An Inordinate Stroke of Luck

Draco made his way down the long halls of Malfoy Manor, all cloaked in a darkness that seemed almost as substantial as the walls around him. Only a few tallow candles lit the way as he walked, ensuring that he could see enough not to bump into or trip over anything. He was not sure where he was going until he arrived there, a hall that he had avoided almost all his life.

Candelabras of gold lay in the center of the hall, the serpentine detail work casting a green glow upon the walls where centuries of Malfoys stood or sat immortalized in a frame. While they had always been a dismal lot, for which Draco avoided the room as much as he could, now they looked upon him with disgust evident in all their eyes. He should have turned and left the room, but his feet carried him forward to some unknown goal.

Above him the ceiling was covered in cobwebs and spiders scurried amongst the support beams. Much of the wood was warped with age, and as Draco looked around, he saw that most of the room was in disrepair. He would have to have words with the house elves, because he could not allow his family home to fall into the shambles he was seeing. Even as the thoughts passed through his head, the candelabras became tarnished and worn before his eyes. The paintings became faded with age, and the stone walls began to crumble.

He wanted to run, he wanted to hide. The walls couldn't stay standing for much longer, could they? He wanted to flee from the house and forget that it would not be standing for much longer, but his legs would not obey. Instead they carried him onward to the doors on the other side of the hall. Two large doors carved with ornate shapes of serpents and monsters so dark that most men and many wizards did not even know their names. Draco knew them all, for his father had taught them all to him.

Then he was opening the door, the iron handle squeaking roughly in age and taking a great effort to open. A cold burst of air issued forth from the crack as the door finally budged, growing steadily colder as the gap grew wider. There were no lights within the room, only a deep, gaping blackness, but Draco did not need light to know what lay beyond, and neither did his feet.

He descended the stairs in darkness, feeling the steps beneath him crumbling even as he walked upon them. Surely it would not be long now before the roof above him gave way and the manor came crashing down upon his head. Surely his life would end soon, but still he took each step, wondering at each moment that the stairs beneath him did not give out, and send him plunging down the stairwell.

The air grew moist as he passed from the well-kept dungeons of Malfoy Manor to the carved rock tombs that lay beneath, the resting place of generations of Malfoys. Here, if there were light, carved marble statues and scenes would stare back at him from the fronts of tombs laid into the stone for that particular generation of Malfoys. Perhaps it was good that no light greeted him here, for he was cold enough without need to bear witness to the scenes that graced the burial places of his forefathers. Pushing images from his mind, Draco drew his cloak tighter around him, feeling the fine fabric, assuring himself that he hadn't changed.

Now gurgling water could be heard, issuing forth from one of the fountains long buried here in a world of darkness, but even as he listened, the well grew dry and ceased to flow. Everything in the manor was dying. Ahead of him, a light seemed to spark from nothing in the distance. It cast shadows upon the subterranean monoliths he had yet to pass, and he knew there was something wrong about it. It was too far away. The passages did not go that far yet. They should be ending soon.

Then he was passing the tomb of his grandfather, and the light was close now. He knew that should have been the last one; there should be only a small cavern here that would not be enlarged until the death of his father. Panic struck him, and he felt around, his legs finally responding to his thoughts, but he could find no evidence of a burial place dedicated to his sire.

Above him he could feel the earth begin to shudder, and he knew that above him the manor was collapsing, its foundation no longer strong enough to support it. In the direction he had just come from, a rumble emerged, followed by a huge spout of dust and chips of rock. The stairwell was gone, and there would be no turning back now. The passage was now the only place he could go. Ahead of him, the light grew brighter, and he began to walk towards it. There was no where else to go. He had taken two steps when something seemed to hit him, and he doubled over in pain.

Gasping, he tried to stand and managed one faltering step before once more something seemed to strike his very essence, tearing into him with more painful precision than any dark curse he could ever remember. The light ahead of him failed completely and he was plunged into absolute darkness. The splitting pain drove itself deeper into him, seemingly tearing him into pieces from the inside. He lost all ability of thought, and with it, his consciousness.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Harry sat worrying in Gryffindor Tower, his broomstick lying carelessly upon the small table behind him as he sat staring out the window towards the town. The Dark Mark had only stayed in the sky for a few minutes after it appeared, probably dispelled by the aurors who would, no doubt, be pouring into the town. There is nothing more frustrating than knowing others were going out and risking their lives while you sat in safety, waiting for them to return. He wanted to know what Dumbledore was doing. He wanted to know if anyone had been hurt. He wanted to know if Draco was alright, since he hadn't returned yet.

He was just about to mount his broom and fly down to the town, no matter what Dumbledore had said when Fawkes glided through the window, a small scroll clasped in his talons. He did not leave immediately after Harry took the letter, nor when he began to run towards the hospital wing. Instead the wise bird watched Harry closely. It sat then for a few moments before spreading its wings and taking off through the window to find Dumbledore.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Harry skidded around the final corner, his feet almost slipping out from under him. He had to grab a suit of armor to regain his balance, and continued rushing towards the door, ignoring the indignant sound of hinged joints rattling a fist at him. He almost slammed into it when it opened before him, and he came to a stop a few paces inside. He turned quickly to find Dumbledore holding the door ajar, and turned once again to find Madame Pomfrey standing over the inert form of Draco

Malfoy.

What he could see of him, between Madame Pomfrey's ministrations, was not at all good. His skin looked extraordinarily pale; beyond imaginable considering he was a Malfoy, and his hair and clothes lay mussed about him. He was far from his usual display of perfection and refinery, and it scared Harry, especially after reading Dumbledore's note. Then the room was filled with a ragged scream, as the body on the bed began a mad thrashing. The scream continued so long that Harry could not believe it was humanly possible. It sent shivers down his spine, and he wondered what kind of pain a person would be forced to endure to sound like that. Surely this was worse than the Crucio he had endured?

In front of him, he saw Madame Pomfrey withdrawing her wand and spells being cast upon

Draco, but whatever spells they were, they seemed to have little effect. Her face became even more worried, and she waved Dumbledore over. His face held little emotion as he walked over, and after a single spell he shook his head. Dumbledore could do nothing. The screams finally reached a screeching climax before coming to a sudden halt. The body was no longer thrashing either. A terrible realization struck Harry, but even as he asked the question Dumbledore was shaking his head once more.

"He will live, Harry. He will live, but I am not sure he will want to."

Dumbledore sat slowly in a chair to the side of the bed, and Harry walked over and sat in another chair beside him.

"What happened?" Harry's throat had become dry, and it came out hoarse.

"Draco has been... severed." The headmaster looked again towards the boy with a sad look.

"What's... severed?"

"Families such as the Malfoys can trace their lineage for hundreds of years, and they can generally recite their family tree. It is driven into them from a very young age that they are a member of that family, and that that is the most important thing about them. Draco here was a Malfoy, and so he always thought of himself as a Malfoy. Powerful magics develop in such families, magics that the users become dependent upon. Draco was... cast out from his family, and thus he has been cut off from not only his identity, but from a piece of who he is."

Harry could not think of anything to say, and the headmaster had nothing else to say, so they sat in silence. He could not remember later how long he sat there, but he could remember the headmaster eventually telling him to find some food and sleep. Not much in the mood to eat anything, he went immediately to his room. There he fell asleep only after a long period of time had passed, and the sleep that came was anything but restful.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Dumbledore stayed only for a few minutes after Harry left before retiring to his office. Much as he would have liked to watch over Draco more, now that he was no longer the young Mr. Malfoy, he did still have a large number of things to do. The event today proved that Voldemort now believed himself strong enough to come out into the open, and that meant the war would soon escalate into something far worse than the minor skirmishes the Order had found itself engaged in.

His walk to the office let him stew over what exactly he could do with the young boy who now lay in the hospital wing, for eventually he would wake up, and he could not imagine how the boy would deal with the news. Even more troublesome was Draco's position in Slytherin house, which had come to him by his father's rank as a powerful supporter of the Dark Lord. Once they found out about Draco's severance, there was no telling what they would do.

Sighing to himself, he walked up to the gargoyle, which guarded his office. For some reason, it did not move aside. He said the password, "Butterfinger," but still the gargoyle remained still as stone. It was then that he noticed the parchment attached to the gargoyle.

Albus Dumbledore, Former Headmaster of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,

It must have come to your attention by now that the entrance to your offices has ceased to function for you. The reason, if you have not garnered it from who this letter is directed to, is that the offices are no longer yours. You have been removed from your post by order of the Ministry of Magic. The new headmaster, Severus Snape, will be arriving at Hogwarts tomorrow to take your place. I hope you will not attempt to interfere with him in any way. He will return to you all your private articles from both your offices and your chambers, which have both been sealed. You have also been served a restraining order that will require you to stay one hundred yards from the school grounds. As such, you must leave now and await your articles in Hogsmeade. A room at the Three Broomsticks has been reserved for you. Once again, I hope you will not make a nuisance of yourself.

Sincerely,

Lucius Malfoy

No anger nor sadness filled Dumbledore's heart as he turned away from the gargoyle, nor did they fill his heart as he walked from the castle, nor did they fill his heart as he disapparated from outside the gates. His heart did not fill with sadness until at last he stood in his own rooms, in his own house, a place he had not been for many years. Here, alone, he cried.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The next day would prove to be a miserable day indeed for many people. Chief among them would be Harry Potter, "The Boy Who Lived", and "The Boy Who Would Now Have to Deal With An Arse Of A Headmaster," and Draco. Just Draco.

The cause of both their sufferings, Lucius Malfoy, was already having a wonderful time by the time he had first woken up, the smell of rose oil still wafting in the air as he lay twisted in the sheets of his room in the manor, Narcissa staring up at him with brown eyes and blonde hair in striking contrast with the black satin sheets behind her. With a gentle kiss to her lips, full of a tenderness that had been ignored in the face of familial interests until now, Lucius said his goodbyes and walked quickly down to the dining room.

Lucius Malfoy's joy did not come solely from the vigorous exercise he had participated in the night before, but the fact that he would soon have another heir on the way, thanks to the potions he and his wife had been taking. Their lord had commanded he have another child, another heir, and he was all too happy to comply. Narcissa had become such a nag, always complaining that he didn't spend enough of his time or attention upon her, but what can one expect when you are married to the Dark Lord's right hand man?

A house elf rushed over with a silver tray, on which two slices of toast, lightly buttered, and a small cup of tea, were balanced. The Daily Prophet lay upon the table, and the front page made his day all the much more enjoyable. "Attack on Hogsmeade: Is Hogwarts safe?" Soon parents would be sending to have their children withdrawn from the school, and only the loyal Slytherins would remain, under headmaster Snape. Snape... So much easier to control than the interfering fool Dumbledore.

Indeed Lucius was already enjoying his morning immensely when another unfortunate soul was awoken already within the lion's den.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Harry Potter had received something far less than a restful sleep when he was rudely awoken by what appeared to be a monsoon. He threw himself forward from his covers, doused in freezing cold water, and leapt to the floor, where his feet slipped from under him, sending him to the ground in a heap.

A snort of derision alerted him to the fact that someone else was in the room, and looking up, Harry was confronted with piercing eyes looking down a hooked nose, all underneath long greasy hair. It is said, in the magical world, that when a hope dies, so does a Syrenis bird. Harry imagined that a whole flock of them must have just kicked the bucket and dropped out of midair.

"So Mr. Potter, as slothful and ill presentable in the morning as you are in Potions class I see." Snape took a few steps closer to the bed, walking away from the staircase entry. "Not quite the sort of reflexes I would have expected from such a prized Quidditch player." Harry's ears turned just the slightest shade of pink before he realized that Snape was the one in his room.

"What are you doing here?"

"Careful, boy. I am your new guardian until such time as Dumbledore is reinstated, they find you a better and god hopes a more willing guardian, or you die." Every word from his mouth was pure venom, but Harry's mind was stuck on the first part of what he had said.

"I'm... I'm sorry. Could you repeat the first part of that?"

"I... am.... your.... new... guardian." Each word was punctuated by increasingly hostile eyes, or so it seemed.

Harry had the briefest of moments to squeak out an "Oh... I see," before he collapsed once more into a heap upon the floor. Snape smiled a bit as he pulled out his wand and prepared to wake him once more. He knew he should tell the boy that it was only in legal terms, and that they would not even have to speak to each other, which was Snape's plan, but seeing the boy react just as he had when the minister had broken the news was what Snape regarded as cosmic justice. Still... he hoped they reinstated Dumbledore soon. There was no telling what happen if Voldemort knew he didn't have to deal with Albus.

It was only after an hour of perverse enjoyment in the mental torture of a student, who had been extraordinarily pleased to know that Snape would have just as little role in his life as before, if not less, that Snape removed himself from Gryffindor tower. He was almost back to his chambers within the dungeon when the tattoo upon his arm burst into a flaring agony. Across this channel of pain another feeling crept into his mind as well. Anger. Consuming anger.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Ron watched Ginny hovering over the field, feeling both overly protective and proud as he watched her toss the quaffle about, running perfectly through maneuvers he had only taught her days before. Ginny had turned out to be quite a good learner. There was even a chance she might make it onto the quidditch team, especially with a little prodding in her favor from Harry, which was almost guaranteed. The thought of Harry reminded him of why he had a feather quill and parchment on the table in front of him. He really had been terrible about keeping in touch...

Dear Harry,

Hey Mate, sorry I haven't written in a while, but there's been a load of stuff going on around the burrow lately. Mom and Dad have been going on more missions for the Order, and Bill has them worried because he hasn't written in days. So... write back?

Cheers,

Ron

He looked at the letter once before crumpling it into a ball and setting it aflame with his wand. For some reason he had become daft at writing letters, and it didn't quite make sense. Harry had been his friend for years, and in all that time he had written countless letters that made him seem stupid and hokey, but for some reason it seemed different now. He wanted to seem special to Harry. He knew it was sick and perverted, that he, Ron, was in love with his best friend. Who also happened to be a guy. Not to mention the savior of the wizarding world. Under these conditions, it could be expected that Ron was a little on edge, and so he jumped spectacularly high when George poked him the back with a 'lectrifying licorice.

"Ow, what was that for?"

"Well we couldn't help but notice you were feeling a bit down, so we decided to come over here and cheer you up. Licorice?" Ron politely motioned his decline and turned back to watch Ginny, who was now tossing practice balls through the hoops.

"Wait a second, what do you mean we?" Ron turned, and was confronted with George. Standing there. Alone.

"Well I'm glad you asked, brother mine." Here George's face had reached the salesman stage, and Ron knew he was in for a sound lecture, and that, sooner or later, he would be coerced into buying something so he might as well buy it now. "You see Ron, Fred and I have been working on a little variation of the invisibility spell dad placed on that car. It can render you invisible for two minutes for every cup you drink."

"Isn't that illegal?" Images of Fred and George being hauled off to Azkaban (though truthfully they would probably be taken to the holding cells in the Aurors' department for a day or so) filled Ron's mind.

"We've checked it all out Ronniekins, so long as the potion isn't permanent it isn't illegal. Besides, it's not as if we would abuse it or anything," came from the air somewhere to the left of Ron, causing him no end of disorientation, no matter how used to it he should be, considering Harry and his exploits in the invisibility cloak.

"I'll buy some later guys. I have to write a letter now."

To boys such as Fred and George, this was the completely wrong thing to say to dissuade their attention. Indeed George's face lit up with glee, and Fred was quickly chugging the restoration draught until he too was standing beside George.

"What's her name? Where did you meet her?" Their questions continued until Ron merely packed up his materials and locked himself away within his room. Even in the silence, he could not seem to find the words to put to paper. Eventually he broke down and wrote a simple one liner that probably made him look like a complete idiot in the eye of the one man he loved.

Harry,

Sorry I haven't written much, write me back?

Ron

Hardly a romantic letter of the ages, but it wouldn't matter anyways, because he was going to tell Harry, just as soon as he got to Hogwarts. No more putting it off.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Madame Pomfrey was quietly stacking vials in the medicine cupboards when a large bang echoed through the infirmary. The vial she had been holding slipped and fell, but she hardly noticed as she raced to the patient beds. There, his skin like marble, with thin blue veins showing through, breath rasping, lay Draco Malfoy, eyes open and pleading. He twitched nervously as Madame Pomfrey approached, and she swore she could hear him whisper "Please, just kill me," as she placed a sleeping draught to his lips and tipped the container back.

She watched as his eyelids slowly came together, and he at last fell asleep. It was not the normal sleep of those who slept with potions, however, for throughout he was constantly moving. Always, as she watched him, though she could never be sure, it seemed he was mouthing something. She was so sure it was "Father, how did I fail you?"