Massive thanks to Tookkia, who did an amazing job at Beta-ing this chapter :) Thank you!

Chapter Six
Unleashed

Malfoy Manor

10:40 pm

The Dark Lord was horrific, absolutely horrific. He was an abomination; something so terrifying that perhaps the only creature that could stand to be in his presence for an extended amount of time would be his familiar, Nagini. Other than that one, small exception, there was not a person on the planet who could stand to be in the same room as him for an extended amount of time. If they could, then surely they would be deemed insane.

Just how he, Lucius Malfoy survived, he would never know.

The meeting hadn't taken very long at all, and he had deduced with his quick mind that the main point of the experience was for The Dark Lord to check up on the Death Eaters and then re-instate the fear that his mere presence presented.

Then there was the book.

When The Dark Lord had given Lucius the duty to crack the secrets of the book, he'd been less than ecstatic. Maybe once he would have been jumping for joy at the very implication that he was climbing higher through the Death Eater ranks; but not anymore. No, certainly not anymore. Now he was afraid, despite how much he hated to admit to himself. Good gods, his grand-father would be turning in his grave if he knew his own son was afraid of someone! But then again, his grand-father certainly didn't know Voldemort.

He could feel the heavy weight of the ancient book underneath his hands as he placed it carefully upon the fine oak of his polished work desk. One could almost feel the aura of darkness that emitted from its magical pages, beneath its hard cover. The very feeling would have once made Lucius feel excited- as one of his greatest hobbies had been collecting dark artifacts- but now, due to the current circumstances, it just made him feel nauseous.

This book was dark. Darker than what was normal. Even darker than what was normal for The 'Dark' Lord.

He had been given a mission: study the book, uncover its secrets (perhaps even de-code it, if it need be) and then report back to his Master with his findings. That was it. But why was it that the very notion of even opening the book gave him chills?

Sitting down on his wooden chair, he leaned back a tiny bit so that he could place his legs on the desk before him. Why did The Dark Lord choose him? Should he feel happy? Or afraid? If he was being honest with himself, then the answer was obvious.

He was absolutely terrified. But he wouldn't admit it to anyone. Not to his wife, not his son, not even to his fellow Death Eaters. No, Lucius Malfoy may have felt like his nerves were in shambles, but he wasn't going to show it. Ever.

"You have a week…" the horribly silky voice hissed through his consciousness. "A week…"

Yes, he had a week. A week before something happened. Probably a week before he was killed- ruthlessly murdered- by his master. So he'd better get started if he wanted to live to see his grandchildren.

He leaned forward, the chair scraping slightly against the floor with the movement. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, clasping his hands and leaning his elbows on the desk. Inhale, exhale. It was only a book, after all. Probably nothing.

Gathering what little courage he could, he took a white linen handkerchief from the small area on the desk to his right, and with it, pulled back the cover. One could never tell with these things, and Lucius knew enough about dark magic to risk any accidental physical contact. He gritted his teeth as he carefully placed his hand under the cover, about to open the volume to the very first page.

3, 2, 1…

And the smell was rancid.

He couldn't get the cover shut quickly enough. He slammed it shut with amiable haste and scooted back in his chair so abruptly that it tipped over. His arms splayed, his legs kicked, he lost balance, and everything crashed to the floor, including himself.

Crash.

He was sure that he was getting a migraine. Sitting up slowly and shaking his head a tiny bit, he winced as he leaned on his newly bruised elbow. It was nothing that a quick episkey couldn't fix, however, and so, being the smart aristocrat he was, he stood up and magicked the chair so that it was standing where it was before.

What the hell had that smell been? A small trace of it still lingered in the damp air and he had a hard time trying to squash the queasiness that he felt when he caught a slight whiff of it. He had never smelled anything like it. It was worse than rotting corpses. Far, far worse than even a dead House Elf. If one thing was for certain, he didn't want to encounter it ever again.

But he had to, because he had a job to finish.

Muttering an incantation that let a small bubble of clean air form around his nose, he gathered the white cloth in his hand again and lifted the cover in an agonizingly slow manner.

Dark-colored dust billowed out from underneath the cover, encasing his form completely. He coughed and spluttered, lifting his free hand to cover his mouth. But he wouldn't stop.

As he choked violently into his closed fist, his vision became startlingly white and he felt his eyes roll up into the back of his head. All normal thought processes were aborted. He was aware of nothing but the violent hacks that were taking hold of his body.

His throat felt like it was torn to pieces and his lungs were completely on fire. He couldn't even hear himself rasp anymore. In fact, he couldn't hear a thing at all but a frightening static buzz. He continued to cough violently, his body pulsing forwards with each choke, dangerously close to the edge of the table.

Eyes rolling, stomach churning, throat tearing itself to shreds, he was no longer in his own mind.

After five minutes of the terrible coughing, when blood was oozing from his eyes, nose and mouth did he finally go rigid, freeze, and then crash-almost comically- sideways onto the floor where he twitched once.

On his office floor, surrounded by the most putrid stench imaginable to man, covered in his own blood, Lucius Malfoy clawed at the air, opened his mouth to no avail, shuddered once, and then slumped to the ground without a breath left.

He was dead.

Click, clack, click, clack.

The insistent echo of Lady Malfoy's newest high heels rang throughout the main wing of Malfoy Manor. A month ago, she would have frowned upon conducting herself in such a manner; after all, she was a woman of class, and trudging like a muggle through mud was certainly not proper. However in the current circumstances, it couldn't be helped.

Click, clack, click, clack.

The current circumstances were dire. At least, she was quite sure that they were dire. After all, they did involve the Dark Lord… and her son; a nightmare of a combination.

She walked a little bit faster.

Click, clack, click, clack.

She needed to speak to her husband. For the first time in years, she was going to talk to him about their son and his wellbeing. The recent meeting had nearly given her a heart attack, especially with what The Dark Lord had said to her son.

"You may need to re-think that."

It wasn't exactly a very promising statement, that was for sure. Oh, it made her bones shake. The very wording made her shudder. Especially because it was directed at her son. Her poor boy…

His father had always argued that Draco was an adult and that he needed to be treated as such, which she agreed with to an extent. Yes, he was seventeen, but he was still her child. Her only child. He was hers- all hers- and she was going to baby him as much as she pleased, especially if it meant keeping him alive in this day and age. Fancy living in a time where she had to make sure that her seventeen year old son didn't die! It was horrid thought, one that was unfortunately true.

Her mind then drifted to her plan. It was quite basic, really. One that Lucius certainly wouldn't agree to. She was going to make it so that Draco escaped with the girl. They were going to run away together and keep on running. They weren't going to be mixed up in such a terrible place any longer. They would survive and go on to live out their lives.

It was simple… it was stupid.

They were going to live their lives on the run. But surely that would be better than never living at all? She would have thought so. When she was a child, the first lesson that she had ever been taught was to preserve her life at all costs, even if it meant harm coming to others. Of course now she had changed that lesson around a bit: Preserve Draco's life, even if it means harm coming to others. It was the same lesson, really. Only now she recited it from a mothers' perspective.

Click, clack, click, clack.

She was nearly there. Her hands felt like ice as she clenched them. She was shaking, due to her nerves. What would he say? She loved the man dearly, but he was still frightening. What if he didn't agree? Well, of course she would continue with it, but what if he tried to stop her? She honestly couldn't match her husband's magic skill. She was the brains, he was the brawn. It was the very basics of their relationship. Of course, he was a very intelligent man… but he certainly wasn't as intelligent as his wife. He was better suited to spells, and she was better suited to the logic that accompanied them.

It was one of the many reasons why they clicked.

Finally, after what seemed like an excruciatingly long time- despite how fast she travelled- she came to a halt at the end of the bleak hall where a large and polished dark wooden door proudly stood. Upon it was a rectangular golden plate, inscribed with a few magically glowing words.

Mr. Lucius. A. Malfoy

Malfoy Enterprises

Knocking tentatively so as to not anger her husband with unnecessary volume, she turned the heavy brass knob slowly and stepped inside. Immediately, she noticed that a strange, unpleasant odor suffocated the room.

"Lucius?" she asked softly, her nose crinkling in disgust as the odor changed from being 'strange' to 'putrid' the farther she stepped into the room. She glanced around the shadowed area, trying hard to pick up on any kind of Lucius-like outline whilst holding her nose between her thumb and middle finger.

The stench was practically unbearable. It smelled roughly of a dead house-elf left to rot in humid weather- which wasn't a very pleasant smell at all.

"Lucius, where-" that was when she noticed, amongst the thick clouds of dust, a heavy form lying upon the ground beside the desk. Her breath caught in her throat as she click-clacked over as fast as she could, worry creasing her brow and forcing her mouth into a hard line.

The mantra; "Please don't be Lucius, please, please don't be Lucius." played over and over in her head. It couldn't be Lucius- no, it simply couldn't be.

However when she finally reached the form- which was encased in a thicker clouding of dust than the rest of the room- she felt as if her heart had stopped beating.

There on the floor, pale and drenched in blood, lay her husband Lucius Malfoy. Very obviously dead.

She screamed.

A shrill, female scream pierced right through the manor and straight into Draco Malfoy, who had just wrapped a towel around his waist. It was a scream which shocked him, made him go rigid with pure, ice cold terror. He knew that scream anywhere.

It belonged to his mother.

Adrenalin pulsated through his body, forcing his legs to move. He quickly sprinted out of the bathroom-luckily not slipping on the dewy tile- and into his abnormally large bedroom where he soundlessly summoned his wand from his bedside table. Not bothering to dress himself, he rushed out through his door and into the left wing of the manor where he was greeted by a chilling silence.

He could feel the blood rush behind his ears and his heart beat a thousand times each and every second. He stood still, waiting for some other sound so that he could locate her. But there was no other sound.

Breathing in deeply, he raised his wand in front of him and flicked it. The tip glowed and he was able see the familiar surroundings. The hall way was stark. It was completely sterile. The only thing that told him it wasn't another ward at a mental hospital was the lonely portrait that hung opposite his door.

The portrait was always absent- he figured that it had another home somewhere else that it preferred- but it was a homely touch, as sad and pathetic as it sounded.

He walked forward a couple of steps, his eyes darting back and forth, taking in each and every minor detail. He was quite observant. Everyone knew that.

He inched forward, keeping his wand raised high in front of him. He silently dared anyone or anything to come at him. He dared them to take him by surprise. He would take them on. He could do it, he was sure. But he hoped that they didn't attack. Certainly not because he was scared… no, it was because he wanted to get to his mother as soon as possible. Well… maybe he was a tiny bit scared. It was natural, wasn't it?

"Oh, oh, OH MY GOD!"

His mother's voice trilled through the hallways yet again, shooting through him like a thin beam of ice. He started to run. He knew where she was. He was so sure that she was somewhere in the next wing; probably in his father's office. However it hardly made any sense. Why would his mother scream in his father's office?

Eugh, no. He wasn't going to think that. Besides, this was a different scream. It wasn't a scream of -dare he say it- pleasure. No, it was a scream of fear. Of absolute horror. His mother was scared out of her wits. But what could make her this afraid? She was a brave woman…

He turned a sharp corner and was shocked when he collided into a stiff form.

Stumbling, but regaining his balance almost immediately, he glanced at the shadowy figure before nearly sending a curse its way. However he stopped himself when he saw the pale, terrified face of his mother.

Her watery eyes were wide and her mouth gaped. Her fingers shook as she raised a bony hand toward him, her light eyebrows knitting harshly together. Pure terror masked her face and it shocked Draco to see her in such a way. This was his mother, after all.

She continued to raise her hand and then lean forwards, mouth still gaping pitifully. But she leaned too far and she fell. Draco's arms reached out automatically to grab her before she crumbled to the ground, seemingly unconscious.

"M-mother?" he asked feebly, bending down onto one knee so that he could better support her weight as she slumped over his shoulder. But she didn't respond and instead he felt her body shaking horribly. What could have possibly made her this way? Then he realized that there may still be danger around.

"Mother," he started, patting her on the back. "It's okay. Everything will be fine, but I need to have a look at what's up there, okay?" He didn't expect her to answer, but it still felt normal to ask a question, as if she could reply in her current state. "I'm going to cast a shield charm on you so that you'll be safe."

Once he had cast the charm and placed his mother carefully next to the wall near a pot-plant, he held the wand out in front of him again and began walking slowly toward his father's office.

He just knew that was where she had come from. There was no doubt about it whatsoever. But why?

He walked closer toward the open door where a soft light glowed. As he got about three meters of the door, however, the most terrible stench that he had ever smelled hit him. It was disgusting. It was foul. It smelled like a rotted corpse. Just what had his mother walked into?

Clenching his wand tighter in his fist, he took a deep breath through his mouth and closed his eyes for a second, preparing himself for the horror that was sure to come. He just knew that his father was involved. It happened in his office, after all.

However he most certainly wasn't prepared for the sight that he would see.

Blood. There was lots of blood. And there was dust. Too much dust.

Oh, and there was a body. His father's, to be precise.

Nausea gripped him suddenly and he bent down so that he could vomit ineloquently onto the floor below him. His father was dead… his father was actually dead… oh no… no this wasn't good! Of course it wasn't good, for God's sake it was his father! The nausea reared its ugly head and he vomited again, quite disgustingly.

Obviously he was in shock. He knew that he was in shock. How could he not be? His father was lying in his office. Dead. As dead as anything. His mother was out of her mind and he, Draco, was just standing there, vomiting.

He needed to get help, but who? He needed to think straight, but how?

Calm. He needed calm.

He fisted his hair and pulled it a little bit, not quite sure of what he needed to accomplish. He knew he needed help… he knew that he needed someone to help… but how could they help? His father was already dead.

Oh God. His father was dead.

He felt like Neville-bloody-Longbottom with his stupid indecisiveness! Tightening the towel around his waist so that it wouldn't come undone in an embarrassing display, he backed out of the room and ran down the hall, passing by his mother.

Calm. He needed calm.

He tripped over his own feet a couple of times due to the nerves that were starting to take hold as the adrenalin faded, but he kept on running. He couldn't stop. This was a dire situation.

Finally reaching the room he was looking for, he didn't even bother knocking and barged right in. He didn't care what the batty old man was doing, Draco needed someone to help. An adult to help.

"Sometimes, Draco, knocking is socially accepted." Droned the potions master. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at some picture that Draco honestly didn't care about. Heck, he could barely even function. His father was dead. Oh God, his father was dead!

"Father is dead!" He practically yelled. He watched in a kind of weird fascination as the man's skin leaked of all color. Then in a rush of black robes, he was pulled from the room and led back up to his father's office. It was happening in a blur. What was he supposed to be doing again? Oh right, his dead father.

He couldn't think properly. No, he couldn't think properly at all. The same words drummed through his mind over and over again.

Father is dead. Father is dead. Father is dead.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, it clicked that because his father was dead, he- as the Malfoy heir- would have complete control over the family accounts. He would have to drop out of Hogwarts. The very idea irked him. Drop out of Hogwarts? How could he? Sure, he had been openly crude about the boarding school…but it was as much a home to him as it was to anyone else. It was safe to say that over the years, the school hand grown on him.

But really, father is dead.

He couldn't think of anything else for long. Father was dead. Every other thought crumbled back into the white static that hummed through his mind. Father. Was. Dead. Why didn't it feel real? He hated the man, didn't he? He absolutely despised him. Shouldn't he be jumping for joy? What was wrong with him? The man that he had started despising only a few years ago was dead. It was a cause for celebration, wasn't it?

He thought that he should feel free, as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. No, instead he felt like another weight had been added- a weight that weighed a ton.

It wasn't until the horrid smell hit him again that he was finally pulled into reality.

He was standing in the middle of the office, looking down at the bloody mess that was his father. Dust coated absolutely everything- from the curtains to the books in the book case- and the air felt heavy and sticky. Snape held his illuminated wand over the lifeless body of his father and was moving it up and down across his torso, muttering incantations under his breath.

"How did you find him, Draco?" the man drawled, tight lipped. He flicked his wand once and then the glow was gone. "I want to know how…when…what."

Draco gulped, mentally going through the horrifying memories of the night until he came to the first relevant one. His mothers scream.

He recounted the night from there, telling the potions master of each and every moment that led up to the present. He never skipped a beat, and he never missed a detail. Harsh and formal. That was the Malfoy way. Snape's eyes were narrowed and his lip twitched every time Draco mentioned the word 'Dead'. Draco deduced that Snape didn't truly like his father, as he had previously thought.

When Draco was finished, he crossed his arms over his chest defensively, even though he didn't really need to be defensive at all. It was a habit that he had picked up last year when he was given the mission. He had had to be guarded at all times. Not a single secret could slip.

It was then that he realized he was calmer. Yes, his heart still beat quite fast, but his thoughts were organized. Uncluttered. He could finally think properly and not run around wide eyed like a mad-man. He was proper.

"Where's your mother?" Snape's monotonous drawl flowed through his thoughts, bringing the boy back to reality. He hadn't forgotten about her, had he? No, of course not. Draco Malfoy never forgot anything. His thoughts had simply been occupied elsewhere.

"Over by the plant." He replied, covering his nose and stepping out of the office. He wasn't needed there anymore and quite frankly, the smell was hideous. He'd probably die soon too if he stayed in there any longer. Drop dead like his father apparently had.

He walked over to the plant, wordlessly illuminating his wand so that he could see in the dark. Yes, his mother was still there. Passed out. Her long blonde hair was a tangled heap that surrounded her head like a halo. Even when she was unconscious due to horrible events, she was beautiful.

Draco bent down on his knees and leaned down so that he could touch her cheek and mutter, "Mother? Are you there?" After a minute and zero response, he sighed. She wasn't coming around any time soon. He could use enervate, but even he wasn't that cruel. She had found the man that she had loved, dead. Why couldn't she be in unconscious bliss for a short while longer?

"Draco?" he heard Snape's low voice behind him.

"Yes?" He asked, swiveling around so that he could face the man. Never turn your back. It had been drilled into him since he was a child.

"Get the Granger girl. Bring her up here."

Draco's head swirled. Grab the mudblood? Why?

"W-wh-" he stuttered, not quite believing why someone would tell him to do this. Why did he need to get Granger? How did she fit into all of this?

"Just do it." Snape told him, voice full of authority. "Your mother and I were going to explain later, but due to certain… events, it's best that we explain the plan sooner. Meet us in your bedroom- it's closest."

His mind was reeling. Take Granger up to his bedroom where his mother and Snape would explain something unreal to him. Sure his father had died, but why would it affect Granger as well? Why was she to be involved?

Somehow, he had the feeling that this was just the beginning, that his life was about to be turned upside down.

A/N: So. That was quite the wait. 4-5 weeks, I think? I have no excuse except for the fact that when I felt inspired to write it was either too late at night or I had schoolwork to do. Then when I actually had time to write, I was so worn out and just not 'feeling' the story.

In this chapter you would have noticed that someone died. Just trust me when I say that from now on, nothing is as it seems. THIS is where the story really starts.

So, please leave a review if you can, tell me whether you loved it or hated it. Give me a score out of ten. Tell me what the weather's like. Okay, maybe not the weather, but at least leave me an opinion. :) Thank you! :)

Review Reply:

Anon: Nice name ;) Ha I'm glad that you think it's interesting! As for what'll happen to Hermione... well, we'll just have to see, won't we? ;)