Coveting Thy Enemy

Prologue: Coming of Age

By Elani

       

"You will do as I say boy, or I'll make you wish you were dead!" screamed Lucius Malfoy. His face had a look of fury in it that Draco had grown accustomed to. He knew he would not protest. If he protested or became insolent, his father would hurt him worse, so he meekly assented with a lowered gaze and a nod.

"Yes sir," he said, trying to sound as meek as possible. Lucius let go of Draco's cloak now, suddenly realizing he had his son raised, dangling in the air. Draco fell to the floor with the grace that only a Malfoy could possess. Still furious, Lucius kicked Draco in the stomach as hard as he could. Draco did not scream, did not say a word, he only doubled up, almost into himself, into a fetal position. This was a well-practiced maneuver since he knew further kicks were coming next.

Never, he thought. Never will I become my father. I don't care if he kills me, I will not get the black mark. He thought all of this in the mere seconds before he blacked out from the pain.

It was August fifth, Draco's birthday. He was seventeen years old.

       

"Ah, so the boy refuses my birthday gift, eh?" the head of Voldemort said. Lucius was now sitting in his study, drinking heavily. He gazed at the fiery image of Voldemort and nodded just as meekly as his son did earlier.

He had thought he raised his son right all of these years. He had promised him to The Dark Lord the day he was born. On Draco's seventeenth birthday, he would be Voldemort's, to do with what he pleased. Why then did it seem that The Dark Lord was not surprised? "My Lord, I did what I could. I raised him with the knowledge and respect that was expected of him. I fed him hatred of Muggles and Harry Potter with every meal. I don't know why he has had a change of heart all of a sudden."

"He is a boy Lucius, he doesn't know what's good for him. He will understand in time that it is best to be on the winning side," Voldemort said with absolute confidence.

"So, what do I do? Let him return to Hogwart's and hope that he decides there? Why can't we just force the dark mark upon him?" Lucius asked.

Voldemort contemplated this idea and then spoke. "No, no, if we force the dark mark upon him and he decides the path of the light, then we have a spy in our midst. The only thing we can do, you can do, Lucius is to make him see he has more to gain by becoming a Death Eater than by choosing those that oppose me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we find out what means the most to him, what he cherishes, covets above all else, then we simply take it away, destroy it."

"Wouldn't that make him vengeful?"

"Perhaps at first, but if he loses that which he loves, he will soon realize that the power I can give him will be a more than adequate substitute. After all, he is a Malfoy."

Lucius jumped up from where he was sitting and bowed before the fireplace in reverence. "As always, My Lord, you prove to be astonishing. But, how do we find what he cherishes most when he is away at Hogwart's?

"Easy, my faithful and loyal servant. I have spies there, people he trusts that will be more than happy to tell me anything."

       

Harry Potter awoke that morning happier than he had been in a while? He questioned this mood with a sleep-addled brain until he realized he would be leaving for Hogwart's that day. I'm leaving, he thought. No more Aunt Petunia! No more Uncle Vernon! And, especially, No more Dudley-do-no-wrong!

With an ecstatic jump out of bed, he left the room and took a hurried shower. Returning in only a towel draped around his waste, he looked at himself in the mirror. Flipping up his wavy, unruly, ebony hair, he peered at the scar on his forehead. It hadn't throbbed in over a year. Did that mean that Voldemort had given up? He highly doubted that. Hermione, one of his two best friends, believed that Voldemort had been unusually quiet the last two years because he was busy gathering forces. He hoped she was wrong, but then again, when was Hermione ever wrong?

He sighed at this thought and picked up his glasses from the night table. Returning to the mirror, he gazed at himself again in the mirror. He had grown a lot in the last couple of years. He now stood a little over six-feet tall. His hair, still as unruly and unkempt as usual now seemed an asset rather than a liability. It made his look rakish if anything. His eyes, barely hidden by his glasses, shone emerald green. His face now had the chiseled look of a man, rather than the innocent boy who had once entered Hogwart's all those years ago. His frame, still somewhat on the thin side, was now well muscled and defined. He attributed this to the endless hours of Quidditch practices Ron, his best friend and Quidditch captain, had put him through. Or else, it could be from the heavy yard work his Uncle Vernon had forced him to do over that summer. Whatever the reason, for the first time in his life Harry felt pleased by his appearance because standing before him was a man.

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