Someone Else's Life

Someone Else's Life

By C.K. Blake

One: The Beginning of the End

For every ending there is a beginning,

And for every beginning an ending.

Which will be the door to freedom?

Which leads to the door where souls are saved?

--C.K. Blake

The darkness had become a familiar comfort, something that was always present, and something that couldn't be killed or taken away. There was freedom in the darkness that swirled and crashed within him. The battle was long and still raging, but there was always his retreat to darkness, there was always that moment's escape, where his thoughts lent themselves to self-destruction and the honeyed promise of peace.

He took a deep breath and the realization hit him, as it always did. That breath was not for him. Every breath he took was one more breath for the world. He was not real. He was Harry Potter. Harry Potter wasn't a person; Harry Potter was the carrier of the world's burden. From the young and tender age of one he'd been meant to deliver the world from a madman's ambition. He closed his eyes and brought his fist down sharply on the counter. He hissed in a breath of pain, but the pain made him real for a moment.

When he opened his eyes he saw the reflection cast in the mirror of the medicine cabinet that was positioned over the sink. Emerald eyes that burned with experience not meant to be seen in the eyes of someone so young, a thin face with a slightly tanned complexion, a mop of messy black hair, and the scar that marked his destiny. A scar given to him over sixteen years ago. A scar that dictated a future he had no control over.

He startled at the sudden rap on the door. He turned toward it and heard the voice of his uncle on the other side.

"Boy, what is taking you so long in there. There are other people present in this household who might have a great need to use the toilet. Out with you now!"

The boy looked once more into the mirror and sighed. "Of course, Uncle Vernon."

He pulled open the door and scurried past his large uncle and headed toward the door that led into his room. Once inside he closed the door, crossed the room, and flung himself backwards on his bed. He folded his hands behind his head, let out a deep thoughtful breath, and stared up at his ceiling, wondering what it was like to be a real person, rather than someone presumed to be larger than life...

----------

The footsteps were coming closer. Cool, aristocratic footsteps that belonged to a cold man who hungered for power and would give anything to get ahead, even his own flesh and blood. The trembling started again. A whimper escaped the young man's throat, as he squeezed his eyes shut and fought down the emotions that were restricting his breathing. His trembling stopped as the door to his cell was thrown open.

The boy crawled toward the far end of the room, bracing his back against the cold stonewall, and trying to appear indifferent to what was happening around him. The man was alone; he walked to the center of the room and looked upon the poor misshapen boy huddled on the dirty floor of one of the dungeon's cells.

The man snorted and shook his head. "Look at what you have become. What is worth this suffering Draco? Why must you be so difficult? Do you not hunger for power? Give into me, boy. Think of the great things you could achieve. We would be revered as kings!"

The boy's head snapped up, fire, a raging lightening in his stormy silver-gray eyes. "Is that what you think? What of the man you put so much faith in? He is a madman who would see you fall with little more than a glance. I am better than that. I can forge my own path. I don't need someone like you to direct my life. You can't even think for yourself anymore!"

"You forget your place!" the man hissed.

"No, Father," the boy said in a sorrowful tone. "You have forgotten yours."

"How dare you speak to me in such insolence! You have always been a fool," his father snapped. "That is no matter now. You will join the ranks of the Dark Lord or I am to kill you by his orders. You have one hour to decide your fate, boy. One hour can seem an eternity and a blink of an eye. I advise you to think carefully of your answer, for when I return it is to either welcome you or to see you depart. I have no qualms with either direction you may choose. You are nothing to me now boy. You have never been anything."

The boy looked up at the man he'd known as his father all of his life, taking note of the long platinum hair, the same color as his own, and the cold steel gray eyes that he'd inherited as well. The boy's lips then turned upward in a small smile as he looked up at the cold unfeeling man before him. "I know I have never been anything to you. When I was younger I thought I could become you and maybe I would begin to mean something. I was wrong. You were wrong. You did mean something to me once, Father. There were moments, however brief they might have been. I can't forget that, but... You don't mean anything to me anymore."

The man drew closer to his son, and grabbed the front collar of the torn and dirty shirt on the boy's slight frame. He lifted the boy until they were eye to eye and then hissed, "I am what you will never be. What you were never strong enough to be."

The boy spat in his father's face. "I am stronger than you will ever be."

The man threw his son back, and the boy's head struck the wall behind him with considerable force. He let out a groan and watched as the cold and commanding man left the cell, his robes swishing in the doorway before the door was shut behind him.

The boy sighed and his body gave into shaking once again. He trembled and drew his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms around his legs. His forehead pressed against his knees, tears slipping from his eyes to trail down his dirty face. He managed to hold in the moans and sobs, trying to suppress as many of the emotions overwhelming him as he could. His time was drawing nearer and nearer.

He let out a bitter laugh. "So this is where I am going to meet my end? I'm going to die in the dungeons of my childhood home? I am going to be killed with no way to defend myself. To choose between the killing curse and the Dark Mark. I thought that choice would be so easy, now I only see one solution. I can't sell my soul for any price. I'm no hero, but I can't be like my father."

He looked around at the cell, and then looked down upon his clothes. He let out a snort at the sight of his ripped and dirty shirt, and his muddy trousers. He was barefoot. His shoes had been taken from him upon his capture. He had tried to run the night he'd been told he would take the Dark Mark. His father had taken his wand from him the moment he'd arrived home. He had been wandless nearly the entire summer.

After he'd run he'd been kept in the dungeons ever since. He looked around and then anger and bitterness began to fill him. He suddenly stood up; new resolve taking shape and form within him.

"This will not be the last place I ever see. He won't have me. I won't take the Dark Mark and I refuse to die tonight. I will escape. Even if it means my father's life. All I have to do is run from this cell when he comes for me in an hour. If I can make it to one of the rooms with a fireplace then I can escape, but where can I go?"

As the realization of the only possible sanctuary hit the boy a laugh filled with irony escaped his lips. He shook his head, and began to sober. He looked around the cell, his mind beginning to plot. Where was he to stand if he were to take his father by surprise and lock him in the cell, in hopes that he could reach his means of escape before his father reached him?

----------

Harry was brought from his thoughts at an abrupt knocking on his door. Harry turned toward the door looking perplexed. It was a simple knock, but there had never been a simple knock on his door before, there had been banging against the door, the door simply being thrown opened, and on occasion a sharp rap. He held his breath, wondering who was on the other side of the door. He rolled over and threw his legs over the side of the bed, about to stand when a rather unexpected voice sounded on the other side of his door.

"Potter, I know you're in there, now answer this bloody door you insolent boy."

Harry's bright green eyes widened in shock. Why was Snape knocking on his bedroom door? He hurried across the room and pulled open the door, seeing his most antagonizing professor staring down at him. The man's coal black eyes roaming the bedroom in distaste. Harry followed his gaze, and while the room was sparsely decorated it was his, and the only thing out of place was an open transfiguration text on his small writing desk.

The boy gulped and then spoke, "Has anything happened? Why are you here?"

Snape's gaze snapped to Potter's curious eyes and he sneered. "Potter, the least you can do is address me with some degree of respect. As for having to come here and retrieve you, I am here under the headmaster's orders. You are to be relocated to the Weasley's as we have received a considerable amount of information about an attack to occur against you here. You won't have to worry about the muggles. They are being relocated as well, much to the annoyance of your relatives. Now get your things so that we may leave. I assume you have your apparating license?"

Harry nodded. "Of course, professor. All I have to do is put away my textbooks and what clothes I have in my wardrobe into my trunk and I'll be ready."

"Must you tell me the details? Just be done with it so we can leave this boorish place," Snape snapped in obvious irritation, and then he turned to look down the hall and rolled his eyes. "What is wrong with you? You over grown simpleton mind your own business and trudge downstairs or whichever room is large enough to contain you. Off with you."

Harry found himself tempted to laugh at Snape's comments to whom he guessed was Dudley, but judging by the man's dark expression he thought it better to contain his mirth. He bit his lips to keep the laughter firmly contained. The man looked at him with a raised eyebrow, which set the boy to gathering his possessions and packing them with a sufficient speed. Still the man rolled his eyes and tapped his foot in impatience.

"Really Potter. One would think you would be overjoyed at having the opportunity to leave this place sooner than expected. What is taking you so long?"

"I'm finished packing now. I'll just let Hedwig go, and she will fly to the Burrow. Where are we to apparate from?"

"Downstairs is sufficient. I would tell you to say your goodbyes, but I can understand why you are always so eager to leave this place. I will take care of the transport of your things. You just worry about getting to the Burrow without splinching yourself," Snape said.

The boy nodded, let Hedwig out of her cage, and with instructions to go to the Burrow, sent her on her way, and then he hurried downstairs with his wand in hand and apparated to the Burrow. A few moments later, an additional crack was heard, as Snape appeared a few feet behind him with his trunk and Hedwig's cage. They both faced the door of the Burrow. The boy was beaming, and the man had a firm scowl in place. The door was suddenly thrown open and the boy was swept up into a motherly embrace by Molly Weasley, the matriarch of the Weasley clan.

"Welcome home, Harry. We've missed you," she said with a great show of emotion as she swept her lips across his forehead and ushered him inside.

She gave Professor Snape a wary glance, and attempted a smile. "Oh, Professor Snape. Do come in," she said and when she noticed the trunk and cage she gave a shout in the general direction of the stairs. "Ronald Weasley! Come down at once and take Harry's things to your room, as the two of you are to be sharing a room! RIGHT NOW!"

A few moments later there were hurried footsteps on the stairs, and a boy full of energy with bright red hair came bounding down them. He took the trunk and cage from the door, and with a beaming smile looked at the dark haired boy with bright green eyes. "Great seeing you again Harry! Glad to have you back! Hermione will be joining us soon. Can't wait to see her again! Come on up with me? We can catch up while I get you settled in my room."

Harry gave a weak smile, took Hedwig's cage from his best friend, and followed him up the stairs and to the room that he would be sharing with him. Harry looked at the boy leading him up the stairs and felt a lump build in his throat. Ron was one of his best friends, willing to do anything for him, willing to die for him. That was too much to ask for him. Harry swallowed thickly at the thought, and came to a conclusion. He would protect Ron and Hermione, whatever the cost, even if that meant protecting them from the self-destruction that was his life. He couldn't allow them to fight for him anymore. It was becoming too dangerous, the time for the final battle was drawing closer and closer. He had to let them go, and hope that they could understand later on.

"Harry?" Ron asked, and Harry's head shot up at the inquiry. "You've been awfully quiet. Anything wrong, mate?"

He shook his head and answered, "Not really. Just a lot on my mind lately."

"Having the nightmares again?" Ron asked.

Again Harry shook his head, fell back on the spare bed that had been put in Ron's room, folded his arms behind his head, and closed his eyes. He allowed himself to fall into the crashing, comforting darkness, and Ron simply sighed, wondering what was on his best friend's troubled mind.

----------

His hour had passed, and once again those cool, aristocratic footsteps could be heard coming up the corridor, headed toward his cell. He scurried into position, back pressed against the cold stone wall next to the door. He held his breath, hoping that his father's arrogance and self-assurance would work in his favor.

The heavy door was pulled open, creaking on its hinges. The boy's father stepped inside, back to the boy awaiting him. In a spur of spontaneity the boy clasped his hands together and swung with all of his strength, striking his father in the back. The man let out a surprised groan and went stumbling further into the cell. The boy hurried out of the small room, pushing the heavy oaken door closed behind him and turned the key in the lock.

He knew that there were wards against magic in the cells of his father's dungeons, but he still thought it best to hurry in his efforts to escape. He raced down the corridors of the dungeon with his father's shouted curses following in his wake. He never paused as he reached the stairs and hurriedly ascended. He'd made it to a familiar corridor in the west wing of his ancestral home, Malfoy Manor.

He paused, taking in a deep breath and thinking of the closest room with a fireplace. He closed his eyes and suddenly he knew where he had to go. His eyes flew open and he began to run down the corridors madly. He reached the rich mahogany door, doubled over and panting for breath. He sucked in a deep gust of air, turned the knob and burst into the room. He saw the fireplace, it was thankfully lit, and he sighed in relief at the small coffer that contained floo powder. He hurried over and took a pinch of the floo powder, but before he could throw it into the fire a voice sounded behind him.

"Draco?"

The boy turned around for a moment, and a lump formed in his throat. His mother was sitting up in her bed. He'd woken her from her slumber. He drew in his bottom lip, looking from the beautiful woman with long golden hair and blue eyes who always cared for him in her own way, to the precious fire that would mean his freedom.

"I'm sorry mother," he spoke softly. "Please, don't tell him where I'm going. This is goodbye."

He threw the powder into the fire, and as the flames turned green he shouted, "Hogsmeade!" stepped into the fire, and let the green flames consume him.

----------

A shiver ran up Harry's spine as his pulse sped up and his breathing grew erratic. He began to gasp and suddenly sat up in bed. He looked around the room in a panic, not really seeing anything. He heard a rushing in his ears, and he felt as though he were being thrown through a fireplace, as though he'd been traveling by floo, he could feel the ache in his bones.

Suddenly he was on the floor, and silence permeated the air. He looked around in fear, and then there were words coming out of his mouth, but he could hardly understand. There was someone with their arms around him, and then he was falling and the darkness was embracing him. He decided to give into the darkness.

----------

Madame Rosemerta was serving a round of drinks to a few of her usual patrons when there was a great commotion from her fireplace. Just as she looked up a dirty boy of about seventeen slid from the fireplace and looked around, fear apparent in his silvery-gray eyes. He tried to stand, but his legs couldn't support his weight.

Quickly Madame Rosemerta hurried over to the dirty and shabby clothed boy, and helped him to stand. He leaned on her for support, looking rather thin and worse for the wear.

"Hogwarts...Dumbledore..." he managed to croak, and then his head fell back as unconsciousness took him and Madame Rosemerta lost her grip on the boy, but luckily someone helped her to steady him.

She looked up to see who'd helped her catch the boy, and let out a slow breath. The rather large man looked at the boy and his beetle black eyes widened.

"Oy! Dis here's Malfoy! What's 'e doin' 'ere?" the large man said.

Madame Rosemerta looked at the man and said, "He said something about Hogwarts and Dumbledore. Hagrid, he looks like he needs help. Can you take him to the school? When you come back, you'll have a round of fire whiskey on the house. What do you say?"

"Well, yer got yerself a deal. Let me jus' take care of this 'ere bit o' nuisance and I'll be back to collect on yer offer in a bit," he said in his usually booming voice and gathered the boy into his arms and headed out of The Three Broomsticks and towards Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

----------

"Harry, dear?" the kind motherly voice of Molly Weasley reached his ear.

Slowly Harry opened his eyes, and blinked. His glasses were missing. He suddenly felt someone putting his glasses into his hands and he quickly put them back on. He sat up on the bed, and noticed Mrs. Weasley sitting on the edge of his bed and looking at him in concern.

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley? Is something wrong?" he asked in confusion.

She gave him a peculiar look and then put her hand to his forehead, as though checking for a temperature. She sighed and then looked speculatively at the boy's face. "I've told you dozens of times. Call me, Molly. And don't you remember anything?"

"Remember..." Harry began and continued to look confused.

"Why only a moment ago you were writhing about on the bed and mumbling about Hogwarts and Professor Dumbledore. Is something wrong? You looked positively ill. Is there anything I can do? Would you like me to contact Dumbledore for you?" she asked in motherly concern.

Harry closed his eyes to gather his thoughts and looked at the worried woman before him. He smiled sheepishly and warmth filled him as he looked at the woman who'd always been like a mother to him.

"I'll be fine, honest. I suppose it might have been some sort of nightmare, but I really can't remember it. I'm sorry I worried you," he answered.

She sighed and shook her head. "If you have anymore dreams then I will be here for you. Ron just saw you and came to get me. I got here as soon as I could. If you do remember it and want to talk, I'll be here, or I'm sure Ron will be all ears..." she paused and then looked toward the closed door and noticed something under the door. "Ronald Bilius Weasley! How many times must I scold you for eavesdropping! I thought I told Fred and George to keep you away from their extendable ears inventory! Come in!"

The door opened and a very red-faced and sheepish Ron slowly entered the room. "Sorry, Mum. Just wanted to know how Harry was doing."

"I'm fine. It wasn't anything. Don't worry so much about me. Just a few stupid dreams is all. I'm sorry if I scared you."

Molly took that as her cue to leave gracefully. Once she was gone, Ron closed the door and took a seat on the bed across from Harry. He looked at the boy with bright green eyes and messy black hair.

"What is it mate? You seem a bit different," Ron began.

Harry snorted. "Ron, I've already told you. I have a lot on my mind. We have the N.E.W.T.s coming up, and who knows what sort of attack Voldemort is planning for this year. I just get tired sometimes. Not to mention I'm Captain of the Quidditch team, and the press will be hounding me about that whole failed whatever it was with Lavender Brown. You know she told one reporter that I was queer! I'd just like some time to think without the Dursley's hovering around and calling me a freak, or with people just constantly intruding and asking about my well being every minute on the bloody hour. I'm tired of everyone's open disdain or bleeding heart! Sometimes I just want to be left alone!" Harry snapped.

Ron swallowed thickly, hurt filling his open blue eyes and then he let out a slow breath. "All right Harry, all you had to do was say so. I'll leave you alone. But just so you know, we only ask how you are because we care."

"I know, but..." Harry trailed, unsure of how to finish. "Look, I'm sorry, but I can't do this right now!"

"Do what? You're just sitting there being a bloody prat, holding whatever has you acting like an arse inside and prattling on about nothing! You know what? I can't do this right now. When you finally feel like talking I'll be around somewhere!" Ron snapped, got up off of the bed and stormed out of the room firmly slamming the door behind him.

Harry's gaze was focused on the door and he sighed. It was the beginning of the end for the Gryffindor trio, but that was how it had to be. He wouldn't lead them into battle to face a madman that would surely kill them just to get at him. He couldn't bring harm to the people who cared most. He ran a hand through his messy hair, knowing that he'd hurt Ron, but that it was necessary, now all he had to worry about was turning Hermione against him.

----------

Slowly Draco opened his eyes, and looked around. He carefully took in his surroundings, stone ceiling, stone walls, twin bed, crisp white cotton sheets, a pair of too large black pajamas made from silk. He then noticed a smiling old man sitting in a chair by the bed, and sat up. The man's eyes twinkled as a smile played across his mouth.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, you have finally decided to grace me with your conscious presence. To what do I owe this pleasure?" the old man asked.

The boy narrowed his eyes at the man, and then sighed, realizing that Dumbledore was his only key to salvation and perhaps freedom. He swallowed his pride and looked at the old man.

"Professor Dumbledore," he began timidly, and taking another deep breath for strength he continued, "I have no place to go. This is the second attempt I have made to escape my home, and I was thankfully successful. I no longer have a home, or any place to go for that matter. As you may know, Professor Snape is my godfather, but he... I don't know if I can trust him..."

"So you are no longer welcome at home and need a place to stay? That can be arranged. I have always seen to the welfare of my students. As for Severus, I assure you that he can be trusted. Now the question is, can you be trusted? I assume that you can as you have left the only home you have known since your birth, and turned your back on your family, however, how can I be sure?" Again there was a twinkle in his eye.

The boy swallowed thickly. "I don't know how I can prove to you that I am sincere, sir. I will not become my father's puppet, nor will I be controlled by some madman, or anyone for that matter. I am my own person, and I control my own fate. I will not lie to you," the boy said. "I am not a kind or decent person, but I do know what is right, and that is where my loyalties lie, sir. I have faith in what is morally right, and this place was the only place I could think of to turn to, and you sir, were the only person I could think of who could protect me. Have I misjudged, sir?"

"No, my boy," Dumbledore spoke. "You have not, and you've chosen your path bravely and wisely."

"Yes," Draco said. "But don't expect me to be like Potter and his lackeys. I am still Draco Malfoy, and I am still a Slytherin. I am rather set in my ways and have no intention of changing."

"Fair enough, my boy, now do get some rest, and when you wake up again we shall see about getting you fed. Poor Poppy was rather shocked to see how thin you have become. But rest first."

The boy nodded, and lay back down against the sheets, his head settling on the pillow, and as he fell into unconsciousness a small smile of peace curved his lips slightly. He let the soothing darkness take him, as he realized that he was facing the beginning of the end of his old life...