tarklovishki

Chapter 1

I wish that I were invisible.

Well, not to everyone, of course. What would I do if my own parents couldn't see me? But as I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, running a finger along the pink scar that ran from one side of my forehead to my chin on the opposite side of my face, the power of invisibility would keep people from hurting me. I'm Godric Hollows punch bag. Who needs a Gym when Draco Malfoy lives here? This particular injury would never go away; I'd always have the scar on my face to remind me just how close I'd come to losing my life—and my eyesight—to those bullies.

For the past five years, I have been living in fear for my life. I'm not allowed out after dark, I have to be back home by sunset. If not, Mum will get in the car and drive around the streets to look for me. I'm still targeted for putting John Williams in prison. Friends, family and loyal students of his were pitted against me. They knew him best, they would shout at me in the now rare times they would ever catch me alone, and he would never try to rape a child. It was clear to them that I'd been all over him, ripping off my clothes and begging for him to take me.

Did they think that this was the kind of thing I would make up? Yes. But if they heard the nightmares that I had, ones that would force Mum or Dad to sleep in the same bed with me—even at eighteen—they would know that I would never bring this fate upon myself if I had the choice. They never felt the terror that I felt, they never had someone touch them where their hands weren't wanted. They hadn't heard that John Williams had wanted to kill me and his wife—the very same wife that had cried in the courtroom, and screamed when he was convicted. She'd begged for bail, too. If she knew what I knew, she would have left him to rot in there without a doubt.

His wife, outside the courtroom, swore upon her life that she would get revenge on me somehow. She would have taken a swipe at me, too, if Mum and Dad hadn't been there beside me, shielding me from her. I remember shaking like a leaf, crying my eyes out, and being carried out by Dad. I doubt I would have been able to walk, anyway. In an instant, the handful of friends I had were gone. They didn't want to stick by me and risk being outcasts themselves. Two of them, Riley and Nick, were now apart of the gang that jumped me whenever I was out alone where there weren't any witnesses. Godrics Hollow got the occasional tourist, and they, not knowing my poor reputation here, would turn the gang over to the cops if they saw what they did to me.

I turned away from the mirror with a sigh, drawing the towel tighter around my waist. I still dripped water from my shower, and the air outside would be ice cold, even in summer, but I didn't really care about that. The freezing cold air hurt like being burned, and I'd been burned a fair few times and had gotten used to the feeling. I didn't even flinch. Mum would be taking me to the bookshop when I got dressed, so I didn't have to hurry. She'd promised to take me, as I had to put off the trip a couple of days ago because she had a few meetings to attend to, and wouldn't be home to cook dinner for me when I got back. I knew it was just her worrying again, but I didn't mind it.

"Draco," Mum called, standing at the foot of the stairs. "Are you ready to go, darling?"

"I just need to get dressed," I called back, tightening the towel around me. Pushing the door open to my room, I headed over to the dresser and started rummaging around for clothes.

After the incident, I started wearing at least three shirts and boxers under my jeans or whatever pants I wore. The best change I ever made was buying combat boots to wear. With the boots, I was able to at least kick people who wanted to hurt me—it's been known that I kick harder than I can punch, which is why the bullies always made sure to hit my legs first so I'd be too hurt to retaliate.

Mum had her car keys in hand when I came down the stairs with my shoes and socks in hand. She swung the key chain around her index finger, the keys jingling loudly. Seeing me, she smiled and gestured to the door, and threw the keys at me. I plucked them out of the air with one hand, then walked out to the car to wait for Mum.

Godrics Hollow would have been a nice place to live if the incident hadn't happened. It put a black mark on the town, so the tourists that came through here were only in the handfuls, and most of the children were not allowed out of their parents' sight. Most of the tourists thought that if one easily trusted man could try to rape a child, then what about the rest of them? The teaches, the cops, the doctors—they were all under suspicion by the tourists. And you guessed it; it was all my fault.

Unlocking the car, I got inside, shutting the door—and locking it for good measure—and started to put by shoes and socks on. I got just one shoe on, when a scream shattered the peaceful day. It came from inside the house. Repelled by the door that I locked, I fought to get it open, my fingers fumbling with the lock. Once the damned thing opened, I tore toward the house, leaving the door wide open and the keys in the car. My thoughts were only of Mum. I was terrified that she was hurt.

"Mum," I shouted as I burst into the kitchen, my shoulder colliding with the pantry and sent me stumbling off course. "What's wrong?"

I saw what was wrong immediately; glass from the now shattered window lay all over the kitchen. Mum stood in the centre of it, clutching her bleeding hand. Before I could go to her, I heard the squeal of tyres outside. My heart thumping wildly, wishing that what I suspected wasn't true, I raced back out the front. Grabbing the frame of the front door, I shook my head. All I could do was watch the thugs destroy the front lawn on their way out of the driveway, speeding off down the road.

For the third time in a month, something of ours had been stolen. This time, the reason was my fault. If I hadn't have left the keys in the unlocked car, they never would have gotten it. But there wasn't anything I could do about it right now. I was facing a lecture—I never got grounded, because I barely went out in the first place—but I could handle that. Grabbing Mum by the shoulders once I got into the kitchen, I led her toward the living room.

"You go and sit down," I told her gently. "I'll clean up the mess."

She was shell-shocked. Who wouldn't be after that? Mum simply complied with everything I told her to do, and when that happened, you knew it was bad. Grabbing a blanket from the corner of the living room, I draped it over her legs. I heard that it was best to keep a person warm when they were in shock. Well, read about it, but same difference.

"I'll get you a bandage for your hand in a second," I promised her. Her hand wasn't bleeding profusely, so it didn't have to be top and urgent priority. "Just let me clean up first."

If there was one thing I hated, it's cleaning up glass. It got everywhere, the damn thing was sharp...and if you stepped on it, it crunched into tinier pieces. The thought of breaking glass definitely made me handle it with more care.

But why had those thugs bothered us this time? I wondered as I grabbed a plastic bag and started picking up the bigger pieces. I hadn't properly been out of the house since the Easter holidays started three days ago. Thinking back on the last day of school, I don't understand what I'd done to make them target my mother of all people. What the hell had she ever done to make people want to hurt her? It was one thing to come after me, but another to go after her.

Rage I hadn't felt for a long time filled me up, and I felt like a starving man confronted with a free all-you-can-eat buffet. It kept simmering just below breaking point while I cleaned up, and got the bandages to wrap Mum's hand. By the time I fastened it, Mum had snapped out of the trance she'd been in.

"Where are you going, Draco?" she asked, panic in her voice.

I stopped halfway down the hallway, kicking off my shoe and stuffing both socks into it. It was a good thing that I hadn't been planning to wear my combat boots out; losing them would be like losing a limb or something. Without them, I wouldn't feel protected enough to leave the house at all.

"I'm going to get the car," I told her, flexing my hands. "Don't worry, I'll be alright."

"No!" There were sounds of running feet, and then Mum came running into the hallway. Her eyes were alight with the fear that hid in her voice. Reaching out, she grabbed me by the shoulders and held me back. "At least wait for your father to come home before you rush out there to find the car. I'm not having you leave the house alone, do you understand me? It's not safe out there for you."

It never was, and I was told that so often that I barely reacted to that. Chewing on my bottom lip—a habit I haven't been able to break—I glanced between Mum and the door. Those bastards that hurt my Mum deserved to be hurt in return, but now that I stopped and thought about it, I would only be giving them what they wanted. There'd be least four of them and one of me, but even if you did include my combat boots that wasn't much of an advantage. What could would it do to kick them when they could easily snap my legs beneath their feet?

"Alright," I said, defeated. "Alright, I'll stay inside until Dad comes home. But what if they vandalise the car, or something?"

"Then we'll buy a new one," said Mum logically. She placed a hand on my back, her injured one pressed to her chest, and led me back into the living room. "Honestly, Draco, it's like you've forgotten how much money we have. We're not poor, you know."

"We're not rich, either," I reminded her. Yes, we did have a lot of money, but money didn't last forever—among other things—and Dad had told both of us that we needed to start budgeting what we buy. So I got two books when I usually got four. And whenever I go shopping, I can't spend the rest of my pocket money trying to buy all the clothes. But Mum? Budgeting just wasn't in her vocabulary, and she would never take the time out to learn what it meant.

Around five o'clock, Dad came home. He had his own car, which I supposed was very useful now considering Mum's had just been stolen. The first thing he asked me when he got home was, "Has your mother gone out? Her car isn't in the driveway." So I took the liberty of explaining to him what happened. I watched as his expression darkened with every sentence that left my lips, and he took off to find Mum before I'd even finished talking. I expected as much, and turned to the television again.

To say that Dad was pissed is a gross understatement. He would have been a lot better if Mum hadn't been injured by the glass—and the broken window did severely piss him off. Just like the rest of us, he was reaching the end of his tether. I could hear them arguing upstairs, shouting at each other. It was a usual conversation between the two of them. Mum wanted to leave Godrics Hollow for my sake, but Dad, as much as he wanted to leave, couldn't because of his business. Godrics Hollow happened to be the best place for it.

"Draco is your son," Mum would scream. "It's about time you stopped holding your business on higher priority than him!"

Honestly, I didn't see the point of moving now; I'm eighteen now, and the best moments of my childhood have come and gone unlived. However better a new town would be to me, what was the point when I had money to move out myself? My parents didn't deserve to suffer anymore in my presence.

"I do hold Draco on higher priority!" Dad would shout right back. If I didn't know how much they loved each other, I would have been fearful that they would start smacking each other around. But fighting, for them, was a way to blow off steam. "I'm trying to do what is best for the both of you!"

And he did try. Over and over again, usually with a bare minimum of good results. The town had been doing a spectacular job of showing us how much we weren't wanted.

Dad came down the stairs, his face twisted with anger. One good thing about being a Malfoy was that we could pull any expression we wanted, and it still looked good on us. He gestured for me to follow him with a wave of his hand, and I wasted no time in scrambling to my feet and following him. Dad went outside and got in his car, starting the engine. While he waited for me to get inside, he clutched the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. A deadly calm expression sat snugly on his face. The people who stole the car better have left it somewhere unharmed and run as far away from it as they could, for Dad meant business.

After driving around for a little while, we found the car in a parking lot of an old and abandoned car dealership company (or that's what I thought it was called). It sat there, relatively unharmed, thankfully. The company had been washed out in a flood many years ago, and no one had bothered buying the property. It was now a safe haven for homeless people and teens who wanted to leave their signatures on the walls, doors and floor. In my opinion, it was a waste of a good building.

On Dad's instruction, I waited in the car while he went over to Mum's car to inspect it for any damage. A good three minutes passed, and then Dad howled angrily. Shocked into action, I fought to get my seatbelt off, and then practically fell out of the car when I forced the door open.

Running over to him, I asked, "What? Dad, what is it? What's wrong? Dad?"

Dad held a piece of paper in his shaking hand. I leaned over his shoulder to read the almost unintelligible scrawl.

NEXT TIME YOUR PRETTY MUMMY WILL GET WHAT SHE DESERVES
YOU DON'T BELONG HERE, YOU LITTLE WHORE. GET OUT OF OUR
TOWN, OR WE'LL BE WATCHING YOU LEAVE IN A BODY BAG! GO
CRAWL INTO A HOLE AND DIE, TEACHER'S SLUT!

Over the years, I'd thought I'd gained a strong defence to insults and death threats, but seeing this made me want to cry. Tears half-blinded me as I turned away from my father and the note, walking dejectedly back to the car. Hopefully Dad would call for a tow-truck instead of making me drive the car back. After reading that note, I wasn't up for doing more than just sitting around and moping. Dad opened my door, to my surprise, and pulled me into a rough hug before I could get my seatbelt on.

"Don't listen to them," he told me. He'd scrunched up the letter and thrown it away. "They're all talk and no action. Just try to ignore them. Like you mother always says, good things come to those who wait the longest." Wasn't five years enough waiting? I nodded my head, leaning into his embrace. Dad wasn't much the hugging type, so I was taking full advantage of this. "One of these days those bullies are going to get what's coming to them. Bullies don't end up having the best in life."

Teacher's slut. Was that all I would be remembered for? And yes, I know I shouldn't listen to the words of ignorant bullies, but when everyone in the town knows you by that name, and calls you that behind your back, it gets really difficult to ignore. Dad took out his phone and called for a tow-truck while I sat and mulled over the words. Is there anything left for me to wait for in Godrics Hollow?

Well, tomorrow brought me an answer to that question.

. . . .

Mum allowed me to go to Anita's Bookshop at around ten o'clock. The only reason she did was because the bookshop was only up the street and around the corner near the grocery. So if anyone decided to cause trouble with me, it was an easy run home. I may not look it, but I'm pretty fast when I want to be.

Chilly wind blew my hair in all directions as I drew my jacket around my shoulders more tightly for warmth. Even if the sun was out, it didn't do anything to warm me up. It might as well have been hidden by the clouds coming through on the eastern horizon. It looked like rain. I was halfway to the bookshop when trouble found me.

"Oh, I see you think you've ignored our warning, eh?" That was Hugh Wickham. Want to know the best way to lose brain cells? Play soccer. That's all Hugh ever wanted to do; play soccer. If ever he got into college, it would be on some kind of soccer scholarship. "What, you think you're welcome in this town?"

Four of them had me cornered. Hugh Wickham; Jackson Dane, Jordan Brown and Damien King. All four of them were sneering idiots who thought they owned the town. They were all brawn, no brains, which, I knew from experience, was a deadly combination. They would hit first, ask questions later.

"What?" Jackson said stupidly. He was easily the biggest one of the lot, but definitely not the brightest. "You think you're too good for us, eh? Is that why you stay here and make us look bad?"

I wanted to tell them that they didn't need my help to look bad; their parents had given them the ugly genes, and there wasn't anything they could do about it. But if I said that, I'd get punched in the face that much quicker, so I bit my lip and held back all sound. The bad thing about this was that they'd boxed me in; I had nowhere to run.

"Oh, look-y here! Little Draco is scared!" Jordan laughed, jabbing a finger into my face.

Hugh looked devilishly pleased. He cracked his knuckles threateningly, and the others followed suit. "So he should be."

I screamed as one of them grabbed my hair and yanked on it, pulling me to the ground. My fingers reached for the sausage-like fingers to pull them off, but whoever had hold of me started to drag me, kicking and screaming, down the street. I could feel my skin scraping along the ground. When they released me, the punches and kicks were thrown. I don't think I stopped screaming the whole time. The pain was simply excruciating. If I survived this, I hoped they hadn't rearranged my face.

"Hey!" someone shouted. The voice was unfamiliar to me, so I didn't know if this was some bystander or another bully. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? Get off him right now. You're a bunch of cowards! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

As the bullies ran off, laughing, a new set of hands grabbed me under the arms and hauled me up. I practically fell into the man, and he caught me.

"Are you okay, kid?"

I nodded. "I'm fine. Thank you." Once I got my balance, I pushed away from him, rejecting the touch. "I should be going now."

The man was tall—taller than me—and had wild black hair and emerald green eyes. His skin was tanned brown from long days in the sun. And he had muscles of his own, though he wasn't all brawn like the bullies were. His muscle was much subtler, which suited him. He reached out and touched my arm, but pulled back when I reacted badly to the touch, nearly tripping over my own feet.

"Hey, kid, you don't have to be scared of me," he said. He held up his hands to show he wasn't going to touch me again. He looked frightened from my fearful reaction. "Look, how about I walk you home, yeah? Just to make sure you get there safely. I'm Harry Potter, by the way."

"D-Draco Malfoy," I replied, hoping he didn't recognise my name. The last thing I wanted was for my saviour to turn on me, too.

Harry grinned, nodding his head. I breathed a sigh of relief; he didn't know me. "Well, what do you say? Will you let me walk you home?"

I didn't see what choice I had; if I went home on my own, I'd most likely be jumped again. But with Harry Potter by my side, the bullies wouldn't dare to touch me. So, stuffing my hands into my pockets, I nodded. Hopefully Mum would take me out to get my books tomorrow.

"How come they were beating you up, anyway?" Harry asked conversationally as we walked, sounding like he was talking about the weather.

"I have … I have a bit of a history with the town," I said evasively. "Everybody knows me here."

He sensed that I didn't want to talk about it, and didn't comment further. I knew he would try to gather information to find out what my history with the town was.

"Okay," he muttered, nodding. "How old are you, anyway?"

"I'm eighteen," I mumbled. "You?"

"Twenty-one." I nearly stumbled. That was a three year age difference between us. Wasn't that a little bit too much? If I wanted to be his friend—which I wasn't sure of—wouldn't it be awkward? He had three years more life experience than I did. "Would you like to hang out sometime?" Harry asked, right out of the blue. "You seem like a nice person, and I've just moved here with a couple of my friends. We'd love to hang out with someone who knows the town as well as you do."

We were on my street now, just a few houses down from mine.

"I … I don't know, Harry," I said, the name feeling strange on my tongue. "Not a lot of people want to be friends with someone like me."

"Well," said Harry optimistically, "why don't you hang out with us for a day and see if you like us? We don't bite, I swear."

Now we'd reached my house. I opened the front gate and stepped inside. Harry followed me with the intent of walking me to my door. When he met my eyes, they were so bright and full of hope that I knew I didn't have strength enough to say no to him.

"I … I guess I'll give it a shot," I said.

He grinned broadly. "Tomorrow? I'll pick you up."

I nodded. "Tomorrow. See you then, Harry." I stepped inside my house, slowly closing the door behind me as Harry walked swiftly back toward the gate and then out of sight.

What had I gotten myself into?

To Be Continued. . . .

Chapter 2