Slytherin's angel

Chapter 1- The mission

A young man dressed in black pants and a matching sweater slowly walked down the crowded streets of Diagon Alley, his black shoes tapping nosily against the dirty cobblestone road. The sounds of young, pleading children filled his ears, crying to their parents to buy them the snowy white owl they had wanted since last summer, or the new broomstick that had just come. Draco Malfoy shook his head in disgust, for they did not know what would have happened to him if he cried out selfishly for something as stupid as a broom.

Recalling, however, his father had given him a new one his second year. Not because Draco wanted it, or deserved it for his hard work in his classes, but because Lucius was confident that he would make Harry Potter regret his refusal of being friends with his son from the previous year. But when Draco had failed that plan, he hadn't received the smallest gesture of approval from his father for the next five years. It was as if the twelve-year old boy was a lost cause, something that had failed his father's expectations more than once, and was no longer worth bothering with. Draco couldn't even began to comprehend that something so small as failing to beat an opponent should receive the depth of disappointment that radiated off his father, as if it had time to fester while he was in Azkaban. Upon his release, Lucius seemed to have decided that his disappointment for a son was not worth a nod or a voice of approval anymore.

Shaking the memory out of his head, he looked at the others walking ahead of him. Old wizards with white hair and matching beards had hair sprouting unevenly over their faces. Young witches were crowded over a booth with a little woman promising eternal youth by using her Anti-age Miracle Cream. Infants were crying in the arms of their mothers, and young children pushed past Draco, screaming and playing tag as they shuffled through the crowd ahead of him.

He glowered at their uncontrolled behavior, knowing that he would have never been able to act out so poorly. He wondered, for a slight moment, what it would have been like to run and play carelessly. The carefree lifestyles of so many other wizards seemed to have passed him by, as if they had forgotten to hand him an invitation to a normal childhood.

He snapped back to his extremely foul mood, although he was most of the time anyway, especially since his father had been released. It was exhausting, having to put on a façade of happiness for his father's return. He wished he had his mother's energy, to pretend, but found it absolutely draining. The exhaustion of such an act resulted in the pent up anger that sealed his heart shut. He always took the opportunity to take it out on someone else, secretly envious of their normal lives.

While his father was in Azkaban, living in the Manor had been bearable. With Lucius' absence, Narcissa was allowed to express her adoration openly for her only child, quietly joking and laughing with him, a rare indulgence, for Lucius thought a child would spoil should too much affection be shown. Draco missed the absence of Lucius, even the Manor itself seemed uptight since his return. It was a presence he did not miss.

He was brought from his dark thoughts when a curious group caught his eye. Just beyond him, up the cobblestone pathway were five young girls, all elaborately dressed in heavy velvet cloaks. Draco thought it rather odd choice for the hot weather, as he shifted uncomfortable at the fall humidity that lay trapped in his clothes. He couldn't understand how they stood there unfathomed by the heat of August.

They stood out amongst the crowd, their colorful costumes shouting against the mute and ashen material of the townspeople. As he was getting closer, he noticed that the heavy cloaks weren't the only things that seemed rather overdone. The eldest dressed in a cloak of soft yellow with a matching dress that flowed and swayed with her every movement. When she lifted up her arms to emphasize her story, bell sleeves with feet of fabric hung from her thin arms, hanging down to the dirty stones of the alley. He recognized her, but couldn't place where he had seen her.