Cloaked

Cloaked

II.

Nowhere Is Somewhere

It was a moonless night.

The sky was overcast, so the stars were invisible. A strange quiet was cast over England and Draco wondered what it was. It was uneasy and ghostly haunting. The darkness confused him, but at the same time he felt grateful for the shroud of night. It would be hard to see a small figure flying above the treetops with all the clouds and the fog. He felt a sudden disgust at the sleeping muggles below. He focused his eyes ahead, checking the area for tree branches. Such peace.

Draco was drifting off, his eyelids becoming heavier. The chill kept him partly awake, but he had become so numb. He peered continuously around him, searching for the flying objects that the muggles called 'airplanes'. How curious. He had once heard his father talking about them, cursing their existence and how they hampered the Plan. He had been too naïve, too stupid to listen closely. He was small, when Lucius was still glorified with hopes of the Dark Lord's return. Of course, his loyalty was indeed rewarded and Voldemort's rewards were always greater then his punishments. Like the cloak for instance. Draco shuddered.

It had been warm. In fact, oddly warm for the manor. Lucifer was on his father's knee, sleepy-eyed and angelic. Oh, the fallen angel. How Draco despised him. He was crouched by the fire, toying with his Wizard Chess set. He could still recall the feel of the marble castle in his slender fingers, caressing the ridges on the top. It was a game that took cunning and that Draco had. Lucille kneeled opposite him, at a quiet time when she was silent, but intelligent. Her mind was sharper then the great Malfoy sword that hung above Father's desk. She often bested him at the game and he would inwardly fume. She gave him a small smile when she took his bishop, her queen whacking the piece soundly over the head. The bishop limped over to the side.

"Check, Draco." She whispered, the fine strands of her beautiful hair falling across her face.

He had, in his anger, tossed the board aside. Lucius abruptly stopped the conversation he was having with Avery and stood, carrying Lucifer with one arm. He strode quickly over to Draco and said in a calm, collected voice, "is something wrong, son?"

"N-no, Father." Draco mumbled, cold fear seeping his cloudy eyes. "Lu...Lucille bested me."

"Well, she is promised for the Dark Lord." Lucius gave Lucille a smirk of faint pride. "Now, Draco, apologize to Mister Avery for causing such a commotion."

Draco rose to his feet and bowed to Avery. "I'm sorry, sir."

"There, boy. Nothing to worry about." Avery gave a small chuckle. "Have a lad myself. O' course, he's quite young-"

Lucius turned sharply around. "As we were saying, Avery?"

"O' course, Lucius."

Draco crouched down again, reaching out for the pieces of the game he had scattered. He picked them up gently, weighing them in his hands and glancing at Lucille in shame. She was sliding a finger across the cold face of the floor, a tear rolling down her thin cheek. He bit his lower lip and then turned away. Lucius watched them, idly continuing the chat with Avery. The fire burned low when their conversation came to an end. Draco was so tired by then, his eyes drooping. Lucifer was sleeping on Lucius's lap. Lucille had balled up, her pale arms tense under her linen nightgown.

"Shall we call it a night, Lucius? It's late and my wife will be waiting for me." Avery rose from his seat.

Lucius nodded, also standing, carefully cradling his dozing child. "It was nice seeing you."

"Likewise," Avery smiled thinly. "Goodnight, Lucius. I hope you sleep well."

"As I wish onto you. Give Silvia my regards."

"O' course. She'll be glad to hear from you." Avery chuckled. "She misses our school days. We were reminiscing."

"How sweet." Lucius replied.

Avery nodded and disapparated with a pop.

"Rise, Draco. You're falling asleep on the floor." Lucius intoned, sweeping out of the room with Lucifer.

Draco shook himself awake, watching as Lucille unfolded and left also. The room was cold, oh, so cold now. He wanted to take back the flickers of the fire. Instead, he grasped the chess pieces in his hands as he watched the fire die out. The light faded away. The toys on the floor so eerie. Father. Mother. Far away. So scared. So young. So innocent.

How he wanted to laugh now. He was but ten, unknowing of Harry Potter at the time and liked nothing more then to please his father. He wished to be his clone and wanted to be within the inner circles of the Dark Lord. Draco tightened his grip on the broom handle. His breath came out in wisps of vapor. He could see a faint outline of the sun rising in the distance. As if scared, the cloak on his back recoiled from the light. Draco reached behind him to finger the material. Such an innocent thing.

But dawn was stretching her rose hued fingers. He needed to find a place to land. Draco fervently searched the ground below to see if he could find a dense forest. There was a small wood ahead, he could see the clearing. White snow obscured the earth, but Draco dropped down to fly at the height of the trees. The branches scraped his hands mercilessly.

His landing was uneventful. Draco fancied that he saw a few rabbits running from him. The snow was freshly fallen, powdered and undisturbed. He felt an inward pain in ruining the picturesque glen. Shivering, he blew on his numbed fingers. The hot air thawed them as Draco flexed his stiff joints with small grunts. Where could he hide now? The cold would surely kill him. He had never really thought hypothermia was the ideal fashion to die. He had always envisioned a peaceful death in a ripe, old age, passing away on in his sleep or an honorable and courageous death. But such are the dreams of the young.

If he had to go somewhere, he couldn't be recognized. Draco mused that while he wasn't as famous as Harry Potter, the name Malfoy still struck wizards and witches dumb. After all, how many sixteen-year-old boys had white-blond hair and steel gray eyes? He retrieved his wand from his band, pointing the tip at his hair.

"Mutatio aquilus!" The spell was awkward, transfiguring his hair into a light and soft brown. He had hoped for a darker shade. However, Draco did the same to his eyes, so they changed to a deep blue. He could little else about his appearance.

Setting his Nimbus 2001 by a tree, Draco hefted his bag over his shoulder and started to walk away from the glen. Traipsing through the woods gave him a hearty feeling, almost enjoyable. He brushed away at the thin and brittle branches. There was light ahead and he could see hints of a house from where he was. He broke through the trees as the sun had almost risen. Standing in a snow-covered garden, he tilted his head up to gaze at the house, levels piled onto one other higgledy-piggledy. He suppressed a feeling of scorn.

He went around to the front and knocked nervously. Seeing the small, fur-garbed gnomes blustering around the wilted plants, he was positive it was a wizarding residence. A withered flower tried to eat one of the irritating creatures, startling them and they scattered, crashing into one another in their rush. Draco nearly laughed. Such stupid things gnomes were.

The door slowly opened and a redheaded girl poked her face out. She was pretty, freckles standing out on the bridge of her nose. She was also familiar. Too familiar. Draco took a step back from her, panic coursing through him.

Oh shit.

"Who are you?"

He was at The Burrow and standing in front of Ginny Weasley.