The Redemption of Draco Malfoy

The Redemption of Draco Malfoy

Chapter 1: The Interview

The light streamed through the picture windows behind Lucius Malfoy, leaving his fifteen-year-old son, Draco, in his shadow.

Lucius glared over the polished mahogany desk at the frowning face in front of him. "Before you leave for Hogwarts this year, we have some business to conduct. First of all, your grades absolutely must improve. I will be most upset if you are not Head Boy in keeping with the Malfoy tradition."

"But, Father--I've already been made a prefect--"

A stern scowl from Lucius was enough to quell the protest rising from his son. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, the elder Malfoy continued.

"Second, I have been trying to regain my Master's trust...and for your own good, you will help me."

Draco ran his hand through his sleek blond hair uncertainly, wondering what he could do, but saying nothing.

"I need someone who can inform me about the whereabouts of a certain Mr. Potter so that I can deliver him to the Master before the end of the school year."

Draco's pale blue eyes narrowed. "Well, Father, the Gryffindors do share Potions lessons with us--and Care of Magical Creatures--but--"

"Yes I know. But I can tell that even you realize that abducting him in front of twenty witnesses is a bad idea. No, you must find out where he will be when he is alone. Or, perhaps, with only one other person. Eliminating just one witness is not a difficulty. Now, to obtain that sort of information"--here Lucius smirked maliciously--"you need to befriend Mr. Potter."

"Befriend? But Father--he hates me! And for good cause! I've dueled him tons of times before! I've put jinxes on his friends! I've...I've...I've..." Draco stopped suddenly, seeing his father's hand come to rest on his wand.

"I suggest, my brilliant son, that if it is impossible to befriend Mr. Potter, you find another way to get the information." A slow, cold smile spread over Lucius Malfoy's face. "I am quite sure that if the Dark Lord were standing here in front of you, you would find the task quite possible. Quite possible indeed. Remember, Draco--"

"Every Dark wizard worth his salt can find a path to power." The words that had been drummed into Draco since he was a child sprang unbidden to his lips. "I will find a way, Father."

"You will contact me promptly when you have the information in hand." Coming from anyone else, these words would have been phrased as a question. Lucius made them into a command.

"Yes, Father."

"Very good, son. You are dismissed."

Draco turned and exited his father's study slowly. Once the door was closed behind him, however, he fled to his room, eager to pack his trunk for the first time in five years. Someday, he thought to himself, Father will not boss me around like that. Someday I will pay him out for treating me this way.

Chapter 2: The Prefect

For the entire ride on the Hogwarts Express, and for a whole week after that, Draco Malfoy was almost silent. He didn't address Crabbe or Goyle unless he absolutely had to (which made the fifth-year Slytherin boys' dormitory very quiet; Crabbe and Goyle didn't have the brains to start conversations on their own). He didn't speak in class--not even to Snape, his idol. The whole of his mind was occupied on his problem.

How in the world could he possibly befriend Potter? There was no way. It was utterly impossible. The natural conclusion was that he could get the information from one of Potter's friends. But which one?

Hermione Granger he ruled out right away. Even if she could forgive him for jeering at Hagrid and for giving her fangs temporarily, he could never associate with her. She was a Mudblood. Oh, true, for the Dark Lord's sake one could temporarily associate with a Mudblood. But he would never be able to endure the taunts he was sure to get from Crabbe and Goyle.

Ron Weasley he decided against almost as quickly. Draco thought it was pure luck that he hadn't yet been punched in the face by Ron. He figured it would happen at least once before he left Hogwarts, but he wasn't eager to hasten the day of reckoning.

But if not those two--if not Harry Potter's inseparable companions--then who? Neville Longbottom fled in terror at the mere sight of Draco (probably something to do with the Leg-Locker spell Draco had put on him during their first year). Seamus Finnigan lived to exchange insults with Malfoy on the Quidditch field. And Dean Thomas was another Mudblood.

These thoughts were spinning through Draco's head once again as he slowly climbed the stairs from the dungeon and turned toward the great marble staircase in the entry hall. One of his duties as a prefect was to comb through the lower part of the castle before curfew to round up any stragglers who remained in the classroom areas. He thought bitterly that, when he was as preoccupied as he had been recently, he could have walked past a gang of giggling girls and not noticed.

He walked slowly down a corridor on the second floor, hands in his pockets, scowling. Then, as he passed the Transfiguration classroom, he heard a faint sound. He stopped, all of his senses suddenly alert. After a long silence, he heard it again. It sounded like a muffled sob. Draco let his breath out slowly. The door to the Transfiguration room was only slightly ajar, so he could not see inside.

Who could be in there? Surely not McGonagall, at this time of night? The thought of the stern Assistant Headmistress breaking down in tears brought a smile to his lips. No, it must be a student. He would have to get whoever-it-was back to their House before curfew time.

He opened the door cautiously and looked around. At first glance, the classroom appeared empty. But then he saw a glimpse of red near McGonagall's desk.

It was red hair. Flaming red hair. Long flaming WEASLEY hair. Not Ron, not Fred or George--but Ginny. Draco smiled suddenly as the realization hit him. Here, perhaps, was the solution to his problem.

He walked quietly to the front of the room and around to the far side of the desk, where Ginny sat huddled, crying quietly. He must be cautious about this; as diplomatic as possible. Father would be, no doubt. Inwardly, Draco winced. He had always feared his father, and did not really care to be much like him. Still, he must try--or face Father's wrath.

"Er--Ginny, isn't it? Can I help you?"

Ginny looked up, glaring daggers at him. "Yeah, sure! You can get lost!"

Draco, remembering all he'd heard about the tempers of redheads, fought to suppress a smile. "Well, I don't mean to be insensitive or anything, but curfew is in fifteen minutes, and I thought--well, I thought you might like to dry your eyes or something before you went into your common room." Digging in his pocket, he produced a clean handkerchief (bless Mother, he thought; she always packed him so many hankies) and offered it to the red-faced, red-haired girl in front of him.

Ginny looked at him suspiciously. "I'd rather visit Moaning Myrtle's bathroom!" she said, turning away from the proffered handkerchief.

Draco scowled. "Oh, come on, it's not poisoned or anything."

Ginny smirked. "Yeah, like I'd believe that, coming from a Malfoy!"

The thought of his father's anger was all that kept Malfoy from slapping the girl. "Malfoys have never resorted to anything as low as poison. We are not above offering common courtesy."

"Malfoys are also not above sneaking magic diaries into young girls' bookbags, to enchant them to open the Chamber of Secrets!" spat Ginny.

There was no need for Draco to act surprised. His shock was genuine. "Who did that--my father?" Seeing Ginny's nod, he continued: "He told me he didn't know anything about it, the weasel! Lying to his own son--not like he ever really cared about me or anything but--" He cut off his tirade suddenly, realizing for the first time the full impact of what Ginny had just said.

"Wait a second," he said quietly. "You mean--he did that to you?"

Ginny nodded sullenly.

"Look, I won't do anything dumb like say Father wouldn't have ever done anything like that. I mean, I know he would. I know what he's done to me. I'm sure he'd do worse to someone else's child."

He saw Ginny's features soften slightly and seized his chance. "Look, just take the handkerchief, okay? I promise I haven't jinxed it or anything. And you don't have to return it--I've got tons more."

He helped Ginny to her feet. She was going to be tall. She was already almost as tall as he was.

"Curfew's only five minutes off. Better run," he whispered. She nodded and fled down the corridor toward the staircase.

He watched her until her flaming hair had disappeared from sight. At last, he had found his ticket to power.