2 Kids Who Are Not Harry Potter And The Sorcerer's Stone

Christmas

As Draco had predicted, the holidays passed very slowly compared with his time at Hogwarts. He kept to his bedroom finishing the vast pile of homework he had been set, but found that schoolwork was nowhere near as fun or interesting without Hermione to talk to. In any case, at the end of three days he'd finished all of his homework and no longer had anything to distract him from the dull atmosphere inside the Manor. His parents went out nearly every night to some gala, dinner party, or other, but most of the time left him at home. Draco didn't mind this. At best, his parents' friends bored him and at worst they frightened him to the core for reasons he'd never been able to quite identify. On this particular evening, they were going to some sort of auction, or ball--he couldn't remember, probably because he hadn't been listening, but in any case, it didn't matter. What mattered was that Draco had very important plans for tonight.

He'd been furious to discover, when he'd returned home, that the false back in his closet had been fixed and his broomstick had been relocated to its place in the hut on the grounds. Tonight, the moment his parents left, he was going to sneak out to get it. He'd been straining his ears at the top of the stairs for the past half-hour, and when he was sure they'd finally, finally gone, he crept downstairs to check.

To his annoyance, however, he could hear voices as he neared the drawing room. Something in their tones gave him pause. Were they arguing?

Very slowly and silently, he crept down the hallway into the library, which shared a wall with the drawing room, and settled into an inconspicuous corner to listen. They were definitely arguing.

"...And all manner of odd things happening in Albania, Narcissa! The signs are all here!" There was a hint of--was that fear?--in his father's voice that he'd never heard before.

"Signs are all too often misread by the paranoid," said his mother coldly.

"Open your eyes! I told you ten years ago that we must be prepared for this day to come, and it is drawing nearer as we speak!"

"You told me ten years ago that your loyalties lie with your family. Are you telling me now that has changed?"

"I am telling you that our family shall be in grave danger if--"

"Enough!" cried his mother. Suddenly she sounded far less composed. "You will end up in Azkaban with my fool sister--"

"Your sister is in Azkaban because she failed to protect herself, a mistake I will never make!"

"A mistake you make by failing to consider what happens in the likely event that you are wrong. I do not wish to discuss the matter any further." Footsteps. Draco froze, straining for a moment to tell which direction they were going. Toward the front door, he decided.

"This isn't over, Narcissa!"

"Oh, but it is." More footsteps as his father stammered further objections, then a great crash as the front door slammed shut. Draco's heart thudded in his chest in time with the reverberation of the slam through the sudden silence. He'd never in his life seen anyone slam that door. He'd certainly never heard his father fail to finish a sentence, nor had he heard that note of fear--no, beyond fear, panic--in his voice before. He shook his head slightly; there wasn't time to dwell on this right now. He needed to get out and back before his parents returned, or he didn't even want to think about the consequences.

Draco's plans this evening were quite dangerous for many reasons, but first and foremost, he knew that if he were caught, he'd never see the light of day again.

Carefully he slipped outside and stole across the darkening grounds. He found his broomstick easily enough, and now came the difficult part. He didn't own many inconspicuous clothes; he wasn't stupid, he knew his parents' wealth made him stand out. He'd therefore rummaged around his closet until he found the oldest and most faded pair of jeans he owned, and a sweater he'd torn last summer when he flew into a tree to avoid detection by a Muggle who'd appeared out of nowhere in a helicopter. He couldn't believe his luck that both were still there--his mother was normally quite strict about getting rid of old clothes.