1. Sick

A/N: Hey! Welcome readers. This story is about one of my favorite fan theories, which unfortunately J.K. Rowling said is totally implausible. Let's imagine otherwise for now however! Basically, this is AU, OOC, and Canon-divergent. You have been warned! There will be more than a splash of Druna. And just remember, the views presented in this story are not necessarily the views held by the author.

Also, Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form. Enjoy!

"Draco! Come out immediately. There's someone who wishes to speak with you!" The soft rapping of my mother's knuckles on the door of my room jolts me from an uneasy sleep.

Instinctively, I tumble from my bed, knocking a vase of wilting flowers from the nightstand before me. I scrabble at the shattered remains of porcelain, calling awkwardly to my mother. "I- I can't! I don't feel well…"

My mother Narcissa seems unable to keep the note of panic from her voice. "No! You need to! Don't you understand?! Stop being selfish… love, let me in!" The handle of the door twists and I can hear her fingernails scraping over the wooden door as she breaks down in ragged sobs.

My mother rarely cries; she considers such mental un-restraint to be lowly and weak, so this outburst shocks me. I can't disobey her. I know that she will be punished just as severely for my treachery as I will. With a sigh, I attempt to smooth out my ruffled suit and hair before opening the door. My mother stands before me, her eyes puffy.

With a gracious nod, she turns away and glides majestically down the hall, beckoning me over her shoulder. "Come. Our guest is waiting."

I bite my lip and march after her, holding my head high as a Malfoy should. My eyes are puffy as well- I'm sure if it. After my father's recent imprisonment it feels like my entire life crumbling. I don't know how to express any of the pain that I feel, but I do know that my only outlet is the chance that the Dark Lord has graciously granted me. It is I, Draco Malfoy, who is about to have the honor of eliminating that wretched Albus Dumbledore. I have no doubt that after my mission is complete, not only will my family be the most respected in the world, but then perhaps I'll get the credit that I deserve. I'm certain that my father will finally look at me like a man, shake my hand, and say "Well done, my son. I'm proud to call you my descendant; you've brought great honor to the name of Malfoy".

I draw my robes around me to hide my wrinkled clothes as my mother opens an inconspicuous back door that our old house-elf once used to access our inner court and vegetable garden. For a fleeting moment I'm confused about why she would choose the outdoors, of all places, for me to meet anyone. She grips my shoulder hard, digging her nails into my flesh as I attempt to pass her. "I'm so sorry, son. I'm so sorry." Her hoarsely whispered words ring in my ear as she shoves me forward. The door slams shut behind me and I'm left standing in the cold courtyard. I blink, shivering in the night breeze.

"Hello?" I say loudly, attempting to keep my tone cold and emotionless. Nothing but the soft sound of chirping crickets in the dead black night reply. "H- hello? Is anyone here?" I falter slightly, mentally beating myself for making such a foolish mistake. Malfoys never waver—never show fear or uncertainty over anything. How could I be any more of a disappointment? I can't even keep my emotions in check, let alone please my parents in my day to day actions.

I bite my lip, wrapping my cloak around me as tightly as I can. After a few more seconds of waiting in silence, I turn back to the small door. Perhaps whoever was supposed to come forgot. Perhaps they simply had better things to do—a new mission to carry out for the Dark Lord.

Just as my fingers brush the door knob, a low noise behind me causes me to freeze. "H-hello?" A sickening sound, like fingernails running over a chalkboard grinds across my ears. I wince, fumbling at the door knob with a rising sense of panic. I don't care who my mother wants me to meet—there's no way that I'm waiting out here in the middle of the night! A throaty, gravelly, noise sounds right behind me and I whip around, pressing my back to the door. Why did I leave my wand in my room? "Is anyone there? Is that you Aunt? This isn't funny! Come out into the light- let me see you!" My voice rises, but I don't fight to control it. "Lumos!" I make good use of the wandless magic that my Auntie and Mother are beginning to teach me—light floods from my fingertips, creating a white circle around me. The glare bounces off of two twin orbs, floating just outside the ring of illumination.

I blink just as a huge blurry figure flings itself through the air, straight at me. A piercing scream rings in my ears and I feel a detached sense of burning pain in my left arm. Then I'm sinking into an oblivion of darkness.

Merlin. My arm hurts...

I move slightly on my bed, groaning instinctively at the twinge of pain coursing through my bones. Slowly, ever so slowly, I open my eyes. The shift from darkness to sudden blinding white light is agonizing. After a few more moments, I'm able to make out the blurry outlines of my leather armchair, the green velvet curtains of my room, and a tall dark-haired woman who is reclining against the marble fireplace.

"Waking up at last are you, sweetie?" Her voice is taught with poorly restrained laughter, and I turn away from her, burying my face in my pillow. The last person that I want to see right now is Aunt Bellatrix. She has just about the poorest bedside manner that I've ever experienced. The week after coming home from school I developed a terrible cold, and Mother was so busy trying to plead for Father's release before the Wizengamot that it was left to Bella to take care of me. I'll never forget the belligerence with which she managed to shove the gallons of chicken soup down my throat. Scarring.

"Where's Mother?" I mumble, deciding that she is certainly the person that I need the most. "What time is it? Did I miss the meeting?"My mind is a blur of jumbled colors, thoughts, and frightening images. I must have been asleep for a few hours at least, for the fragments of dreams are beginning to return to memory.

"Busy." My aunt walks slowly across the room and jerks the velvet curtains open, releasing a flood of light across my bed. "Get up."

I make a motion to obey, but fall back, exhausted. "My arm hurts." I say petulantly.

Bellatrix throws her head back, laughing so loudly that I almost wish I could cover my ears. "Of course it does, you stupid child!" Her words become slurred as she bends over me, her dark hands finding my arm and tugging at it viciously.

I am not a child! I am sixteen years old- the Dark Lord has a mission for me. I deserve at least some respect from this woman, be she my aunt or not. I hardly notice our Lord giving her any important tasks, after all. I open my mouth to snap out a sharp retort... but then remember my Aunt's favorite curse. She has no problem with using the Cruciatus on family members, and once under that torture is more than enough for me. "What happened? What time is it?" I repeat, my voice hoarse.

A slow smile spreads over my Aunt's face, her heavily lidded eyes gleaming. "Don't you mean 'what month'? It's the second of August, and you need to get well soon- your mother is going to take you to Diagon Alley tomorrow."

"What the-"

My aunt cuts me off before I can continue, her smile widening. "Werewolf bites tend to sink the precipitant into a deep coma for several weeks, or at least, that's what I've heard. But don't worry, sweetie. You still have till the end of the month before things get rough."

"W-werewolf bite?" I stumble over my words like an idiot, cold fear beginning to seep into my heart. Was that what attacked me? But- but it couldn't have an affect if the creature only bit my arm... right?

"Aw, is poor widdle Dwaco scwared?" Bellatrix taunts, her dark eyes glinting with maniacal delight as she lisps in her horrible baby-voice. "Does poor widdle Dwaco not want to be a fwilthy widdle half-breed? Does he not want to be a discwace to the famiwy?"

I shake my head, mind still whirling with confusion and delirium. "No! No..."

"Stop whining, you little cow!"She spits. "And take a look at your arm. Fenrir Greyback loves children, you know. But what does he love even more? The children of reject Death Eaters like my idiot brother-in-law- your father!"

With a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach, I move the bed sheets from my left arm. I bite back a whimper of pain and disgust at the bloody bandages covering it- the festering wound still peaking through the poor wrapping job. I look up at my aunt in quiet terror to find that she is still wearing that same smug smile. She nods slowly, as if in victory, and I'm violently sick all over my lap.

Still coughing on bile, I barely manage to lift my head as Bella sweeps from the room, pausing for a fleeting moment at the door before leaving me completely alone.

"Oh, and Draco, dear? You wouldn't be forgetting about that little task of yours now, would you?"