The Road Not Yet Taken

Hey folks! I have been up to my eyeballs in work for the past few months, but there has been a break in the flow which has given me time to sit down and write again. Thank you all for your supportive reviews, they have helped me tremendously.

In the time since my last update, book 6 has been released (I was about half way through this chapter). As anyone who has read it will know, many things have changed. I would like to continue this story as if the events in that book never happened. Things are a bit different in my Harry Potter world. Therefore: JK Rowling owns all things Harry Potter, except for the ideas in this alternate plot!!

enjoy:


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As much as he hated to admit it, Draco missed Hogwars. In fact, he ached for it. He ached for the acres of rolling hills that met the distant snow capped mountains. He longed to sail through the air over the endless forbidden forest, along the crystline lake that spanned for days. He even missed the professers, those educators that pushed him to think and analyze until his brain could take no more. He missed Hogwarts more than he ever wished to admit.

There were only nine hours left until he was due onto platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Draco leaned out the little window of his room at the Leaky Cauldron. It looked out onto sleeping muggle london, its quiet streets still dark in the early morning haze. There was no bustle of afternoon shoppers or buzz of impatient traffic. All was still and silent. Draco inhaled deeply. The air was warm, the sweet scent of midsummer was nearly lost to the smog of the city, but it lingered in the stillness. There was only a hint of the on coming fall amidst the thick haze of floral perfume and the city essence. A crisp gust through the hot still air; the smell of hickory smoke rising from the many chimney tops of the row houses. The seasons were changing, the world was moving on in its cycle of death to rebirth. Like a phenoix from the ashes, the world would burst into the vibrant flames of fall foliage, into the ashen grey of winter and back into the warm innocence of spring. Draco felt detached from this world, more of an objective observer than a participent. He had always felt this way, as if the world moved around him, constantly changing as he mucked onward through life.

He stretched idly allowing his fingers to play throught the soft breeze that shifted outside of his window. It had been another night without sleep. He had grown accustom to having little to no slumber over these past few weeks. When he did chance to sleep, his nightly wanderings were plagued not with plesant dreams, but with feelings of darkness. Harsh images flashed through his unconcious mind. Hooded figures surrounded him, closing around his body. It was hot, scorchingly miserable. They seeped into his mind like dementors, removing any glimer of hope that he hid carefully in the recesses of his subconcious. When he did not dream of this inferno like hell, his mind was ridden with glimses of hazelnut. A soft scent of lavender and rose water. Cascading, unruly curls and a temper to match. He drempt often of Hermione Granger, but nothing more than flashes of person. He would awaken in a cold sweat, he did not know if it was caused by the dark, deamon like figures or by the witch he had sworn to hate. Either way, he awoke with a nauseating unease. On nights like that, he rarely fell back into slumber again.

Having packed his school trunk the previous afternoon, Draco had nothing to do but wait. He withdrew from the small Leaky Cauldron window and stepped over to the open trunk at the foot at his bed. Lying atop the neatly folded robes within was a two day old copy of the Daily Prophet. On the front page was a photograph of a rather flamboyant wizard. His wavy hair was dark against his robes, falling down just below his shoulders. He wore a tall slender top hat jauntily atop is tendrils. He was gesturing as though giving a speach and smiling with rather large, pearly teeth. The man was extreamly tall and rather broad, though it was obvious to Draco that his clothes had been extreamly well tailored to fit his figure.

This man's name was Ewin Tracherspaw. According to the article below the photograph, Ewin had emmersed himself within the politics and workings of the ministry the moment he left Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Young, vivacious and popular, he had been on a steady rise through the Ministry of Magic before being appointed as the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation; Tracherspaw had gained this possition after the unfortunate and sudden death of Bartemius Crouch. However, only a year after his new appointment, his name surfaced among the members of the Wizengamot. It had been apparent to the wizarding public, after the ongoings of the previous year, that the present Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was no longer the sort of candidate they needed to keep the community safe in time of danger. The Wizengamot had voted unanimously for the expultion of Fudge as Minister of Magic. Unfortunately, this left them with the task of reappointing someone to fill his seat. As Albus Dumbledore again declined invitation to add the title 'Minister' to his already long running list of names, they had to work quickly to find a new leader. After watching the ongoings of many witches and wizards involved in Ministry politics, it became apparent that Tracherspaw could be the perfect candidate.

Draco studied the photo for a moment, watching the new minister wave to the sea of flashing camera bulbs before him. Unlike Fudge, Tracherspaw had a presence and chirisma that grasped the crowd. Draco was not sure if he liked him just yet. It was too early to tell if he would really have what the comminity needed to begin resisting against the Dark Lords gathering forces.

As if someone had been reading his mind, there was a sudden burst of flame over the small nightstand beside the bed. Draco froze. Again, an inky black envelope fell, landing silently atop the scrubbed table surface. Every fiber in his body was tell him to run, to get as far away from that envelope as humanly possible, but instead, he stood and walked slowly over to the blackened package. It, again, lacked any markings other than the Dark seal on the underside. Breaking the seal, Draco opened the envelope and withdrew a short note, written in the reddest of ink.

The Dark Lord requests a private audience.

Confused, Draco turned the note card over, but nothing was written on it. He turned it back over to re-read the neatly written sentence, but it had changed.

A package awaits you downstairs.

He was torn. The Dark Lord obviously knew where he was, otherwise these letters and apparent package would not have reached him. There seemed to be no escape from the fact that he could not avoid whatever was in store for him. Draco laid the notecard back onto the tabletop where it promptly dissolved in a burst of green flame. Straightening his robes, he stood tall and walked briskly to the door and down the stairs.

As it was very early in the morning, the bar area of the Leaky Cauldron was empty, other than the barman Tom, ever wiping glasses behind the bar.

"Is there something the matter sir?" asked Tom hesitantly.

"No." Draco answered briskly. "I am expecting a package to be delivered this morning."

"Ah yes," Tom answered, seemingly relieved. "Mail has just arrived in fact. Let me see," he began sifting through a large bag of post, "Ah, here we are. To a 'Mister Draco Malfoy'. Doesn't say who it's from."

"That is no matter of yours, I will take that now." Draco did not wait for Tom to answer, but simply took the package and walked quickly back upstairs to his room.

Once within, he shut and locked his door. Draco looked down at the package in his hand. It was light, thin and wrapped in brown paper. It did not look like anything odd or unusual in the least. Attached to the paper, was a white envelope addressed to him. Opening it, he found a note written in the same deep crimson ink.

Inside this package is a rare and valuable article, an invisibility cloak. You will use it to go unnoticed and undetected to the designated location. In ten minutes time you will go, using the invisibility cloak, into Diagon Alley. You will meet an attendant outside of Borgin & Burkes who will escort you to the Dark Lord. He will wearing black robes with a wool traveling cloak. You are expected within the next half an hour.

Draco's heart was thudding hard inside his chest. There was nowhere to run, no one to help him. His head felt too large for his body, heavy and unbalanced. Draco swayed on the spot, clutching the door frame to keep him from crumpling to the floor. With a sudden violent spasm, Draco wretched onto the floor. He stood, slumped, breathing hard against the wooden door. Wiping spittle from the corners of his mouth, Draco straighened up and looked back down at the note. He could not avoid it, and it was unlike him to run from anything.As a Malfoy, he was supposed to be noble, powerful. However, at this moment, alone in a tiny room above the Leaky Cauldron, Draco Malfoy felt anything but noble and powerful. He felt scared, truly scared for the first time in his life, and had no way to fix it. He had no parents to turn to, no friends to protect him. Draco was truly and utterly alone.

With nothing else to do, Draco ripped open the paper of the package and a soft silvery material slid out into his hands. He gazed, momentarily awestruck at the article. It was smooth and delicate, pleasently cool to the touch and sifted over his palms like some kind of thick liquid. His face hardened though, as he rememberd what he had to use the cloak for. Determined not to show the dark wizards who were summoning him the fear they instaled, Draco resolutely covered himself in the cloak and crept again, down the stairs of the Leaky Cauldron. Tom the barman looked up as the soles of Dracos shoes scruffed the wooden floor, but he looked down quickly, as he saw nothing there to make the noise.

The streets of Diagon Alley were empty. A few shop windows were alight, as the shopkeeps were readying their products for the oncoming day. Draco walked past Flourish and Blotts, wishing he could escape into its many rows of books. He turned his eyes to the ground, unable to look at the world that now seemed so untouchable. Sooner than he expected, Draco was standing infront of Gringotts bank, situated at the corners of Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley. He turned left and walked down the unkempt, dirtier road of Knockturn Alley. As the note stated, a man was waiting, face hidden beneath the hood of his cloak, outside of Borgin & Burkes.

He stood before the man for a moment before realizing that he was still hidden beneath the invisibilty cloak. Draco cleared his throat. The man started, but quickly regained him self, whispering raspily,

"Malfoy?"

"Yes."

"Follow me."

The man turned and walked further down the street. Draco was still unable to see his face as the man remained a few paces ahead of him at all times. They walked for a ten minutes before the man turned again into a dark alley between two dingy shops.

"Is this where we're meeting the Da.." Draco began incredulously.

"HUSH" the man said harshly, " First off, you don't speak n'less you are spoken to, He does not tolerate cheek. Just shut it and follow me." The man began walking toward the wall at the end of the alleyway. Rather than being repremanded a second time, Draco simply followed even though he did not see any door or window in the alley at all. The man stopped and stood before the wall. Removing his wand, he flicked it towards the dirty brick, muttering a chain of indistinguisable words under his breath. To Dracos upmost surprise, the wall moved, showing a small opening just large enough for him to fit through.

"In there," the man said "Quickly"

Draco did not argue. He simply brushed past his escort and into the dark passage before him. As soon as he was through the door, the dim morning light dissapeared as the enterance closed behind him. Lighting his wand, Draco raised it above his head to look at his surroundings. He was in a small hallway. At the end of the passage lay a staircase. With no other way to go, Draco walked towards the stairs and upon reaching them, decended lower and lower until he reached level ground.

Another passageway awaited at the bottom of the staircase. At the end was a door. It was wooden and unmarked. Draco walked toward it. With each step he could feel his heart beating harder and harder against his ribcage. Up close, the door looked ancient, there were streaks of mold climbing up the dingy wood. The door handle was rusty and hanging with cobbwebs. Raising a shaking fist, Draco knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again, no answer. Brushing away the tiny spider webs, Draco tried the handle. It was locked. Confused, he turned to look back down the hallway. The staircase had disappeared. There was nothing behind him but a blank wall. He felt a sudden surge of panic. He was the only person down here. He was not to meet the Dark Lord, this was just a ploy to get rid of him. How could he be so stupid! But, he argued with himself, if he had not complied, he would have been killed anyway.

Shaking away his thoughts, Draco turned his attention again on the door. There had to be a way out of here. It did not make sense for the Dark Lord to destroy him, other than being the son of an arrested Death Eater, he had done nothing to anger the Dark Lord. He knew that the Malfoy name was revered in the Dark wizarding community and he was looked at, even if by name only, as a powerful wizard. Power attracted the Dark Lord, he would not dispose of Draco if he could be of any use.

Removing the invisibility coak and raising his wand, Draco pointed at the door handle and muttered,

"Alohamora". The rusted handle snapped and the door creaked open on its hinges. The room beyond was almost empty and lit by a single candle. Inside was a table on which laid a small piece of paper and a bottle of ink. Draco walked to the table and picked up the note.

The ink bottle is a portkey. It will transport you instantly.


So the Dark Lord did not want him dead after all. With that thought, Draco placed the letter back onto the table and grasped the ink bottle in his left hand. The sensation was rather unpleasent. As if pushed forward suddenly, Draco felt himself speeding through the air in a rush of wind and color. Just as suddenly as it began, Draco felt his body slam against a cold hard floor and heard the ink bottle fall, smashing beside him. Draco looked around himself. He did not recognize anything at all. He was inside the room of a house. Everything was dusty and faded as if no one had entered it for years. There were no photographs on the walls, only less faded spots where it was apparent that frames once hung. The floor was bare and covered in a thick layer of dust.

He pulled his robe against himself a bit tighter. Although it was not cold at all in the room, he felt a sudden chill. There was a crackling sound behind him and Draco spun around. It was then he realized that he was not alone. There was a fire flickering in the grate on the other side of the room. In front of it, sitting in a winged arm chair was a man, although he did not look like a man at all. His skin was whiter than smoke and it clung tightly to his skull like features. His face was distorted, having slits for nostrils and large, glowing red eyes. The man was simply sitting in his chair, long bony fingers resting atop the wings. His crimson eyes bore into Dracos. He felt his breath catch in his chest, and the man sneered. His teeth were sharp, fang like.

"I can smell your fear young Malfoy." He said with an icy highpitched sneer "No need, Lord Voldemort is not unjust. You have done nothing to offend me, however crudely carried out the actions of your father were, you shall not bear the brunt of his punishment."

Draco did not know what to say. He was clutched with fear, wanting to run but unable to move his limbs. Draco felt as though he had been stunned. His voice was caught in his throat. He could not breathe.

....to be continued....