Proditio

Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape, or form own the rights to Harry Potter. That undoubtable honor goes to the mother of that wonderful creation, JK Rowling. She is a goddess of the literary arts and should be acknowledged. So, please, for the love of all that is holy, please do not sue me! After all, plagiarism is one of the most sincere forms of flattery. *bows and runs off stage*

Warnings: This is a very OOC fic, especially with Harry and Dumbledore, and is pro-Dark Lord. This fic contains slash! If you don\'t like male/male relationships, here\'s a hint: DON\'T READ IT! The flames will keep me nice and toasty warm, because, after all, I live in Alaska. We need all the heat we can get.

Thanks be to my beta, Emmy!

The POV will jump a bit in this chapter. Just a warning.


Proditio
Chapter Four


Draco\'s POV

\"Well then as the bearer of good news, I regretfully inform you that I am no longer a Malfoy. I\'ve been unnamed.\"

I\'m guessing I sounded rather broken when I said that, finally admitting it to myself by speaking the words. Four weeks on the dot, and it takes the appearance of a strangely Slytherin Potter for me to admit the fact to myself. I had been Unnamed. Disowned. Tossed aside. All because my father received the Dementor\'s Kiss, and my mother, in hold of my trust fund and inheritance by virtue of some nice little loophole in wizarding law, was a greedy little cunt.

Narcissa never cared for anything besides for herself, never caring past the latest fashions and the newest thrills. As long as she had money to burn, she was happy. I think this is why Lucius and myself never saw her as more than a shallow bitch. But she was a Slytherin, and knew that you never put all your cards down on the table at once. All of Lucius\'s money and influence was to be passed to me, unless I was dead, and then it all went to her.

\"Unnamed?\" A look of confusion flickered momentarily across a cold face, and I momentarily wondered what had tarnished the once so golden Gryffindor to a jaded Slytherin attitude. Ah. I had forgotten than he knew nothing of wizarding ritual. I snort contemptiously and take another sip of the brandy that had been set before me. Fine vintage. I was rather shocked that Potter even knew about liquor.

\"Its a more severe disowning.\" Bitterly chuckling, I cough slightly as my lungs, half healed from the pnumonia that had set in three weeks ago as I had suffered from exposure. Fucking cunt. Disowning? That was an understatement. Better to disillusion the boy before he got himself into trouble.

\"Or rather, instead of disowning, think of it as your parent suddenly ripping from you every genetic trace of your heritage. You have no name except your first name, no status as a pureblood, effectively making your status in wizard society that of a common muggle-born, any special talents of the blood-line are locked to you, any connections the family has -- . Al. All you have left is the clothes on your back and a choice of one childhood possession to keep. Your wand is snapped and you are effectively dead to the family. They have a funeral and everything with an empty grave with a gravestone with your full name and nothing else. No epitath. Nothing. You are allowed to be mourned for a week, no longer. And they can\'t take it back. That is what it is to be Unnamed.\"

Potter stares at me, long and hard -- without pity, thankfully -- takes a sip of the amber fluid in his sniffer, his emerald green eyes intense with some type of emotion that I can\'t decipher. But beyond that, it feels like he has ice in those eyes as his gaze chills me to the bone. An odd feeling as I had been stared at by some of the chilliest people in the wizarding world, Ex-uncle Sev included, and their glares never had the effect of Potter\'s stare.

\"What have you been living off of, Draco?\"

Well, that was unexpected. I snort once more. Expect Potter to think of something like that. Me live? HA! I was already dead!

Harry\'s POV

He sounds as dead as I am. The ice is there, it just hasn\'t consumed him yet. But then again, I have had over a year to allow the ice to cover my heart and soul. There isn\'t any more light in the dark of my soul. The ice doesn\'t let it through. No warmth.

And yet, as he just stares at me with those dark silver eyes, the gray is the closest thing I have felt in the past month that feels anything like warmth. He is like me. He understands the pain of death. I can see the craving within the depths of his eyes. The hunger. Yes, he would understand. Because he is dead. He even has the grave to prove it.

His voice is harsh, like it hadn\'t been used in awhile. He tells me of his weeks on the street, clinging to the underbelly of society, attempting to survive, all of his protections and illusions ripped away as he laid with strangers for a bit of coin to satisfy the painful pit that was his belly. Once proud and arrogant, before me sits a broken shell. A ghost, like me.

When Draco finishes his story, his eyes shutter once more, dimming, allowing nothing more through. It only takes me a second, and a glance at the wonderfully alive wand that now is strapped to my side, to make a decision. He will join me. He will understand. And I shall be his benefactor, shaping him, resurrecting him.

I tell him of the custom wands, and after I finish, I tell him of my plans, of my dreams. I see a spark of interest. A spark of life coming back to the surface. He is still drowning, but he is learning how to swim. He will be my second.

The grey spaces of the world are just so inviting.

Normal POV

\"So let me get this straight. These custom wands are our true wands, but bcause of the power jump they give because of the perfect sync thive,ive, they are illegal? Yet, even because of the illegality of them, Ollivander cannot refuse to make one, or inform the authorities?\"

\"Yes. Voldemort --\" Draco shuttered. \" -- Voldemort knows of them, but because he can\'t exactly step into Diagon Alley and walk up to Ollivander\'s he can\'t one.one. And Ollivander only has an obligation to make three a generation. After those three, any other who asks for one can be put into Azkaban. I have one now. And if you join me under the flag of the Ghost Lord, I believe I can make it possible for you to be the second.\"

Draco leaned back slightly in his chair, the red spots on his cheeks fading slighly with the introduction of liquid into his system, his eyes alive and shrewd, the Slytherin in him twitching, unfurling, and hungering for the chance at power Potter was offering him.

\"How are you to do this in Hogwarts? Dumbledore maybe a fool, but he isn\'t blind.\"

A chilly smile formed on the Gryffindor\'s lips, sending shivers down Draco\'s spine.

\"But my dear Draco, he is when it comes to me. He is quite blind. I am, after all, his Golden Boy.\"

A/N: Mmmm nummers...... Don\'t worry, I\'m not doing to do another wand choosing. Next chappie I jump straight to the train.