Opal of the Malfoys

Opal of the Malfoys

Chapter 1: Second Chance

Draco,

The incident at the Ministry has brought another enemy apart from Harry Potter to my attention. Albus Dumbledore; he protects the boy with all his extended abilities. Yes, I must admit they are extended. Not extended enough, however, to survive a Killing Curse. To fully remove the obstacle of Harry Potter, I need to put a faithful Death-Eater at Hogwarts and kill that irksome Headmaster.

Make up for your father's failure. Join me and bring honour to the Malfoy family for generations. Be that faithful and privileged Death-Eater to kill the one some audacious people call 'the only One the Dark Lord Fears'. I will give you three days.

The Dark Lord.

Draco stared down at the letter in his hands. He had received it two days ago. He had loved the prospect at first but now...

He couldn't explain it. He was no longer a naïve child so he had thought this over and over. Make up for your father's failure. He now knew what that meant. He had only chose Draco for revenge. His eyebrows furrowed at the thought. Bring honour to the Malfoy family for generations. Draco laughed at this sentence. Bring honour by killing?

Well, it would me some publicity alright, he thought. One baby-tiny little snag though; it would be the wrong type of publicity! Oh, come on, thought Draco, I'm sixteen. I can tell the difference between right and wrong. His mother just told him to keep his head down, act in a dignified manner and do what the Dark Lord tells him.

Besides, who wanted a tattoo that still hurt months afterwards and doesn't even look good anyway?

He scrunched up the letter and threw it across the attic. Yes, he was in the attic. His parents rarely came up there. No one came up there as a matter of fact. Unless you count the house elf, Ruka, who came up there to do a little dusting when told. Draco came up to get some thinking space. It was also one of his favourite places to do his homework. He was not doing homework now however.

As his anger at Voldemort-yes, he was not afraid of the name- faded, it was replaced by fear. If he were to deny Voldemort and be lucky to escape with his life, where would he go? Malfoy Manor would certainly be on the top of the list of places to look. But no, denying Voldemort to his face was certainly certain death. No, he would have to hide and start now.

But where to hide? He couldn't go to anyone who was opposed to the Dark Side. They would never believe him. They wouldn't accept him. They would push him away. Just because of how he acted in previous years. Just because of his family. Just because of the name hanging over him since childbirth:

Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, from a Death-Eater family that had been in the Inner Circle since the beginning. He wanted to give up his name; his family; his past.

He wanted a second chance.

He began to open the boxes, chests and wardrobes in the attic one by one. Later on, he knew full well why. Now, however, it was just a subconscious act, looking for something to inspire a good plan. He noticed a large, heavy-looking ebony chest with emerald designs twisting around it in leaves and vines. It seemed to have collected no dust and had a slight sheen.

He put his head to one side, curious. He approached it, knelt down and pushed back on the lid, half expecting it to be locked like all of the chests he had tried. To his surprise, it opened as smooth as satin. Though expelling a large cloud of what smelled like pipe smoke. He coughed and fanned his hands to hope to blow the smoke away. When it cleared, Draco expected to see something exciting and beautiful.

To his dismay, there was nothing but a grubby box whose colour was disguised by a clear inch of dust. His first thought was to slam down the lid and forget it. It was a good thing his curiosity kept his interest alive or none of the story I am going to dictate would have ever happened.

He reached in, being that the chest was so large that the lock sticking up from the side he leaned over touched his navel. He picked up the box and pulled it out. He put it down on the floor behind him and brushed the dust off with his hand. It turned out to be a pale aqua green circular box, rather like a hat box, with a length of sparkling green ribbon going around it, tied in a bow at the top. It looked somewhat like an unopened present.

He carefully undid the ribbon and removed the lid. Inside was a circular gold pendent tied with bright green ribbon and on the pendent itself was a bright opal in the shape of a four-pointed star. He pulled it out and examined it in detail. On the back was a poem:

He that removes me from my case,

Wearing me will change your face,

Excellent for a second chance,

No need for a song and dance!

Well, the person who made this had a sense of humour, thought Draco as he read the last line. Wearing me will change your face, huh? Might as well try. Still, those Metemorph-medals were a complete sham. Could this be one of those? Well, I really should try. I'll only know if I do.

All these thoughts ran through Draco's head and came up to a decision. He slung the surprisingly light pendent around his neck and tied the ends in a tight knot. He got up to his feet and made his way over to a mirror. He gawped at his appearance.

A bony, salt-white skinned, sharp-faced young man looked back. He had sharp pale green eyes and dishevelled hair. The hair was the most remarkable feature about him. It was not one colour. At one point, the tips might be blue. Another, the roots blonde. Another, the front strands emerald. It was impossible put his finger on one colour. The hair looked like it had been made of opal strands.

He ran a hand through his hair. Well, I rather like this form. He sneaked down to his room. His owl saw him and proceeded to shriek but he quietened her quickly, "Hush, Pandora! It's me!" Her eyes gave his a quizzical look if owls could do that. He took her over to the window. If he was going to give up being Draco Malfoy, he might as well do it properly. He opened her cage, "You can go where you want to, girl. You're free now."

The eagle owl flew off into the nearby forest. He set the cage down. He turned to his trunk. He couldn't take that with him. No, it was too full of Draco's personal things. It's not mine anymore, he told himself. Still, he might as well take a few bare essentials. His broomstick for one. He needed a mode of transport. And a little money.

He took these two things out, opened the wide window and was just about to take off when he thought, 'It's going to look very suspicious if there was no sign of a struggle'. He turned back opened his trunk and began to throw things here and there, pulling back one corner of his bedspread to look like he had been taken out of bed. Last but not least, he turned his trunk onto his side and pushed over his wardrobe, no longer caring how much noise he made.

He could hear his mother running up the stairs, shrieking, "DRACO! DRACO, WHAT'S GOING ON UP THERE?" He quickly opened the window and took off into the night without a backward glance. He soared up, up, up; so high, Malfoy Manor was the size of an envelope. He could faintly hear Narcissa Malfoy bawling her son's name. She is not calling me, he told himself, firmly. She is not my mother and never was.

He tossed some of his new multicolour hair out of his eyes and began to fly. Then it struck him. Where to fly? London? He could go just about anywhere. Hogwarts would be a good idea. There was that Room of Requirement. He could sneak in, live there and no one would be any the wiser.

The plan was almost too good. He half expected to be flagged down by Ministry officials who wanted to question him about what he was doing out so late at night when the wizarding public had been advised to never go out alone so late at night. He met no one however and, soon enough, found the train-tracks that the Hogwarts Express followed.

The cold wind rushed through his hair as he went under the settled mist. The trip seemed to take days. He wished he was sitting on the warm Hogwarts Express. But, if he hadn't left right now, he would have been sitting on it, four weeks later, his soul tainted; his left arm disfigured by an ugly Dark Mark he had seen before on his father, his mother, Severus...almost every adult the Malfoy family was friends with.

He saw the familiar mountains ahead and put on an extra spurt of speed. This resulted in his eyes watering and the hood of his cloak thrown back, his hair flying out behind him. He flew over them and went into a smooth dive. He pulled up just before he met the lake and flew across the lake, skimming the surface. Might as well have a bit of fun, he thought. There's no one out here to see me.

He pulled up, going slower so he could count the windows. He had heard of people doing it to identify which was the floor they needed to go. He stopped when he reached the seventh floor. Carefully and very slowly, he edged towards the window. He placed a silencing charm on the window's hinges just in case they creaked, pushed it opened. He slipped in. He looked around to see where he was.

He needed to go to the end of the corridor and turn left to get to the Room of Requirement. He made his way along the corridor and was just about to turn left when a mew made him jump and almost yell but he could himself just in time. Mrs Norris was looking up at him, her lamp-like eyes accusing. He could see a light and the shadow of Filch coming around the right corner. He bolted to the left, trying to make as less noise as he could.

He quickly paced three times up and down the stretch of corridor thinking, 'I need somewhere to stay...somewhere no one's going to find me...I need somewhere to learn how to fight the Dark Side...I need somewhere to stay...' On the fourth journey, he saw a shining black door where there hadn't been one before. Filch's voice could be heard,

"Anyone down here, my sweet?" Hesitating no more, he opened the door, dashed into the room, locked it and turned around. The room looked rather like a student's, three-roomed flat. It went straight into a very comfortable looking lounge with a bookcase full of books about fighting the Dark Arts. The colour scheme was rather like his pendant; pale green walls and drapes, soft blues, yellows and reds. He didn't mind. This is better then the dark Slytherin Common Room at any rate. Well, he thought, home sweet home. He sat down on one of the sofas. It then struck him that he couldn't exactly go around with the name Draco Malfoy.

He'd have to think of a new name. He went over to the bathroom and, with some difficulty, combed his windswept hair. He caught sight of his opal pendent. An opal and a star. Well, the French for opal was Opalé. Sounds good to me. He came out of the bathroom and spotted a book about stars and their names. This could be useful. He picked it up and sat cross-legged, flicking through it.

He saw many names of people he knew: Bellatrix, Regulas, Sirius...stop it, Opalé. You're supposed to be looking for a good surname, he told himself strictly. He found the constellation, Draco. Maybe I could use one of the names of the stars in that constellation. One instantly caught his eye: Eltanin. Opalé Eltanin. Yes, that sounded rather good. Opalé sounded French so he could say that he went to Beauxbatons and moved to England.

Opalé thought. He'd have to learn a few more skills if he wanted to fight the Dark Arts. Becoming an Auror seemed like a good idea but he had only five years of education and he didn't really like the idea of continuing school. The Dark Side wasn't exactly going to wait two years. He'd have to start right now.

Starting with learning how to do a Patronus looked as if it was a good start. He took out the book entitled Dark Creatures and How to Get the Better of Them and went to the chapter entitled: Dementors...