An Inordinate Stroke of Luck

It is said that Slytherins are paranoid creatures by nature, and Draco was a paragon of said virtue. Paranoia instills in all those held by its sway a desire to be prepared for anything, or at least have a way out of any foreseeable problems. True, the exact circumstances can never be fully predicted, but the general scheme of things can be. He had not been prepared to be rejected by his house, but he had been prepared to deal with poverty, as atrocious as it seemed.

Knowing that neither Dumbledore nor Harry would be of a particular mind to pester him now, Draco ducked into a small side passage that led deeper into the dungeons which had not been used by the student body in centuries. A few more steps brought him up to an ornate door adorned by a small crest of a snake where the doorknob should have been.

He quickly slipped his wand from his pocket, and brought the tip of it to the head of the snake. With a quick Alohomora, the door opened inwards to reveal a large and decidedly empty room. Dust lay settled on the solitary empty table, which bore a small note. Draco smiled; no one had disturbed it.

With a wave of his wand, light filled the chamber, the magic he had so carefully crafted rising immediately to the call of its master. Gone was the dark, gone was the note, and in its place lay a vast sum of money. Twelve thousand galleons, eighty-two thousand sickles, and more knuts than he could shake a stick at, and he could shake a stick pretty good. Two years of his allowance, birthday gifts, Christmas gifts, and just about any other sort of income. Now he was extraordinarily pleased that he had gone through the trouble and the expense.

He withdrew a pouch from his robes, filling it with gold and silver. Now he would be able to buy everything that he needed... specifically some new clothes because he was getting rather irritated at having to have the same ones washed again and again. And he might buy some things to make his room a little less... Gryffindorish. At least until he was back in his normal rooms.

Whistling merrily to himself, he shoved the moneybag in his robes next to the one already there and left the way he had come, making sure to close the door behind him. There was greatness in his immediate future, for tomorrow, he would shop!

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Even with his detour to the dungeons, Draco still managed to beat Harry back to Gryffindor Tower. He had rather been hoping this would be the case, so that he wouldn't have to deal with the pillock, however one vital bit of information had been missing from his plans. He didn't know the password.

"Please, can't you just let me in?"

"Rules are rules deary, I'm sorry."

Draco stared up at her, wondering how angry Dumbledore would be if one of his portraits were reduced to ash. None too pleased, he imagined, and he had already used up his prat quota for the day. Malfoy's have always had two games, however, intimidation, and the honeyed tongue.

"Well perhaps while I wait, you could sing me something? You look like you'd have a wonderful singing voice." There, the perfect balance of normalcy and sucking up.

The fat lady blushed, but agreed to give him a small demonstration. She was terrible to an extreme, but the whole while Draco kept a smile upon his face. It wasn't any worse than some of the conversations he had pretended to enjoy at his father's dinner parties. When she was finished, and seeming rather pleased with herself, Draco gave a hearty applause.

"Well I suppose just this once I could let you in, but do try to remember the password from now on, won't you?"

"I will." Draco began to step through the portrait hole.

"And... if you ever want another rendition, I'd be happy to oblige you."

"Oh, of course." Right after Hell freezes over.

Back inside Gryffindor Tower, Draco threw himself into one of the comfortable armchairs and began to look around. The furniture pieces were shabby, tacky, and not at all refined, as were most of the decorations in the room, but overall it did have a sort of... homeliness to it. It was better, he supposed, than the Slytherin common room; but then again, time was rarely spent there. Anyone of importance would hold meetings in their personal rooms... which would, thanks to his father, not be him.

A tapping on the window behind him disrupted his thoughts. Rising from the couch, he walked over to it... and froze in fear. There, hovering on the other side of the glass was an owl as black as night, fierce red eyes glaring directly into Draco's soul. Its talons clutched a large black envelope, a wax seal in the shape of the Dark Mark keeping it closed. For all the man's subtleties, my father really needs to learn to keep a low profile. What if Dumbledore had intercepted this?

Realizing that the bird was still there, waiting patiently, he opened the window. The bird did not enter. It merely let the letter slip inside before turning and flying up into the distance, back to its master to wait for its next assignment. The owlery at Malfoy Manor was not an enjoyable room, and the owls were some of the nicest animals there. At least the owls didn't try to maim you... too terribly.

His easy evening in front of the fire ruined, Draco rushed up to his room, his fingers trembling slightly. Gone was the blank face of the irritating snob who had just earlier that evening stood up to one of the most powerful wizards in the world. Instead it had been replaced with a look that many people could never imagine upon his face: terrified confusion. It had taken him over, submersing his conscious like a baptism gone wrong. All he could see or think about was the letter in his hand, the letter that seemed to get heavier with every passing second.

If anyone had been watching Draco Malfoy they would have seen a boy staring at a letter for a few minutes before slowly opening it, but inside, Draco had felt an eternity of anguish and indecision. This letter was from his father, under orders of the Dark Lord himself. It was what he had learned since birth, what he had been raised for. It should have been nothing for him, but knowing of the existence of the Dark Lord and doing his bidding were two different things entirely.

Finally deciding that it could not hurt to look at the letter, or at least that's what he told himself, Draco touched the wax seal. Instantly reacting to his Malfoy blood, the seal released itself from the bottom half of the envelope, keeping its shape. Hands more steady now, Draco reached into the envelope and withdrew a finely folded sheet of parchment, the Malfoy crest staring up at him from the paper. One last time he was forced to move his hands, and then his father's words, written in a clear bold hand, were leaping into his mind as he quickly read the letter.

My son,

It is a proud day indeed for the Malfoy family. Today you take your first steps in continuing our legacy, passed down for generations. Not a single war has taken place in the history of wizard kind that the Malfoy family has not benefited from, not a single one. The Dark Lord will be only the newest path to power, and you will be the Malfoy to secure it.

I expect that you have already spoken with Harry Potter, and that you have begun to bridge the gaps you so carelessly made with him in the past... Draco snorted ... I will expect you to have befriended him by the first day of school, for if you have not done so by then, his friends will surely ruin all hope of you ever doing so.

Avoid the old fool as much as you can. He may be going senile, but he still retains a brain cell or two.

I am confident in you Drac;, you are my son.

Lucius Malfoy

Draco finished the letter. That's it? No specific instructions? No threats about failure or the like? This was completely unlike his father. Never before had Draco received a letter from his father that did not contain at least one threat, whether it be to his health if he were to embarrass the Malfoy name... or to his health if he were to do less than exceptional in school... or to his health and sanity if he were to make friends with a Gryffindor, as if Draco would.

With a heavy sigh, Draco settled himself once more onto his bed. He had discovered the night before that the mattresses were just as comfortable up here, but the sheets were far from the satin ones he was used to indulging in. It was just one more thing he would have to add to his list, just after he rested his eyes for a bit...

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Lucius hurried into the study at his manor, throwing himself onto one knee the second the Dark Lord came into view. Bowing his head, he heard the chair legs in front of him scrape, and foot steps closing nearer to him.

"Rise Lucius, and tell me what you have learned." Lucius stood, still slightly out of breath from having run from the entrance hall.

"Good news, my Lord. Draco is now at Hogwarts and is beginning the task you assigned him." Voldemort nodded his head. "Our spies in the Ministry have also reported a build-up of military supplies. While Fudge may not yet believe you are alive, there are others within the Ministry who clearly do."

"Find them Lucius, and do away with them."

The Dark Lord moved away and sat once more in his chair. Lucius, recognizing that he was being dismissed, turned to leave.

"Lucius. How sure are we that Draco will succeed?"

"He is my son my Lord, he will not fail."

Voldemort sat silently as Lucius once again turned to leave. But Lucius, so much more could be achieved if he did.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Draco did not attend breakfast the next morning, for by the time Dumbledore and Harry had made it downstairs, he was on the road to Hogsmeade. Unlike the weather on the day he had arrived, the sun was shining brightly upon the countryside. A slight breeze kept the heat from becoming suffocating, and along the way signs of life were blooming.

It's hard to imagine that a war is approaching, when all you can see around you is life. A small insect buzzed across the path, and Draco watched it momentarily. It did not seem to have any purpose, instead only going where the wind took it. Draco felt like that now too. He had always assumed that he would follow in his father's footsteps, taking over the family business and the family name, but he had never truly imagined working for the Dark Lord. He had been doing a lot of thinking on the subject, since he his summer vacation had been so rudely interrupted.

In the field beside him an animal gave a shrill cry, and he watched as a large bird swooped down to sweep it away with its talons. His father had told him that the world was predator or prey, that it was so obvious even in nature. Of course his father had also told him that they were above mudbloods, yet he bowed to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord, who like Hitler before him, turned on the people of which he was a member.

"Dracooooo!" An even shriller cry broke the peace of the morning, and Draco looked up to have his worst suspicions confirmed. Running towards him at a breakneck speed was Pansy Parkinson. "Draco darling, how are you?"

Draco was about to answer when she threw herself around him in a big, crushing hug. "My father told me all about the sacrifices you'll be making this year for the cause, and I just wanted to tell you that we all support you, even if we have to appear not to."

"So... what are you doing here Pansy?"

"Well I heard you were staying at the castle and when I went to the Manor I saw that all of your clothes were still there and I knew you couldn't just wear the same clothes everyday so I thought I'd come down to Hogsmeade and shop with you." She babbled contentedly as Draco's mood continued to fall.

"I wasn't here to shop for clothes, I have some already." Normally he wouldn't have to worry about his icy mask, but today his nerves were frayed.

Pansy pouted momentarily but she still moved to his side and started walking with him. They didn't speak again until they reached town.

"So what are you doing Draco?" Pansy looked up at him with the most ridiculously wide eyes he had ever seen. It was rather difficult to feign innocence when the other person knew you were working your way up to Death Eater status. He almost told her so, but figured it wouldn't benefit him, so why bother?

"I'm going to find some contacts." He gave her a meaningful look.

"Oh... Well I guess if it's for the cause. You really shouldn't work all the time though Draco, it's not good for you. I'll try and come visit you again up at the castle. Good luck!" Then Draco was being enveloped once more in a boisterous hug.

"I'm sorry Pansy, I'll see you then." He gave her a fake smile, which she quickly returned. With a loud crack, she disapparated. The heavy scent of her perfume was still wafting around his head when he walked into the robes shop.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Harry pushed the food around on his plate, very little of it making it into his mouth. Opposite him at the table, Dumbledore had still not eaten a bite.

"I think I'll go study upstairs Headmaster..." The thought didn't appeal much to him, but remembering the dinner the night before had left them in an awkward silence.

"Harry, I think perhaps it's time you were allowed outside. At least for the afternoon." Harry had been rising from his seat, and the voice surprised him so much that he tripped over it and fell to the floor. The headmaster looked down with a small smile.

"See? We can't have you losing your seeker reflexes." Harry continued to look up at the headmaster until he realized that he probably wanted an answer.

"That... that'd be great sir."

"I thought that might please you. Why don't you go grab your broom? I'll meet you in the front hall." Harry, who had by now scrambled to his feet, shouted a "thank-you" over his shoulder as he ran up to the tower, anxious not to waste a moment of outside time.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The witch from behind the counter gave him another of her phony smiles as she moved out to hold the door open, seeing as both his hands were holding bags loaded with new clothes. He had bought twelve outfits altogether. Five were the customary school robes; the other seven outfits ranged from robes to casual clothes whose varying designs followed the general rule that you can't go wrong with grey or black. He had spent far less than he expected, considering his father had a tab at the store and had yet to make his excommunication from the family public.

The bag in his robes still brimming with galleons, Draco entered another small antique store that his father sometimes stopped at when he came to visit the school. The wizard behind the counter jumped to attention as soon as he entered the door, and was even kind enough to shrink the bags so that Draco could carry them back to the school with ease. It was amazing what people would do for money.

The man practically followed him like a dog as he walked through the store, pointing out pieces that he thought Draco might be interested in, which also happened to cost a vast sum of money. By the time his signature had dried on the tab, Draco Malfoy was the proud new owner of a massive mahogany armoire to hold his new purchases, enchanted to keep his clothes wrinkle free, two matching ebony nightstands that would hex anyone trying to take something he had put there, a magical fan that made the air whatever temperature a wizard wanted, an expandable chest that had twelve rooms inside it, a Persian rug that could trap a person within its folds, and Draco's personal favorite, a slender blade of well crafted metal that reduced everything it cut to ash. Each piece was worth a small fortune, and the shopkeeper was in throes of ecstasy as he shrunk down each piece, placing the now shrunken pieces and previously shrunken bags in a new bag bearing the store's name. He had probably just cost his father a small fortune, fifty times what Arthur Weasley makes in a year, but he figured it was justified. Besides, his father was a prick.

"Thank you very much sir."

Draco nodded to the man before stepping out once more into the bright sunlight, enjoying the feeling of contentment winding its way through his body. With just a few more stops his room would be on its way to being bearable.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

As Draco stepped out of the last store on his shopping spree, Harry was flying above the quidditch pitch, Dumbledore watching from the stands below. After spending so much time cooped up inside the castle, this was heaven to him. The air whistling as he zoomed through it, doing loops, twists, dives, and anything else that came to mind. Flying was freedom, and that was something he had had precious little of lately.

Suddenly, something whirred past his head, and as he turned to face it he caught a shimmer of gold in the sunlight before it disappeared. Looking down, he saw a smile on the headmaster's face, the quidditch box resting beside him. With a joy that could have summoned a most powerful patronus, Harry set off in the direction he had last seen the ball heading. It made no immediate appearance, so he settled into a slow, lazy loop around the pitch. Just as he began to get impatient, he caught sight of the snitch at the goal post, not even thirty feet away.

Leaning forward and down, he felt the broom respond instantly to him, accelerating into a quick dive. The ball dropped and darted to the left, but Harry doggedly followed its movements. His fingertips were just brushing the snitch when a rushing gust of wind caught him up and threw him back. His broom jerked dangerously, rolling him over as the wind continued its assault.

Suddenly the air around him was calm, and he looked down to see a strained look upon the headmaster's face. Seeing the Forbidden Forest still being assaulted by the ferocious blasts of air, he quickly dove down towards Dumbledore. As soon as he touched down the rush of air returned and Dumbledore's strained look disappeared.

"Sir, what's going on?"

Dumbledore was quiet for a few moments and Harry was just about to repeat himself, fearing that over the wind he could not hear him, when he looked him directly in the eye. Gone was the twinkle that had always marked the headmaster before... though that had been gone the night before as well, which meant that this was serious.

"Evil, Harry."

They stood there in the wind until it at last calmed down. Then, from the direction of Hogsmeade, a green light appeared upon the horizon. Though daylight reduced its brilliance, it could still be seen. The Dark Mark floated lazily above Hogsmeade, glaring at those below. The face was even more dismal than it had been just moments before.

"Return to the castle immediately." Harry didn't even bother arguing, no matter how much he wanted to know what was going on, and quietly walked back to the castle, broomstick still in hand. If he had looked back, he would have seen a regretful look upon the headmaster's face before he disappeared. Who the look was for, no one could say, but in his eyes lay all the sadness of the world.