His green eyes, determined and lustful, were set on mine. A chill of ecstasy ran down my spine. He stepped closer and I could smell his sweat. I closed my eyes as I trembled with anticipation and desire. He leaned against me, pushing me against the wall behind me. His chest, so muscular, was moving against mine as we breathed heavily. He breathed my name…

“Draco…” His voice was like silk, lyrical and lost in yearning. I gasped as his soft lips brushed my neck, his black hair tickling my cheek. “Draco…”

“Draco!” a cold voice penetrated my dreams. Why couldn’t he go away? I was having a very nice dream…I rolled over and burrowed my face further into my fluffy pillows.

“Draco! Wake up this instant!” he yelled. Someone shook him violently by the shoulder. “Now!”

Reluctantly (very reluctantly), I opened my groggy eyes and wiped the sleep out of them. I turned my head to see my father standing next to my large bed, holding the curtains back. His face was cold and sharp.

“Yes, father?” I asked. The false respect was apparent in my voice. He noticed.

“Who do you think you are? Don’t talk to your father with that tone!” His strong hand came up and swung down, smacking my face hard, surprisingly hard for a man his age. I mean, he’s not old, but he’s definitely over his prime time.

My cheek was smarting rather painfully. I clenched my jaw and muttered an apology through my teeth.

“You better be sorry. You need to learn respect if you want to serve the Dark Lord. Keep this attitude of yours up and you’ll be dead before you can think of another smart ass remark.” He turned on his heel, dropping my bed curtains, which fell gracefully through the air and hung there like a gentle mist. Beyond, I could still see my father. He was at my door. “Breakfast is ready,” he spat before slamming the door shut.

I sat up with a sigh. I climbed out of my bed with a little difficulty, as my foot was wrapped in my sheet. In the mirror, a haunted and pale face looked back at me. I had lost a lot of weight recently. My cheek where my father hit me was red and turning an ugly purple. My thin hand softly brushed it and I stood there, staring at my reflection.

I grabbed my brush and ran it through my white-blonde hair. I stared into my gray eyes. I’ve been told I was beautiful. I don’t know what those people were talking about. I think I’m hideous. Can’t they see the shadows behind my eyes, casting an ever-dead look about me? My pale skin was whiter than a corpse. My hair was thin and made me look even paler. Pansy liked my hair. Then again, her hair was as dark as death itself. Comparably, I was beautiful, but she wasn’t exactly what one would call an equal opponent.

“She’s a perfectly good pureblood,” my mother told me every year before I left for school. “Be charming and make sure you’ll have a nice pure heir after school, okay? Do it for your mother.” She’d kiss my cheek and push me onto the train.

I put my brush down and found my wand. I waved it over my face and cast a glamour, making my face look fuller, healthier. I smirked at myself. This was such a perfect personification of my family: you can be miserable and hate yourself, but make sure you hide it and look good.

Downstairs, the house-elf had prepared a great breakfast. I didn’t notice. I sat down at the table across from my mother. She was picking at her fruit bowl.

“Mum.” I stared at her blonde head, waiting for her to realize I was there. It usually takes a few minutes, so I grabbed a piece of buttered toast. “Mum, can we go to Diagon Alley?” I bit into the bread. It was delicious. I wonder how that house-elf manages to make even the bread taste amazing.

After I finished two pieces of toast, my mother looked up. “Oh, Draco, dear! I didn’t hear you come in,” she said with a smile. Always with that poisonous smile.

With dead eyes I continued to munch on my food. “We need to go to Diagon Alley. School starts next week.”

"Sure, honey. Do you know where your father went?” She looked around hopefully; she reminded me horribly of a lost puppy.

I stood up. “No.” I left the dining room and retreated back to my bedroom. I sat heavily on a lounge chair by one of the windows. I looked outside: the rain clouds were thick with misery, destined to bring doom upon me. I looked away.
______________________________________________________

Diagon Alley was crowded, as usual, with little children running freely, their parents hopelessly chasing after them, burdened by all of their purchases. I wonder how it would feel to have your mother run after you, desperate to find her mindlessly happy child. I can only dream.

I push my way through a crowd of young girls, probably about to start their first year at Hogwarts by the look of them. When I had gotten through them, I could hear the incessant giggling that pubescent girls were prone to. I rolled my eyes and continued on.

The bank was full of parents and goblins. I scanned the high counters in search of an open teller. When I found one (at the far end of the vast hall), I stalked over and pulled out my key arrogantly, as my father had always told me to do.

“Malfoy vault,” I said loudly. The goblin barely looked at me. Whatever. He snatched my key from the polished counter and checked it. Soon, another goblin approached me and showed me into a cart. Once we were both inside, the small cart flew down the tracks, threatening to fall off the edge at any moment. I don’t know how long it took, I never pay attention, but I guess it was quite a while since my family vault is at the very bottom of Gringotts, along with all of the other older family vaults.

When the goblin opened the vault, I took a few handfuls of gold, silver, and bronze (and then another handful of gold, for good measure). I passed all of the treasures and jewels and paintings and statues and whatever else we have obtained. I never really cared enough to pay attention to them.

Back in the main street, I walked into various stores, buying the necessities (and my fancies) without much emotion. Quills and ink, parchment, books and broom care equipment. When I walked into Madam Malkin’s to buy new robes (I have not only lost weight, but have gained a good deal of height), I stopped suddenly in the doorway.

“Potter,” I sneered. Harry Potter twisted his head around, his gorgeous black hair swinging around with the violent motion. His green eyes glared at me. Why do I always do that? Why can’t I just be nice to him? He deserves it. Oh well, too late for that. “Buying new robes are you? Probably helping out the Weasleys too, since they can barely pay for their hideous barn they call a house.”

Oh, I’ve hit a nerve. Harry’s whole body turned now, his arm whipping out his wand in one fluid movement. Merlin, he’s thin. Harry stepped closer to me. Oh, help me! He’s beautiful. I begin to smile at him, then, realizing what I was doing, quickly changed it into a smirk.

“Don’t you ever talk about them again. They’re so much better people, better wizards, than you and you’re stuck-up family,” Harry spat with so much venom, it slightly stung.

“Oh, that’s right! I’m so sorry, Potter. Compared to those Muggles you’re related to, the Weasleys are so amazing, you don’t even mind the stench they reek of!” Before he could do anything, I sauntered to the rack of robes by the back of the store.

“Draco, dear, where were you?” my mother asked in her annoyingly sugary voice. Before I could answer (sometimes I like to pretend she actually cares when she asks me that), she asked, “Did you see Pansy? She was over by the Apothecary with some friends. Give me those” –she took my purchases—“and why don’t you go talk to her?” She pushed me in the general direction of the Apothecary with her red tipped talons.

Sighing, I walked down the street pushing people out of my way as I did. I did not go to the Apothecary. I passed right by. Pansy Parkinson was indeed by the door, carrying bags of bat eyes, scorpion tails, and other animal guts in her hand. She tried to get my attention by calling out my name and leaning seductively (I think that’s what she was trying to do) against the doorframe. I paid her no attention.

Instead, I walked down to Knockturn Alley. If I were somebody else, the shady characters that crowded this side street probably would have cornered me. But no, they knew my father, that great, fabulous, rich, handsome, cunning bastard.

I opened the door to Tilly’s Tea Leaves. The store was dark and dusty. Scattered around the room were small tables draped in black velvet, mesh, and lace, each with a silver candelabra. On the side wall, there were tall black iron and glass display cases. There were a few customers sipping tea and other drinks that I’d care not to know the contents of. Others were scanning the shelves for fortune telling products.

“Tilly!” I yelled, slamming the door behind me. Several people looked up at me, none of them Tilly. “Tilly, where are you?” I stood in the doorway, waiting.

A thin woman walked out from the backroom. Her dark hair was pulled back into two messy ponytails and her eyes were hidden in shadow from her long bangs and makeup. She smiled widely and her red lips gave way to white teeth.

“Draco, I wasn’t expecting you today,” she said, looking me up and down.

“Apparently.” I walked past her and sat down at a table in the corner of the shop. The cold iron chair chilled my back as I leaned against it, but I ignored it and stared at Tilly, waiting for her to follow suit and sit.

Tilly walked over and sat, the many folds of her dark skirt falling over the edge of the chair. Her eyes probed mine, her brows furrowed.

“I need your help,” I whispered. I stared at her more, urging her to get the message, hoping she could read my mind with her powerful gaze.

“You’ll need to be more specific, Draco,” she said leaning across the table to be closer. Her chest was about to fall out of her black lace corset, her silver necklace dangling above her cleavage. I showed no interest.

“He has given me a mission and I need your help. You have the supplies I need to succeed.” I watched Tilly for a reaction. Her face didn’t change. We sat frozen for a few pregnant seconds before she swiftly stood up, beckoned me to follow, and walked to the backroom, her skirts swishing on the ground, picking up dirt and dust.

I closed the heavy door behind me and turned to Tilly, who was bathed in the half-light of her various candles scattered around the room. There was another silence between us, only interrupted by the crackling of the small flames. Her gaze was intense.

“Draco, what do you need? What did he tell you to do?” she whispered. Her voice was soft yet husky, laced with concern and eagerness.

“To give him Harry Potter,” I whispered. Tilly gasped. I could feel a lump in my throat, choking me, causing me to cough out a strangled sob. I closed my eyes in embarrassment and horror at the prospect of handing him over to Voldemort, to Death.

I felt Tilly’s comforting arms wrap around my trembling body and I buried my face in her shoulder. Against my will, tears rolled down my face. Tilly let me cry for a while before pulling back, holding me by the shoulders. Her eyes, now moist, searched mine, for what I don’t know.

“You can do it, Draco. I know it’s hard, but it’s your head or his,” Tilly encouraged. I think she tried to make me feel better. She failed. I pulled away violently and sobbed loudly. I fell to my knees and covered my face with my shaking hands.

“No, I can’t! Don’t you understand? If I could, I would die for him! I…I love him, Tilly…” I whispered. We both knew this to be true for a while, but I have never, never uttered those words.

Tilly was silent for several minutes while I cried myself into silence. When my tears had stopped, we sat in the gloomy backroom of her shop for an hour, both wondering what the future would bring.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 28.11.2009

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