“…Snape and Malfoy, however, were still running; they would soon be beyond the gates, able to Disapparate –
Harry tore past Hagrid and his opponent, took aim at Snape’s back, and yelled, ‘Stupefy!’
He missed; the jet of red light soared past Snape’s head; Snape shouted, ‘Run, Draco!’ and turned. Twenty yards apart, he and Harry looked at each other before raising their wands simultaneously.
‘Cruc –’
But Snape parried the curse, knocking Harry backwards off his feet before he could complete it…”
(Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, JK Rowling, pg 602, American version)
Upon hearing Snape’s order to run, Draco released a renewed spurt of energy, pumping his legs so hard he was sure they would catch fire. The young Malfoy couldn’t imagine anything worse: he had failed the Dark Lord again, and this time his baby-sitter had had to finish the job for him. After the cursed necklace and the poisoned mead, he knew he could no longer avoid Dumbledore. He had surely sealed his fate when he had hesitated to curse the doomed headmaster after disarming him at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Instead, he stalled, allowing the old man to feed on his doubts and fears. Dumbledore had seen right through his weaknesses and had played them to his advantage, keeping Draco from succeeding. The fool had met his demise nonetheless; Snape had made sure of it.
Draco didn’t know why he was running back to the Dark Lord when he knew what awaited him there, but in his frantic state he didn’t know what else to do. Returning was not an option; they would laugh as they chucked him into Azkaban if he tried to claim that Dumbledore had offered to protect him from Voldemort. He was in no position to think, just to do what he was told.
Breathing hard and his legs burning, he dodged a jet of red light as it grazed the side of his head, singeing off a few strands of his trademark white-blond hair. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he saw behind him that Potter was still frantically trying to curse Snape, screaming his spells in desperation and aiming his wand erratically in their direction in his craze. Each spell was deflected without effort; Snape seemed to be toying with Potter rather than putting him down. Draco didn’t understand it.
As he continued sprinting across the grounds, he wondered where his new destiny lay. Before he had failed to kill Dumbledore himself, he knew who he was. Draco Malfoy, born into the most prestigious Pureblood family still alive, given a mission of utmost importance, a mission that would surely restore the family honour that his father had tarnished with his own failure at the Ministry. Though the deed had been carried out, Draco knew that he had proven himself of no genuine value to the cause, had shown he couldn’t stomach what it takes. He pushed this thought aside and focused on running.
He and Snape reached the front gates, turned on the spot, and disappeared with two loud cracks, Potter’s frustrated cries echoing in their ears. As Draco’s lungs became free of the compressing darkness, allowing him to breathe again, the sight of his childhood home spawned more dread than his father could ever have created throughout the years. He faced torture, maybe death. You are a Malfoy; you will not be a coward. Dragging his feet like a child, he followed Snape’s sweeping black cloak through the wrought iron gates.
They entered the gloomy, dimly lit dining room to a crowd of dark cloaked wizards and witches with unpleasant faces seated along the long and elegant table. They turned at the sound of their footsteps, eyeing Snape expectantly. A few glanced briefly at Draco with a momentary look of surprise, but ignored him. Draco saw his mother cowering in the corner nearest him, her blonde hair matted to one side of her face with blood, her robes torn and grimy. Slithering back and forth before her was Nagini, confining her to her corner. She chanced a terrified look at her one and only son. Her child, expected to die, and now at the mercy of Lord Voldemort. Draco caught her glance, his unease growing at the fear in her normally frosty, indifferent grey eyes, pleading with him to be safe. But there was no way out.
“It is done, my Lord,” Snape reported, “Dumbledore is dead, though I had to complete the task myself. When I was informed by the Order that Death Eaters had found their way inside the castle, I immediately set out in search of Draco, to make sure that he finished his assignment. I found him at the top of the Astronomy Tower with the wandless headmaster, standing there like a fool.” At this last comment, Snape briefly looked down at the boy, his lip curling in disgust. “I finished it personally, and then we proceeded directly here to inform you. Regrettably, my position within the castle has been compromised – I cannot return.” He finished with a bow, not bothering to glance twice at the frightened, white face next to him.
“Very good, Severus, you’ve done well tonight,” spoke a high pitched, chilling voice from the side of the table shrouded in darkness. Draco could barely make out the red eyes with slits for pupils, the bone-white face, and the snake-like nostrils. “The name Malfoy has proved again and again to indicate an incompetence that will hinder my success. After Lucius died so uselessly in Azkaban,” Draco’s eyes locked briefly with his mother’s as she stifled a quiet, dry sob with her clasped hands, “I had hoped that his offspring may have at least shown a bit more of an effort. This is the last time I make that mistake.” The long white fingers encircled a wand of yew with a phoenix feather core from within dark robes. As the wand was raised, Draco’s heart began to beat dangerously fast and his eyes widened in terror. There was no escape, he was going to die as many before him had: without mercy.
“NOOO!!”
As Voldemort began the incantation, there was a scream, and a sudden blur of long blonde hair streaked across the room. The snake lashed out at its escaped prisoner, wrapping around one of Narcissa’s legs and dragging her to her knees before her son. She grabbed hold of his shoulders, pulling him down to his knees with her, and shielded his chest. In her last living moment, just long enough for the terrible curse to be cast, she let pour from her eyes all of the love she had neglected to show him throughout his childhood. He started to open his mouth, not knowing what his last words to her would be. A flash of green light struck her in the back, and the stormy grey eyes she had passed onto her son were instantly vacant; she slumped lifelessly to the floor.
The moment her eyes drained of life, an animalistic survival instinct switched on inside of him, and he reached into his robes without hesitation to retrieve what remained of his Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. Using the momentary surprise created by Narcissa’s sacrifice, he threw the powder into the room, and a thick mass of nothing blackened every cruel face, shielded him from every eye until there was nothing but frustrated shouts and murderous threats; he then bolted across the hall into the sitting room.
Pulling out his wand in one hand and his Hand of Glory in the other, he reached a specific bookcase and tapped on a combination of titles with swift precision, stepped through the solid wall next to the fireplace, and started running. Out of range of the impenetrable darkness, he pocketed the shrivelled hand and weaved in and out of tunnels and up and down stairs.
He was furious, and he wanted revenge for what had been taken from him: his sad excuse for a family, his home, and his childhood. He had been fooled into thinking he had friends and comrades in a war they had convinced him was necessary. They would be sorry they had dismissed him so easily. He knew if he acted fast, he could deliver a blow to their operation. If he told the right people where to look, they would find the headquarters, and they might just be able to take out a few Death Eaters in the process.
The underground air was now more humid and the walls were made of earth rather than expensive woods. He knew he was somewhere near the middle of the orchard behind the manor, well outside of the Apparition protection enchantments.
Destination, Determination, Deliberation: All Draco could think about was a defeated old man’s promise of protection as he turned on the spot. He shut his eyes and blackness engulfed him once more, taking him somewhere he hoped was very far away.
When Draco opened his eyes, he found himself in what looked to be the sitting room of an ancient house with boarded up windows. Every piece of furniture and tapestry was ripped to shreds, deep claw marks adorned the yellowing wallpaper, and a thick layer of dust covered every surface. A quick look between the boards into the familiar streets of Hogsmeade revealed that he had Apparated into the Shrieking Shack.
He sighed deeply. His subconscious didn’t lead him very far at all, but on a path back to Hogwarts; a part of him knew that the school is where he could find the help he needed. He remembered his irrational fear of the old house when he had believed it was haunted. Snape had informed him after the werewolf quit that the house had been used to hide it away while transformed as a student at Hogwarts, and that there was a passageway underneath the shack that came out under the Whomping Willow.
Thoughts of Snape brought back flashes of life leaving his mother’s eyes mere minutes ago. He tried to clear these thoughts from his head – he had to stay in control.
He found the passageway and proceeded towards the school. The small, narrow tunnel forced him to crawl on his hands and knees. His blond hair was now filthy, matted with sweat against his forehead, his robes collected even more dirt and muck, and the occasional tree root scraped against his face, drawing blood. He tried in vain to keep his mind blank and his weakness at bay. When he reached the end of the tunnel, he could no longer be recognised as a clean cut, high society, Pureblood Malfoy, but as a filthy, broken young boy, eyes swimming with tears.
He drew his wand and shouted “Immobilis!” at the threatening branches of the Whomping Willow as he emerged through the opening, his voice cracking and his spell weak. He only just cleared the branches’ reach before feeling a whoosh behind him, narrowly missing a blow. In the distance he glimpsed the sweet sanctity of the castle, its windows lit and cosy as if it were any other night, its students happily gathered in their common rooms, discussing anything except the devastation he had caused. Closer still he saw the half giant attempting to retrieve his “valuables” from his smouldering wreckage of a cabin, and his big stupid boarhound outside, barking at Merlin knew what.
Draco cried out, now feeling the insurmountable weight of his actions and the hopelessness that he had no one to care about his feeble existence. He stumbled towards Hagrid, desperate to tell somebody what he had decided must be said if he were to hope for any help. Hagrid was too consumed in his own grief to hear Draco’s cry, but Fang noticed, and turned to bark directly at him. His vision became blurry; his mind was becoming numb and began to shut his body down. He saw Hagrid running towards him with a look of pure shock etched across his red and puffy face as Draco fell flat on his back.
As the gamekeeper’s fuzzy form came into view, Draco choked out, “Death Eaters… Malfoy Manor… Vold… Vuh…”
The exertion in his attempt to articulate the illicit name drained the last of his energy, making his tongue heavy and his jaw slack; he barely uttered the first syllable before he blacked out. As the merciful darkness tunnelled his vision, slowly distorting and pressing into the darkened colours of the night, he glimpsed a hazy bright green Dark Mark high above the Astronomy Tower, and one last thought crossed his mind before he admitted defeat.
They’ll never forgive me...
Author notes: This is my first fan fic, please tell me what you think!
Thanks to Habook2 for beta-ing my first two chapters.
Thanks also goes to Katie for being my new beta, and doing an amazing job at it!
All of the characters and names belong to the fabulous J.K. Rowling.
Next chapter: Intrusion on a Family Moment.
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