An Inordinate Stroke of Luck

Folds of red velvet slipped past his fingers, giving him no purchase to hold on to. A pale hand briefly grasped before the connection was broken, and he fell far. So very far. The fall seemed to last an eternity, the figure of the woman slowly fading into darkness as all the world went blank, until he was left in a world without senses. There was no sight, no hearing, no touch, no taste, no smells. Just unending darkness.

It was here, at the frayed edges of the multiverse, just beyond the world of the living, just beyond the world of the dead, that the man found himself trapped. Looking to one side he could see the mangled remains of his body, waves moving it up and down against the jagged rocks below a high cliff. Upon that cliff knelt a woman, eyes full of tears. To the other side, a side that could not truly be seen, he saw phantasmic forms that seemed to beckon him forth. They frightened him, though, and he would not let go of that small space he had made for himself.

He stayed in that place for ages beyond comprehension. He stayed in a place that did not truly exist to either world. He stayed on a boundary as the sun rose to be replaced by the moon, and stayed there as the spirit of his love one joined those beckoning phantoms. He stayed there as the world he once knew was turned to dust, and all the family and friends he knew were long placed in tombs beneath the cold earth.

Their, in the coldness of a space that could never truly be cold, he grew. Not in size, but in the sharpness and the clarity of his mind. Endless ages of observation, tempered with the learning of patience, had allowed a single man to become so much more. He gained knowledge in abundance, enough to know even what laid behind the veil that he avoided so purposefully, and yet he never passed beyond.

He lay forgotten to the world, though he was never truly known, but he had not forgotten it. He watched the people within it grow. He watched them change. He watched them mature. And when the time was right, he released his grasp on that small space that never existed, in fact released the last vestiges of humanity, so that he could break through the barrier and walk once more upon the realm of mortal men.

He has no need of wealth, or any material goods. He has no need of power, for what does a power in life lead to besides death? What he, the miserable wretch of a soul truly longed for was immortality. Not the immortality of an existenceless realm, but an immortality where he could soak in the rays of the sun and enjoy the pleasures of the mortal world. For this he searched. For this he searches.

Draco glared groggily at the house elf who alerted him that it was time to wake up. Malfoys were not bossed around by house elves. Malfoys bossed around house elves. He was about to state that when his father threw the door to his room open with a strength almost unbelievable for a man of his slender figure.

"Still in bed, Draco? Disgraceful. I told you there is a meeting today. You must look your best. You should be getting ready, not lazing around." Lucius did not raise his voice, but then again, he didn't have to. It was cold and sharp, and filled with a poisonous venom that struck right into Draco's heart. Malfoys were not afraid... but then again Malfoys could instill fear in anyone, and Lucius had had far more time to perfect being a Malfoy.

With a meek nod that would have surprised anyone that knew him at school, Draco quickly tossed aside his covers. He looked up quickly in embarrassment, but his father had already turned and left. Draco would obey, he knew.

"Another bloody gathering of father's 'special' guests. Oh Boy! I get to sit at a table and listen to someone prattle on and on about all the helpless muggles he's killed." Draco grumbled loudly as he poked through his closet, shoving aside his everyday clothes (which were far from ordinary) to find the dress robes at the back of his closet. Or at least his undergarmnet closet. It took three more cloests to acquire his robe, cloak, and shoes, each of which cost more than a normal racing broom.

He gave one last look in the mirror, straigtening his cloak fastening as the mirror whistled it's approval, before heading out into the hallway. He was greeted by another house elf, who carried a small bowl upon a tray. "The master says that since you neglected to bathe this morning, you might use some cologne, so as not to smell in front of your father's associates."

Draco ignored the voice in his head that blared insult, and instead dipped his fingers in the bowl, applying it carefully to his face and neck. He nodded his approval to the elf before continuing on, noticing that he did indeed smell better, though it was not because he smelled bad before. Malfoys didn't smell bad, even if they hadn't bathed for three days, or eaten much either for that matter. No matter how bored with life Malfoys became, they did not smell.

His mother greeted him at the dining hall door, fiddling with his already straightened cloak and giving him a light kiss on the cheek before pushing him inside. She was obviously in one of her good moods, which were few and far between. It almost lifted Draco's spirits, up until he saw the Death Eaters gathered at the table before the large fire.

All of them would have seem small in the massive dining room chairs, carved for the founder of the Malfoy line and passed down, were it not for the dark presence that seemed to emanate from each. The presence did not stop around them though, and spread to the rest of the room. A small chill rushed down Draco's spine as he moved to take a seat.

"Draco, we were just talking about you." Lucius' speaking voice was famous, and it was more often the cause for his apparent pull with government than bribing, though he tried as best he could to make it seem he was doing things illegally. Things worked that way when you were in the company of death eaters.

"Yes father?" Draco replied, not meekly, but not with great strength either.

"The dark lord has had a vision, Draco. It concerns you. It is most... troubling." The last word was cold as the marble that echoed his nervous footsteps.

"How so father?"

"How loyal are you to your lord, my son?" Lucius' eyes were narrowed now, and the other Death Eaters looked on expectantly.

"I would serve him. I would live for him. I would die for him." Draco managed not to look sick as the he said the words.

"Words, Draco, as you know, are meaningless without actions. You have been a drain on this household for far to long without contributing everything. The sons and daughters of my friends already pledge themselves to the darklord, and do his bidding. You mope around the house. I will not stand for it any longer. You have made promises Draco, and now I am calling them. The Dark Lord has a mission for you, Draco, and only you may complete it. You must gain the trust of Harry Potter."

"What? Are you insane? That's impossible!" Draco shouted. Recognizing his mistake, he quickly added a sincere "I'm sorry father."

"That's all right, Draco. Many of my friends here have shared the same thoughts. They do not know you as I know you, Draco. You are your father's son, and you have a gift that all Malfoys have had. The gift of persuasion. It is what has allowed our line to maintain power for more generations than any other wizarding families. Now you must use your gift Draco. Put the honeyed tongue that sucks up to your superiors to use on Potter. Soon he will be under your sway. I know you, Draco, you can do this."

Ignoring another insult, Draco only bowed his head minutely. "It will be as you say, Father. I will gain the Potter boy's trust, if it is possible."

"It is, Draco. You will do it. I know you will. You are my son. Now leave us. We have much business to discuss."

The tone of dismissal final, Draco turned and walked from dining hall to the main hall. Feeling the need to get away from his oppressive rooms, he took a door seldom used at Malfoy Manor. It was a door which led to the flower gardens. Here beautiful works of nature lay under clear blue skies and a radiant sun. Here insects moved aimlessly about, dragonflys wheeling aimlessly in the sky. Here, where most Death Eaters would be disgusted by the weakness of beauty, Draco found peace. In this small garden, on a small marble bench in a little aclove, Draco could relax and let his mind wander.

Father wants the impossible, yet again, and for some reason, it always has to do with Potter. "Draco, beat Potter at Quidditch." "Draco, hex Potter in the halls." Though he had to admit that had actually worked a few times. "Draco, you're just not trying hard enough. You're not living up to the Malfoy name." With such a constant stream of debasement and undercutting, is it any wonder at all that Draco Malfoy had turned out such a mess?

He stayed there, in the aclove, until his stomach began to rumble with hunger. Malfoys were superior in many ways to most people, but just like normal people, they had to eat. Setting aside the train of thought he had been working on, Draco made his way to the kitchens to find a sandwich. Which is when an elf stuck a sandwih in his hand and hurried him off to the front of the house to jump in a carriage on the way to Hogwarts. Apparently his father took little time to put his plans in action. There went the rest of Draco's summer vacation.

Harry sat miserably at the window and watched rain pour outside for the third day in a row. He had always imagined that staying at Hogwarts would be infinitely better than going back to the Dursleys'. Unfortunately, it was only marginally so.

He had been so ecstatic when Dumbledore had told him he could stay, at least for the first few days, but as time had progressed, an air of depression had settled over the whole of the castle. Without the other students and his friends, it seemed more a large prison.

Hermione would be by to visit in a few more days, but then she would be going to France for the last two weeks before the start of term. Then he would be all alone again. In the great big castle. Where he couldn't go outside. Even if it wasn't raining. Dumbledore had been very specific about that. In fact, he had been very specific about a lot of rules, which effectively barred Harry from doing anything besides study and wander the halls.

"Harry? It seems that perhaps you are not quite enjoying your summer holidays as much as you had hoped?"

"Oh no professor..."

"It's quite alright Harry. I wouldn't be enjoying it either, but it is for your own protection. With Voldemort once again commanding his legions, it is dangerous to let you outside the protective wards of the castle. It is even more dangerous, now that we know how powerful he is. He could never have dismantled the wards that protected you at the Dursleys' before."

"You mean he's getting more powerful?"

"His power grows, Harry, just as any wizards can. Those that follow him add to his power, and those who fear him add to his power. His first rise was slow, taking many years. This rise... this rise, word of his appearance is spreading like wildfire. Fear has taken a hold on the wizarding world, and that feeds his power."

"So wouldn't it have been better if you hadn't told them?"

"Would you rather face a hurricane without a roof, or a tornado within a shelter?"

"I guess..."

Harry was saved continuing this boring discussion (though he would never admit that to Dumbledore) by Dobby, who ran into the room huffing and puffing.

"Yes Dobby, what is it?" Dumbledore looked at the elf over his half moon glasses.

"It's master Malfoy sir, he's outs front."

"Lucius is here?"

"No sir, it's Lucius' son. Master Draco... I mean Draco."

"Then I suppose I should go see what he wants. Coming Harry?"

"No thanks. I'd rather not see Draco until I have to." Harry could not keep the disgust out of his voice, even for the headmaster. Who gave him what would almost classify as a dirty look.

"Very well Harry, but remember, it is always best to forgive when one can."

"Yeah, well I'll forgive him when he apologizes. Which will be... well considering he's a Malfoy... oh... just about never!"
"Well Harry, I should be going now. Do try to find something to do, won't you? It rather saddens me to see you so gloomy."

Then he was gone, with a quickness that amazed Harry. How did someone so old just up and dissappear like that?

Draco stood there in the pouring rain, looking up at the entrance in front of him. Shelter from the rain stood just in front of him, but his mind was still reeling from what he had learned in the carriage on the way here. He was to be an outcast from his own house. He was to stay at school during holidays... he was to even pretend to hate his father. Whatever it took. At least the hating part wouldn't be too hard.

Something flickered at the top of the steps, and a house elf appeared from behind one of the large doors which he had failed to notice open. The elf scampered down the steps, stopping just before where the steps met the downpour.

"Master Malfoy? Is that you?"

"Dobby... what are you doing here?"

"What is master Malfoy doing at Hogwarts? He should be... home."

"You know as well as I do what a wonderful place that is. I'm here to get away from my father. I'm here... because I do not wish to bear the dark mark."

Dobby jumped slightly before scampering up a few steps. He threw a "Must tell Dumbledore, please wait" over his shoulder before dissappearing in that funny way house elves do.

So Draco was left to wait. In the rain. Getting wet. He would have commented to himself on how Malfoys didn't wait, if he wasn't so sick of being a Malfoy at that exact moment.

One would wonder exactly why Draco did not step into the much dryer shelter of the castle, but one must remember that Draco is a Malfoy. One who would rather die of Pneumonia than get help. Which is precisely what Dumbledore said as he moved quickly down the stairs, Dobby trailing along behind.

"I would not rather die of Pneumonia. Besides, Malfoys have a thing against death."

Dumbledore gave him a piercing look that wiped the smirk off of Draco's face. He hated to admit it, but Dumbledore could do the same things his father could.

"So, Mr. Malfoy, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? I'm afraid Professor Snape will not be here for another week. He's on Hogwarts business."

"I wouldn't bet on it, considering I just saw him in my father's house consorting with Death Eaters."

Dumbledore's eyes flashed with surprise.

"Perhaps this would best be discussed in my office, over a nice pot of tea?"

Being wet, cold, and hungry, Draco agreed, and followed silently behind the headmaster as he led Draco to his office, the current password being "Butterfinger," supposedly a wonderful muggle candy. Draco doubted it.

And so he found himself seated in a cozy red chair, his feet propped up on a green ottoman, a small glass of tea in his hand a plate of miniature sandwiches on the small table in front of him, talking with the headmaster.

"Draco, what you said outside... that's a very unusual thing."

"Yes... well it's been a rather unusual time for me."

"How so, Mr. Malfoy? Or perhaps it would be easier if you told me why you're here?"

"Well I suppose I decided the life of looting and pillaging innocent muggles just wasn't for me. I'm far too sentimental."

"That's good."

"You can laugh you know."

"I will when something is funny."

"Me, sentimental? What's not funny?"

"So you're here because you don't want to loot and pillage?"

"And I don't want a hideous snake burned on my arm. Yeah. That's about it."

Dumbledore stared at him for a long time, and as he did, Draco began to realize something that worried him immensely. He actually didn't want to loot and pillage. Nor did he want a hideous skull and snake burned on his arm. The fact that frightened him most of all is that he wanted to disobey his father.

"Very well, Mr. Malfoy. There is already another student residing within the castle. I do not think it would be good policy to deny another. Did you bring anything?"

"Just my wand, the clothes I'm wearing, and a bag of galleons."

"Then I suppose there will be nothing to take to your room. You will be staying in your normal room. Breakfast is at 7, lunch is at 12, and dinner is at 8. And Mr. Malfoy... I would recommend caution. It would not be wise to go around saying all that you know."

"Well duhhhhhh."

The efffect would have been much more enjoyable had the ottoman under his feet not dissappeared, causing his feet to crash to the ground. The resulting thud dislodged the cup of tea in his hand and it landed on his robes.

"AHHHHHHH! IT BURNS THE FLESH!!!!"

"It's not that bad Mr. Malfoy. I'm sure you'll live. Now off with you."

Shooting Dumbledore his injured baby animal look, Draco made his way down to the dungeons. Here he made a terrifying discovery. He couldn't get into his common room.