Retribution

Draco did not know how long he had been travelling. Days had slipped into nights, dawn passing into dusk until it all became a continuous blur that he no longer took notice of. However, he was aware that the first of September was fast approaching, and he was nowhere near Hogwarts. Of course, that only mattered if he decided to go. Rather then wandering aimlessly though, he thought the best plan of action was to head north, and make a decision when he arrived.

After leaving Devizes, he had hitchhiked his way to Birmingham. Annoyingly, his persuasive techniques had failed to work on any more drivers after that, and so it had been a continuous trek to his current location, the Yorkshire Dales. His journey had been as uneventful as possible, given the circumstances, until he had reached Sheffield. It was here that events took a sinister turn.

The horrible, threatening sensation, that which he had dreaded for so long, the feeling that he was being followed, had started.

This naturally terrified Draco. She could not have come all this way, after all the detours and hidden pathways he had taken, could she? Draco was convinced she could. Ever since the feeling had first crept upon him, he had become a shaking wreck. Every corner was inspected before he turned it, and as he was constantly looking over his shoulder, Draco's neck ached considerably. When he passed close to the Crabbe's mansion, which was unsurprisingly less impressive then Malfoy Manor, he had considered taking refuge there. But he knew it would be no good. Narcissa would have alerted every respectable pureblood she knew to keep look out for her fugitive son.

When he had passed a lone wizarding shop, rather randomly situated on a narrow country road, he begged the owner (it seems a Malfoy can beg, after all) to give him an invisibility cloak. When that had not worked, Draco threatened the shopkeeper with Crucio, and then went on to perform the curse, but to no avail. Draco's desperation astounded even himself.

Light was not a protector, nor did the cover of darkness give him any aid. As he scurried, ever onwards, through a Dales' village: Matlock, Leyburn, Hawes; Draco cared not which, the feeling of being stalked intensified tremendously.

Heart racing, Draco knew his situation was limited. He stood in the protective shadow of a great church, knowing that with each passing second, his stalker, Her, She, grew closer.

He had three options. The first was to (illegally) Apperate into the church, and then sit waiting like the fly to a spider.

The second option was the only other street leading from the square in which he stood, and for all Draco knew, could be a dead end.

The third and final option was to go back the way he had come, down a dark alley and along an even darker street.

His decision was made in a split-second. He tore headlong towards the alley, passing rows and rows of tiny, tidy village shops.

It was the wrong choice. He knew the moment he set foot into the alleyway, felt the presence of the silencing charm, while his brain registered the eyes, hair, mouth that he had just seen. He stumbled, a foot hitting a loose paving slab sending him sprawling across the wide road.

He turned, slowly, onto his back, and was aware that he could not escape. He could run, oh yes he could always try that, but he knew it would be futile. As much as Draco had a penchant for dealing out the Cruciatus Curse, he most certainly did not like to receive it.

'Draco', came a voice. A voice so familiar, so recognisable that ironically, Draco went into shock.

For a moment, he could say nothing, though he suddenly snapped from his reverie, before he snarled 'What?'

'Do you know how long I have followed you?' Came the voice once more, completely devoid of emotion.

Draco snarled again, and when he spoke, his tone was full of all the wrath he could muster. 'Of course I know. How could I not? I felt every footstep, every stupid breath you took. Why didn't you show yourself before now? Or was it yet another of your perverse games?'

Draco stopped; lightly panting from all the effort his outrage had taken. He waited, still lying crumpled on the road, for the other to speak.

The forced silence that filled the street was sickening. He wondered for a second, what would happen if he where to cast a spell, right now, injuring his enemy.

'Do not even think about it.'

Draco jumped up in fury. 'And why should I not? I have no obligation to be here, but why must I not make it fun? You stalk me all this way, and then let me lay in the road, not even bothering to answer my questions! What ever happened to the 'great' Lucius Malfoy? Azkaban made you soft? Cant you even-'

In one swift movement, Lucius crossed the short distance between them, and took hold of his son in an agonisingly tight grip. 'Do not ever speak of Azkaban, or myself, in such a disrespectful manner,' He hissed, shaking his son with each syllable. 'If I ever hear you speak like that again, then I promise you, all the decisions I made will-' he stopped abruptly, releasing Draco as though he burned. 'Dear God, what happened to your face?'

Draco had been about to say the exact same thing to his father, but instead gasped when he heard the reference to Narcissa's markings. 'What do you think happened to it?' he said evenly, though the familiar sickness coursed through him.

Lucius contemplated before he answered, before replying simply, 'Narcissa.'

The two eyed each other for a moment, Draco determining whether to be calm or angry. The anger won.

'Too bloody right it was Narcissa. And it is your fault. Your stupid, pathetic fault for getting locked up in Azkaban, leaving me to deal with Her!' You know what she's been like recently- sadistic, twisted and we mustn't forget psychotic should we?' Draco let out a sarcastic snort of laughter. 'And people think Bella's bad?'

A long moment passed before either spoke. He waited for his father to talk, watched as he stood shrouded within the shadows, his robes tattered and torn; the once perfect mane of flowing blonde hair was now lank and unkempt. But his eyes- they were alive and feverish. They danced and darted around him, and Draco knew he was evaluating his situation, soaking up the surroundings like a battered sponge.

Eventually he spoke, though differently to his usual manner, as though he was choosing his words extremely carefully.

'For any pain Narcissa may have brought you since my, er, departure, I am sorry. For it she shall suffer.' Here he paused, as though unsure whether to go on. Slowly and cautiously, he covered the distance that had returned between them, until he was less than a foot away. When he spoke it was less than a whisper. 'Draco, my stay in Azkaban made me realise many things, one of those being I now know where my priorities lie. Tying in with that realisation, my son, is the way I have behaved towards you. Draco, I realised how terrible I have been; the things I have done and said are beyond anything I have ever done to a fellow wizard. Only if you forgive me will I ever forgive myself.'

Once again, the two stared at each other, both waiting for the other to speak.

Lucius placed a hand on Draco's arm. 'What do you say?'

Draco's expression changed from that of confusion to loathing. 'I do not believe what I am hearing! You, who on many occasions have been more terrible then Her, appear in a silenced street, having followed me God-knows how many miles, claiming to be a changed man?' Draco's voice grew louder with each syllable, knowing that no one but his father could hear him, until he was shouting viciously. 'Tell me, do you really think an apology can amend what you have done in the past year? You may have forgotten, but I certainly have not, the truly horrible things you have done. Ever since the Dark Lord returned, you have been nothing but a bully and a monster.' He threw his fathers hand away from him. 'Get out of my life. Don't ever come near me again.'

With that, Draco turned and ran along the deserted street, before he melted into the shadows.

Watching him go, Lucius sighed, before he resolutely followed.

**********

Draco had not travelled one hundred metres down the alley when a shudder ran through his body, and the familiar, now constant, feeling of being stalked returned. He snarled audibly, annoyed with himself for thinking that his father would have heeded his warning, and annoyed with Lucius, and the way he always did whatever he wanted, listening to no one in the process.

He turned his head, attempting to spy Lucius through the impenetrable darkness, but it was in vain; he could barely see to the end of his nose. Draco wondered if his father had anything to do with that, before he tripped and fell over a hidden danger once again. 'Bloody Hell!' he screamed, crashing to the ground. After the initial shock, his hands began to scramble around on the floor, hunting for that which had blocked his path. He suddenly connected with something solid and rough. He felt it for a moment, before throwing it in anger. 'Damn plank of wood!' he scowled, as he heard the plank collide with a nearby building with a resounding crash.

Draco was in the process of pulling himself from the floor when-

'You do realise that you have now fallen to the floor twice in under ten minutes? What has happened to your balance?'

'Jesus!' cried Draco, spinning on his heel as he came face to face, yet again, with his father. 'Now I know how you capture all of those bloody muggles- you scare them half to death when you jump out from the shadows!'

Lucius raised his head proudly. 'It is good to know that one has not lost their stealth tactics.'

The smug look upon his fathers face caused Draco to roll his eyes and mutter, though slightly louder than he would have wished, 'oh for God's sake.'

'Enough with the blasphemy, son.' Lucius' smugness had gone in an instant, replaced by a look of aggravation. 'Loss of balance, disrespect towards me and now blasphemy? I do not know what the crackpot old fool, Dumbledore, has been force feeding you, but I demand better from a Malfoy.'

Draco goggled at his father as he said this. 'Yeah, right. Changed.' He shook his head in disbelief, before he continued down the alley.

Lucius spat a stream of swearwords at himself; the likes of which Draco had not even known existed. Just as he was about to call his father a hypocrite, on top of everything else, Lucius spoke:

'Draco, wait. Please.'

In spite of himself, Draco stopped. Never, in all of his life, had he heard Lucius say please. The curiosity still getting the better of him, Draco turned to his father. 'What?'

'I have something to show you.'

Draco sighed. 'Let me guess, the new leaf you turned over?'

Pretending he had not heard this, Lucius put his hand inside his ripped bottle green robes, and felt around through the many tears. Eventually, after a minute-or-so, Lucius found what he had been looking for. Either a distant light was lighting it, or it was simply a magical glow, but Draco saw that it was a wand.

Unable to stop himself, Draco gave a clear sound of exasperation. 'I hate to break it to you father, but I have seen wands before.'

Now it was Lucius' turn to be exasperated. 'Do be quiet, you insolent child. Of course this is not what I wanted to show you.'

The glow of the wand showed Draco that his father had waved it, before he cried 'Priori Mortis'

All of a sudden, a huge burst of white light erupted from it, and it illuminated the street, basking it in an eerie glow. Draco could see that they stood in a street packed with tiny shops- butchers, fruit and bakery's- all gleaming in the wand light. He could also see the plank of wood, now looking like a block of silver; and then his father, gripping the wand with both hands. His blonde hair seemed to shine and shimmer, and his eyes luminous. He looked extremely imposing, and here Draco could see the man he had once greatly respected.

After a few minutes, the light began to fade, until it became a soft glow, and Draco could see something round and solid emerging from the end of the wand. When it was fully out, the object began to rotate whilst still attached. Lucius was smiling serenely. 'There. Do you see now, that I have changed?'

He did not understand what his father meant. Whatever was attached to the end of the wand looked like a bumpy blob to Draco. 'Father, what is it?'

Still smiling, Lucius replied in a whisper. 'Step nearer.'

Moving forwards, Draco peered and took a closer look. It was then he realised what he was seeing, and with a harsh yelp, he leapt away from the wand.

'Father... Father, what have you done?' Draco knew that this was a stupid question, as it was perfectly obvious what Lucius had done.

'I have renounced the Dark Lord.'

Draco's eyes widened with horror. 'That's a funny way of putting it... I know its not exactly easy to leave the Death Eater fold but... to cut the head off Algernon Rookwood? Is that not taking things a bit far?'

Lucius lifted the wand and head ensemble to eye-level, and turned it before him. 'Nasty piece of work, was Rookwood. Forever prowling around, sniffing for information to pass on to the Dark Lord.'

The actual sight of death did not dismay Draco, having seen much worse in his short lifetime; it was the sight of his father, calmly staring at the head as though it were a magnificent piece of art. Lucius obviously believed he had done entirely the right thing.

'But why, father?' asked Draco, with mixed curiosity and repulsion.

Lucius did not answer immediately. He spat on the severed head, before whispering 'Finite Incantatum,' and the head disappeared. Silently, he lowered his wand. 'I shall not rest until every single remaining Death Eater is gone. One way or another.

This piece of information was almost as absurd as the last. 'What?' Draco called, disbelievingly. 'What on Earth... father, I don't...' but he was lost for words.

As though he were instructed, Draco looked at his father properly, for the first time. It was as though he was not wholly there. His eyes, only moments ago alive and dangerous, now looked distant and troubled. His body seemed battered and defeated. This was Lucius Malfoy as never seen before. At last he spoke. Draco had been expecting a voice of sadness and misery, but instead it was cold, hard and full of hatred. 'You are not the only one to have been tortured over the past months, Draco. Azkaban often brings out the very worst in people, as it also brings out the vulnerable nature of others; they often do thing that they would never dare do in the outside world. Rookwood was one of those people, and along with Avery, McNair, Rabastan and Rodolphus, they did things, terrible things to me and many others... the likes of which you cannot even begin to imagine.'

Draco continued to stare at his father, no longer with horror, but with- and he hardly believed it possible- pity. Draco pitied Lucius. What was more, he empathised him.

'And the Dark Lord?' Draco heard himself say, though he was barely aware of it.

With grief remaining in his eyes, Lucius smiled. 'Do you think I would do something like this, without having a suitable plan? I am a Malfoy son, not a fool.'

Draco was confused. He did not know what to think, whether to believe his father or laugh manically at him. He did not know if all of this was not just a big plan concocted between Lucius and Her; and he certainly did not know if what he was about to do was anything close to the right idea. However, he had to try.

'Walk with me, father.'