Confidences

Four years before

Slamming the door behind him, Draco stalked down the steps of Malfoy Manor. He knew that his father would be a little more than stunned when he realized that his precious son was gone. And on this night of all nights.

Draco heard his father's words still, biting at his ears. I did the same when I was your age, boy. It's your turn. Tears of frustration came quickly and unbidden, but Draco let them spill over his pale cheeks. The only person that would care enough to slap him was in the front parlor, entertaining. Why could his father not understand that this was not what he wanted, not now?

He quickly walked up the path and to the main gates. Normally shut tight with a locking spell, the giant cast iron gates lay open, giving a false sense of welcome to the manor. Where was he supposed to go? He had only thought to carry his wand and a bit of pocket money with him. Glancing over his shoulder more than a little nervously, he saw only the giant house where he now spent summers and holidays looming against a fiery sky. Tinted that odd shade of red made Malfoy Manor look even more sinister than it usually did. Draco broke out into a run towards the town at the bottom of the hill. It fairly glowed yellow against the bright pink sky. Soon, night would come. Where was he supposed to take shelter?

Sighing, he slowed to a standstill. He couldn't stay with anyone living there. The wizards either feared the man that lived in Malfoy Manor, or were in league with him. He sat down hard on a patch of grass on the side of the path. Running cold hands over his flushed face, Draco shivered at the coolness of the England summer evening. His father had every right to hate him now. He had shown fear of the unknown.

With a nervous look around to make sure that no one drew nearer, he quietly thanked whomever was watching out for him enough to hide his slim body in the growing shadows. The trees whispered around him, wind cursing him for a coward. Tonight was not the night he would become a Death Eater. Maybe it was just him being the typical rebellious teenager, but he was not ready for his father to hand him over to the rest of the Death Eaters for any sort of initiation.

Standing up, Draco moved back into the path and made a split-second decision. He held his hand out, and closed his eyes. Within seconds, the wind rushed around him nearly knocking him backwards. Draco peered at the purple triple-decker bus in front of him through partly closed eyes, reading the words "Knight Bus" emblazoned on the front.

"Hello, young man!" the driver welcomed him as he opened the doors to Draco.

Draco stepped into the bus and fished his money out of the pocket of his dark gray trousers, handing it to the driver without a word. There was entirely too much to worry about for him to make small talk with a man that probably had not the slightest idea of the several different forces pulling at him. Between his father and Potter... Draco felt his face twist in hate as the name slipped into his mind, like a potion coursing through his veins. The driver frowned slightly before turning away from the boy.

He moved to the back of the bus with a quiet grace, finding one of the beds in the corner shrouded in dark shadows. A perfect spot for not being seen. He settled onto the soft mattress with a sigh, looking uninterestedly as the driver conversed with a young man that walked to the front. Probably the conductor. He had probably been seeing to some of the other passengers when Draco had gotten on the bus. Maybe Diagon Alley would be the best place to pass a day or two, until his father calmed, Draco thought as he lounged back, his legs sprawled out on the bed before him.

The bus drove along, the rhythm almost lulling him to sleep despite the many horrors that came to his mind. Draco's vivid imagination conjured things like blood and sharp objects and strange rituals to evil maniacs. And none of those musings were things that should have helped him sleep. But somehow, even though his own mind worked against him, the room he was in made him feel safe. Something about the pristine white of the bedclothes, and the wafting smell of hot chocolate that was thick in the air made Draco feel more comfortable than he did in his own bed in his own home.

Comfortable was something he hadn't felt in a long time. When he had thought of going home for the summer, he was excited. He and his parents had planned to take a vacation to the United States to visit some estranged family members. Draco had looked forward to this trip. He had never been to the States before and was intrigued by the differences that he had read about between the two wizarding communities in Witch Weekly as well as various books he had picked up in the Hogwarts library. He chuckled as he imagined that Granger girl's face if she discovered that he actually read quite often. On several occasions he had seen her as she buried her nose into a mountain of schoolwork, always too busy to see him as he found a spot in the back of the library.

Draco's father cancelled the vacation, to Draco's vast displeasure. Since Potter had again foiled one of Voldemort's plots at the end of their second year, Lucius had thought it necessary to stay near enough to be at the Dark Lord's beck and call. Draco sneered at the thought of being so completely engrossed in a belief. He found himself so indecisive, the main reason that he refused to become a Death Eater that night. It wasn't so much the fear of what would happen to him at the hands of the older wizards, but the thought of committing himself so fully to a cause he had no idea if he believed in.

Turning slightly, Draco peered out into the darkness that rushed outside of the bus, that same darkness seemingly creeping through his thoughts. He shivered, hugging himself as he pressed himself back against the pillows. Sadly, there was nothing around him to keep his mind occupied. No books, no newspapers...

Just as quickly as the bus had appeared before him a matter of minutes ago, it screeched to a halt yet again. This time, Draco saw the faint light illuminating a paved street. He looked up at the source noting that they were kind of like torches, but they had glass covers. Houses that looked very similar to each other lined the street, some windows glowing yellow. All the houses were of brick, perfectly made replicas of the one before it. He thought of how bored he could be, living on a street like this.

Maybe he became a little too engrossed with how alike these houses were. Maybe he should have paid more attention as to who was entering the bus rather than the man bringing a large bag to the curb without looking at the rather large vehicle in the middle of the road.

Because he fairly fell off the bed when he heard Harry Potter introduce himself as Neville Longbottom.