The Heart of Gryffindor
by SJR0301
Prologue
From the street, the house in Kensington appeared to be a relatively modest one. Passersby rarely gave it a glance, and if they did, something about the house or the street caused their eyes to slide right past, barely registering the fact that a house stood there, nestled between two much grander ones on either side.
It was only if the person entered through the wrought iron gate that the true dimensions of the house were apparent. It was old, centuries old, and the brick had mellowed to a pale gold. The gardens surrounding the house were completely perfect. The lawns so manicured they could pass for a golf course, and the topiaries, rose arbors, hedges and trees were all quite--perfect.
Inside the house, Draco Malfoy was lounging on an old leather sofa. It was the day after he had arrived back in London for the summer holidays and already he was wishing for escape. Not that he minded his Mum doting on him; but after twenty-four hours, he suddenly found her attention annoying. And then there was his Dad. Draco looked up to his Dad; worshipped him in fact. But there was no question that his Dad was demanding, critical, hard to please. And last night, rather scary.
In the past year, Lucius Malfoy's immaculate appearance had lost something of its veneer of perfection. Getting caught with Death Eaters in a raid on the Ministry itself and having to be broken out of Azkaban prison by the Dark Lord's power had done nothing for Lucius' already formidable temper. And then there was the fact that the Dark Lord had been killed by Harry Potter. In front of a hundred eyewitnesses. In front of Lucius Malfoy, who had escaped capture again only because Dumbledore had been too preoccupied with Potter to stop him.
Last night, Draco had given his father the news that the Dark Lord might be alive. Potter had told him so himself. And then there was the incident at Kings Cross. Something had happened after Draco had already left. Something big. Because the Muggles knew something had happened and whoever the ministry people were who had been there at the scene, they had failed to cover up the incident as thoroughly as they should have.
The Daily Prophet had had headlines in the morning, Dark Wizards Attack the Boy Who Lived in Kings Cross Station. And the story had been even stranger. Potter had been one of the last to exit the Hogwarts Express. And then some disaster had happened. Draco's thoughts were interrupted by an event that almost never occurred. Someone knocked on the door. Needing something to keep him occupied, Draco slouched toward the door.
Maybe, Draco thought, just maybe Crabbe or Goyle had gotten permission to come visit. A friend or two would help break up the monotony of the summer. Or maybe even Pansy had come to visit. Not that Pansy was the ideal girlfriend. She wasn't really that great looking. Nothing like his own Mum. There wasn't a girl in Hogwarts that came near to looking as beautiful as his Mum. And it had to be admitted, Pansy was a bit stupid really. But she was a pure-blood, and as far as Pansy was concerned, he could do no wrong. Yeah, Pansy was conveniently compliant and worshipful, but otherwise, she was really dead boring.
Draco tapped the door with has wand and it swung open smoothly, silently. He had never met the man who stood there. Wizard, actually, as the man's wand was out. He was a tall handsome man, with dark, almost black hair, and he had obviously been in a fight. Could this be one of wizard's who had attacked Potter? There was a patch of what looked like dried blood on his robes and Draco saw with a start that his eyes were red.
"Who is it, Draco?" his Mum called.
"Tell them to go away," his Dad said. "I don't want company just now." Draco opened his mouth to send the man away, but something about the expression in the red eyes stopped him.
"Well, Draco," the man said in the coldest voice he'd ever heard, "perhaps you recognize me even if your father doesn't." A chill wrapped itself around his heart, and Draco found himself speechless. He continued to stare open-mouthed at the man, aware at the perimeters of his consciouness that his own wand was on the table next to his bed.
Behind him, his Dad uttered an oath and shoved Draco back out of the doorway. "My Lord," he said hoarsely, sinking to his knees, "forgive me. I did not know it was you." Draco stared. His father, Lucius Malfoy, bowed to no one, and here he was on his knees.
"Why, Lucius, you have not taught your son as well as I would have thought, if he cannot recognize Lord Voldemort when he sees him." The cold voice was almost amused, but Draco found it terrifying, not funny. A hand reached out, and his Dad forced Draco to his knees as well.
"Who is it dear?" his Mum said with irritation.
"Well," the cold voice said, "You are going to let me in, Lucius, and offer me the hospitality of your great house, aren't you?"
"Of course," his Dad said hastily. He stood up and shoved Draco aside. "Come in, my lord. Everything I have is yours. You have only to tell me what you need."
Something flashed in the Dark Lord's eyes. A thought, uninterpretable, at his father's words, and the red glance glowed as it wandered from his father to Draco and then rested momentarily on his Mum.
"At the moment," the cold voice said, "I require nursing for my injuries. And then, we shall see." The red eyes surveyed the lofty hall as Lord Voldemort entered and took possession of his house.
"You will be well rewarded," Lord Voldemort added, "for your loyalty and assistance, as those who have defied me shall feel my wrath."
"Like Potter?" Draco asked daringly, trying not to show his terror.
The Dark Lord smiled and said, "Ah, you fear me, young dragon." He laughed. A high, cold laugh that Draco had heard only once before, when the Dark Lord had invaded Hogwarts and attempted to kill Professor Dumbledore and Harry Potter. When Potter had killed the Dark Lord instead. Except Potter had been right on the train. The Dark Lord lived. He could survive anything. Even death.
The cold smiled intesified. "All those that serve me, fear me. The greater the fear, the better the service. The greater the service, the greater the reward." The red eyes locked on his and Draco felt as though his very blood had stopped along with his heart, so cold was the sensation that fear produced.
"Will you serve me, my young dragon?" the cold voice asked.
"He will," his father answered. "As all do in this House."
