A/N The chapter refers to domestic violence in the first part.
Draco was curled up on his large king-size bed in the manor, clutching his left forearm that felt like it was burning from the inside out and, for the first time in his life, he felt alone and scared and truly angry with the world. Most of all, he was pissed off. Very pissed off. Particularly with Potter because this was his fault. If Potter had just stayed out of where his nose wasn't wanted. If he hadn't gone to the Ministry, if Potter hadn't interfered, his father would have succeeded and wouldn't be in Azkaban and Draco wouldn't have the Dark Mark tainting his skin.
When his mother came to his room, he sat up, his mask in place, a sneer on his face.
'Are you alright, darling?' she asked, sitting next to him on the bed.
'Just thinking how much I hate Potter. If it wasn't for him, father would be here,' he said aloofly.
'It wasn't Potter's fault,' said Narcissa quietly. 'It was a trap, laid down by the Dark Lord. He wanted Potter at the Ministry. He wants to kill Potter. Can't you see? Every year since he's attempted to rise again, he's tried to kill that boy.'
'So, who's fault is it that father is in Azkaban?' said Draco coldly.
'Lucius's own,' she shrugged, though the movement was barely noticeable. 'Or the Dark Lord's for underestimating Potter again.'
'But Potter still fought with the Death-Eaters, he got them arrested. I hate him! Why won't the Dark Lord let me kill him. I can get near him at school, I can do it.'
'Don't, Draco,' she said sternly. 'That's not his plan...' she sighed and a cold silence fell until she spoke again. 'Do not wish to kill someone, no matter who, it'll leave a darkness in your heart that you'll never recover from.'
He sneered, thinking her weak. The dark was the only way forward now; now that his arm was Marked, now that the Dark Lord had tasked him with his specific mission for the next year.
'I know what he's asked of you, Draco,' she said quietly. 'Severus will help you; I've ensured it.'
'I don't trust Severus. Anyway, the Dark Lord has tasked me. Me!' He ignored the desperation in his voice.
He got up and left the room, leaving his mother alone. He spent his time in the grounds, in the deer park beneath the giant chestnut and oak trees, trying to forget. He knew he was supposed to feel honoured that the Dark Lord had given him this task but he didn't feel very special. Somehow, he felt like his own death was approaching very fast.
He was only sixteen and he felt like he'd be dead before the year was out, either at the hands of the Dark Lord or Dumbledore or a thousand Aurors. He wasn't sure how he could possibly succeed.
Yes, Potter was to blame for all this mess.
He hated Potter.
And even if he wasn't allowed to kill him, he could still make his life a living hell next year...
Albus Dumbledore met Harry at the railway station near Little Whinging.
Not on purpose on Harry's part. Harry had just been hanging around in the platform café the night of his birthday to avoid being at No.4, Privet Drive.
Dumbledore had simply turned up on the platform opposite the café.
Typical really, Harry thought, pissed off because he might have just pulled the attractive dark-skinned waitress who'd just told him what time she finished her shift.
Now the old man wants to talk...
Mind you, last time they spoke there hadn't been much talking; mostly Harry shouting a lot and trashing Dumbledore's office.
At least it meant he wouldn't be going back to the Dursleys now. The previous two annual visits had left him unmolested. He'd used the threat that his Godfather, Sirius, would be checking in on him (and by default, Petunia) and it had left Vernon exceedingly frightened.
He still hadn't told anyone what had happened four years ago, he kept the memory buried deep, but it bubbled angrily to the surface occasionally. No wonder people thought he was unstable. But with his anger came a new found determination that he would never again allow anyone to put him in a position that made him feel as hopelessly vulnerable and afraid as Vernon had done that night. He knew that was why Umbridge could never break him. And why he hated Snape's and Malfoy's bullying. And it was why he was never going to take any shit from Vernon ever again.
Two years of constant gleeful reminders to Vernon of 'remember, the dangerous escaped dangerous convict who was on the news' had worked. However, the lack of any sign of interference from the mysterious murderous Godfather meant that Vernon was becoming bolder and with Harry mourning the loss of Sirius, he didn't feel he could play that card to play anymore. Having said that, Vernon didn't seem quite so willing to take on a sixteen-year-old boy, even if Harry was a scrawny adolescent who was a third of Vernon's body mass. Mainly because Harry's temper hadn't overly improved over the summer and sometimes the ferocious glare of his viridian-green eyes was enough to halt Vernon in his tracks.
Harry may have been slight in frame but his Quidditch made him lean and muscular and strong. And over the summer, when he wasn't flying up at the school on his retrieved Firebolt, he'd set up a punchbag in the garden at Minnie's to help with some of his anger issues. Especially as it reminded him of punching Malfoy in the gut just before he got banned from Quidditch. He took to boxing without gloves (when Minnie wasn't around); it helped him release the pain of the past year and the grief of first Cedric and then Sirius dying. It also helped release some of the concerns he felt ever since learning the Prophecy in the Department of Mysteries about him and Voldemort. It made him feel in control, especially when he saw the scars from Umbridge's words stretched white across the back of his hand when he clenched his fist.
When Minnie had finally seen the scars, she had an absolute fit. Harry had never seen her so angry. She had stormed up to the castle with all sorts of threats to Umbridge's life and to Fudge's life and a determination that Umbridge should receive the Dementor's Kiss for her use of Dark Magic to punish children. It was one of the reasons he didn't like to detail what had happened on his twelfth birthday, he thought that Minerva might Apparate to Surrey and cast an Unforgiveable on his uncle. He appreciated the sentiment but would prefer it if his mum didn't end up in Azkaban.
Dumbledore had rescued Umbridge from the centaurs in a lovely twist of irony and Harry was glad that she'd been suspended from the Ministry, pending an investigation, statements about the Black Quill were gathered along with witnesses to her using Veritaserum on students and threatening to use the Cruciatus on Harry. More amusing was that Peeves had stolen Minnie's walking stick she was using after being in St Mungo's and had chased Umbridge from the school in front of everyone. Peeves was the hero of the day and students kept requesting he received a Special Services to the School Award.
Harry took his hatred for Umbridge out on that punchbag with a vengeance.
Once at Little Whinging, Vernon had lifted his fist twice in those twenty-four hours against Harry but each time stopped short when Harry squared up to him. When Vernon's fingers strayed to his belt, the cups started to rattle in their saucers, not enough to send alerts to the Ministry about underage magic, but enough to scare Vernon when Harry would smirk and say sarcastically, 'oops, accidental magic! I'm sure the Ministry will forgive me, again...'
Yes, anger still bubbled under the surface and made Harry appear unpredictably dangerous. Perhaps Vernon had sensed that. Harry's open challenges meant the older man backed down immediately.
But Harry had learnt that bullies were often cowards. He'd learnt that about Dolores Umbridge when they'd gone into the Forbidden Forest. She hid behind her Ministry position, claiming omniscient power, and when that failed, it turned out she couldn't actually defend herself. Instead, she'd been willing to throw Harry and Hermione under the stampeding hooves of centaurs to save her own skin from Grawp and then the Centaurs themselves. Harry had realised the truth was the same with Malfoy; he bullied Harry but always hid behind his fellow Slytherins and his father's coat tails and his name or Crabbe and Goyle. The only time Malfoy let that guard down was when he was flying. It was still aggressively competitive but it was focused and didn't hold any of his self-aggrandised superiority and bullshit about blood status. Well, not until afterwards anyway, he thought as he replayed the satisfaction of punching Malfoy in the stomach while he still held the Snitch in his hand. Harry sometimes wondered, if they'd ever had a chance, if Malfoy had had a kinder upbringing, whether he would have got to see another side to the blond-haired git.
Since Harry had started standing up to Vernon, his uncle had occasionally muttered about violent convicts and bad influences and volatile tempers.
Each time Vernon mumbled about 'volatile tempers', Harry replied clearly, 'at least I have a moral compass.'
Eventually Harry snapped. His grief and anger bubbled to the surface as Vernon pushed one too many times. He turned on Vernon and snarled, 'second to child sex offenders, those who commit domestic abuse and mete out calculated violence behind closed doors are the lowest of the low.' He glared at the man as he pushed into Vernon's physical space. 'You do realise that, as a wizard, I have the ability to survey what you do, wherever you are?' he said in a low threatening voice. 'You realise that, going forward, I am making it my business to know if you so much as lay a finger on Aunt Petunia or Dudley or say a bad or threatening word to either of them?'
When Vernon raised his fist the second time, Harry caught his wrist, clasping it firmly in an iron grip and leant in closer, his face barely inches away from the other man's round and ugly purple face. He hissed, 'as soon as I come of Wizarding age-seventeen, if you need reminding-I am going to hunt you down and re-enact on you every last piece of abuse you've handed out to me and your wife. I have never forgotten that you took your belt me on my twelfth birthday.' Harry's voice was frighteningly cold when he said, 'I promise you, Vernon Dursley, that there will be nowhere you can hide and I am going to fuck with your mind so badly you'll wish you were dead.'
Vernon let his fear show and, as a result, was stripped of all that gave him power and without physical violence or his verbal abuse, he was nothing. He was truly petrified of this young man that had come into his home and possessed a power that he didn't understand beyond it being far stronger than anything he was capable of decreeing.
'If you can't respect my aunt, the woman you married and no doubt promised to love and cherish and protect in your wedding vows, then you don't belong in this house. I suggest you leave and don't come back,' Harry snarled.
Dudley came and stood next to Harry, shoulder to shoulder in solidarity. He didn't speak but the message was clear. Since the Dementor incident Dudley had turned a corner; as his life flashed before his eyes, the Dementors had shown him some ugly truths about his character and his bullyish traits that he picked up after his father returned. He decided he didn't like that side of him. He also knew he would look after his mother and protect her at all costs. She needed his help.
Vernon left.
'It's up to you now, Petunia,' Harry said. 'It's your decision whether you let him back in your house and remain the victim or whether you change the locks and protect you and your son. To hell with what your neighbours think. You're always worth more than that man.'
She had cried, Harry wasn't sure if it was in relief.
After that, Dudley had remained at a respectful distance, watching Harry warily, but he nodded to say thanks.
Harry left too, going for a walk to give Petunia time.
That was why he ended up in the café at the station, mostly reading his wizarding paper and moping about Sirius and wondering how Remus was coping with the loss of his soulmate. That was, until he looked up and saw the old man waiting patiently for him.
He sighed and made his way to join Dumbledore on the other platform.
'Professor,' Harry said, looking at Dumbledore's left hand that was blackened and wizened from where it was half-visible under the long pale-grey sleeve of his robe. 'What happened to your...?'
'Ah, good evening, Harry, fancy seeing you here,' said Dumbledore, looking at him through his half-moon glasses with a most satisfied expression. 'Excellent, excellent.'
'Sir...?'
'Later, Harry,' said Dumbledore. 'A difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By us, I mean the Order of the Phoenix. But first of all, I must tell you that Sirius's Will was discovered a week ago and that he left you everything he owned. You are now the sole legal heir and descendant of the Ancient and Noble House of Black.'
'But he was disowned?'
'I must admit, Harry, that I am not familiar with all the ins and outs of Ancestral and Inheritance Law, but as the oldest son and heir, it was Sirius's right to pass it to you. The Department of Inheritance at Gringotts have confirmed that this is the case and you are now the sole heir to the House of Black.'
'Not Bellatrix?' Harry asked. She was, after all, the oldest of the three Black sisters.
'No.'
'Oh. Right,' was all Harry could think of to say. 'I'm surprised he didn't leave it all to Remus.'
'I believe they discussed that it should go to you. Remus felt it was more appropriate.'
'How is Remus?'
'Grieving, perhaps it is harder to lose someone a second time.'
Silence fell and Harry could feel the empty hole in his stomach left by Sirius's death gnawing away at him.
'The Will is, in the main, fairly straightforward,' Dumbledore went on. 'You add a considerable amount of gold to your account at Gringotts and you inherit all of Sirius's personal possessions. The slightly problematic part of the legacy is that Sirius also left you No.12, Grimmauld Place.'
'You can keep using it as Headquarters,' said Harry. 'I don't care. You can have it.' Harry wasn't sure he ever wanted to step foot in Grimmauld Place again if he could help it. He thought he would be haunted for ever by the memory of Sirius prowling its dark musty rooms alone, imprisoned within the place he had wanted so desperately to leave since he was a boy.
'That is generous,' said Dumbledore. 'Perhaps temporarily, until you come of age and decide what you want to do with it. Now, Harry, do you have your Invisibility Cloak on you?'
Harry nodded.
'Sensible lad, sensible lad. Let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure.'
It was considerably later that Dumbledore delivered Harry into the arms of Molly Weasley and was greeted by Tonks in the kitchen at The Burrow.
'You're like Ron,' Molly sighed fondly, looking him up and down. 'Both of you look as though you've had Stretching Jinxes put on you. I swear Ron's grown four inches since I last bought him school robes. Are you hungry, Harry?'
It was gone one in the morning when he crept up to Fred and George's old bedroom and slipped into the bed that was waiting for him. The twins had moved out to the flat above the joke shop they'd opened on Diagon Alley. Harry's trunk and Hedwig were already waiting for him.
He was woken in the morning by Ron and Hermione.
'So, what's going on?' said Ron excitedly bouncing on the end of Harry's bed.
'Nothing much...'
'Come of it! said Ron. 'You've been off with Dumbledore!'
'It wasn't exciting. He just wanted me to help him persuade this old teacher to come out of retirement. His name's Horace Slughorn.'
'Oh,' said Ron, looking disappointed.
When their O.W.L. results came in, Harry was delighted, he'd passed seven, even getting an Outstanding in Defence Against the Dark Arts. He'd failed two, but he wasn't bothered about Divination. And he wasn't surprised about History of Magic seeing as the exam was interrupted by Voldemort's vision of Sirius being tortured in the Department of Mysteries. Minnie suggested he retake it in November, it wouldn't be too much trouble for him to do. He reluctantly agreed. His only disappointment was the 'E' in potions. He'd needed an 'O' to carry on at N.E.W.T. level and get in the Auror Training Corps. Although it was odd that a Death-Eater in disguise had told him he'd make a good Auror, the idea had really taken hold. He couldn't really think of anything else he would like to be. Moreover, it had seemed the right destiny for him since he had heard the Prophecy a month ago... neither can live while the other survives... wouldn't he be living up to the prophecy, and giving himself the best chance of survival, if he joined those highly trained wizards whose job it was to find and kill Voldemort?
Harry wasn't sure if he was looking forward to going back to Hogwarts now his dreams had been dashed. And there was a new dilemma with Malfoy, who they'd seen going into Borgin and Burkes with his mother. He was up to something, Harry was sure. Still, he dragged himself to Kings Cross Station with the Weasleys, unsure what his future held, if he had a future at all, what with Voldemort clearly determined to finish what he'd set out to do nearly fifteen years ago.
Draco sat on the Hogwarts Express with Pansy, Vince, and Greg. Blaise had been dragged off to some lunch with a new teacher, Slughorn; no doubt the new D.A.D.A professor.
Draco really should have been up in the Prefect's Compartment with Daphne but he couldn't be bothered. He couldn't be bothered with any of it. He didn't want to be going back to Hogwarts, it all seemed so pointless. And it was making him feel sick with nerves with what he had to do. Not that he could let that show.
At least he'd sorted out the challenge with Borkin and Burkes. Though that was the easy bit.
He watched Blaise slide open the compartment door after finishing his lunch. The door seemed to stick and Blaise stumbled into Greg's lap. Draco's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of trainer and ankle, a recognisable trainer, seemingly attached to thin air, swing up into the luggage rack above Vince.
He snorted softly to himself and lay back into Pansy's lap so she could continue carding his hair.
'So, Blaise,' he drawled, 'what did Slughorn want?'
'Just trying to make up to well-connected people,' said Blaise. 'Not that he managed to find many.'
Draco was not impressed, seeing as he hadn't been invited. He half listened to Blaise talk about who'd been there, pondering what to do about the new additional baggage in the compartment.
'...and Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl,' finished Blaise.
Draco sat up very suddenly, knocking Pansy's hand to one side.
'He invited Longbottom?'
'I assume so, seeing as Longbottom was there,' Blaise said indifferently.
'Potter, precious Potter,' he spat the 'P's. 'Obviously he wanted a look at the Chosen One,' he said with contempt, listening out for any sign of a reaction. 'But that Weasley girl! What's so special about her?'
'A lot of boys like her,' said Pansy. Draco knew she was trying to get a rise out of him. 'Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!'
'I wouldn't touch a filthy blood traitor like her whatever she looked like,' said Blaise coldly.
Draco didn't quite believe him but they all had to watch what they said these days, even if the others had no intention of becoming Death-Eaters. Besides, Vince and Greg were undoubtedly already spying, luckily too stupid to see through the shallowness of Blaise's nonchalance. Blaise followed his cock and if he thought anyone was good looking enough, well, he'd probably try, whatever their blood status or allegiances. Blaise was, after all, a half-blood himself, not that he shouted about it and Weasley was a pureblood, even if her family were blood traitors.
'Oh well,' Draco yawned. 'Who cares what Slughorn is interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher. I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?'
'What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?' said Pansy indignantly, ceasing with her grooming.
'Well, you never know,' said Malfoy with the ghost of a smirk. 'I might have moved on to bigger and better things.' Or I might be dead, he thought but better to sound powerful and important. Greg and Vince... he kept thinking. They will be reporting back to their fathers and therefore the Dark Lord.
'Do you mean... Him?' Pansy said, sounding dumbfounded.
Draco shrugged. He knew he had to play this carefully with Vince, Greg, and Potter listening.
'Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it... when the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone's got? Of course he isn't... it'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown.'
He felt sick, he knew exactly what that meant, but he was also seething, knowing that Potter was there, listening in. Knowing that his own grovelling on the floor in front of that mad-man was all Potter's fault. That is father was shivering in a cold dank cell and it was all Potter's fault.
'And you think you'll be able to do something for him?' Blaise said. 'Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified?'
'I've just said, haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for,' said Draco quietly, all too aware that the Dark Lord didn't care one way or another because he didn't expect Draco to succeed and, therefore, he expected to end Draco's life before the year was out.
As the train slowed to a jerky crawl, Draco stood up and fastened his new thick travelling cloak around his neck.
'You go on,' Draco said to Pansy and Blaise. 'I want to check something.'
He moved to the compartment door and let down the blinds and then withdrew his wand, anger and the desire for revenge coursing through his blood. His father was in prison because of Potter, rotting in a cell. And he'd been forced to take the Dark Mark, he was being forced to...
'Petrificus Totalus!' he said, pointing his wand where he knew Potter to be concealed.
Instantly paralysed, Potter fell as though in slow motion, with an agonising, floor-shaking crash onto his back at Draco's feet. His Invisibility Cloak trapped beneath him and revealing his legs still curled absurdly into the cramped kneeling position he obviously been in.
He considered Potter for a moment.
'You didn't hear anything I care about, Potter. But while I've got you here...'
He brought his foot up and stamped down, hard, on Potter's face. He felt the bone break under the force; blood spurted everywhere.
'That's from my father...'
He dragged the Cloak out from under Potter and draped it over him.
'I don't reckon they'll find you until you're back in London,' he said quietly. 'See you around, Potter... or not.'
And taking care to tread on Potter's fingers, Draco left the compartment.
For some reason, he didn't feel avenged or very satisfied. Instead, with each step he took away from the train, it was as if he could feel Potter's nose slipping sideways under his foot and breaking again and again.
The carriages had already all gone and as he reached the trees that edged the path up to the school; the place he'd thought of as home for so many years, Draco stopped suddenly and vomited violently.
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