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The part of Dracoâ€™s life you never read in the books is revealed here in this story. He wasnâ€™t always the coward he seemed, and maybe he was only so cold-hearted to non-pure bloods because that was what was expected of him. Maybe, deep down he was a softer personâ€¦ but he was just afraid to show it.
Breaking Tradition: A Draco Malfoy Story
Chapter 1: A Park Bench in London
A 16 year old Draco Malfoy sat at his dining room table. The walls were dark, matching the rest of his house. He pushed some breakfast around on his plate miserably. His mother sat across from him. There were heavy bags visible under her eyes which were puffy and red. She too was fiddling with the food on her plate. They rarely talked anymore, even though they now had the house to themselves, except for the visits from Draco’s aunt Bella. Draco’s father was arrested three weeks before, so he was absent from the house now. He sat rotting away in Azkaban while his wife and son sat silently at breakfast. It had been a half an hour when Draco decided he had enough of his mother’s constant silence. He was bored and felt like he would soon go insane if he stayed there. He suddenly pushed himself up from the table. Narcissa’s eyes shot to him at once and she spoke in a soft voice, “Where are you going, Draco?” As he strode to the gigantic, ornate fireplace against the wall and grabbed some flu powder, he answered with annoyance in his voice, “Borgin and Burke’s. I need some air.” He hated being stuck in his gigantic house, so lonely. His mother was sad all the time. If she wasn’t crying, she wasn’t making noise at all. Narcissa had nothing to say to him. She stared back down at her food with a hurtful look on her face as her son stepped into the fireplace, muttered some words and disappeared.
Draco appeared in the fireplace of Borgin and Burke’s, a store which he was so familiar with. He briefly looked around with disinterest at some of the odd items the store always had in stock and then left through the front door. He walked down narrow paths of Knockturn Alley. The lopsided, towering buildings cast shadows that covered the walkways completely. Draco moved at a swift pace, ignoring an odd wizard that was shaking uncontrollably and shouting, “Help me, young man. Please! Please! Someone help me!” Finally he reached Diagon Alley. His friends Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle were standing across the uneven, cobblestoned street near Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour. Draco stopped dead. He didn’t want to be seen. He used to relish in their company. Normally Pansy would hang onto Draco’s every word. She made her crush on him painfully obvious, while Crabbe and Goyle were Draco’s regular lackeys. They took orders from him like they had no minds of their own. Recently, though things had been more awkward between them all. Crabbe and Goyle’s fathers were sent to Azkaban the same night Draco’s was. No one really knew what to say to one another anymore. They were all miserable and Pansy just hung around in hopes of seeing Draco. He got a sickening vibe that she thought her presence would make Draco happy again. To avoid the situation, he quickly made his way past them as a crowd of school-aged girls shielded him from their view.
He strode into The Leaky Cauldron. People stared at him. Draco was sure he knew what they were thinking. Their faces said it all. That’s the Malfoy boy. His father is a convicted death eater. The whole Malfoy family was used to being on top of the social pyramid, but now that his father had been caught in the department of mysteries doing Voldemort’s work, they had lost many people’s respect. Even people Draco considered to be low-lives acted better than him now. He hastily left through the front door before anyone else noticed him and gave him a judgmental look. He gazed out at the busy London streets. People walked past him, completely ignoring the pub like it wasn’t even there. Draco felt almost like he too wasn’t there. Recently he had loved this feeling. Before he loved being the center of attention, but now he wished people would forget he had existed. He walked down the gloomy street, his mind lost in thought. He kept remembering the last few weeks.
His aunt Bella, who he just recently met, had been meeting with Voldemort since she broke out of Azkaban earlier that year. Whenever Draco caught her and his mother talking, it would always be in hushed voices in the parlor. He heard part of their conversation one night.
“The Dark Lord wants him. Think about it, Cissy. He could bring your family back in good standing.” He could hear his aunt saying to his mother.
“I don’t know, Bella. He’s just a boy! He's so young…”
“Cissy, it is an honor that the Dark Lord would choose him. An honor… He’s the only one we have who is close to Dumbledore. He’s the only one who can do it!”
Draco shifted his foot and the floor underneath creaked. His mother and aunt stopped talking immediately and Draco knew they heard him. He walked further into the room where they could see him. His mother gave him an anxious smile. He knew she was wondering how much he had heard.
Bellatrix finally spoke, “Draco, what are you doing up? You should be in bed.”
“What were you two talking about?”
His aunt flashed him a crooked smile, “Nothing that you should worry about. Off to bed now.”
Draco gave his mother one fleeting look. She ignored his gaze with a guilty look upon her own face. He made his way back to his room.
What could she possibly mean? This question haunted Draco every day since he had heard the conversation. I’m not close to Dumbledore. I hate that stupid oaf and he knows it, I’m sure. How am I supposed to get anything done involving him?
Draco suddenly realized he was daydreaming when he reached a bench sitting on the sidewalk. He took a seat and rested his face in his hands. In the back of his mind he thought knew what Voldemort wanted him to do, but the flicker of the thought made his stomach turn. Draco knew Voldemort had wanted Dumbledore dead almost as much as Harry Potter. His mind could finally admit it: He wants me to kill Dumbledore. Just the words running through his head made him sweat. He had such doubts in himself. My mums right. I’m too young to do something so important. He thought to himself.
Just then he heard someone stop next to him. He lifted his head partially to see a young woman with reddish brown hair and light skin was standing near the bench. “Excuse me.” She said with a surprising American accent. “Do you mind if I sit here?” He simply shook his head and returned his face to his hands. She sat next to him. He could feel her gaze burning a hole in him. He didn’t need anyone else judging him. That’s why he came to the streets of London in the first place. Muggles didn’t know who he was… they would ignore him like he wanted. A miserable smirk made its way across his face as he thought, every muggle in this city can ignore me except the one who has to sit next to me. He decided to get up and leave, but before he could even move to stand, he heard her let out a small gasp. He turned to face her and noticed she was staring at his pocket. She noticed him staring at her and she closed her mouth quickly and turned forward again. He squinted at her, “Something wrong?” She looked over at him hesitantly. She leaned close to him and whispered, “You’re a wizard. I can see your wand poking from your pocket there.” Quickly, he shoved his wand deeper into his pants pocket as he mumbled, “So you’re not a muggle after all. Out of all the people for me to meet when I’m looking to blend among muggles it has to be a witch.”
“Why are you trying to blend with muggles? Are you in trouble or something?”
He shook his head, “I just don’t want to be around people who know me. Tired of them is all.”
She let out a small sigh, “I’d give anything to be around people who know me. I don’t know anyone around here…”
“I can tell. You don’t sound very British.”
“I’m not… I moved here a few weeks ago. I’m living with my aunt and uncle for now.”
Draco was compelled to ask her what her family’s name was to compare blood statuses, but he was sure if he told her his she would eventually know about his father’s imprisonment, and he was too ashamed.
Her voice finally broke the silence, “Tough times here I noticed. I’ve been hearing rumors about He Who Must Not Be Named coming back. My uncle doesn’t really know what to make of it. Do you think it’s true?”
He sat silently for a moment. He barely nodded, “Yeah I reckon it is.”
“I don’t really know too much about that. It’s not really leading news in America. But my mother did say before that it was scary last time he was about.”
Draco didn’t answer, and they sat in silence for a moment until the girl finally introduced herself, “I’m Amelia by the way. Amelia Sparks.” He thought to himself for a second about her last name, but it wasn’t familiar to him. Eventually, he answered, “Draco…” He almost said his last name, but if she had just been reading the Prophet or overhearing gossip she could recognize it and about his father. Draco was too ashamed even for a near stranger to know.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Draco.” Her eyes skimmed over him, fully taking him in for a moment. Then they switched to a nearby store. He noticed her looking over there, but didn’t say anything. There was another moment of an awkward silence before Draco piped up again.
“Erm, so if you ever need someone to show you around just send me an owl. I live in Wiltshire.”
He didn’t know why he said that. He didn’t know why he felt compelled to spend more time with her. Maybe it had something to do with her not knowing him, not judging him, not trying to impress him. Just someone he could be himself around. Someone he could start new with.
“Thank you. I think I will. So, Draco from Wiltshire… is it nice there? I live here, in London.”
He shrugged, “Nice enough.”
The conversation suddenly stopped. Amelia looked over at the nearby store and smiled. A woman with shoulder length blonde hair walked out holding a shopping bag. She headed over to where Draco and Amelia sat and stopped next to them. Amelia smiled at her as she introduced Draco, “Aunt Emilie, this is Draco. We just met.” Draco straightened up right away and extended his hand to her, “It’s nice to meet you.” Emilie shook his hand and gave him a brief smile. She then turned to Amelia, “Ready to go, dear?” Amelia nodded and stood up. She flashed a smile to Draco, “I’ll be sending you an owl soon so we can get together for that tour.” Her aunt ushered her away up the street. Draco sat alone once again.
It had been two weeks since he had met the girl with the reddish hair. He hadn’t left his house since that day. It had been raining almost nonstop. He sat in one of the towers of his home, staring out the dingy window. Rain pounded against the glass like someone was washing it with a hose. There was a knock at the door and his mother came into the dusty room, followed closely by his aunt. The walls were covered in paneled cherry wood and the floor was a dark chestnut. Shelves littered the room and boxes were placed randomly on the floor, within them various storage. They wandered over to where he was sitting and sat on boxes beside him.
Narcissa spoke first, “Draco I have such good news.” He didn’t answer her, merely just looked at her. She shifted uncomfortably, “The Dark Lord wants to make you one of us, Draco. He wants you to be a death eater.” She gazed at him with underlying hope in her eyes. When he didn’t say anything his aunt Bellatrix joined in, “You should be happy. This is an honor that the Dark Lord himself would invite you to be one of us. It’s an insult to be anything but happy.” Draco slowly turned to the window again to look out at the gloomy yard. Finally, he spoke, “I am happy… honored. Of course I’d love to be a death eater…” A sigh of relief came from his mother. She moved to him and gave him a tight hug as she whispered in his ear, “Your father would be so proud if he knew. So proud.” Draco looked over at his aunt who shot him a momentary suspicious look. They stood and walked out, closing the door behind them.
Draco pressed his forehead against the cold window as he stared into space. He wanted to be excited, but couldn’t bring himself to be. If only his father was here. Maybe he could be happy then. Just at that moment he noticed a small speck in the sky coming closer to him through the rain and fog. Slowly he could make out its wings flapping roughly against the wind, and eventually its light brown color. The owl landed surprisingly gracefully on the other side of the window he was staring out of and pecked twice on the glass.
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