For once in his short 16-year life, Draco Malfoy didn't know what to
do.
He sat in his third-story room, a room that overlooked the small lake in his yard. Trees swayed in the violent windstorm that wracked the area in a fit of violence, and raindrops like bullets struck the house roof with deafening thuds. All lights were out, but Draco's blue-gray eyes had adapted to the darkness. He sat on his four-poster bed, his face pale and worried. He could hear the mobs outside, and he could see the flickering light from their wands. Every so often an explosion would shake the house; Draco's pictures and Junior Quiddich trophies had all fallen, but he hadn't bothered to pick them up. A wooden frame with his family portrait lay in one corner, the glass shattered, ripping a hole through his father's face.
Kill the Malfoys! Kill them and their damn spawn! We will write the names of the Malfoys in blood!
Draco really didn't have much memory of what had happened over the past month. Everything had gone by so quickly, each day more terrifying than the last, each night filled with horrors. Finally he and his family had been holed up in their house, defenseless and hopeless. Lucius would not surrender to the Auror mobs.
"He'll plead and beg for his life when they get him, though," Draco thought bitterly. "He'll tell them that he was possessed. Oh, he'll scream a long time before he dies…"
Lucius, you worm, you snake, you vile piece of rat's liver, come out and face us! Come out and face the ones you have harmed!
Narcissa was falling to pieces as well. Though just as corrupt as her husband, she was far less accustom to the outright violence of the Dark Lord's war. Every day she grew paler, more ghost-like, and Draco was sure that his mother would die soon, whether the mobs got to her or not.
On a sudden whim, Draco looked out the window. For some gruesome reason, he wanted to know exactly who would kill him. Nearly two score aurors stood outside on his lawn, and at the head of the bunch was a young man - not much older than Draco himself - wearing a long, white cloak. The boy had messy, black hair and thick black glasses, and Draco didn't need to see his forehead to know that the boy was Potter.
Come out, come out, wherever you are! We'll cast all three unforgivable curses! You will watch your boy writhe in agony and your wife burn! The unforgivable curses will be forgiven when the world is rid of your scum!
Voldemort had been dead for months. He was completely gone now, and nearly all of the death eaters had been slain. The Malfoys were the last ones alive.
Draco was about to shut his curtains to block out the savage cries of the mob when another ear-shattering eruption shook the house. Plaster fell from the walls, and Draco was thrown from his bed onto the floor. He winced as a sharp piece of glass from a picture frame lodged in his thigh, slicing straight through the robes he wore. The blood from the wound ran down his leg and onto his bare feet, and as he walked he left sticky red footprints.
Instantly he knew that the latest explosion had torn a gaping hole in the side of the house. He saw the aurors pouring in, all waving their sparking wands like murder knives. He desperately tried to shut out the horrible cries of his father and mother, and soon the thud of footsteps drowned out all other noise. Ten aurors burst in through Draco's dore, with Harry at the front. His face was a mass of badly-healed wounds and slash marks, and the skin around his lightning scar was livid. He stared at Draco hungrily, like a wolf, and there was a feral grin on his dirt- smudged face.
"Come with us quietly," he hissed, holding his wand before him like a sword. Draco glared back defiantly, his gray eyes flashing in his tired face, but he offered his wrists without argument.
"You're no better than the Dark Lord you slew, Potter," he spat as magical coils of rope bound his arms together.
Potter ignored him and went back down the stairs, followed by his entourage of aurors. Draco was carried down, unresisting.
"We have here the Malfoys, loyal supporters to the Dark Lord!" Harry roared as Draco was thrown down on the lawn beside his father and mother. Icy-cold droplets of water pelted his prone form, running down the back of his neck and over the bleeding wound in his leg.
"Kill the Death Eaters!" came the answering cry. Draco was strongly reminded of the witch-burning trials they had read about in History of Magic a few years ago. Strange, to think about school when he was about to be killed.
He sat in his third-story room, a room that overlooked the small lake in his yard. Trees swayed in the violent windstorm that wracked the area in a fit of violence, and raindrops like bullets struck the house roof with deafening thuds. All lights were out, but Draco's blue-gray eyes had adapted to the darkness. He sat on his four-poster bed, his face pale and worried. He could hear the mobs outside, and he could see the flickering light from their wands. Every so often an explosion would shake the house; Draco's pictures and Junior Quiddich trophies had all fallen, but he hadn't bothered to pick them up. A wooden frame with his family portrait lay in one corner, the glass shattered, ripping a hole through his father's face.
Kill the Malfoys! Kill them and their damn spawn! We will write the names of the Malfoys in blood!
Draco really didn't have much memory of what had happened over the past month. Everything had gone by so quickly, each day more terrifying than the last, each night filled with horrors. Finally he and his family had been holed up in their house, defenseless and hopeless. Lucius would not surrender to the Auror mobs.
"He'll plead and beg for his life when they get him, though," Draco thought bitterly. "He'll tell them that he was possessed. Oh, he'll scream a long time before he dies…"
Lucius, you worm, you snake, you vile piece of rat's liver, come out and face us! Come out and face the ones you have harmed!
Narcissa was falling to pieces as well. Though just as corrupt as her husband, she was far less accustom to the outright violence of the Dark Lord's war. Every day she grew paler, more ghost-like, and Draco was sure that his mother would die soon, whether the mobs got to her or not.
On a sudden whim, Draco looked out the window. For some gruesome reason, he wanted to know exactly who would kill him. Nearly two score aurors stood outside on his lawn, and at the head of the bunch was a young man - not much older than Draco himself - wearing a long, white cloak. The boy had messy, black hair and thick black glasses, and Draco didn't need to see his forehead to know that the boy was Potter.
Come out, come out, wherever you are! We'll cast all three unforgivable curses! You will watch your boy writhe in agony and your wife burn! The unforgivable curses will be forgiven when the world is rid of your scum!
Voldemort had been dead for months. He was completely gone now, and nearly all of the death eaters had been slain. The Malfoys were the last ones alive.
Draco was about to shut his curtains to block out the savage cries of the mob when another ear-shattering eruption shook the house. Plaster fell from the walls, and Draco was thrown from his bed onto the floor. He winced as a sharp piece of glass from a picture frame lodged in his thigh, slicing straight through the robes he wore. The blood from the wound ran down his leg and onto his bare feet, and as he walked he left sticky red footprints.
Instantly he knew that the latest explosion had torn a gaping hole in the side of the house. He saw the aurors pouring in, all waving their sparking wands like murder knives. He desperately tried to shut out the horrible cries of his father and mother, and soon the thud of footsteps drowned out all other noise. Ten aurors burst in through Draco's dore, with Harry at the front. His face was a mass of badly-healed wounds and slash marks, and the skin around his lightning scar was livid. He stared at Draco hungrily, like a wolf, and there was a feral grin on his dirt- smudged face.
"Come with us quietly," he hissed, holding his wand before him like a sword. Draco glared back defiantly, his gray eyes flashing in his tired face, but he offered his wrists without argument.
"You're no better than the Dark Lord you slew, Potter," he spat as magical coils of rope bound his arms together.
Potter ignored him and went back down the stairs, followed by his entourage of aurors. Draco was carried down, unresisting.
"We have here the Malfoys, loyal supporters to the Dark Lord!" Harry roared as Draco was thrown down on the lawn beside his father and mother. Icy-cold droplets of water pelted his prone form, running down the back of his neck and over the bleeding wound in his leg.
"Kill the Death Eaters!" came the answering cry. Draco was strongly reminded of the witch-burning trials they had read about in History of Magic a few years ago. Strange, to think about school when he was about to be killed.