Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Warner Bros Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: Hello guys! This is my first attempt at writing a short story. Reviews are much appreciated! :)

Draco Malfoy looked over the grounds of Hogwarts. The view from the Astronomy tower was spectacular; from there the Quidditch field seemed miniature. The goal posts the size of a knut. He sat at a small table set with a lovely tea service.

"Sugar?" Albus Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes twinkled.

"Please."

"It's a beautiful day," Albus sighed.

Draco nodded and took a drink from his chipped cup. The two sat for a silent spell, simply enjoying the sunshine and the bird song.

"You know, Draco," Albus said after a moment, "it's not too late."

Draco sighed. Not this again, he thought. He should have known there was an ulterior motive to the tea.

"I can't."

"You won't," Dumbledore corrected, "but you can."

Draco did not pursue the argument. They had had it several times before always with the same outcome; Dumbledore would be unable to convince Draco to go and Draco wouldn't be able to explain to Dumbledore why it was impossible for him.

Draco offered a crooked smile in response and picked up his cup. Suddenly, his sleeve caught fire. He screamed and the delicate cup broke upon the flagstone at his feet.

He woke from his dream and sat up on the bed he had been sleeping on for the last twelve hours. His right hand was pressing onto the burning sensation on his left forearm where he was marked. The summons would grow more painful the longer he took so he moved quickly. Hastily, he pulled on his clothing and left for the Grand Hall.

It had once been the main room for entertaining when it still belonged to the Malfoy family. Now, the room had little resemblance of what it had been. While the furnishings were the same, they had been shoved aside and sported the wear and tear of the dozens of Death Eaters that had been using the room with little consideration for the tasteful furniture.

Draco hated this room. Yet he was forced here more often than any other place in the manor. As hard as he tried, he was unable to keep his eyes from wandering to the centre of the room to the Persian rug. The remnants of scorch marks were still visible.

The House Elves could have removed the marks with their magic but Voldemort would not allow them to. He wanted the marks there as a reminder of the power he had over his minions. It was an effective plan for it never failed to remind Draco of that awful day.

He had been dragged from the dungeon cell he had been kept since that fateful night he returned to his Dark Lord. Light from the windows hurt his eyes but he was taken to a darkened room where Voldemort waited. Draco saw his mother as he was led before the Dark Lord. Her expression confirmed that he looked as awful as he felt. He wished he could have given her some reassuring words. He had not seen her since he escaped from Hogwarts.

Too weak to stand, he crumpled before Voldemort. He bowed his head upon the rug, its woollen fibres scratchy on his forehead. He trembled, uncertain of why he had been brought forth before Voldemort. Would he be punished? Given a second chance? Killed?

"I hope you've had ample time to consider your situation," Voldemort hissed. "Tell me, boy, why should I allow you to live?"

Draco was speechless. He honestly did not know the answer to the question. He wasn't sure he wanted to live. His silence was interpreted as insolence and he was suddenly struck with the Cruciatus curse. Burning trails raked his skin as if several sharp blades had sliced it. He could not hold in the screams nor the sick that came up from his gut.

"Answer me!" Voldemort demanded.

The curse was painful under any circumstance but even more so when one's body had been weakened. Narcissa could not bear to watch her child being tortured. She broke free of Rodolphus's clutch and rushed to cover her son to protect him from the spell. Draco felt his mother tremble under the effect of the curse as she clung to him tightly. Furious at the spectacle, Voldemort lifted the hex and stormed over to the pair lying on the floor. With disgust, he kicked the woman and she fell beside her son.

"P-please, m-my Lord," Draco's voice was barely audible but he gathered what strength he could to speak. "G-give me the chance to correct my mistakes!"

Voldemort laughed. "I cannot afford mistakes, young Malfoy. You have proven yourself as ineffectual as your father."

"He's a child!" Narcissa begged, unable to contain herself.

The Dark Lord glared at Narcissa Malfoy. How dare she speak out?! His fury flared and he spat the killing curse without a moment's hesitation. Draco, stunned, could not move.

Voldemort turned back to the boy. He could kill him now and be done with it, however, deep down in the recesses of his warped mind he knew he needed as many able bodied wizards he could find to fight on his side. He stooped down and grabbed Draco by the ragged collar of his filthy robes and pulled him upright, level with his red eyes.

"Do not rely on others to save your skin," he hissed at Draco. "It's made you weak!"

Since that day, Draco ignored the sadness that threatened to eat away at his heart, the anger that burned in his gut and the logic that tore at his sanity. He pushed it all aside and acted devoid of thought or emotion in order to survive. He had thought it could get no worse.

His thoughts were interrupted by Rodolphus Lestrange's baratone. He listened vaguely; raids were usually unorganized events. The only planning involved was to pick a location, wreck havoc and get out quick. The goal was to instill fear. They were seldom given any details.

Lestrange stood before the assembled Death Eaters as they gathered. He wore his Death Eater mask which Draco would have found humorous if he was still able. Why cover your face when you were surrounded by other Death Eaters? Why wear a mask at all? What of the pride they spouted at being pureblooded? Why not show your face?

Draco hoped the raid would be a minor one with no targets. He preferred to go and get these things done as quickly as possible. He was sorely disappointed.

"Kill as many as possible," Rodolphus ordered. "There will be many enemies there. Kill anyone you can, the exception is Harry Potter."

The group Apparated to a residence before a docile scene of people gathered for a wedding.

Fleur was a beautiful bride; her Veela genes made her ethereal. She donned a delicate gown which seemed to float around her as she walked down the aisle to meet her husband to be. Bill beamed at his bride. His face still handsome despite Greyback's marks.

It was a gorgeous summer day with a vivid blue sky. It seemed as if time and the outside world ceased to exist; as if the Wizarding world was not at the beginning of a war. The only reminder was the absent guest; Albus Dumbledore loved weddings.

Ron Weasley reached for Hermione Granger's hand and grasped it in his. She smiled. In that moment it felt as if everything was right in the world. An adorable little girl no more than four or five, bored with the ceremony, turned around in the seat before Hermione. She was dressed in pink robes and her blond pigtails were tied with matching pink ribbons. Hermione smiled at the girl who returned the smile shyly.

Suddenly, a scream shattered the scene. Turning back in their seats the guests saw the unthinkable; Death Eaters with their wands out. Chaos erupted instantly. Hermione and Ron knocked over the white wooden seats as they stood, brandishing their wands. Hermione searched for the boy who was really Harry Potter but could not find him.

"Focus!" she told herself.

Draco was shaken from his stupor by the shrieks, flashes of red and green, the smell of smoke. Like the raids before, he found himself lost in the chaos. He had considered running a few times but fear always stopped him; running would only make him a target for both groups.

He would remove himself from his surroundings and retreat inside his mind, as if watching as a spectator. He dived into the skirmish, deflected a hex and dodged another. He was nearly hit with a hex but managed to dive out of the way.

Surveying the scene to get his bearings, he saw his aunt Bellatrix duelling with one of the female guests. He did not recognize the girl at first for she was not dressed in school robes. She was wearing a dress, her calves bare, her hair tied prettily up on top of her head; Hermione Granger. He watched as she was struck down with Cruciatus as his insane aunt cackled as she writhed in pain upon the grass.

Once his goal had been to cause Hermione anguish and best her in any way possible. He had loathed the girl. Now that hate seemed so petty. Funny how one's perspective can shift.

A Death Eater near Draco fell to the ground. He looked at the masked man, wondering who it was. He didn't know. He didn't care. While they hid behind masks, their victims were exposed. Suddenly, he saw familiar faces everywhere.

Remus Lupin, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Mrs. Weasley dragging her daughter who struggled valiantly to stay and fight. They were all fighting to protect their friends while he fought to save himself.

He recalled the night on the tower when he faced Dumbledore with his wand. He had not been able to kill the man he had known for years. Suddenly, a shriek of anguish cut through the noise and disrupted his thoughts. He turned toward the sound and saw Hermione, kneeling on the ground beside a body. A shock of ginger hair identified him as one of the Weasley's.

"NO!" Hermione sunk to her knees beside Ron's body, her wand slipping from her hand as she stared at his body laying on the grass. His dress shirt had been slashed and blood was quickly turning the white shirt red. She knew of no healing curses so she clutched at his chest but the crimson liquid only oozed between her fingers.

"RONALD!" she sobbed. One moment she had felt his reassuring back pressed against hers and the next moment, he was gone.

"RON!" a boy who Draco didn't recognize yelled and ran toward the fallen boy.

Time slowed as he surveyed the scene. Kingsley Shacklebolt tried to stop the boy but his grasp slipped and only managed to wrap around air. The boy was struck as he ran toward his friends. He fell slowly to the ground with a confused look upon his face as if he didn't believe he had been cursed. He fell heavily, face first, into the bright green grass.

The signal was given by Rodolphus to flee and Draco finally moved. He tripped and fell onto the ground. He looked to see what he had stumbled over and froze in shock; on the ground lay the small child in pink robes. She lay pale and still, her blue eyes staring blankly at Draco.

"Brilliant!" Gregory Goyle handed Draco a Firewhiskey. "Did you see the looks on their faces?"

Draco nodded and thought of the little girl's blank stare. He took a swig of the whiskey and was glad of the burn down his throat. He finished his Firewhiskey and took another. By the time he left the celebration he had lost count of how many he had managed to down.

He could barely walk straight, bumping into furniture on the way to his room. Once Draco reached the loo, he wretched and collapsed on the cold tile floor. He covered his eyes and broke into sobs. The image of the little girl kept appearing in his mind's eye.

How did it come to this point?! He didn't want death. Not for himself, not for his old Headmaster, not for his mother and certainly not for some child who could not possibly understand the reasons of war.

He'd had enough death.

He stood, shakily, and returned to his room. He dumped the contents of a rucksack he hadn't used in ages and began to fill it quickly with hardly any thought to what he was shoving inside. He stopped, pausing as his mind cleared. He could not just walk out of the manor. He had to make a plan.

Hermione woke shivering and pushed herself up, underneath her hand the floor was cold and gritty. Her body ached for she had been lying there unconscious for several long hours. There was very little light as she surveyed her surroundings. A torch flickered on the other side of a wall of bars.

Slowly she crept to the bars to peer outside. She was unable to see anything but a stone wall on the other side. She sat quietly to listen but there was only silence. She debated whether to call out. She retreated to the back of the cell and huddled in a dark corner.

She gathered the torn layers of tulle of her pale pink dress trying to cover her bare legs and feet from the chilly damp air. Her mind replayed the attack; the chaos of the guests running, flashes of hexes flying through the air, Ron falling to the ground bleeding, Harry running to help only to be struck-

How could they be gone before they even had a chance to begin their quest? Her eyes filled with tears. One moment it seemed that life was perfect and the next moment it turned into Hell. How many others died? She didn't want to think of it but her mind wouldn't let her think of anything else. She closed her eyes and slept.

There were people smiling all around and she wore a bridal gown. She stood next to Ron who held her hand.

"If there are objections to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace," Harry asked.

There was a pause as Hermione and Ron smiled at one another lovingly.

"I OBJECT!" someone yelled. Everyone turned to find Draco Malfoy standing amongst the invited guests. He was dressed in his Hogwarts uniform and held his wand aloft. "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry and Ron collapsed to the ground at Hermione's feet and she began to scream. Her beautiful white gown covered in blood.

The following day Draco emerged from his private room, his head pounding from a combination of too much firewhiskey and not enough sleep. In his search for some remedy, Vincent and Gregory found him and managed to corral him.

"Did ya' hear?" Gregory asked.

Draco shook his head, not caring to hear the news the boys had. It couldn't be good.

"They're saying that Potter's been killed!"

"When?" Draco asked, shocked at the news.

"They said that he was at the wedding in disguise "

"Polyjuiced," Vincent added helpfully.

"And that he was killed in the raid!"

Draco was speechless.

"And, Granger's in the dungeons!"

Draco turned to them in disbelief.

"It's true!" Vincent agreed. "I heard Macnair and Lestrange discussing it this morning!"

"Why?" Draco asked, genuinely curious.

"Seems that the Dark Lord thought she might make an interesting study," Gregory answered.

Draco looked perplexed so Goyle continued.

"Well, he thought they might conduct some experiments to see how mudbloods get their magic-"

"And," Vincent continued, "see if there's a way to exact it."

"Extract, idiot."

"Yeah, that's what I meant, extract."

Draco nodded; a vain attempt at showing interest in the news. In truth, he didn't feel one way or the other. While he had been surprised to learn that Granger hadn't been killed outright, his head was hurting too much to think on it. Besides, he had a plan to work on.

"Wanna go see?" Vincent asked Draco. "Me and Goyle we're on our way."

Draco paused, almost declining. It would be easy enough to lie to the two but he realized he wanted to see if she really was there. Also, he wasn't certain that Goyle and Crabbe knew of his own incarceration. If they knew, he didn't want them to think he was afraid to return to the dungeons.

It seemed at first that perhaps the dungeons were empty; there was no one guarding the cells and the first few were empty.

"Maybe they moved her?" Goyle suggested.

"Hang on," Crabbe said and cast the Lumos Maxima charm with his wand.

As they reached the last cell the light fell onto a lump in the back corner. She was dressed in a light colored dress with voluminous skirts that were covered now in dirt and torn. Her shoulders were bare as were her feet. Her hair in disarray, half of the tresses tucked on top of her head while the other half loose. She looked like a doll, abandoned and forgotten.

Hermione sensed their presence and woke from a light sleep. She turned to the boys.

"Have you come to kill me?" her voice was raw from her tears.

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged wide eyed looks. Draco only stared.

"Well?" Hermione asked, almost sounding like the girl they knew from Hogwarts.

"No," Draco answered.

"Please," she whispered.

"She's gone mad," Vincent whispered.

"Come on," Gregory said.

Vincent followed him but Draco held back a moment, unable to tear his eyes away from Hermione's.

"Blimey, she's barmy!" Vincent said loudly now that they were free of the dungeons.

"Well, what'd ya' expect being all cooped up in there alone?"

There was suddenly an awkward moment when it seemed that all three remembered Draco had spent time in the dungeons. Of course, no one said a word and the subject was quickly dropped.

Visiting Hermione seemed to have affected all of them; Vincent and Gregory had gone quiet and soon Draco made up an excuse to leave them. He returned to his private room, any remote appetite he had had was gone. He lay on his bed and covered his eyes with his arm, hoping at least to rest.

It was no use. His mind was racing. He had to get out. He needed a place to go and he needed money.

He had to find a way to attain both as discreetly as possible. Nothing came to him; only images of Hermione Granger sitting in a filthy cell in the dark and all alone.

Was it possible that not so long ago the thought would have filled him with joy? The know it all mudblood put in her place. He'd even had fantasized about it and the fun he would have. Now the image made him ill. He couldn't help but recall his own Hellish experience that night he made the mistake of returning to the Dark Lord.

He was led away and through the familiar halls of his home. He was taken to the very rear of the house where he knew the entrance to the dungeons were located. He had not stepped into that place since he was a child when he, Crabbe and Goyle would dare each other to go down into the dank darkness by themselves.

Once, he and Goyle closed the door when Crabbe had made his way down. They shut the door and ran, laughing at their joke. Poor Crabbe had become hysterical and couldn't even open the door to let himself out. Draco had been punished severely.

He was led down the narrow stone steps into the darkness. The Death Eater's wand light was barely strong enough to light their way. He was led to the first cell and the iron gate was wrenched open; scraping the dirt floor and its hinges screaming.

Draco was pushed inside where he fell to the ground. The doorway slammed behind him and soon he was enclosed in darkness as the Death Eater left with the only source of light. Draco sat down with his back against one of the stone walls, his mind reeling.

How did he end up here? It seemed unreal. A few short months before he had been boasting to his friends about the mission the Dark Lord had given him. They had been so impressed; Goyle, Crabbe and Pansy. Now he was a prisoner in his own home!

The silence was thick and heavy. Soon his ears picked up subtle sounds; the scurry of little feet, a scratching noise, the slow methodical drip of water somewhere. He wrapped his cloak around himself tightly against the cold and the fear.

The moments he spent alone in the cold darkness stretched on and on. His mind replayed the events of that day over and over despite Draco's attempt to squelch them.

He saw the Carrows entering the Come and Go room followed by Fenrir Greyback who growled as he passed Draco. Draco's stomach clenched as Greyback sniffed the air and seemed thrilled to catch the scent of so many children. Draco had not been expecting the werewolf and knew that things had gone from bad to worse. The rest of the events happened in a blur. Once the action was set in motion they seemed to pick up pace and there was no way to stop them.

It wasn't until he was face to face with Dumbledore that time seemed to pause. He was able to breath; to think. He found Dumbledore's words filtering into his mind and tempting him. He knew long ago that he would be unable to kill the man no matter how desperate he was.

He could go, they would help his mother, his father was still locked in Azkaban. They could hide until this was all over. His arm began to tremble. The Carrows suddenly burst through the entry to the tower and Draco knew he had lost his opportunity.

He stared into the blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore while the others jeered him on. Suddenly, Snape joined them, his wand pointed at the Headmaster who begged for his life. With his face full of disgust, the Potions Master cast the Killing Curse. Draco watched in horror as Dumbledore fell from the edge of the tower.

"RUN!" someone yelled.