The True Story of Harry Potter

~*~

The next morning Draco silently ate his breakfast as he watched the doors leading into the Great Hall. He replayed the previous night's events in his head, trying to discern where things had gone wrong. He was certain he had gained her trust, that she'd wanted to kiss him. What exactly was it that sent her into the arms of the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Annoy-Draco-Malfoy? He scowled as he ate his eggs, his eyes still fixed on the door. He finally caught a glimpse of the telltale red hair bouncing around her in crimson waves as she was escorted through the entrance, side by side with the scar headed git.

Potter entered the Great Hall with the Weaslette, opening the door for her and then following her through, quickly draping his arm around her shoulders. He directed a look of triumph straight at Draco. He didn't hold Draco's eyes, missing his best efforts at an icy glare, but instead turned his attention to the trophy female adorning his arm. Her body seemed rigid, but from where Draco was sitting, he couldn't be certain. If his instincts were correct, she was distancing herself from the boy wonder, which allowed Draco to feel a momentary victory.

He watched them sit down, Potter's arm dangling by his side, not touching Ginny in the slightest. She seated herself so she was facing the Slytherin table. Draco watched her, waiting until she would feel the weight of his stare, and then he'd begin to make amends. Continuing to eat, he contemplated the best course of action. Things had gone perfectly up until that kiss—perhaps too perfectly; perhaps that was the reason behind the current situation. Hadn't his father always said if things went too easily then something was amiss?

Before he had time to ponder how uncomplicated it had all been, her cognac eyes flickered to his for the briefest moment. What was she playing at this time, he wondered. Again her eyes glanced over his, but the third time they locked onto his, exuding defiance. He produced a half-smile, hoping it appeared to be placating, willing his eyes to look inquiringly apologetic. She bit down on her lower lip—in what would be seductive if it weren't for the current situation—considering him and his unasked question, which if he was being honest, he had no idea what he was asking. He just needed her to give him another chance.

The owl post came while they were having their nonverbal conversation. In his peripheral vision, Draco noticed the large wings flapping overhead as his family's eagle owl. He broke eye contact with Ginny as the owl swooped over head and dropped an envelope, which he immediately recognized as his mother's stationary, onto the table in front of him. He picked up the thin letter and turned it over, looking at the emerald-green wax Malfoy crest which sealed it securely closed.

He debated opening the letter right then, but decided it would be best to read it in private; the news wasn't likely to be good. He was no longer disillusioned by his parents and their associations. This letter, with his mother's large, swirling script on the front, could only mean one thing. Narcissa Malfoy didn't write letters—she had house elves for that; the one exception was when the contents were pertaining to her involvement with Lord Voldemort.

Draco stood up abruptly, and left the dining area, exiting through the large wooden doors. He knew Ginny had seen him receive the letter, but he was certain he could leave without her knowing who it was from. She hadn't been that observant of him; a fact proven when he thwarted her attempts to follow him. He departed without a word, or a glance in her direction; she was no longer his top priority. His attention was directed on one thing, the contents of the letter.

“Draco!”

He stopped at the sound of her voice. She was following him again. He didn't have time for he wretched games. He pivoted on one foot to face her, narrowing his eyes. “What do you want, Weasley?” he sneered.

Her face scrunched in confusion; hurt flickered in her eyes. “Is everything all right? You looked…”

He scowled when he saw her pathetic look of concern. She was oblivious to his life, to the reality of death, torture, dark lords and evil. She needed to stay away, keep to her dozens of brothers, comfortable family and trite home with her simple life.

“My life is no concern of yours. Go back to your hero boy, blood traitor,” he replied icily and stalked away toward the stairs leading down to the Slytherin common room.

Once in the dungeons, Draco found an empty corridor lit by a single torch. Stepping into the flickering dim light, he flipped the letter over, and ran one finely manicured fingernail over the raised paraffin. It wouldn't be wise to let anyone see him with it, but it would be imprudent to leave it unread. He slipped a finger under the seal, ready to break it when footfall sounded on the flagstones in the passageway he had just walked through. Hastily, he put the letter in a pocket of his school robes, tucking it in securely to be certain he did not lose it.

“Mr. Malfoy, I trust you are not lingering in the corridors preparing to do unfavorable activities?” Professor Snape glided around him to look Draco in the eyes, causing him to wonder if Snape could read his thoughts.

“No, sir, I've simply finished my breakfast and am now waiting for class to begin.”

Snape stared at him with open disbelief, but let it slide. Being his favorite student allowed Draco some benefits. “Very well, since you are available I will allow you to assist me in preparation for my first lesson of the day. After all, you will be going in that direction and you did intend on being present?”

Draco nodded then followed Snape. As much as it annoyed him to delay reading the parchment stuffed in his pocket, it would be sagacious to following the potions master's directive. If he assisted Snape, he may be able to escape class early and read the letter.

Unfortunately, Snape was ferociously difficult on the sixth years in Potions. There were no breaks, no coddling, and everyone worked past the bell. The entire day's worth of lessons had been a repeat of Potions in Draco's opinion. Everything moved in slow motion; the professors droned on and the classes ran long. When his last class ended, Draco had nearly forgotten about the letter until he reached his room and emptied his pockets.

Only Vincent, apparently engrossed in a book about curse breaking, was in the sixth year dormitory. Draco moved to his bed, and then discretely took the letter out of his pocket. He quickly ripped through the seal, cursing himself for leaving it this long. If it was anything of a timely concern, his mother would not be pleased with a tardy reply. His eyes scanned the parchment as he unfolded the letter. Three tidy lines, written with loopy script, sealed his fate once and for all.

Draco,

The time has come, darling: you will take your rightful place as the Malfoy heir in name, family, and standing. Be prepared to come home this Winter Solstice to be welcomed in the circle of the Elite. I'll send for you the evening of.

~In His Devotion,

Mother

Draco crumbled the parchment and tightly held it in his fisted hand. He knew it was inevitable once he reached legal age, but he managed not to think about it most of the time. Winter Solstice was in only forty-eight hours. He breathed out a frustrated groan and fell back into the comforting mattress of his bed.

“Get a letter from home, Draco?” Vincent's voice, littered with trepidation, filled the room. Draco turned on his side and looked at his dormmate.

“How did you know?”

Vincent cleared his throat and pulled a piece of parchment out of his book. “I got one of my own.”

Draco gave a curt nod. “Anyone else get one?”

“I think Ted,” Vincent said with a shrug of his shoulders. “He definitely got an owl, and then read the letter right there at table. He looked a bit green before he left. I haven't seen him—”

He was cut off by the loud bang of the door as it swung open and hit the wall. Ted ambled in and gave each of them a disgusted smirk. “You two hear from your mums by chance?”

Draco and Vincent looked at each other then Ted and nodded in answer. Ted continued, his voice laced with disdain, “Me too. So, you ready to become minions, replace our daddies?”

Neither boy answered Ted. It was eerily silent. Draco had nothing to say. He wasn't going to risk his neck and say what he thought. If either one of these blokes became a Death Eater, then they would just as soon use him to further their own agenda as any other masked jester of the Dark Lord's court would.

“Come on, then,” Ted spoke as if someone had answered, “I've got something for us. Been down at Hogsmeade, on the sly, and picked up some Fire whiskey. It's stashed under the Quidditch stands. We might as well enjoy our last couple of nights of freedom.”

Vincent lifted himself from his bed and joined Ted at the door. “I think that's the best news I've heard yet today. Let's go Draco.”

What did he have to lose? He might as well join them, to try and have some fun before they became puppets to do evil's bidding. Their paths had been laid ahead of them from birth; none of them had a choice. He could choose this, control this. So many things he had no control over, but the next two days were definitely his to do with as he wished.

Pushing himself off the bed, Draco joined his friends and they crept silently through the passageways of Hogwarts. Once outside, the three Slytherins made their way to the Quidditch pitch and silent began to partake in the drugging effects of alcohol.

Several hours passed before they drained the contents of Ted's stash. They could hear the Slytherin Quidditch practice go on without their captain and their best beater overhead as they drank. The Gryffindors began their practice as Draco drank the last of his whiskey. He was in a haze, but he felt numb. He didn't care about his mother's letter, the thought of his father in prison made him laugh, and Voldemort wasn't scary to say, at least he didn't think it was. “Vullermor,” he slurred.

“Wha?” Vincent mumbled.

“Jus sayin' Vullermor. Iss not hard to say s'all. Vullermor,” Draco explained.

Ted laughed and extended a hand to Vincent pulling him up from the ground. “Come on you two lightweights. We need to get back before anyone sees us. The Gryffs seem to have gone in their locker room.”

Draco batted his hand away, “I kin do it myssef.” He swayed and stumbled behind his two friends when the sliver of red caught his eye. Of course, she was following him again.

Leaving his two friends, he stomped toward her, well to her left and then back to her right. In any case, he was going to let her have it. “Weassssllll!” he bellowed.

“Draco?” She approached him with a scowl on her face and sniffed the air. “Draco, have you been drinking?”

“I tol you to stop fol- follin me.”

“Shhhh! Draco, McGonagall is just over there, talking to Ron. You're a bloody mess. You'd better get back to your dorm.”

“No.”

“No? Didn't you hear me? McGonagall will have your neck, you daft pillock.”

“I'm not goin anywhere until I sssspeak to you.”

She looked over her shoulder at an approaching McGonagall. “Bloody hell. I'm an idiot for saving your skin, Malfoy. You owe me, big. Let's go.”

******

A/N: Sorry for the Delay in updating, but I'm in the middle of moving.

To answer a couple of questions, Crabbe and Goyle are semi-intelligent in my stories because this is NOT Harry's point of view and Hogwarts is the finest school of witch craft and wizardry, meaning no dolt is going to be invited to attend. In addition, this is a Draco and Ginny story, do not fear, but I cannot say what is up with Harry and Ginny. You'll find out later…