He had never felt so alone.
Finally, it was night. The intense battle of the evening had been put to an end hours ago, and the exhausted and heartsick survivors had, one-by-one, dropped off to sleep and succumb to the grips of their own nightmares.
All except him.
He knew he didn't belong there, in the castle where his Master had been defeated, among enemies who would like nothing better than to throw him in Azkaban for the rest of his life.
But he had nowhere else to go.
Lucius Malfoy stumbled through Hogwarts, haggard and dazed. The usual pale safe seemed whiter than usual and his eyes had tired bags underneath them. He and his family had remained at Hogwarts all this time, even after the other Death Eaters had fled far and wide.
The torches perched against the dusty and cracked walls shone shadows all about the hallway. His footsteps, slow and unsteady, echoed through the empty corridor.
This had been the home of his youth. As a child, Hogwarts had become his haven away from his father and his father's cane. He had played games of Exploding Snap with his friends and cronies in the Slytherin common room. He had fallen in love at Hogwarts, proposed to his wife in the Great Hall, had his first kiss by that shelter just beyond the Great Lake.
And as an adult, he had shed others' blood within the castle walls.
Lucius turned and stopped in front of a torn tapestry of Barnabas teaching trolls ballet. He had passed it three times already. The tapestry was worn and had holes all over – burn marks.
He ran his fingers over the singed tapestry. Barnabas's face had been burned off and the trolls could barely be seen underneath the black soot and rough scratches.
That was how bad the fire had been.
Lucius breathed in deeply and slowly turned around.
There it was. The place where his son had almost died.
Lucius moved closer to the door. The door was badly burned, and it was hanging off its hinges. But magic still radiated from the place and the door has still appeared.
His breathing laboured, Lucius laid his hand and then his head on the door. He remembered how Draco had related the incident to him and Narcissa, with a glazed look in his eyes.
How he and his friends had stayed behind when the other Slytherins had left. How they had found Potter and his friends, how Vincent had slipped into a craze and began shooting curses with no care whatsoever. How the fire had overtaken them, how Potter had saved them, and how they had almost died.
How Draco had almost died.
His son had almost died.
His son had almost died.
Shaking, Lucius entered the Room. His eyes were blurred and he could barely take in the damage to the room. He made his way past piles of junk until he reached the center of the room.
He collapsed in front of a pile of books and leaned his head tiredly against the sturdy stack. Cradling his head in his hands, he rubbed his eyes and tried in take in all that had happened over the past day.
But too much had happened for him to think through the events properly. One thing kept popping into his mind, haunting him, never leaving him alone.
His son had almost died.
His son had almost died.
His son had almost died.
And in the darkness of the abandoned, junk-filled Room, tears fell. They slipped down softly and unheeded, with muffled sobs echoing through the room as each tear fell.
And in that moment, the cold façade of a bitter man disappeared.
Yet he had never felt so alone.
Never so alone.
(tbc.)
A/N: This was written for Fire the Canon's Fanfiction Tournament (September) over at HPFC. :) This month's theme was "Free Choice." This will later be transformed into a multi-chap on how the Malfoys dealt will the end of the war. The first chapter is only a taste of what's going to happen. Things will (probably, hopefully) make more sense in the next chapter.
Thought of the Day: Do you think the Malfoys deserve redemption or should they be carted off to Azkaban? I'd love to know what you think! :)