As Draco Malfoy entered the Great Hall, the castle was silent. The room's stone facade had crumbled, gargoyles falling from their place and cracking, and the floor littered with fallen snapped candles. The windows that once welcomed celestial, otherworldly sunlight were shattered, and a silver mist danced into the hall, filling the stone hall with an aura of terror. Draco should have been content seeing the castle like this. He should have been content to know that Albus Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix had been at last extinguished and that half-blood and Muggleborn refugees had started to go into hiding, relying on weak Portkeys and hiding places within the Muggle World. Any students that had dared to take on Voldemort had disappeared, fleeing the castle, and Harry Potter was presumed dead, killed by Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest.

Why couldn't Draco be happy with the ideals of his father, the ideals of the Death Eaters, the ideals of his Dark Lord? After all, he had been rewarded and praised greatly for his work in rallying the Slytherins, adding their great, almost oafish numbers to Voldemort's army. Due to his service, Draco had been praised, held to a high position as his father or the Dark Lord himself. The numbers under his control alone would be staggering to any general, and a dream to any one of his comrades. Yet under his stony facade, Draco realized that he had never wanted things this way.

The castle had lost its warmth, its glow extinguished with every fallen candle. Draco did not know if any of his professors were still alive, or if they were exiled with the students. He was afraid that if he walked into the dungeon, he would hear the screams of his classmates, writhing in pain due to the Cruciatus curse…

And then, when they were dead, their ghostly shadows would eternally walk the grounds, fixing their eyes on him, calling him murderer, Death Eater, most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise breaker, the owner of no one good quality…

Draco wished that he disagreed with them.

He cursed himself as he slid into a chair where McGonagall had once sat at the beginning of term. There was no longer the same warmth in the Great Hall, now that Voldemort, the Dark Lord, and the Heir of Slytherin stood as its master. From now on, Hogwarts would be a different place, and Draco knew it.

Draco sighed to himself. "'Tis not so sweet now as it was before," he murmured before reluctantly joining the Dark Lord.

The Carrows stared out of the window of the Astronomy Tower, their beady eyes fixed on the empty grounds below. Almost nobody stalked the grounds after the battle, but the very few were all clad in black and silver masks, to protect their identities and flaunt their loyalty to the victorious Dark Lord. Draco watched them nervously, his face remaining cold and stony as many Death Eaters encircled him. He felt chills knowing that his aunt was practically laying over him, still delirious with glee after winning the battle. Now, she would not give him peace.

Bellatrix hung herself over Draco's chair, seated in the middle of the grim Astronomy Tower. "Will you go hunt, my lord?" she cooed mockingly, gazing as Draco as if he were a fragile creature, made of glass.

Draco groaned. "What, Bellatrix?" he drawled, bored. Signs of fatigue from the battle were still fresh on his pale face. Translucent blue skin had appeared under his silver eyes, making his face appear even more sunken and skeletal.

Bellatrix smirked. "Are there no Mudbloods roaming the grounds even still?" she said, baring her yellowed teeth. "Surely the Dark Lord would love to make sport of it."

Draco shuddered.

"What is it...Draco?" his aunt asked.

Draco was at a loss for words. What to say, that would let some few, remaining students live, instead of finding themselves at the wrong end of an Unforgivable Curse? Where could they even try to hide on the grounds, which were crawling with werewolves and Snatchers? Surely, the only thing they could do was beg for the release of death, as that was the only thing they-

Draco cursed himself. Now, he even thought like the Death Eaters. An apple cleft in two was not more twin than himself and his father…

What was the only thing Draco could give to the hidden students? The quality of mercy.

"...but could they not be more effective here?" Draco started.

Bellatrix looked at him, her face quizzical.

"...I mean, putting them into the Dark Lord's ranks," Draco suggested. "The Dark Lord's goals will only be more easily achieved once his followers can grow."

Bellatrix smiled.

"For so long in my school years have I wanted them to follow the Dark Lord, but their denial enraged me. And ever since I became…" Draco looked at the serpent and skull on his forearm. "...a Death Eater, my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, e'er since pursue me."

His aunt beamed, patting him with a clawed hand. "Draco, your wisdom is exceeded only by your dueling competence." Her sudden maternal pride surprised Draco, making him wince.

The Astronomy Tower's wooden door swung open with a sudden creak. Standing there was a grotesque, vile, shadow of a creature that seemed neither man nor beast, but all bloodsucking monster and no heart. It was Fenrir Greyback. Bellatrix ran to him, happily. "What news?" she cackled.

Greyback grinned, his face contorting into a sickening smile, his broken fangs dripping with saliva and blood. "The Muggle world. All hidden there."

"Who?" Draco asked quietly and curiously.

"A batty professor hidin' some pups, one of 'em...a girl...mad."

Bellatrix grinned wickedly. "A Weasley?"

Greyback nodded. "She waters once a day their world round with eye-offending brine-all this to season a hero's dead love, which she would keep fresh and lasting in her sad remembrance."

Draco shuddered. Harry's death had brought Ginny Weasley to a dark place, fraught with grieg and madness. He felt his insides twitch, before suddenly growing firm. "O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame to pay this debt of love but to a...Potter?" he sneered. "We'll none of it."

Draco knew he had to bring them back to Hogwarts, so they might submit to Voldemort. He knew the guilt, the sorrow, would drive him to the point of madness, but these things could not affect him. He knew how fickle the Dark Lord was, easily finding displeasure in even his most loyal, so Draco could not fail.

His life depended on it.

Author's Note

I am trying to follow the original plot of the play AS CLOSELY AS POSSIBLE, but I will be exchanging some comic moments within the original plot for other, more serious events. (This is not a funny fic. I expect all the tears.) Therefore, we are meeting our protagonist in the next chapter.

I strongly encourage reading Twelfth Night to follow along with the fic. It's a great play and not a super long read. In the meantime, please leave a review (and a follow/fav if you're feeling philanthropic)!