The Dragon and the Dark One

Chapter One: Happy Birthday

Wizards always made a ridiculously big deal out of Halloween. Of course, one would think that Draco Malfoy would be one of the most enthusiastic ones of them all; as people kept reminding him, your birthday only comes once a year. Technically, he mused as he skimmed the club from his seat by the packed bar, he was an adult now. A big boy, who didn't need Daddy anymore. Which was just as well, considering that after their last fight, Lucius had threatened Slytherin's golden boy with disinheritance.

The old fool, still clinging to the past. Voldemort was gone, and that wasn't going to change; Potter had seen to that during their last year at Hogwarts. Yet rather than letting go and moving on to some slightly more tasteful illegal endeavors, Lucius was part of a left over handful that refused to let go, awaiting the Dark Lord's return. Absently, Draco ran a hand over the part of his arm through his dragon-hide jacket where he knew the Dark Mark lay beneath, cold and gray. Those days were over, and Draco fully intended to use his eighteenth birthday as an opportunity to look to the future. After all, if he didn't want to join his father's little scout troop, he would need to seek out his own means of financial support.

A job. He shuddered at the thought. He supposed he had gotten lazy, used to a life of high-class friends and a stylish penthouse. He was, after all, a Malfoy, and he had a reputation to uphold. He was currently on his seventeenth girlfriend since his mother died. You would have to know him reasonably well to recognize that as the trigger for him to begin his career as a Grade "O" heartbreaker. It was amazing how he managed to be surrounded by adoring lackeys, but not one of them could really be considered to be a friend. Still, Draco had never worried about it. He was just fine on his own. Better than fine, he was rich, gorgeous, and popular. A job? No problem. Just a matter of time, he'd find something.

Draco slithered down from his stool and headed out onto the dance floor. So what if he had a girlfriend? The ditzy American, Sandy Jones, was starting to bore him anyway. She had a good set, but nothing upstairs to write home about. Besides, it was his eighteenth birthday; he deserved a little action.

The music and strobe lights were pounding to a distinct and heavy rhythm, and it didn't take long for his heart rate to match it completely. He wasn't particularly keen on the current band, but they would do. He certainly was keen on the variety of bobbing red, blonde, brown, and some less orthodox colors of heads just ripe for the picking.

Once he started dancing, it didn't take long for them to notice him, either. He wasn't by any means too modest to recognize that he was completely and undeniably hot. There were plenty of girls who, even if they did recognize him as the son of Lucius Malfoy, were willing not only to ignore the less savory details of his family history, but were even encouraged by it. It gave him that extra something, a mysterious allure. He wasn't the kind of guy their mothers would approve of. He wasn't nice, but he was clever, and he knew exactly what cards he held.

As he surveyed his options, he immediately ruled out all of the dumb blondes. He'd had enough of those for a while; besides, Sandy would be back in a few days, and then he'd have one living with him.

He was still dancing and hunting when a particular head over at the bar caught his eye. An empty glass sat at the counter in front of her. Pretty and drunk, he noted gleefully. Always a bonus. She had dark auburn hair, which would make a nice change. Yes, she'd do, he noted, as he continued to scan down the back of her, the only side currently visible. Definitely fit. She turned to look over anxiously at the dance floor, and Draco had to take a step backwards. She had heavy, dark eyelids, but that couldn't hide the fact that her eyes that were the kind of vivid, biting blue that not only didn't have a speck of gray in them, they seemed to pierce through him like a physical force. They stood out harshly against her nearly translucent skin, but he didn't think twice about the fact that she looked nearly vampyric; he was fixated on those enormous, haunted eyes. So naturally, when she timidly hopped down from her stool and began to slink out towards the door, glancing around every so often as though she was paranoid that she was being followed, Draco ditched the girl he had been dancing with without a second thought and went straight out, leaving the blonde bimbo sighing disappointedly.

It was getting late, but the lamps held off the gloom that would otherwise have smothered the London street. Her heels weren't unreasonably tall, but they produced an audible click as she strode along nervously. He slinked along after her, smirking slightly. Easy pickings, really. He ran a hand through the white-blond hair so many girls had swooned over. He wondered, casually, who she was running from. Not that he really cared, but it could help him to determine what sort of tact to use around her. Smooth lady's man? The white knight galloping to the rescue on his trusty steed? Bumbling idiot? No, Ron Weasley had a monopoly on that front, and it only worked on his beloved little mudblood, Hermione Granger, anyway. The two of them had been sickening at school, skirting around each other for years. Pathetic.

He finally decided to play it by ear.

Silently picking up his pace so he could catch her up, he called out with the false kindness that he had perfected over the years, "Pardon me, Miss, but I can't help but notice that you seem a little nervous. Is there anything I can do to help? I could give you a ride home, if you'd like." He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, but just before he actually made contact, she span around to face him. This time it was her turn to take a step backwards when she looked at him. Those brilliant eyes seemed to glaze over like a light had been flicked off, and they opened wider than Draco would have thought possible. Raising a shaking finger to point directly at him, she let lose a hoarse, spectral whisper.

"Son of the demon."

Draco's mouth opened in shock. He wasn't used to being blown off; girls usually queued up in order to able to date the infamous Draco Malfoy. However, being accused of personifying the spawn of Satan was definitely new. Maybe his father wasn't terribly popular, but a demon? However, Draco didn't get much of a chance to teach her the proper respect with which to address a Malfoy, since it was only his Quidditch reflexes that allowed him to catch her before she hit the ground, unconscious.

As he stood alone on a London street with a gorgeous but debatably crazy girl in his arms, on his eighteenth birthday, Draco Malfoy had only one discernable thought race through his brain.

"Oh shit."

~*~*~*~

Two hundred and fifty-four kilometers away, a log cabin, that the few people who bothered to explore the forest were certain was deserted, had a light flickering in its aged glass window. Two men sat across from one another a rickety table, each with an empty bottle of Firewhisky before them both. Both had distinctive gray eyes that had the slightly glassy look of someone who had been drinking a little past their limit, dark hair that could definitely use a cut, and they were both about six feet tall. The one who had a little more gray in his hair and a few more lines around his eyes was laughing loudly, and the younger man smiled back at him. Suddenly, gesticulating wildly with his half-empty glass, the older man, known as Grayson Baddock, became as serious as he could manage since he was getting completely slammed.

"You know, Adrian, son," he began, slurring his words slightly, "The trick is that you can never feel sorry for anyone. You know why?" Adrian shook his head obligingly, a grin that was far too large plastered on his face which made him look like a circus clown. "Because everybody's a loser! Nobody matters!" Here Grayson tried to slam his hand on the table for emphasis, but missed by about a foot, causing him to nearly lose his balance and send the chair over backwards. Both of them found this far funnier than it really ought to be. When they finally caught their breath and discontinued their cackling, Grayson continued his pitiful attempt at a father-son bonding talk.

"What you got to do, you see, is you always... you always got to kill indi... indiscri... indiscrimanabubly, you know?" He plowed on, not noticing that his son's smile had decreased a few notches. "You gotta just hate 'em all, 'cause they all earned it, and you got to just kill anyone who gets in your way. Otherwise... otherwise, they're all going to think you've gone all sort of mushy and... soft and gooey and runny, and there where would you be? Once they think they can get away with all their little hocus... pocus stuff, there's never any stopping 'em. You just have got to show 'em all that you're the one with the power, and you're hesiterate to you use it. You got me?" Without waiting for an answer, Grayson pressed on with his drunken rampage.

"I'll show you what I mean, Adrian. I'll give you an... exampliwhatsit." Using the arms of the chair for leverage, Grayson staggered over to a wooden shelf nailed into the wall and lifted a small, locked box off of it. He slammed the box down on the table not nearly as gently as he had intended to, chuckling to himself, and dug around in the pocket of his robe until he lifted out a small golden key. It took a few tries for him to successfully get the key into the lock, but he finally turned the key and lifted the lid back on its hinges. By this point Adrian's smile had vanished, and he was gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were white. Grinning like a rabid baboon, Grayson lifted out a delicate ivory locket with a thin golden chain dangling behind it. The simple but beautiful piece of jewelry looked bizarrely out of place in Grayson's sun-darkened, calloused hand. It took Grayson even longer to fiddle with the tiny clasp, over and over just rubbing his thumb on the smooth surface, until he finally managed to flip it open. Crowing triumphantly, Grayson slid the locket across the table to his son, who slowly lifted the pendant up so he could see the two people staring out at him across the ages through the pictures lain in either side.

"The lady who owned that piece of junk was a fool. She could have been great... but she was stupid little girly-girl. Ran off with a Gryffindork mudblood. Used to be like a sister to me, but did that stop your old daddy? 'Course not! Killed her, you bet I killed her! Tortured her first, you bet I did. Never heard screams like that. Beautiful. Husband too, he's in there," he nodded towards the smiling man Adrian held in his hands, staring at it like a boy bewitched. "Both of 'em, dead as doornails, and I just left 'em there! Never knew it was me! The little girl, she was there too. She cried and cried, it was right funny. Called me a demon number of times, I remember clear as if it just happened yester... yester... a bit ago." Adrian turned his attention to the other figure, who couldn't have been more than nine years old. She was smiling and waving up at him, with dimpled cheeks, auburn hair pulled into ribboned braids, and startling blue eyes. She was easily the prettiest girl he had ever seen; admittedly, he didn't get out much, but even so...

"I left the girl, you know," Grayson continued, oblivious to the fire that was beginning to creep into his son's eyes. "Pretty little thing, the filthy little mudblood. I hear she's still around somewhere, but she's crazy."

As Adrian tore his sight away from the photographs to stare unseeingly at his father waving his arms and rolling his eyes, attempting his best mad-man impression, something inside him snapped.

Grayson's smile, if possible, stretched even wider. He hoisted his glass into the air and called out, "Happy birthday, son!"

That was when Adrian made his move.

The rush of adrenaline went straight to his head, clearing his sight and giving him the strength he needed to hurl the table right over, directly at his father. "Bastard!" he screeched as loudly as his lungs could manage. Grayson's eyes widened in shock, then he quickly went into the defensive maneuver that stemmed from years of acting as a Death Eater. "Boy," he growled, "What are you doing?"

"Giving you what you deserve," he hollered back, and launched himself at Grayson.

Grayson blocked the first punch Adrian tried to land, undercutting it with a sharp jab to the diaphragm that had the wind rushing out of Adrian's lungs. Grayson took advantage of Adrian's temporary weakness to try to reach for his wand, but Adrian noticed in time to throw his entire body weight at his father, who responded with a satisfying "Oomph." Grayson swung at Adrian's eye, causing bursts of pain to set off in his mind like fireworks, disorientating him long enough that several more blows rained down on him. Adrian finally ducked free, spinning around to face Grayson yet again, and got lucky in that his next attempt at a blow caught him beneath the chin, snapping his head backwards like a Pez dispenser. Grayson in turn snuck a hand round and nearly managed to rip Adrian's ear off, relishing the strangled cry of rage and pain. He then came round from behind and kicked Adrian behind the knees, which instantly buckled. Adrian reached around and grabbed his father's head, tugging him down too, until they were both grappling on the floor. Rolling over and manipulating Grayson so that his head hit the wall hard, causing a wrenching crack to ring across the cabin. Acting quickly, Adrian jumped to his feet, whipped out his wand, and cried, "Accio wand!" Grayson's wand sped out of his pocket and straight into Adrian's outstretched hand. Grayson remained on the floor, supported by his elbows, staring grimly up at his son.

"Bastard," Adrian hissed again, with even more vehemence than before. He stood at his full imposing height, glowering down at his father, with blood trickling menacingly down from a cut lip.

"No," Grayson almost crooned softly. All trace of the Firewhisky was gone now, leaving nothing but the sadism that was his essence. "No, that's a mistake. You're the bastard."

"Yeah, well, it was a mistake to teach me this spell." Lifting his wand high, Adrian Baddock whipped his wand down to point directly at Grayson's heart, crying, "Avada Kedavra!"

~*~*~*~

It was Narcissa Black's eighteenth birthday, and she was pouting. Just like always, her boyfriend, Lucius Malfoy, had copped out on her. He had promised he would come tonight, but as usual, some last minute business called him away. She had never expected him to love her more than his precious Death Eaters, but surely just this once he could have taken a little time off. She sat at the pub table between Pandora Hawk, her best friend from Hogwarts days, and the empty seat that belonged to Grayson Baddock, who was currently in the bathroom. He was a year older than the girls, good friends with Lucius, and like a brother to Pandora.

"I can't believe he did this to you, Cissy, it's awful. He had promised he wouldn't do it again! I'm sorry!" Pandora shook her head, looking sympathetic.

"It doesn't matter, really. I don't care," she tried to maintain a casual, off-hand manner, despite the fact that she was absolutely livid.

Pandora raised her eyebrows in a questioning manner, but knew better than to say anything when Narcissa was in this kind of haughty mood. "So, looking forward to setting forth into the great unknown, now that school's done for good? Any ideas as to what you want to do with your life?"

Narcissa laughed. "Obviously, I'll just marry someone who's absolutely rolling in money and become a grand lady. Come on, Pan, you've known that since we were in first year."

Pandora grinned back. "Of course, how could I forget? Has Lucius popped the question?"

"Well, not yet, but either he'll get around to it eventually or I'll ask him myself." Both girls laughed easily. "So what are you thinking about doing?"

Pandora answered in a normal voice, but Narcissa had known her too long not to notice that she didn't quite meet her friend's eyes. "Well, I was talking to Andrew Kahlan. You know, he was in Gryffindor. He's thinking about working for the ministry, and I thought that it sounded like it might be really interesting, and-"

"What were you talking to that mudblood for?" Narcissa interrupted, more startled than angry, as though it had never crossed her mind that purebloods like she and Pandora would ever consider consorting with that type of person.

Pandora stood up quickly, her chair squeaking as it was pushed back. "I'd really rather you didn't call him that. He's a nice person," she said a little too sharply.

Narcissa just rolled her eyes, and replied, "Oh come on, Pan, you've used that word as much as the rest of us. Besides, you're acting like you're in love with him or something, and think how silly..." Suddenly Narcissa trailed off as she saw the expression in her friend's eyes. "Oh my God... You can't... They'll kill you..."

Pandora drew herself up as tall as she could be and said stiffly, "I don't know what you're talking about. I really have to go. Happy birthday, Narcissa." Before Narcissa had a chance to say a word, Pandora span around and left the pub.

Narcissa was still gaping after Pandora's exit when Grayson came back and sat beside her. "Where's Pan gone?" he inquired.

"It was so odd. She was talking about Andrew Kahlan-"

"What, the Gryffindork mudblood?"

"Exactly. And she got all defensive, and next thing I know, she's stormed out!"

Grayson narrowed his eyes. "I'll talk to her later. I'm sure it's nothing, but I'll remind her who she is and who he is, and hopefully that will be an end to the matter."

Narcissa stared at Grayson as he glowered at the doorway, when a crazy idea hit her. Lucius had abandoned her. She was lonely, she was bored, and she was angry. It would be the perfect revenge.

Giving him her most dazzling smile, she laid a hand on his arm, turning him back to face her. "Relax, I'm sure it's nothing. Meanwhile, shall we get our drinks?"

Two hours later, they were both much more relaxed, much more friendly, and much more drunk. When they were just about to part ways, and Grayson casually asked if Narcissa would rather come back to his place for a while, she didn't even think twice.

~*~*~*~