Tears and Rain

Cold trickled down the back of the man's neck, making him shudder as he skidded through the newly formed mud. His once smart, polished shoes were covered in a brown sludge, and the hems of the back of his trousers were slicked with filth too. A livid white scar slashed through the purple clouds overhead. The man's black shirt stuck to his soaked skin, and he shivered slightly as an echoing boom nearly shattered his eardrums.

His mangled left arm was clutched tightly to his chest as he hastily made his way up to the looming structure ahead of him, the rest of his body pleading him for mercy as it stumbled along.

His chest ached from his heavy breathing: he had run all the way here, and his body had already suffered severe punishment from his father already. He was pretty sure that he had more than a few broken bones, and he knew that there were some horrific wounds he probably should have healed before running. But he'd had no choice; things were not going his way.

First, he had been found out by his father: he had been the Order of the Phoenix's spy for over five years now, and somehow, Lucius Malfoy had caught something in a look he had given him one day. There must have been something in his eyes, and because Lucius was such a good Legillimens... Then He had decided he would beat him and 'play games' with him. Those games were not in the slightest bit fun. He was lucky to be alive.

A shaky wand was pointed at the heavy double doors and they creaked open, too slow for his impatience. He dragged himself inside and they swung shut behind him as a small house-elf came hurrying up to him.

"Master-?"

"I-need-get-Dumbledore!" He wheezed.

"Is there anything else I can get sir-"

But the man had already crumpled to the cold marble floor, his own fallen blood like a bed of scarlet rose petals around his body.

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"...My dear boy, if you don't wake up soon I shall have to fetch Madam Pomfrey and a-"

The man's eyes snapped open and darted back and forth in a panic. "Where- where am I?! Wh-?"

"You are safe, for now." Kind blue eyes twinkled down at him from behind half-moon spectacles.

The man sighed in relief and visibly relaxed.

"So, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, settling himself down in a chince armchair that hadn't been there a few seconds ago. "Tell me, what happened to you?"

"It's a long story," the man replied, smirking slightly. "Though I'm sure you want to know every last detail."

Dumbledore's eyes sparked with amusement. "I do very much, Draco." He spread his hands wide. "When you are ready."

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Propped up by numerous fluffy cushions and kept awake by several steaming mugs of coffee and some chocolate frogs, Draco finally finished his story. "I see" were the only words uttered from Dumbledore's lips. Draco's gray eyes turned pleading, and he felt disgusted at himself. Malfoys never show weakness. But he wasn't really a Malfoy any more, not after Lucius had torn his family ring from the chain around Draco's neck and had burned his name from the family tree. If not a Malfoy, who the hell was he? "Dumbledore, I need protection now. They could find out at any time that I am a spy. You're the only person I have left to ask, the only person I trust implicitly."