
And then there was something else. Every time he thought about it, he got these flashes. They were like bits of a dream he couldn’t remember. There was a voice calling out his name, soft moaning and rustling of bed sheets. He tried to concentrate, to force the fleeting images into his mind but that only served to make them disappear for good. So he shrugged it off and tried to forget about it, but the moment his mind began to wander, there they were. He felt something tickle his chest and nails raking down his legs. Someone was giggling -- a woman. Then more laughter joined hers. It was male. Was it him? He couldn’t tell. He never remembered laughing like that.
Draco wasn’t sure what these odd visions meant. He examined it from every angle. It was possible he was just sleep deprived or that the sickness was making him delusional. But not even the most gullible part of his brain believed that.
It all had to do with a particular image that he couldn’t forget no matter how hard he tried. One morning, he woke up with a start. He looked down and found himself covered in fresh bruises and scratches. Suddenly the images flooded his head again.
The woman was kissing him fiercely. His head was swimming with lust. Her eyes were filled with raw emotion as they always had been in the dreams. Then for one brief second, she looked down at him. The fire was gone. She looked lost and scared.
“Draco, help me,” she pleaded.
Draco lay back on his bed wondering what to do. He had tried to ignore Voldemort and the Death Eaters. But now it was clear to him that he couldn’t ignore them anymore. He knew that they were doing something to him. He knew because the woman in his dreams was Ginny Weasley.
And he wasn’t so sure they were dreams anymore.
* *
The next day, Draco woke up just as weary as the days before. He forced himself out of bed and down to breakfast. The previous evening he had made a decision: he was going to find out what the heck was going on. He didn’t care if it meant breaking every rule his father had ever set for him. He didn’t care if Voldemort himself would be angry with him. Draco didn’t like being used. If he was caught up in their plan then he would be damned if he didn’t know what it was.
His father was absent from breakfast that morning. Narcissa explained that he had business in the city. Draco grinned to himself. How convenient, he thought. That meant that Lucius wouldn’t be around all day and that Draco had the run of the place.
Around lunchtime when Narcissa was in the garden, he slipped into his father’s study undetected. Lucius Malfoy kept his personal journal wrapped in a scrap of Invisibility Cloak behind a painting of Draco’s great, great grandfather. Draco had found it once when he was a boy. He had been looking for money to buy himself a pet dragon. He never had got the dragon, but he did find out that his parents were married because his mother’s family went bankrupt and she didn’t want to lose her position in life. It was in that journal that he had first learned his father was a Death Eater.
Draco was sure that Lucius never found out that he had discovered the journal, and therefore would find no reason to move it. Sure enough, the journal was in exactly the same spot it had been ten years ago. Draco flipped it open to the entry on the Thursday before he arrived.
There, in Lucius’ neat, sloping scrawl were all the answers Draco needed.
The Dark Lord has expressed interest in creating an heir for the sad day when he is no longer around to lead us. (Should his many spells and Dark Magic fail to grant him eternal life.) Unfortunately, because our Master has been so long without a body, he has been rendered unable to create one on his own. I immediately offered him the services of the Malfoy family and he accepted.
Draco scoffed. He supposed in some twisted way, Lucius thought he was doing this for the good of the family. After all, what could bring them more prestige than to have the Dark Lord’s heir be a Malfoy? His father had never bothered to take into consideration Draco’s feelings or anyone else’s, for that matter. He just did what he wanted when he wanted and expected everyone to be pleased with it.
Draco will return home in a week, then he will be used to father the child.
So it was true. Draco hung his head. Up until now he had been holding out some hope. Hope that his father wouldn’t do this to him and hope that he wasn’t really living this nightmare.
When the topic of a suitable mother for the child was raised, I naturally suggested some of the finer bred girls in the area. All of them were rejected by the Dark Lord. In his infinite wisdom, he had decided to select a girl who was not associated with the Cause but rather with the Resistance, as the Aurors would be less likely to kill the child should he ever be found.
The Dark Lord selected Ginny Weasley himself as he remembered her from the Chamber of Secrets...
The leather bound book fell from Draco’s hand. It landed roughly on the marble floor.
Draco was feeling light headed. He reached his hand behind him searching for a chair. Part of him was vindicated, knowing that his hunches were correct. The other part of him was shocked and couldn’t believe it. He buried his head in his hands trying to settle his rattling nerves.
A baby, he thought. He couldn’t get over it. A baby. A tiny, little, innocent baby. His tiny, little, innocent baby.
Things made sense now. Why his father had invited him home for the summer. Why Ginny was kidnapped. Why he had been feeling so tired. Why he had been having those visions. It all pieced together into a horrible, creepy jigsaw puzzle that Voldemort was putting together for the purpose of turning a harmless baby into the most evil creature ever born.
And there was more. Now that he knew, the gates in his mind that had kept his memories bottle up seemed to have sprung a leak.
It was the night he had arrived. He was laying in bed half asleep when he heard commotion outside his door. It sounded like voices. He couldn’t make out what they were saying. He grumbled about the “lousy Death Eaters” taking over his home and tried futilely to return to dreamland.
Suddenly, the door to his room swung open. Draco sat bolt upright in bed. His father stood in the door staring at his son wearing an expression Draco had never seen before.
“Father?” Draco asked. “What’s going on?”
Lucius didn’t answer. The shadows of the night played off his face creating a demonic look. There was darkness in his cold, gray eyes. They were same eyes Draco saw in the mirror but Draco couldn’t see the resemblance anymore. Those little warning bells that had been ringing in Draco’s head since he had arrived were now full blown alarms going off. He wanted to leave. He wanted to say something, to do something -- anything. But he found himself paralyzed, perhaps by fear or perhaps by something else.
His father reached into his robes, searching for his wand. He removed the long, wooden object and pointed it directly at his son’s heart.
Draco finally found his voice. “Father, don’t,” he begged hoarsely not knowing exactly what was about to happen but certain that he wouldn’t like it.
Again, Lucius didn’t respond.
For the first time, it was very clear to Draco that the man who stood before him, the same man who called himself his “father,” would turn him over to Voldemort in a beat of his nonexistent heart. And Draco was afraid. Afraid because he didn’t know what Lucius was about to do to him. But even more than that, it was because every second of his life up until this moment, Draco had strived to be exactly like Lucius Malfoy, a man who would kill him if it would make the Dark Lord happy. And all those years would probably screw him up more than any spell ever could.
“Father, please.” He tried again to appeal to something within his father, something that probably wasn’t there. “Daddy?”
Lucius never spoke. He barely even looked at his son before began to chant something in a language Draco didn’t understand and light gushed from his wand...
* *
That night, Draco was determined to stay up and wait for them to come to him. He wanted to confront them. No matter how much it would cost him, he had to let them know that he didn’t want to be a part of this and that he would never join a group that let people like his father in.
So he lay awake, listening to the sounds in the hallway while pretending to be asleep so they wouldn’t suspect anything. He felt his insides crawl at the thought of what was out there. It wasn’t the Death Eaters or even the Dark Lord. It was the house. The house itself was evil. Little things, like the ticking of the old clock reminded him of where he was and how badly he didn’t want to be there.
But perhaps the worst thing of all was the silence. The silence that echoed throughout the house while he waited. He was ready to burst, ready to jump at every shadow. But the hallway remained still, and no sound ever disturbed the hallway.
No one ever disturbed the hallway.
The dawn came and went. Somehow the sun never seemed to illuminate Malfoy Manor so Draco barely noticed. It was only then when the sun was high in the sky outside his window that he finally admitted to himself that they weren’t coming. They had no need for him anymore. His part was finished.
Then one sound ripped through the stillness. For Draco, it was amplified by the fact that it didn’t belong there. It wasn’t part of the house. And he wasn’t sure if he welcomed it or not.
Down the hall, Ginny was retching.
*
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