Shades of Gray

Prologue

The choice came before I was ready, without warning, without mercy. Light and Dark and Good and Evil and Power and Weakness all blurring together and they forced me down this road.

To be or not to be will not be my question to answer when the time comes; my Fate is removed from my power. There will be no choice, in the end, no second option or hope of redemption. My death will likely be over exaggerated, the truth hidden. I am possessed in equal parts by the polar opposites of the universe: Light and Dark. They who have started me down this road did not expect me to stray from such; I dart from path to path and trample through the brush blindly. One trail is Light, is fighting for Dumbledore and all that he embodies, the other road leading to the offering of my Soul to Voldemort. So many do not understand the difficultly of such a choice, so many would find the option of evil synonymous with pain and hardship. But I am bound to the Dark Lord, tied deeper than even Harry.

I offered my Soul; I offered my Life and my Death, my Love and Pain and Pride and Hate, sold it for that package of both Salvation and Damnation. I became a spy, sold my life to the Ministry, turned around, and sold myself again to Voldemort. So both sides were satisfied, everyone thought that Draco Malfoy was theirs. I am not the Dark Lord's, I am not Dumbledore's, nor do I belong to myself.

And so I walk two roads and stumble between them in the half-light of late evening. I consider this fading twilight dark while knowing this is only the beginning. There will be no moon, no stars, no sun or hope or prayers. I will lead my own way, I will trace the footsteps of Snape, I will follow in the ways of Darkness and Light.

There are those who knew this would happen: who predicted this double life for me, who claimed to see past the ever-present darkness within me and find the light I would serve the Ministry's side of the battle with. Did they know, when they chose the life of the two-faced for me, what it was, what they were doing? That they were reshaping my entire being, by twining Good and Evil together within me? I was 15 when they forced this upon me, now I am 18; I am torn and pained and grieved, hated and neglected. I was loved. I am a victim of a world without a conscience, of a battle that cares little for its warriors, of a universe that cares nothing for me. There is no guiding light on the horizon; the tunnel ends not in pure light but in deeper darkness. I have been robbed of my soul and left with the shards. I gave what was left to Harry, now the hollow pounding in my chest aches with each breath.

The Ministry cares not. Voldemort cares less. He would notice if I died, he does not notice that I am dying. And it is more Dumbledore's fault than the Dark Lord's own, Dumbledore who sold me so easily to two sides, who watches me die with a twisted amusement, who bargained me away that Harry might be saved. There is an old cliché about dying without the world noticing: I am fading into eternal oblivion and the world simply doesn't give a shit. And somehow my lover remains blind to my emptiness as well. I am the best spy available. Closer than anyone to Voldemort, so wonderfully distanced from emotion, able to do whatever is asked of me by either side, more powerful than Potter and able to nearly defeat the Dark Lord himself in a duel. But I do not fight with the Death Eaters at the order of Voldemort. I am far too important to him to risk being lost in a skirmish.

What the Ministry does not, cannot, know, is what I am to Voldemort. What he has robbed me of on the most basic levels available. Why I can convince him to do nearly anything, what power I hold over him. If Fudge knew, if Dumbledore knew, -if Harry knew- if they suspected at all, I would be a traitor -adulterer-, ruined beyond redemption and killed -abandoned- without another word. And I am beyond saving now; no one can forgive me for this worst of all sins.

I am the consort of Lord Voldemort, Satan Incarnate.

And so I suffer in this worst of ways, for with every night he trusts me more and more, allows me more and more free reign. I suffer because I know first about attacks, I know the details of the assassination plots before the other spies, I can convince him to do otherwise on occasion. I suffer for the Muggles, the Mudbloods, the supporters of Light.

And for Harry, mostly for Harry.

~~~~~~************************~~~~~

Part I

Chapter 1

Gray is generally not a color generally associated with summer, but the past few months had been unfailingly and monotonously gray. Not silver and shimmering, but the color of a dull knife, an indifferent sort of shine that hung gloomily in the heavens. The rain dripped slowly past the window as the boy in the library ran from various shelves to the large desk and back with armloads of books, energy surely enhanced by adrenaline (or perhaps just caffeine). Obviously driven by some unknown purpose, he turned the pages of the thick volume now sitting on the desk quickly but not hastily. Sky- colored eyes, which is to say, in this case, a sharp gray, darted across the pages in such a manner that an observer would assume that the words blurred meaninglessly. But Draco Malfoy saw every word on every page, biting his lip hard in frustration when the book he happened to be searching proved to be as useless as every other tome he had searched in the last three days.

The appearance of a slightly scandalized looking house-elf in the doorway failed to deter him from his quest. "What?" he hissed angrily, eyes still fixed on the book. "Blinkin is sorry, sir, but people are asking for sir at the door," the small creature squeaked. "Ministry people, sir," the elf added, bowing and shrinking away. Draco swore fluently in a number of languages as he closed the book he was poring over with a satisfying thunk and stormed past the elf, which followed him hurriedly. At last reaching the thick mahogany doors, Draco seized hold of the huge dragon shaped silver rings and threw them apart, revealing a cluster of navy-blue robed wizards, faces mostly covered by dark hoods. But one, standing mere inches from Draco, wore no hood, and a cloak not blue but a deep scarlet. He met Draco's cold stare unflinchingly, a false smile playing across his lips.

"Mister Malfoy," he said. "So good to see you again."

"Oh, quite, Headmaster," Draco said sarcastically, sneering openly at Albus Dumbledore. "I'm afraid you've . . ." he smirked and surveyed the ten or so Ministry officials gathered on his doorstep, "caught me at a rather inconvenient time. I regret to inform you that my father--"

"We're not here to speak with your father, Malfoy," came another voice from behind Dumbledore. Draco shifted his gaze to see none other than Arthur Weasley remove the hood and glare icily at him. "Do you mind if we have a look around?"

"Absolutely," Draco spat. "What is the meaning of this?" he hissed at Dumbledore, who smiled vaguely.

"Your parents were arrested while on holiday in France. Apparently they were trying to purchase a banned potion off of the black market, unfortunately for them," Weasley sniggered loudly, "the 'seller' was an undercover French official. The Ministry has secured the rights to search this house for any other . . . banned substances."

"This is absurd," Draco snapped. "Show me the papers." A Ministry witch that Draco did not recognize held out a stack of parchments, signed by Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic. He flipped through them quickly and shoved them back into Dumbledore's hands. "Fine," he said, suddenly weary. "I'll be in the library." He spun on his heel and turned to leave when someone grabbed his forearm and pulled him back forcefully.

"I believe you will be accompanying us, Malfoy," Arthur Weasley hissed, digging his nails into Draco's arm.

"My apologizes, Mister Weasley, but I am in the middle of something." And with that, Draco wrenched his arm free of Weasley's grasp and swept down the hall, cloak billowing out behind him in waves of darkness, leaving Weasley standing dumbstruck in the rain.

There must have been more Ministry wizards than Draco had originally assumed, he counted seven total in the hallways on his way to the study, not to mention that there was one in nearly every room he passed. Dumbledore himself seemed to be omnipresent, a fact which Draco found to be most infuriating. He generally avoided the Headmaster at school, having him arrive with Weasley in tow had been anything but a pleasant surprise. To his great relief, the library was still devoid of officials, and Draco hurried to the shelves to retrieve yet another stack of books. Dropping them unceremoniously on the desk, he flipped the top one open and stood above it, one hand on each side of the book, hair falling across his temples as he leaned over to bring the words into sharper focus. He was quickly engrossed his work, mind blocking out nearly all sound in order to fully concentrate. A loud cough soon broke him from his peaceful train of thought, and the overwhelming urge to beat the life out of whatever house-elf or official was in the doorway gripped him ferociously.

"Get out," he hissed venomously, digging his nails into the soft wood of the desk. "Now."

"Not even a hello? My, my, Malfoy, where are your manners?" Leaning against the doorframe stood none other than Harry Potter, clad in the robes of a Ministry wizard, arms crossed and looking impossibly smug. Draco turned his head sharply and glared furiously at the smirking boy in the doorway.

"My manners, Potter, do not extend to Muggle-lovers such as yourself. OUT!" he roared, and Harry flinched slightly, not expecting the sudden outburst.

"But Draco," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes, "don't you want to help your mummy and daddy?" he continued, in a pathetic imitation of a little child. "And Dumbledore said if you help-"

"I'm not helping him. Or you, or the Ministry, or anyone."

"Unless you help us, we won't help you."

"Please," Draco said looking disgusted. "What the hell makes you think I need help? Although from what I hear, you certainly could use some mental help."

"Borrowing insults from some pathetic reporter? You continue to sink to new lows." But Draco had already immersed himself in the book in front of him, and either didn't hear or chose not to care. Suddenly gripped by what he considered to be the best idea he'd had in a long time, Harry decided to test just how interesting that book was. "Goyle is madly in love with Crabbe." Draco made some indistinct noise and turned the page. "Crabbe is madly in love with you."

"I suspected as much," Draco replied nonchalantly, turning another page. The silence stretched between them until Harry's inquisitiveness got the better of him.

"What is that?" Harry asked, looking curiously at the book.

"None of your goddamned business, Potter," Draco snapped. Lazily uncrossing his arms and taking his weight off of the doorway, Harry walked slowly to the desk where Draco stood. He moved to look over Draco's shoulder, only to find his view obscured by loosely falling silver hair. Moving his hand down to brush the troublesome strands away, he failed to notice that Draco's arm was moving also. Digging his rather long nails into Potter's hand, Draco let go when Harry let out a satisfying howl of pain.

"What was that for?" Harry whined, nursing the bleeding half-moons on the back of his hand.

"Don't. Touch. Me."

"Bloody bastard," he mumbled, and walked around to the other side of the desk, grabbing the front cover of the book and flipping it shut on Draco's hands. Placing both of his hands on top of the book, he pressed down with all of his weight, reading the title upside down. "A Complete Guide to Protection Spells," he read aloud.

"Thank you for proving you can read, Potter. Or did you let Granger borrow your invisibility cloak so she could whisper it in your ear?" Harry's eyebrows receded into his hairline.

"You know about that?" he whispered, astonished.

Draco sneered in an exceedingly evil way. "I suspected as much, but many thanks for confirming my suspicions." Harry resisted the urge to slap himself, and the subsequent one to slap Draco. "Now, if you don't mind, would you please GET OFF?"

"One more thing."

"Fine," Draco sighed with the air of one humouring a small child.

"Do you believe that there is such a thing as good and evil?"

"Not quite," he said flatly. "And even so, both of them really have little use in the end. It all comes down to strength, in whatever battle the world happens to be fighting."

"You're right," he said, staring straight ahead yet seeing nothing. Wide-eyed and pale, he stepped backwards and slowly slid down the floor-length window behind him as Draco watched with mild interest. He frankly cared little about Harry Potter's well being, but should something happen while he was alone with a certain Boy Who Lived, Dumbledore, not to mention Weasley, would instantly suspect the worst and Draco had no desire to explain himself. Exhaling deeply, he stepped around the desk and sat next to Harry at the windows.

More nervous than sincere, eyes flicking to the doorway as if Dumbledore might unconsiously sence Harry's anguish and appear, he patted Harry's shoulder awkwardly. Continuing lost its point as Draco realized that Harry was definitely not paying any attention whatsoever. Letting his hand fall to the floor carelessly, he closed his eyes and listened to the silver drops beating small rhythms on the thin glass.

End Chapter 1