At Any Given Moment

At Any Given Moment

It was dark in the courtyard as the stars were shining feebly. Draco lay on the stone rim of the fountain, listening to the water splash from the jugs, four stone veelas held, into the pool. A rare peaceful moment Draco enjoyed, for another would not come for quite some time, he was sure. He slowly opened his silver eyes, the last quarter moon reflected twice within them, and sighed. Bringing a cigarette to his lips, he sat up. Draco blew the smoke out in rings and stood, preparing himself to face his father. When he was ready, he strode at his ease toward the intricately carved French double doors. With his black cloak billowing, he hummed a tune from Metallica, a muggle band he knew his father couldn't stand.

When Draco entered his fathers study, he got the exact reaction he had been aiming for. Lucius' eyebrows contracted to form one line and he gave a fierce snarl that would have frightened the Dark Lord yet had no effect what so ever on Draco.

"I have told you boy," Lucius growled, advancing on his son and grabbing Draco's upper-arms, "not to smoke those vile things!" He then grabbed the cigarette and forced it down Draco's throat. As Draco coughed violently, his father gave him a painful blow to the stomach and he coughed up the cigarette.

"Sorry, father," Draco wheezed, yet he smirked to himself. He really loved pushing his father's buttons.

"Don't apologize, stupid boy," Lucius spat, slapping Draco sharply across the face. "Stand up straight, take pride in yourself!" Draco stood at attention, still smirking. "Wipe that silly smile off your face." Draco did. Lucius then stalked off to the fireplace.

"Welcome to Lucifer's boot camp," muttered Draco sullenly, rubbing his stomach. His father didn't hear him.

"You are coming of age, Draco," Lucius said in a much kinder voice, motioning for Draco to sit down. As Draco slid into an expensive 18th century Italian leather chair, Lucius continued, looking softly down at his son. "The Dark Lord has confessed to me that you are his first pick for successor. Wouldn't you like that son?" He leaned down and started rubbing Draco's shoulders.

"I would," Draco said simply. His father leaned in and kissed him gently. Any other person would be very confused by this, Draco mussed as his father kissed his neck. First, Lucius is beating me, next moment sweetly kissing me. But Draco was used to it; his father never had been quite right in the head. Draco felt his fathers hand slide gently from his chest where it had been resting, down to his navel and then to his crotch. "Father?" Draco whispered. He knew his father would carry on forever if he let him. Lucius removed his hand and kissed Draco softly on the forehead, then stood.

"It would make me so proud to see you on the Dark Throne," Lucius whispered, smiling. Then he became serious again. "But our Lord has also told me he wants you to help bring down that Potter. He needs you to lure Potter to him."

"How would I do that?" Draco asked quietly.

"You would have to become friends with him, gain his trust. That way you could easily lure him into a trap and finish him off quickly," Lucius swayed on the spot, a kind on mad glint in his eyes. "You leave for Hogwarts tomorrow. Will you be ready to form a truce with that boy?"

"Yes, father, I will approach him on the train," Draco said, staring into the fire. "I don't know how long he will take to trust me; he hates me."

"Tell him you were under the Imperious Curse your entire first year and for portions of every year since. And because of the time I spent in Azkaban you were able to develop your strength to resist me. Now you are back to your senses, you have chosen to help the resistance against your monster of a father and his companions," Lucius said as simply as though he had just plucked it from the air in front of him.

Draco nodded. "That's putting a lot of blame on you, father."

"I know," said Lucius with a sly smile. "If you paint me as an ogre in your eyes, Potter will be more likely to trust you."

"You risk more than just being locked up in Azkaban if I do that!" Draco said, flabbergasted. "You would risk your life just to make sure I succeed the Dark Lord?"

Lucius simply nodded.

* * *

Draco looked sadly around his bedroom. The deep black velvet hangings on his bed, the blood red panes of glass in the Gothic windows. On the walls there were painted images of great battles between dragons of all different type and the floors were carpeted in furs from some animal Draco never learned the name of. His bed, itself, took up a fair portion of the room; which was saying something as it was a large room. It was carved with faces of dragons as well, as was the ancient ash wood desk in the corner. Several statues of saints and angels also filled the room. Draco's favorite aspect of the room, however, was the throne that sat at the middle of the far wall. It was made of bones, and not just any bones; dragon bones. And though it had to be older than the manor, the skeleton still held some strange magic Draco couldn't exactly figure out.

Then, in front of the throne, on a solid silver stand, sat Draco's most precious possession. His Bible. It was extremely old and was completely in Latin, but Draco didn't mind that. That book was the only constant in Draco's life that was any comfort to him.

He sighed; he hated leaving Malfoy Manor for the gloom of Hogwarts. He took one more depressed look around then went down to the front gate to meet his father.

* * *

Lucius was waiting, standing handsomely beside the gate. His short, platinum hair fell beautifully in front of his silver-blue eyes, just like Draco's did. Draco smirked as he remembered how much he had wanted to be exactly like his father. That was, of course, until he reached the age of fourteen and became older than his father. Oh, Lucius was mature enough, sure. And a strong, powerful man; a formidable wizard. He just wasn't all there. Sometimes, he left completely, though is body stayed behind. He was afraid of the dark so he spent most nights with Draco who did his best to comfort his father no matter what it meant he had to do. Lucius saw demons that came to get him for what he had done.

Lucius was not the horrible monster everyone thought he was. He was just a little disturbed, and really, who could blame him? Draco came to stand beside his father and grabbed hold of his arm.

Lucius looked at his son, "Have you figured out what you're going to do?"

"Yes, father," said Draco quietly.

"Well then," Lucius said with a faint smile, "are you ready?"

Draco nodded and they Disapparated together.

* * *

They arrived on platform 9 3/4 at the front of the crowd. People stared at them and Draco knew what they must be thinking. Potter had proved, only at the end of last term, that Lucius was a Death Eater and had put him in Azkaban. Draco could only imagine what people would think if they knew what went on inside Malfoy Manor. The incest alone would be enough to bring down the whole family. Draco ignored them all as he walked purposefully toward the train.

"Goodbye, father," Draco said, leaning out of the door. Lucius reached for Draco's face.

"Goodbye, Draco," sighed Lucius, smoothing Draco's left cheek with one long thumb. "Bon chance, son."

"Merci, father," Draco smirked and turned to go. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw his father seeming as though the world was ended. Draco almost turned to go back but stopped himself. He was afraid his father might kill himself when he was alone in Malfoy Manor. Narcissa had been taken by an Auror, and with his son and only source of comfort away at school, Lucius' demons might come after him. But Draco could do nothing; he had a mission to complete. So he forced himself to keep walking, making a mental note to talk to Severus about his father.

The train started to move as Draco began to seek out Potter. He found him with his little cult near the end of the train. Draco took a deep breath and slid the compartment door open. They all gave him their usual looks of purest loathing. Yet any feelings of hate that had once been inside of Draco had left him over the summer when he grew up.

"I don't want to fight Potter," Draco muttered, ignoring everyone else at that moment. "There are more important things than you and I now. I've come to form a truce."

* * *

A stunned and very uneasy silence filled the compartment at that point. Draco kept his cool though, waiting patiently for Potter to reply. He took his time leaning against the side of the door.

Potter simply sat there for a minute, looking completely shocked. Then his eyes narrowed. "This is just another one of your tricks, isn't it? Well it's not going to work."

Draco shook his head but said nothing.

"Well what if we don't want a truce with you?" Weasley blurted out. "Why don't you just go back and play with the rest of the Death Munchers like a good little boy. It's what your mum wants, isn't it?"

"No," Draco said softly, looking down at his hands, "My mother is dead now. I believe it was one of your friends who killed her. Mad-eye Moody ring any bells for you?" He then looked defiantly up at Weasley, who just stared stupidly back. "Oh, I take it he didn't tell you the happy news?" Draco asked coldly.

"No," said Granger weakly, "I'm sorry..." she began.

"Save it," Draco said, cutting her off. "You're not sorry." He looked out the window avoiding everyone's gaze. "How about it Potter?"

Potter opened his mouth as of to say something, but no sound came; he closed it again. Though Draco was not looking at him, he could sense the battle going on inside of Potter. It was obvious he still thought this was some kind of trick or joke. A small smirk appeared on Draco's face; what a weak joke.

"Err... well... I don't know," Potter said lamely. "How do I know this isn't a trick? I mean, we've been mortal enemies for six years, now all of a sudden you want a truce? You're losing your evil Slytherin credibility, Malfoy."

"I had no say in whether you and I were enemies or not," Draco said quietly, staring hard at the window.

"What?"

"I was under the Imperious Curse for our entire first year. And for large portions of every year since. When my father went to Azkaban, I had enough time to develop a resistance to him. Now he has no power over me," Draco said, just as easily as his father had.

"How do we know you're not under his curse right now?" Weasley asked rudely.

"I'm no idiot, Weasley," Draco hissed. "But I am, however, a coward. I know that the Dark Lord will want me to serve along side my father. And because I am not an idiot, I know I can't do that. I refuse to fall into the same trap my parents have. The trap that took my mothers life and my father's sanity. The things my father has been forced to endure...." Draco stopped, slightly surprised at how easily this lie came to him. He was trying to decide if he should go on with what he was so longing to tell them. If he could tell them all the horrible things that his father had done to him they would welcome him with open arms. But he could not do that.

"I'm acting on my own, now," Draco said softly. "I refuse to be the servant of any man. Let alone a man who destroyed my family. All I ask is for your help. There are other reasons for me to want this truce but I can't give you those now." He looked up at Potter, begging him. "Please."

"There aren't any other reasons you could tell us?" Potter asked still not seeming to be convinced.

Draco sighed. He had only wanted to use this as a last resort as it was true. But it seemed he had no choice. "Well, I am not on the Dark Lords good side. Last week, when my father came home from Azkaban, I..... I tried to kill him. As you can imagine, Voldemort wasn't exactly pleased with me after that."

"You tried to kill your father, why?" Granger asked, looking very concerned for Draco's sanity.

"He's not the best father," Draco said with a shrug. "That's why I hated you really, Weasley."

"You hated me because your father's a git?" Weasley asked mockingly.

"Git, is an understatement when it comes to my father. I was jealous of you. You have parents who not only care about you, they actually tell you they care. I don't know if my mother ever cared about me because she never said or did anything to actually suggest that she was capable of emotion. And my father, well, lets just say he cares for me a little too much." When Draco said this, a sharp pang of panic swept over him. He had not meant to say that much.

"Well, that's not a good reason to hate Ron," Granger piped in. "None of that is his fault."

"It was good enough for me," Draco said as he looked back at Potter. "How about it? Will you help me?" Draco held out his hand.

Potter looked at it, then shrugged. "I guess so."

He reached up and shook hands with Draco Malfoy.