Burning Star

Chapter 1: Draco

The night Dumbledore died played on repeat through Draco's mind. His mother had warned him not to think of it at all. Not with the dark Lord in their house. But he couldn't help it. He'd sit in his large window, knowing that the dark Lord was only a few doors down the hall in the master bedroom, and think of how he'd become a murderer.

"Good evening Draco," so calm and collected, though his face was white, his hand was black, and his legs gave way as he spoke. "You found a way to let them in, did you?"

Draco flinched, his pale reflection bright against the world's darkness. His bedroom was painted a dark green, darker than the Slytherin colours. There was a white marble fireplace which he'd let burn out hours ago, so now the room was cold. A large wooden bedframe sat in the centre of the room, black sheets and blankets with his initials embroidered into the corners. A large French armoire took up most of the far wall, and the rest of the space was taken up by bookshelves filled with only the best in Wizard Literature. Diaries and first editions that dated back hundreds of years. And a large window with a bench tucked next to it, where he could lean against the eaves and watch the garden.

"Right under your nose and you never realised!"

"Ingenious." That's what Dumbledore had called him. Before telling Draco, "you're not a killer."

He'd been right of course. When Draco had returned, his mother had let a small smile escape when she'd learned the truth from him. "You're not a killer," she'd whispered, and the echo of the old man had made him sick.

"You know what I'm capable of! You don't know what I've done!" Flashes of Katy Bell and Ron Weasley. Agony written on their faces, the screams of pain. The fact that Dumbledore had known and had done nothing.

Draco dropped the book he'd been pretending to read and moved to his large armoire. He pulled his t-shirt over his shoulders and threw it on the floor. His white shirts were ironed, crisp and new. They smelt of fresh cotton and vanilla. He pulled one on, tucked it into his black trousers and noted that the t-shirt no longer lay on his floor.

"Accio tie."

A thin black tie flew from the armoire and slithered around his neck, tying itself neatly if not a little too tight. He pulled at it, the feeling of the tie making him claustrophobic.

"I had to mend the vanishing cabinet. Montague and his story… Everyone thought it was a really good story. But I was the only one who realised what it meant! There could be a way into Hogwarts through the cabinets if I fixed the broken one…"

"A very clever plan." And it had been. But it was followed by the hollow feeling that this was the only time Dumbledore had praised him, not Potter. Not Weasley. Not Granger. Him.

He pulled the black robes his father had given him around his shoulders, before heading downstairs. The hallway was large, dimly lit, and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering most of the stone floor. His mother and father were greeting people in the hallway, small whisperings trickling through as the crowd grew. Death Eaters. All in their black robes, dark marks emblazoned on their arms for all to see. Draco's itched.

The drawing room doors were closed, and there were the irrefutable sounds of screaming. People looked to the closed doors, but only briefly. Before returning to their conversations.

"Why didn't you stop me?"

"I tried. Professor Snape has been keeping watch over you on my orders…"

"He's a double agent, you stupid old man! But I haven't told him what I've been doing in the Room of Requirement. He's going to wake up tomorrow and it'll be all over, and he won't be the Dark Lord's favourite anymore! He'll be nothing compared to me, nothing!"

Draco moved over to his mother's side, she reached for his hand but he stayed just shy of it.

"Where's Professor Snape?" he asked, keeping his voice low so as not to draw attention from anyone other than her.

"He'll be here. He's not disobeyed the dark Lord yet," Narcissa replied, smiling. The smile did not reach her eyes.

The screaming stopped, which drew attention to the large wooden doors again. They swung open, inviting everyone into the dark room. The room was taken up by a long and ornate table. The chairs and tables that usually sat in the drawing room had been pushed and piled against the walls. The only light came from a fire beneath the marble mantlepiece, above which was a gilded mirror. Draco spotted the movement in the glass first, before being drawn up to the centre of the ceiling. A woman, hanging upside down over the table, revolving as if suspended by an invisible rope. Blood pooled from her ears, eyes and nose. But none of the blood touched the table below her.

No one looked at her directly. Everyone took their seats at the table.

Lucius clamped his hand on Draco's shoulder and drove him to a seat near the centre of the table.

Lord Voldemort was sat closest to the fire. As Draco took his seat, the dark Lord's face burned at the back of his mind. Hairless, snakelike features, slits for nostrils, gleaming red eyes. So pale.

"We've got a problem Snape; the boy doesn't seem able." Doesn't seem able. Like killing a man, a good man, was like lifting something heavy or bracing against the wind. He'd already proven he was capable. The dark Lord would be happy with that at least… Except he wasn't. The dark Lord was only happy when he was humiliating his followers.

"No Lucius. Your son proved himself in the tower. Whether he completed the task he was set or not, I must commend him for cornering, disarming and detaining Dumbledore. No easy thing for a boy to do, especially with such a disappointing father. He will sit closer to me, on your right."

Draco lifted his head, feigned pride, and concentrated on not letting the shiver take over his spine completely. Lucius nodded, before stepping out of the way for his son to take a seat directly below the woman. She looked familiar, but Draco couldn't bring himself to look at her long enough to determine whether he knew her. "You don't anymore," he thought. "Not if you want to survive."

"There isn't much time. We need to discuss your options," Dumbledore had said.

"I haven't got any options. I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!"

"I can help you Draco…"

"No, you can't. Nobody can."

"Yaxley, Snape, you are very nearly late." Draco looked up to see the two men silhouetted in the doorway. The nodded towards Lord Voldemort before stepping into the room where they could be seen more clearly.

"Severus, here," Voldemort said, indicating the seat to his immediate right. "Yaxley, beside Dolohov."

Draco noted that meant Yaxley was one seat further away from Voldemort than Snape was. All eyes were on Snape, and it was to him that Voldemort spoke first.

"So?"

"My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall."

People fidgeted. There weren't enough seats around the table for everyone, and Draco was hyper-aware of the men and women behind him stiffening and gazing at Snape and Voldemort. Draco fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt, too worried that his hands were shaking to play with his tie which was choking him.

"Saturday, at nightfall," Voldemort repeated, his mouth contorting into a smile. "Good, very good. And this information comes…?"

"From the source we discussed," Snape said, making eye contact with no one but Voldemort. Yaxley leaned forward, unable to keep the irritation off his face. He was too far down the table for his liking. Even Crabbe and Goyle were further up than he, and Draco recognised the expression as the same his father used to have before Voldemort had moved into their home. Pride, resentment, and a desperate need to be of use.

"My Lord, Dawlish, the Auror, let slip that Potter will not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the boy turns seventeen."

Snape was smirking.

"My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm has been placed upon Dawlish. It would not be the first time; he is known to be susceptible."

Yaxley's jaw over worked his response, and his left cheek twitched under the eye. He did not look at anyone except Lord Voldemort. "I assure you, My Lord, Dawlish seemed quite certain."

"If he has been confounded, he would be," Snape continued. "I assure you, Yaxley, the Auror Office will play no further part in the protection of Harry Potter. The Order believes that we have infiltrated the Ministry."

Amycus made a joke about them being right, but when Voldemort didn't laugh, neither did anyone else. Draco's gaze followed Lord Voldemort's back up to the woman spinning above the table.

Snape gazed for a moment at Dumbledore, and there was revulsion and hatred etched in the harsh lines of his face.
"Severus . . . please . . . "
Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A jet of green light shot from the end of Snape's wand and hit Dumbledore squarely in the chest.

"Where are they going to hide the boy next?" Voldemort asked

"I shall attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than to his triumphs."

Draco watched Voldemort apprehensively, much like the rest of the crowd around the table. They all feared they might be blamed for Harry Potter's continued existence. Draco'd had more opportunities than most to take Potter out. And yet the boy who lived kept living.

"I have been careless," Voldemort continued. "Thwarted by luck and chance. But I know better now. I understand those things I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be."

Draco's attention was drawn by a sudden terrible cry of misery and pain. It came from below his feat, in the cellar that had been converted into a dungeon. Draco grimaced as he remembered who was down there.

"Wormtail," said Voldemort, "have I not spoken to you about keeping our prisoner quiet?"

"Yes, m-my Lord," Wormtail gasped, clambering down from the table and scrambling from the room.

"As I was saying, I understand better now. I shall need to borrow a wand from one of your before I can kill Potter."

Draco felt bile push at the back of his throat. Did the man know how much he asked? Did he care?

"No volunteers?" Voldemort eyed the room, and when his gaze fell on Lucius, all others breathed a silent sigh of relief. "Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore."

Could you make a greater insult? Draco couldn't even look at his father as Lucius began to stammer,

"My Lord"

"Your wand. I require it."

"But I…"

Draco noticed the quick glance between his parents. His mother rested a light hand on his father's wrist before Lucius nodded and handed over his wand.

"What is it?"

"Elm, my Lord. With a dragon heartstring core."

"Good," said Voldemort. He drew out his own wand and compared the lengths. Lucius moved his arm involuntarily towards the wands, before retracting his hand and resting it back in his lap. He looked away, but the gesture had been spotted by Voldemort who feigned surprise, but who's eyes glistened maliciously.

"Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?"

Those stood around the room sniggered, though no one was brave enough to laugh directly in Malfoy's face.

"I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late... What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?"

"Nothing, my Lord!"
"Such liesssss…."

Draco shuddered, as he felt the heavy body of Nagini press against his legs. The snake slithered under the table, emerging to climb slowly up Voldemort's chair, seemingly endless. She rested against Voldemort's shoulders, and he stroked it absentmindedly as he continued to stare down Lucius.

Draco looked back up at the woman floating above him.

"Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?"

"Of course, my Lord," said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. "We did desire it — we do."

"My Lord…" It was Bellatrix who drew the attention of the room now. She wasn't as beautiful as her sister, didn't have her long blonde hair or beautiful eyes. And whilst Narcissa sat with a rigid impassiveness, Bellatrix was practically clawing at the table to be closer to Lord Voldemort. "It is an honour to have you here in our family's house. There can be no higher pleasure."

"No higher pleasure? That means a great deal, Bellatrix from you."

She blushed. Draco didn't know she could do that. She looked ridiculous, like she was suffering from a school girl crush.

"My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!"

"No higher pleasure . . . even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?"

She stared at him, her lips parted, evidently confused. "I don't know what you mean, my Lord."

"I'm talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud."

Draco's ears were flooded with the laughter of his father's peers. Jeering, taunting, howling laughter. People leaned forwards to exchange gleeful looks and Voldemort, clearly enjoying himself for once, encouraged the crowd.

"What sat you, Draco? Will you babysit the cubs?" his mouth curled into a smile showing sharp, needle like teeth.

"She is no niece of ours!" Bellatrix cried over the laughter. "This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries."

Draco looked to his father, aware that his fear was plain on his face. There was no point hiding it, Voldemort had killed people for less. But Lucius was looking into his lap, ashamed, and Narcissa was staring, deadpan, at the opposite wall.

"Enough," said Voldemort, stroking the angry snake. "Enough." The laughter died at once.

"Family trees become a little diseased over time. You must cut away the parts that poison it. Keep it healthy, remove the rest."

"Yes, my Lord," whispered Bellatrix, and her eyes swam with tears of gratitude again. "At the first chance!"

"You shall have it," said Voldemort. "And in your family, so in the world . . . we shall cut away the canker that infects us until only those of the true blood remain…"

Voldemort raised Lucius Malfoy's wand, pointed it directly at the slowly revolving figure suspended over the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds.

"Do you recognize our guest, Severus?" asked Voldemort.

For the first time since arriving, Snape eyed the body hanging from the ceiling. She cried out to him, but he did no more than acknowledge that he recognised her.

"And you, Draco?" asked Voldemort. Draco shook his head, in an attempt to convince himself he didn't. There was still something, but it wasn't safe to admit it. He wouldn't look at her again.

"But you would not have taken her classes," said Voldemort. "For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles... how they are not so different from us..."

One of the Death Eaters spat on the floor. Burbage. Yes. Draco did remember her. She'd never taken to him, but then many of the teachers at Hogwarts hated him because of who he was.

"Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defence of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance... She would have us all mate with Muggles... or, no doubt, werewolves..."

Nobody laughed this time: There was no mistaking the anger and contempt in Voldemort's voice. For the third time, Charity Burbage revolved to face him. Tears were pouring from her eyes into her hair.

"Avada Kedavra."

The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the room. Charity fell, with a resounding crash, onto the table below, which trembled and creaked. Several of the Death Eaters leapt back in their chairs. Draco fell out of his onto the floor. He climbed up as Nagini slithered from her master's shoulders and towards her dinner.