P R O L O G U E

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The silver haired wizard felt the steady blow of harsh autumn winds on his face as he willed his legs to run faster. He could feel sweat dripping from his forehead, down his nose and finally dropping down his chin. His heart beat in an erratic fashion as his legs kept rushing forward, without a glance back.

Draco Malfoy finally came to a halt outside the gates of the hauntingly beautiful Malfoy Manor that stood in all it's glory. The manor that he was now the sole owner of, after the passing of his father a few summers past.

He shook his head, as if willing the fact that he was all on his own out of his head.

Self-pity is for the weak. He repeated inside his head.

He pushed passed the iron gates, making his way inside. The sun was yet to rise but Draco could tell it wasn't going to be long before it did.

He slammed the gates of the manor open alerting his arrival.

"Master Malfoy! Your towel." His assistant housekeeper, Tom said handing him a towel that Draco snatched out of his hands and strutted in without a glance back. He entered his room where his new change of clothes lay waiting on his bed. 

A shower and a change of clothes later, Draco sauntered down the stairs to the living room when he heard the familiar chastising from his left.

"Red isn't your color, Draco. How many times do I need to tell you that? You look like a fire truck." Came his Great Aunt's voice.

"You're dead. You don't get an opinion." He muttered not looking at the portrait and continuing on his descent. He heard a faint gasp.

"Martha!" He called to which he heard a faint, "Yes, Mr Malfoy!" Followed by hurried footsteps as his housekeeper stood at the foot of the stairs.

"Put a curtain on Allegra's portrait. She's positively annoying." He muttered walking past Martha who nodded and hurried to the portrait which muttered defiances.

"I will not be treated in this manner! I hail from the most noble house of Bla—" Was all Draco heard before he walked into the living room.

He huffed.

It had become a routine— Going for a run before the break of dawn, eating, doing absolutely nothing, eating again, doing absolutely nothing again, eating at last and going to sleep.

Draco didn't like going out much. Specially not when he would be on the receiving end of constant stares and pointed fingers.

"He's a Malfoy!" They would all say as they shielded their kids from him as if expecting him to steal their kid right from under their nose.

I used to be death-eater not a god-damn kid-snatcher. Draco thought bitterly.

He looked down at his left forearm where sat the wretched mark. A mark that branded him, stained him. A mark that that signified his evil past, a past that nobody would let him forget. A mark that wouldn't let him forget.

"Sir?" Draco was broken out of his train of thoughts by Tom, who stood yielding a tray containing a cup of tea and the daily newspaper. Draco rashly pulled his sleeve down concealing his mark.

"Leave it on the table." Draco ordered looking away. He heard the tray being placed on the table.

"You have a letter addressed to you, sir." Tom said. Draco's eyebrows furrowed. Who would write to him?

Surely not Pansy. He thought snidely. Not after he blatantly, and quite rudely, turned down her marriage proposal couple months ago.

Draco gestured for Tom to hand him the letter and dismissed him. He picked up his cup of tea and drank a sip, sparing a look at the sender of the letter.

Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry?

Curiosity got the best of him as he placed his cup of tea down on the table and tore open the familiar envelope.

Dear Mr Malfoy,

Following the circumstance of the departure of our Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher, we are pleased to hereby offer you an appointment as a teacher in our school for the same.

The school considers your knowledge in the spectrum of Dark Arts adept and your school grades in the particular subject more than what is required.

School term begins September 1st, we expect your owl no later than August 1st.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,
(Headmistress)

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