Courage to Find Cowardice

I know you're out there. I can feel you now. I know that you're afraid... afraid of me.

You're afraid of change. I don't know the future. I didn't come here to tell you how it is going to end.

I came here to tell you where it begins.

I'm going to show these people what you don't want them to see.

I'm going to show them a world without rules or controls, borders or boundaries.

A world where anything is possible. A world where expectations and reservations no longer exist.

Where you go from there, and how you feel about that I leave up to you.

***

Sometimes life throws a hard ball. There's nothing you can do except aim and hope for the best.

Well, hoping was and never shall be a part of me, and if it were, it would never be something I would be proud of doing. Hope is for the weak and vulnerable, and me... I am anything but.

Some might call my childhood harsh or severe but I would call it necessary. I was put on this earth for a reason and I am not going to spend my days wandering in a state of bewilderment, trying to find the light, the meaning in life. I already have my meaning and I will live to fulfil it.

My meaning: to serve. My name: Draco Malfoy.

***

"I hope you're happy now, boy," Father said disdainfully as my mother ran out of the room in tears. Lacking her as an outlet for anger, he turned on me. It was always like this. Answering him would be fatal. Not answering him would be worse.

"No, Father," I answered, having the common sense to look at my feet as if in shame. 'Never look him in the eye when he's in a mood, Draco,' mother had told in a rare burst of motherly love. 'Promise me to never look him in the eye.' I had made the promise and I had no intentions of breaking it. With the mood father was in, if I did, I wouldn't live to see tomorrow.

"No," my father said softly as he looked down at me. "You shouldn't be. Do you know what you've done, boy? You've gone and hurt your mother again. Just when I need her to help negotiate terms with the Hags. Do you know what this means?"

"No Father," I answered, obediently.

"Idiot child," he spat, sending me a look of pure loathing.

I knew that look. I had seen it multiple times before. Every day. You might even say I'd be worried if it wasn't always the first thing I receive when I walk into a room occupied by him.

"It means," he began to say, as if I were some naive child, "that Master will not be pleased, that's what. If Master is not pleased, then I am not pleased. If I am not pleased, then no one is allowed to be pleased!"

And that was life, in Malfoy Manor. If you could call it a life. Eggshells were a constant state of affairs all over the Manor's halls, yet when looked at from the outside, they appeared pristine and pure. And so I ask, how can you live a full life when you are constantly tiptoeing around another person? Whether you will live or die is on the shoulders of a person appears so calm on the surface, his anger is anything but palpable. It was as if he had been made with no heart, no emotions, frozen forever in a stone-cold statue of hate. And those are the worst kind of shoulders to have your fate resting upon.

My mother lived in a state of constant fear; you'd see it in her eyes when the Ministry carriage crackled along the gravel outside. The way she dropped what she was doing instantly so that she would be standing by the door the moment he walked in. And still it wasn't enough.

To him, my mother is an asset. Simply another ornament on display with the one advantage of being something that can be hurt by words. Maybe that is why he always used her first. The blade on his tongue lashed out at her, cutting her with his words, so deep you could see the bloody wounds through her eyes.

And then he turned to me, but I was an unworthy victim. Like him, I had mastered the ability to appear emotionless, even to the master of stone hearts himself. He always tired of me quickly; I am not easily rattled anymore, not easily targeted. I had tuned him out, like a broken record that needs to be repaired, his voice skipped. All I ever heard anymore was the beat.

Not even the beatings affected me anymore, other than the sting of the strap against skin. This only angered him more. He knew he could do nothing, he couldn't crack my walls. I had worked far too hard and too long to simply let him in so he can tear them down. Brick by brick. And he would do it, just to see the pain, the despair in my eyes once again. And so I made a promise to myself years ago. I would never let him see me cry again...

***

The station, busy as ever, was a like a vigilant bubbling brook, constantly moving and gurgling, whether one wished to hear it or not. But, unlike an actual brook, it didn't have the same soothing effect. Instead you felt frenzied, rushed and completely harried. Kings Cross Station was the same every year. Faces, colours, smells changed but the atmosphere always remained the same.

Walking through the torrents of people, it was easy to avoid the currents, the undertides of people weaving their way to their destinations. Like a beehive of activity, there was one small space that remained still and untouched. The barrier where platforms nine and ten coincided.

Always slightly unhinging to the Muggles who never stood there. The feeling of foreboding and spine-chilling cold was most likely the making of some cunning charm so Muggles wouldn't get in the way when witches and wizards made the transition from Muggle London to Platform 9 ¾.

I led the way further out of the throng of Muggles on the platform and into the almost deathly quiet aura of the barrier, pausing only slightly to watch a small Muggle child chase a wounded bird along the ground, before passing through the barrier and appearing on the other side.

The hubbub here was also strong, yet friendlier. A friendliness that could only be conceived by people meeting up with someone they knew, a small community of people reuniting. A community by the name of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

I watched the girls squeal in delight as they spotted another friend, the boys laug half-heartedly and clap each other on the back while all the while keeping one eye on the girls. The teary eyed parents as they waved goodbye and blew kisses to their 'ickle first years' and finally, the older students who couldn't seem to wait until they could get away from overbearing mothers.

Looking upon this scene I felt a strange sense of... of something. Something indescribable that appears on the 1^st of September every year and then disappears the very second I get off the train the June after. Even after six years, I still have no inkling of what that is. I looked back at my mother and father, and the feeling disappeared instantly. Whatever the fuzzy feeling was, it didn't involve them.

"Goodbye, Father," I said, nodding grimly. "Mother." I nodded grimly again. Moving away before another word could be said, I disappeared through the train doorway, the latest house elf grunting slightly as he tried to follow me with my trunk.

The next thing I heard was not something of usual occurrence on all of my train rides to the beginning of term. A shrill squeak, presumably from some first year who had never seen a house elf, a large clunk, supposedly from my trunk hitting the floor, and a squeal of protest, obviously the house elf.

"What have you done now, Tolly? You silly little--" I began to scold before realizing I was looking down on a seriously peeved Granger. "Oh, so you're to blame then, Granger?" I snapped, ignoring the sound of Potty and Weasel's throats clearing behind me. "If you'll excuse my house elf, Tolly, he has a small job to do." I pointed at Tolly, cowering behind her.

"A small job, is it?" the Mudblood inquired icily, then looked pointedly at the large trunk at least five times Tolly's size. "You make me sick."

"Well, I can assure you that the feelings are entirely mutual." I was not in the mood for the Famous Three right now, and knowing my Father, he would be on any second to see what had kept Tolly. Tardiness was high on his list of hates. Somewhere between Potter and me, I would imagine. "Tolly! On with it!"

Tolly's frightened squeak proved enough to send the annoying bucktoothed Granger into a rage so that she flashed her 'HG' badge testily, making me wonder what rule she could possibly enforce. The rule that that I couldn't even get my own house elf to deliver my trunk?

"A badge, how nice for you. Your initials? Weasley couldn't afford to buy you a badge with your whole name on it for Christmas?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Ron said angrily, his face going redder. "At least I give presents and have friends who care enough to give me them back!"

That was low Weasley. Real low. Please excuse me while I run and hide in the toilets so I can cry my pathetic little heart out. "What would you know, Weasley? What makes you such a great friend?" I had had enough of this. "Tolly, forget the damn trunk, just go before father comes looking!" Thatcher nodded frantically, sprinting towards the door leading to the outside platform.

Enough drama for the day, I decided, and barged between Potter and Weasley, my wand pointed over my shoulder at my trunk, which was suspended behind me. I had too much on my mind to worry about some overestimated hero and his two faithful sidekicks, Weasel and Mudblood. Far too much.

***

My Purest White Dragon,

I am sorry to have to send this via house elf, but your father is monitoring the owls entering and exiting the manor. I fear that he may finally have lost his mind. This impending contract with 'You Know Who' is driving him over the edge. Why, just last night he became so uncontrollable that he blew up the entire front staircase. Not one to generally show compassion to house hands, as you know, I was amazed at the amount of sympathy I had for the poor things.

Needless to say, I don't think it safe for you to come home during the Christmas break. I look forward to the day when you are considered old enough to leave and sprout on your own. At least then your fathers influence over your life will be significantly lessened.

Also I apologize for the night of your leaving. Were it not for the emergency with your dear Uncle, we would have been there to share your last night in the manor. Though you may think I am sometimes quite heartless, I do so enjoy those last nights we have together, when your father disappears for some cognac, leaving only us.

I just hope that you may one day find it on your heart to forgive me for all the mistakes I have made in my life regarding you and your upbringing. Maybe, if I had made a different decision somewhere your childhood would be a happy, loving one. No point in dwelling.

Best Regards,

Mother.

Purely for show.

I had finished reading it and almost instantly I understood what she was doing. Making herself out to be the victim. My mother was a vain woman, vain enough to pretend to take all of the blame for my botch up of a childhood and make herself look remorseful. She knew it would never really fool me, the years of ignoring, taunting and insulting me was enough proof of that. But to anyone else who might have intercepted this letter, it makes her appear humane, even sorry.

But people can't feel sorry when they don't have a heart, can they?

And was she trying to get me killed? The amount of important 'secret' information held within that letter was enough to send a swarm of Death Eaters into my dormitory claiming betrayal, Dumbledore present or not. Perhaps that was the idea? The last thing I needed was some half-frenzied attempt on my life because my mother tired of my presence in her home. And people called Potter's life hard. Sometimes I wished I had a scar like his, just so that people would recognize all the hardships I have been through and call me a hero. But it doesn't work like that. I will be forever forced to deal with my problems in secret, never showing any cracks, any weaknesses.

Getting back to Hogwarts was a two-sided knife. On one hand I had the quiet warmth of being back inside the protective walls of the school, and on the other there was the continuous flaunting of happy, carefree faces, feeling protected from the outside world that was filled with terror and dread because of the Dark Lord's return.

That warm feeling didn't make up for the obvious fact that I had no real friends to turn to in a crisis, no one to trust but myself. Sure, Crabbe and Goyle were better than nothing but were about as smart as two short planks. Two very thick, short planks. But not that that mattered. I don't need anyone anyway; the fact that I have done it that way for over sixteen years only emphasized my point. Friends were only another form of weakness; a weakness that I couldn't afford to have.

And lets face it, the only intelligent swapping of 'ideas' of a sort, were the annoying interactions with Potter and his faithful sidekicks, and I could do without them. As if things could get any worse.

"Er, Draco?" Goyle's deep, thick voice resonated through the silence. "Are you coming down for breakfast? The morning after feast breakfasts are always filled with delicious leftovers," he informed me enthusiastically.

"Not today they won't be," I snapped, walking past him. "You ate almost everything there was last night. I'm surprised you managed to pull yourself out of bed."

"Good one!" Crabbe chuckled, joining us at the bottom of the stairs.

I simply rolled my eyes and smirked, enjoying my own personal joke. Like I said... two short, thick planks.

***

"That potion is doing excellently," Snape told me smugly before shooting a disconcerting look to the other side of the dungeon where Potter was toiling carefully. "You show great promise."

I didn't even bother to stop the smug smile that appeared across my face. At least I was better than Potter at something. Well, I had better be, anyway. Though I had the emotionless façade mastered, there were quite a few cracks I needed to work on, as I found out the last time that Potter beat me at Quidditch. It wasn't him beating me that hurt, it was the beating I received afterwards. It's quite a blow to the pride being beaten by your father when you're sixteen. A very large blow.

Sending another smug look behind me, I continued on with my aging potion. This was a very simple potion in the worst of times. The fact that I was in my element only made it easier to accomplish, resulting in me even beating Granger at the damn thing. Not a first, but definitely an accomplishment.

And that is how my life went. Attempting to beat the Dream Team at anything and everything was what kept me sane. The nights spent in the library to get away from the two planks, weekends at Hogsmeade, and multiple conversations with the Gregory the Smarmy painting kept me on my toes (hardly), but there was nothing else I could do.

And then one day, everything changed.

Son,

We have found a vocation for you, finally. Years of considering and debating over what use you could be to us, He has come up with an ingenious plan.

Tonight, at you know where.

Be there, or face the consequences.

Father.

Ingeniously written, not in his hand, no names, no indication of whom the letter was to or from and a wild barn owl used to deliver it. The seal on the back had been broken at least three times by the time it had gotten to me, the nameless envelope obviously attracting a few curious nosy-parkers.. Even if it could be traced back to us, there was no evidence of any sort of wrongdoing.

That's my father for you.

***

Well, I was waiting. Just beyond the Forbidden Forest there is a clearing, you just need to know which path to take to get there quickly and unharmed. One of my ancestors had discovered it and it had never been shown to another. And this was where I was to wait. Whether I was waiting for my father, another owl or the Dark Lord himself, I had no idea.

Sneaking out of the castle had been simple. Using the invisibility cloak my Father had bought for me in my fifth year, I simply had to avoid people. Even if I had been found out, I needn't have made up an excuse. I'm a Seventh Year, and would have been assumed to be checking the halls just like everyone else.

The forest, Forbidden as it was, seemed more inviting right at this moment than I ever remembered it appearing so before. Perhaps the fear of what my father might have come up with in his sick, twisted little mind was making the forest seem more friendly than the upcoming confrontation. Or maybe it was just being friendly?

The idea of a forest, lethal as this one was, being friendly was completely illogical yet it somehow had a faint ring of truth. Then it occurred to me; this was where I belonged. I belonged in a place like this. Dark, cold and foreboding, it fit me exactly. Perhaps someday, if I ever found the courage to find my cowardice, I would run away and live here; the place that I could call home.

Getting thoroughly comfortable with the design that I may one day live in this very forest, away from the 'idealistic scheme of what the world should be like', as my father put it, I didn't even notice the large black owl that almost silently winged its way into the clearing. I sighed with relief as it landed down before me. At least I would not have to confront my father or the man he called 'Master'.

I pulled the thick wad of parchment from the owl's large carrying pocket and it nipped my finger harshly before turning and flying away. I waited until the whoosh of the flapping wings could not longer be heard before turning and slowly making my way back up to the castle. Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good.

I would wait until I could read it properly, in the comfort of my own bed and the safety of the castle walls.

Upon reaching the end of the Forbidden Forest, I hastily put my invisibility cloak back on and walked back up to the castle, entering silently and stealing softly through the hallways.

"It's obvious the man is up to something, Severus. And it is almost safe to assume that he's involving his son in it also."

The voices made me stop instantly. The voice of Professor McGonagall was a rare sound this close to the dungeons where the Slytherin House was hidden.

"That may be the case, Minerva," Snape's voice echoed lightly in the hall. Quietly, I crept closer to the source of the noise, surprised to find myself staring at nothing but a tapestry-covered wall. "But we have to give the boy the benefit of the doubt. If he isn't, in fact, working for his father, then he is simply trying to achieve an education. He is doing marvelously well in Potions and I feel he has the potential to go far."

"Ah, yes. His school work has been of a very high standard just lately, but that may be his father pushing him to new heights, ridding him of suspicion."

"Ultimately it is Albus' choice of what to do with the boy and he has already told us what he thinks of the matter."

"Well, we must trust in Albus' judgment. But I still feel we must do something. Perhaps keeping a closer eye on the boy would suffice?"

"Perhaps," I heard Snape reply reluctantly. Maybe he just didn't like agreeing with McGonagall? "But in any case, this is not a good time to discuss it. We will bring it up with Albus tomorrow."

Deciding that it was probably time to leave, I backed away from the sounds of the two teachers getting ready to take their leave of each other before remembering I was, in fact, hidden within the folds of my invisibility cloak. Might as well wait and see where they were hiding, I told myself, and watched with interest as both Professors appeared from a well-hidden doorway behind a large Slytherin tapestry.

After taking leave of the two Professors, I tried to resume my nonchalant walk to the Slytherin entrance but my legs seemed to want to do the opposite. Breaking into a sprint for the last hundred metres, I reached the entrance, muttered the password and tore up the stairs and into my dorm, pulling the hangings on my bed closed after me.

Draco,

The Dark Lord has finally found something that you may be able to help us with, as I mentioned before.

He feels that, from the three students that are considered 'close' enough to the Dark Lord currently attending Hogwarts, you would be the best choice. As you already know, Vincent and Gregory's fathers are in Master's inner circle, yet they are slightly... how do I say? Stupid. Idiotic. Slow. Yes, that will do. You on the other hand, are one of the smartest in your year, a Prefect and very respected.

The Dark Lord feels that these things are valuable in achieving what he so needs. He reminds me to warn you that these responsibilities are not to be taken lightly. Any failure to do as asked will result in imminent death. Remember, anything you do instantly reflects upon me and my position here, and affects anything that may happen in the future.

The Dark Lord wishes for you to continue schooling as per usual, and, as is his understanding, you attend the library almost everyday. He wishes you to keep an ear out all day everyday for any information that may be valuable in the demise of one Albus Dumbledore. The library, as the only source of information within the school, is constantly frequented by students and teachers alike. The Dark Lord feels this may be your best source of information. Listen in as best you can.

Also, even though snooping is considered below a Malfoy, the Dark Lord feels that in this case it shall be most necessary. No doubt the offices of various Professors present within the school grounds will prove a useful source of information, and, if possible, the entry into the Headmasters office would be most accommodating.

I will be in contact shortly as to details about when and where you should send this information.

Father.

That was just excellent. I'm in a right pickle now.

***