The Other Boy Who Lived

Draco Malfoy woke up abruptly in the middle of the night. He was breathing hard like he had run a marathon in under a minute. His heart was beating roughly inside his chest. He turned to the table at the side of bed to call for his magic inhaler, which was conveniently bewitched so it would come to him whenever he needed it. Draco held the nozzle of the inhaler against his mouth and inhaled and exhaled. Beads of sweat were rolling down his forehead as he slowly wiped them off with the sleeve of his satin green and white pajamas. He turned again to the side of his bed to put back his inhaler as he looked at the time; it was only half past one. He laid back down remembering his dream, which was still vivid in his mind.

Draco had dreamt that he had become a prisoner of Azkaban, the wizard prison, because he was found guilty as a Death Eater. He had escaped from Azkaban and was running into the Forbidden Forest and ran into a dementor. The dementor had lowered its hood showing his horrible face with nothing but gray, scabbed skin and empty sockets with a shapeless hole. It was ready to give off its most deadly weapon: the Dementor's Kiss. The dementor had put its clammy, rotten hands around his neck. Draco awoke at the very moment he had been given the Kiss in the dream.

"I still have a soul right? RIGHT?!" he thought frantically.

Everyone knew that losing his or her soul was worse than death.

"Wait. What was I thinking?" he thought to himself.

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be able to feel worried. Duh. Common sense, Draco," he said out loud as he slapped his head, embarrassed of his sudden stupidity.

He walked to his bathroom to wash away the cold sweat that drenched his face. He looked up into the mirror to look at his silver-blonde hair, pale complexion, and gray eyes. His facial features were so much like his father's that it scared him at times.

Draco walked back to his bed and was ready to sleep again. There was a knock on his door before he could even lay his head down. He gave a low growl.

"Come in," he said dully.

To his utter amazement, it was Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts' headmaster, who opened the door with his usual, twinkling grin.

"How did Dumbledore get into my manor? Father would have never let him into our manor; for he has despised him since the day he became headmaster at Hogwarts," he wondered to himself.

"I'm sorry to have come so late, Draco, but I have urgent news that I cannot even send by owl."

"Please speak on it," he said as he yawned.

"I'm afraid -"

He just stood there looking at Draco with a blank expression. Several minutes had passed; Dumbledore still stood at the doorway of his room looking at him with the same blank expression since ten minutes ago. He still had not told Draco the urgent news. This was making Draco bored; he wanted to know what it was that Dumbledore was going to tell him already.

"Well? Afraid what? What has happened?" He asked impatiently.

"That old git better spit it out soon, I want to know what the hell this urgent news is about already!" he said to himself.

Before Draco could even say anything else about the long pause, Dumbledore fell face first onto his carpet. There was a knife in his back.