Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does. Oh how I wish I did, however. -smirks-

Comments: Happy Christmas to the one who introduced me to the wonderful world of Dramione fics, Brittasia! Enjoy!

ooo

Escape

Chapter One- Return of the Ferret

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, covering the bruises that tainted his porcelain skin. His owl hooted softly in the corner, pleading with his master to join him at the desk. Draco ignored the animal and stared at his reflection in the lavish silver framed mirror on the opposing wall. He never knew saying no to his parents would require him a week in Madame Pomfrey's care. He limped toward his armoire, taking out a neatly pressed white dress shirt and slipping it on over his severely scarred flesh. He had hoped he would not have to return to Hogwarts after the war subsided, but he did. He returned solely because he had no where else to go. His mercury eyes met the floor in sadness. So many lives were lost…so many lives of those who deserved to live and yet here he was standing in the lavish room of the Head Boy with a million and one questions and doubts running through his head. Why him? Of the most hated individuals in his Year, why had he been chosen as Head Boy? He understood Hermione Granger being selected as Head Girl. She was, after all, a far better witch than anyone had ever really expected. Of course they knew she was quite gifted, but none ever suspected the things that arose from her the night Voldemort attacked. But Draco Malfoy? He was not one to be celebrated. His announcement was surprisingly well received despite his assumptions.

His parents' money was lost; the entire fund supplied to the failed attempts to maintain the Death Eaters. What they never realized was that Draco had an account of his own, saving away what money he was given in a vault that could not be tied to him save by the recognition of the Goblins of Gringotts. His vault was one that had not been looted after the near demolition of the bank. He was well-off still and could not complain about that. His parents, however, were infuriated. Even his mother who had tried so hard to love her son as every mother should had finally turned on him in support of her husband. So Draco sought the comfort of the only place he could truly call home. Harry never realized just how similar their lives really were. Certainly Draco grew up in an entirely different environment, but neither had ever really been loved before they entered Hogwarts.

"Draco! Honey, come here! You'll ruin your coat that way. You know how your father wants this portrait to be perfect! Come now!" Narcissa called, her tone sweet but filled with annoyance at her five year old son. "Draco Lucius Malfoy, come here now! You are dirtying your clothes and I will not tolerate that!" she snatched the boy up by his coat and hurried him off to his father to be handled. He knew quite well he could shed no tears; they were not permitted in the Malfoy house. He had learned not to play in the mud that day. He had learned his lesson well.

Draco finished getting dressed in silence. His mind was still and his owl had finally concluded that he would not be visiting him any time soon. He debated on slicking his now chin-length hair back as it used to be, but the association with the way things were was too great and so he left it down. He pushed a bit behind his ears before grabbing his cane and stepping out of his room. He glanced at the Head Girl's door before he slowly made his way toward the Great Hall. The extent of his original injuries was far greater than he knew anyone suspected. His leg had been completely shattered, with severe burns licking his back. He would have been dead had Harry not saved him. Yes. He would remember that this year. McGonagall was appointed Headmistress of the school and had personally requested Malfoy's return under the pretense that he still deserved a proper education. She, like her predecessor, knew more about the students than anyone really suspected. It was not as though Draco had chosen to be what he was.

He met a few hateful glares as he walked the halls toward the Great Hall. He simply did what he did best—ignored them. The scars that laced his body weren't what they wanted to see. They wanted to see the eyes of a killer. What did they know? They knew nothing about him. As he seethed in his bitter thoughts he felt a pair of snake-like appendages grip his waist. He wanted to wriggle away, but he knew he would not be victorious. "Hello, Pansy," his drawl was still evident.

"Oh, Draco! I'm so happy you're okay!" she embraced him again. For a moment, simply a moment, he wished Harry had dropped him.

"Yes, yes…it's good to see you again also, Pansy. Now if you'll please," he motioned to his cane and she quickly removed her hands from their death grip on his mid-section. "I'll see you in the Great Hall," he said quickly, before she could get any other ideas about trying to make him feel better.

"I'll save you a seat!" she called as she scurried off. Draco let out a relived sigh as he leaned against the wall.

"Pansy harassing you again?" a familiar voice called. Its tone was gentle, lacking its usual brashness.
"Not at all, Granger. I was greatly enjoying the excessive shrill pitch," he turned to her with softened eyes. She had been the only person who had seen him as she had returned early to aid the Headmistress in planning the new years' festivities. They were planning a commemorative ceremony for those lost that dreaded night.

"Well, if that's the case, perhaps I should call her back? Oh Pan--" she could not finish her sentence before the pale, spider-like fingers of Draco Malfoy covered her mouth.

"Granger, what on earth do you think you're doing?" he hissed.

"Exactly. Be nice, for a change, Draco. Stop being so bloody bitter," she sighed and pulled his hand away from her face, suddenly looking to him as if she were a wounded dog. "I'm sorry, I didn't-" she was silenced by the hand again, this time a smile creeping on her face.

"You're talking too much," Draco couldn't contain the smirk as he slowly removed his hand. No doubt she would begin berating him again, but he could not suffocate her. He took a moment to truly gaze upon her. He was pleasantly surprised at how pretty Hermione looked. Her face held a few faint scars; no doubt reminders of the year's past events. Her chestnut mane was no longer as unruly. It sat a few inches past her lean shoulders with gentle waves running through until the ends. She had pushed her hair behind her ears before walking up to him, but now a few strands fell delicately in her face, drawing Draco's eyes down the curve of her delicate jaw line. He quickly redirected his eyes to meet hers, not wanting to invoke emotions he tried so desperately to suppress. When he looked closely, he saw a tinge of sadness that rested deep in her chocolate eyes. A sadness that aged her in a way none should be aged; an aging caused by great loss. Draco knew all too well the effect death had on a person's soul, but the death he witnessed was that of his own humanity. The death of who he truly was. How difficult it was to resurrect something so far gone.

"You will tell us where it is!" Lucius's voice barely rose above a whisper until Draco shook his head in protest.. "Where have you put it!?" his screams reverberated through the young Malfoy's body as he was reduced to cowering in his corner, fearing his father's cane one more. As the blow came, Draco felt the steady trickle of warmth dripping down his cherub-esque face. His eyes, pale silver, reflected the hatred that radiated from his father. "You cannot protect them, Draco! You have obligations! You must carry out your orders! WHERE IS IT?!"

"What do you think, Draco?"

He had not realized she had begun speaking to him. He was too far lost in the perpetration of ill thoughts his mind, plaguing the very essence of who he was trying to be. How different would things have been had he done as he was instructed? Would there have been less death? Of course he knew the true outcome would have been the same, but his responsibility did not ease the palpitations deep within his chest. He looked to Hermione as though lost in a daze. Her eyes, those very eyes that evoked such sadness, looked on with matriarchal curiosity. Honestly, he wanted to slap the look clear from her face. He couldn't stand another set of overbearing, pseudo-caring eyes drilling into his mind. Obviously his expression reflected that and she looked away immediately.

"Draco, listen. We really need-" he cut her short, something he had grown quite fond of, by simply holding his hand up.

"Granger, please. What is this 'we' business?" there he was, back to his old ways. He looked to the wall, a weight on his chest that made him light headed. "I…apologize. What were you saying?"

Hermione had placed her hands defensively on her hips and already had her lips ready to speak in protest of his lack of proper manners, but she stopped herself as he apologized. She saw, for a second, the true person behind the facade that was Draco Malfoy. The solemn expression on his face eased her anger as she rested a lightly scarred hand loosely on his shoulder. She reminded herself endlessly that he had come to school early simply to escape. She recalled McGonagall's hushed words as she quickly lead a frightfully confused Hermione to the infirmary. Upon seeing the tattered body of Draco, Hermione felt a certain pull deep in her heart. She had not seen him since the war and had secretly desired their next encounter to be one of pleasant nature. Hermione was instructed to maintain confidence as the Headmistress recalled the story to her before the Medi-Nurse entered the room. Hermione had felt the unstoppable tears form in her eyes, fighting with all of her strength to hold them back. McGonagall explained that Lucius and Narcissa had fled capture from Azkaban, taking their only son with them. When Draco, again in direct defiance, told them he would be turning them in the first chance he got, they had tortured him. Wounds he had suffered during the war were reopened by force and use of medieval vices that had been stored deep within the Malfoy's vault. The young man was unconscious and entirely unaware of their presence. He also knew nothing of the capture and conviction of his parents not only for the atrocities committed during their time under the Dark Lord, but also for the suspected murder of their only son, who was no where to be found. The Ministry scrambled to find the whereabouts of the recently turned nineteen year old Malfoy, but returned empty handed. Not even the Professors had disclosed the boy in his safe haven for they knew followers of the Dark Lord still walked as free men. No doubt the Death Eaters would attempt to surface a new king, but not without sacrificing one they called traitor. With the knowledge presented by the Headmistress, Hermione found it increasingly more difficult to look at Malfoy in anger. After all, hadn't he suffered enough?

"I take it you heard nothing I was saying, did you Malfoy?" she sighed. "Professor McGonagall would like us to plan a Halloween Ball for the students this year. She wants some celebration in lieu of the past events. The celebration, of course, would be followed by a commemoration of the fallen heroes that will mark the beginning of the construction of the memorial that we will oversee. Come May," she watched his face drop as she spoke. Clearing her throat delicately, she continued. "Come May we shall hold the unveiling of the memorial and the celebration of their lives."

Draco could do nothing but nod. Why on earth would McGonagall have him oversee something he felt insanely responsible for? "I don't understand-"

It was Harry who cut him off this time. The dark-haired wizard had seemed to appear out of nowhere, causing Malfoy to jump almost out of his skin. "Because she knows what you really did, that's why," he nodded to his former arch-nemesis before being bombarded by an overtly excited Hermione.

"Oh Harry! I've been worried sick about you! Why haven't you written?"

Draco lowered his head as he silently slipped from their view, limping his way towards the Great Hall and taking his seat at his table on the Slytherin side. He stared at the brightly coloured banners hanging from the rafters, all new since the originals were destroyed during the battle that had taken place. He noted the burn marks in the wood, some labeled with names of the Fallen as the last place they stood. He cringed as he looked to his table, tears swelling in his eyes. So many had fallen. He never hated the Weasley's as much as everyone thought, he really hadn't, which is why the name before him caused the contents of his stomach to swell in his throat. "If I could have stopped it, I would have," he whispered to the table before placing his head on top and falling into a spell of tears.