Hey guys! So I posted this a while back- but I've decided to give it a bit of a makeover. The story is meant to be set in their 7th year at Hogwarts but I've tweaked the plot a little, so everything up to book 5 is game.

I hope everyone can bear with me and enjoy! :D

« La douleur est temporaire, la fierté est pour jamais »
(Pain is temporary, pride is forever)

The Beginning of the End

The fire crackled and hissed angrily as Alan Avery toyed with the burning embers, pushing them around with an intricately wrought fireplace poker –one that had been generously donated to the Slytherin common room by Crabbe's family, along with the rest of the burnished fireplace.

The majestic room was in fact filled with decorations, furniture, extra supplies and even marble busts that had been placed in the room by the many prominent families who had made a tradition of attempting to show each other up. This occurrence was so commonplace that each year, before their first day of classes, the high-ranking Slytherins would take a vote to decide which objects could be cast into storage, in favor of the new gifts that they would receive. The students whose family's gifts would be voted against would live in shame for a few days while they tried to forget the insult. One would think that the most beautiful items or even the most useful items would be kept in the room, but no, that was not the criteria at all… and many an innocent fist-year carried the memory of these cruel trials with them as their first memory at a brand new school.

Draco Malfoy had only ever looked forward to these proceedings with joyous anticipation –the fear in the air was tangible, and the humiliation afterwards was the icing on the cake. Draco knew that he had nothing to fear from the "committee," in fact, he could bring in some tacky muggle painting and they would fawn over it and him as though he'd brought in a ruby chess set.

Avery continued to stir the embers silently, staring into them as though somewhere inside them lay the final paragraph of his charms essay. "Avery!" Draco barked in annoyance, "don't you have anything better to do than sit there, staring at the logs like a dead fish?" Avery jumped slightly, and to Draco's continued annoyance, proceeded to stare dumbly at him with his large brown eyes –apparently unable to answer the question.

"Malfoy!" he started, "I didn't see you there –I thought I was alone…" Draco forced himself to breathe calmly –it had not been a good day for him, and the younger boy wasn't making it any better…

"Well, now that you have seen me, and we have established that you are in fact not alone, is there any way that you can stop your bloody ruckus and let me finish my work before the rest of our bloody house stomps in from dinner?" Avery probably would have answered Draco's rhetorical question with an affirmative, but something happened to catch his eye. An ember, which had passed his notice before, was beginning to burn a nice little hole in the hand-made Peruvian rug that Blaise Zabini's mother had donated when they were in second year, and if the smoldering galleon-sized hole were to be discovered –which was only a matter of time, it would be taken as a direct offence against the Zabini's… and seeing as the Avery's had only just recovered from a scandal involving an inebriated uncle and several muggle 'entertainers', it was easy to predict whose side the rest of the Slytherin house would take.

But as Avery's shocked eyes met his gaze and silently pleaded with him, Draco couldn't help but to shift uncomfortably on the handsome leather couch that he'd been sitting on for the past half hour. As the pangs of pity continued to bombard him from the wide guileless eyes across the room, Draco decided that he'd never been too fond of the poncy pretty-boy Blaise anyways. Avery had already taken his fair share of sideways glances and whispered comments over the course of the past few of months, and nobody deserved to be shunned a week before Christmas break…

Avery trembled slightly under the combined pressure of the burnt rug and Malfoy's solid gaze.

Finally, the opened his mouth to speak, but Draco cut him off, before he could begin. "Honestly Avery! And I thought Crabbe was the slow one! We're in our seventh year, and you can't even manage a simple housekeeping spell?" Of course, the spell he was referring to was hardly simple and quite rarely used for housekeeping –rather, it was mainly used for repairing old or heavily damaged dark magic objects. It was a spell that Draco had learned in his spare time when he was in third year and had subsequently used to reassemble several objects that he had accidentally blown to smithereens in the midst of an angry row with his mother.

Draco walked menacingly towards Avery and crouched down. Slowly and carefully, he regenerated the burnt bits and soon the spot on the rug was nearly perfect. Draco was more than capable of repairing the carpet to its original splendor, but he chose to leave tiny and nearly unperceivable reminders of the incident in case he would ever need proof. He stood up immediately after he had finished and looked to Avery expectantly.

"I owe you one Malfoy." The younger boy blurted out after heaving a sigh of relief.

"Yea, well don't get too comfortable. I only did it to stop you from whining- little cry baby that you are…"

"I'm serious Malfoy," Avery insisted, "if there's ever anything I can help you with… I know I'm rubbish at charms, but my nanny always said I was practically born with a cauldron in my hand!" Malfoy nearly snorted at the thought, but managed to keep his composure long enough to formulate an intimidating reply worthy of his name.

"I'll keep the offer in mind. But for now, perhaps I can read in peace?" Avery blushed and bowed out of the room after repeating his thanks and apologies, leaving the blond boy alone in the flickering light of the fireplace.

Draco went back to his spot amongst the numerous open books and tried once more to make progress on his essay about transfiguring water. As his lifted his quill, a sharp screech above his head told him that he was no longer alone in the room. "Alexander?" he said, lifting his neat blond head in surprise to look at his father's majestic eagle owl. Alexander gave another screech and landed on the arm of the couch, taking care not to damage the soft material with his needle-sharp talons.

Draco slowly detached the letter from his outstretched leg, and quickly tested it for hexes –this was standard procedure for every letter that Draco received from home, no matter how innocent-looking. In his third year Lucius had begun to 'prepare him for the real world,' and after countless painful/annoying curses, Draco had irreversibly learned his lesson.

Draco,

I hope this letter finds you well, and that you are continuing to uphold the Malfoy name along with your grades. I regret not having the time to respond to your last letter, these past weeks have kept me and your mother consistently busy. I will, however, say this much; you are yet young –there will be a time, but that time is not now. You are a student, and your only priority is to focus on your studies.

There is another matter I wish to discuss. The annual Christmas Ball will not be held this year; I know that this is rather short notice, but your mother and I have suddenly found ourselves in the midst of a small crisis regarding our assets and will be leaving the Manor for a couple of weeks. I am afraid this means that you will have to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays.

Your mother has asked me to send along her regards, as well as a pair of Opaleye-hide gloves that we purchased for you on our trip to Australia last week. She asks you to remember to stay warm, and eat well over your break.

Regards,

Lucius Malfoy

Ignoring the dark, opulent gloves that lay in the package, Draco gripped the letter tightly in his pale hands and re-read the second paragraph with growing infuriation. It was one thing that his father thought him too young, but to be left behind over the holidays like unwanted baggage at a train station; that was just too much to handle.

He had no doubt in his mind that the Malfoy assets were as secure as ever, and that the sentence actually meant that the Malfoy's were embarking on some mission for the Dark Lord –one that Draco would likely never know the details of… He growled angrily and threw the letter into the famished flames, watching his father's handwriting curl and glow until it fell to ashes.

How could father say that? He was old enough! He was ready! He'd been ready for a long time, just waiting to finally be accepted into their mysterious fold.

Lucius could make the country's top dogs kneel at his command; he could make witches and wizards pour gold at his feet just to get an ounce of his power –if Lucius wanted it done, it was done. All Draco had ever wanted was to become as great and powerful as Lucius was, and if the key to that power was to go through the Dark Lord, then so be it.

Truth be told, Draco had never really warmed up to the idea of serving the ghoulish leader of the Deatheaters, but he embodied all that Draco knew to be the truth, and therefore Draco had few other qualms about the subject –after all, if Lucius thought he was right, then who was Draco to contest?

But how could he ever become great if Lucius kept holding him down? It was as though he thought him worthless; unable to handle the grave responsibilities of the real world.

A creaking sound brought Draco back to the world of the living, and a moment later, a crush of black robes spilled into the room. "Draco!" a feminine voice exclaimed, "where were you at dinner? We missed you!" Draco turned towards the voice slowly and deliberately.

"I, unlike the rest of you apparently, actually have work to do, and cannot spend hours upon hours in the great hall, Pansy…" Pansy pouted with her ruby red lips and put her hands on her hips, an act which made her look more like the terribly spoiled child that she was.

"Come on Draco, you've been like this for days!" she whined, and then asked in a softer voice, "Does it have anything to do with you-know-who?" Draco glared at Pansy, expecting her to get the hint and scram, but unfortunately for him, he failed to realize that Pansy was too busy wondering if he had noticed her new haircut.

"Pansy, I don't have time for this…" Luckily for Draco, Blaise, who had been watching the whole exchange, came to his rescue.

"Everyone listen up! The common room is now being commandeered by your superiors! Everyone who is not a seventh year wizard should kindly exit the room –or else…" Blaise was not exactly the best wandsman out of them all, but he had a large repertoire of nasty potions which he had few qualms in using when the occasion did arise. Blaise also knew how to take advantage of an opportunity when one showed itself –and an unhappy and peevish Draco Malfoy brought up several ideas.

"Draco," the dashing, jet-haired boy said amiably stepping towards him, "It looks like you could use a drink…"

The night went by in a rather large, amber and green blur for Draco and his compatriots as they proceeded to drink themselves into oblivion with Blaise's personal brew. Draco could not tell who was the most wasted bloke in the room; Crabbe, who was incessantly stroking Madame Pucey's horrifyingly flattered portrait, or the short, black-haired fellow, who was telling anybody who would listen about his run-in with the vampire/mermaid/siren/sphinx over the summer.

"Drrraaaco" a wine-slurred voice called out from the chatter, "where you going?" A very drunk Gregory Goyle stepped into view and leaned heavily upon an antique Chinese vase.

"I'm getting some fresh air Goyle," he replied, running a hand through his normally immaculate hair, "I shouldn't be gone long." And with that, Draco Malfoy disappeared… literally.

His footsteps were too soft to give him away, but that didn't stop him from hesitantly checking every corner before he crossed it. Then, calmly, he strode out of the castle, removing the disillusionment charm that he had cast upon himself earlier. Gingerly he massaged his throbbing head and headed off towards the Forbidden Forest. He had probably had too many mystery drinks that night, but a nice long walk along the edge of the forest would do him some good.

Draco felt life coming back into him as the December night air chilled his face and crept into his lungs. His father's words came back to him, echoing from the corners of his mind, stabbing him like needles –undoing him from the inside… "Worthless" he heard himself whisper to a sullen-looking tree, "He thinks I'm worthless…" Draco felt himself slowly fall to his knees, hearing only the crunch of frosty grass being crushed beneath his weight. A minute passed, where the world around him was silent, until suddenly a gin-soaked tear rolled into his mouth. He shuddered violently, but refused to sob aloud, hanging his head in shame –what would Lucius say if he could see his heir now?

A.N.

Weeellll- that's chapter one!

In case anyone was wondering- The Antipodian Opaleye is considered to be one of the most beautiful dragons in the world due to the pearly scales that line its body. So I imagine they would be really shiny and pretty (now I really want a pair…).

I know I didn't include Hermione in this chapter at all, but rest assured people, she will show up and the plot will start to pick up right around chapter three. I've got so many disjointed ideas floating about but I'm so excited! Bear with me guys!