A/N: I can't be the only one who wondered what happened after Draco, Snape, and the others fled Hogwarts after the battle. Well, here's my imaginging of what happened. Please review; it always makes my day!

"Draco!"

Draco jumped at Bellatrix's hissing in his ear. He hadn't realized that he'd been standing, frozen, staring at the Astronomy Tower—the Mark above, and the clump of people below.

He knew what they were clustered around.

"Coming," he mumbled, and followed her and the other black-robed Death Eaters away from the castle.

Draco felt like his stomach had been replaced with a solid lump of ice. He wondered if he was going to be sick. He was trying to marshal his emotions into orderly, even rows, to put on a noble expression and be proud of what he had accomplished; that, after all, was the Malfoy way. And yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. He knew all about pride. That was what he was supposed to feel, but instead, he felt shaken and scattered.

"Hurry up, boy!" Bellatrix snapped next to Draco's ear. He flinched, chiding himself for how jumpy he'd become. "Aww, Cissa's little baby's scared," she mocked. Draco forced his hands to stop shaking.

These people are on my side. I should be safe.

He couldn't convince himself of that. Bellatrix didn't distinguish between family and the enemy (sometimes they were one and the same) and there were many others among the Death Eaters who weren't in it for the cause. They simply enjoyed malicious violence, no matter who was the target.
Once they were far enough from Hogwarts that they could Apparate, the whole group Disapparated. Draco was slightly surprised when they landed at Malfoy Manor; though a few meetings had been held at the Manor over the summer, he hadn't realized it had been officially named as headquarters. He almost dreaded seeing what changes had been made to the inside.

"Follow my lead."

This was the deeper, slower voice of Snape. Of course he would be here. Draco felt as though he should be angry at Snape for finishing his task, but he wasn't. In fact, he might've even been grateful if he hadn't felt so...empty. It was as if the turmoil of raw emotion he'd been trapped in all year had suddenly drained away, leaving him internally exhausted.

Snape walked towards the massive gates of the Manor. Usually, to Draco, those gates welcomed him into his home and his comfortable life. However, now they seemed to be barring him out.
Then Snape walked through the gates, and they turned to smoke where he stepped through. Draco, as he'd been told to do, followed suit.

His parents must be in the Manor; he could only imagine what they were feeling. Well, what his mother, Narcissa, was feeling. As for Lucius...Draco feared he might hate his father. Everything he'd gone through, the stress, the humiliation, the pressure...all of it was his father's fault. And now, with their fortune dwindling and the Malfoy name sinking into the mud, Draco wasn't the only one suffering. They all were.

Serves him right. But Mum doesn't deserve this.

Inside, the first thing that struck him was how dark everything had become. The Manor was usually what he thought of as an inviting combination of marble, mahogany, and several other dark woods with decorations in Slytherin green. Torches on every wall would cast a bright glow over the spotlessly shining walls and floors so that Draco could sit on one of the many velvet couches and read. However, the torches had now been dimmed, and the marble had never looked less brilliantly white. The entrance to the dining room showed him that it was as dim as dusk.

The others went in ahead of him; a meeting had clearly been planned to discuss their victory.

And, perhaps, to reward me and Snape, Draco thought. However, this didn't cheer him nearly as much as it should've.

However, he straightened his back, ignoring the uncomfortable way the fresh scars on his chest stretched, and followed the others into the dining room.

"Ah, I see our battle heroes have decided to join us."

Draco stiffened. Something inside him rebelled at the sound of that high, cold voice ringing through the dining room of his house, across the table that had hosted the most prominent figures in the Wizarding world. But he didn't say any of this."Yes, my lord," he replied quietly.

"And so humble," the Dark Lord continued almost mockingly. "Sit."

Draco slid into a chair next to his mother.

"It is done?" the Dark Lord queried calmly. "Dumbledore is dead?"

Underneath his tone there slipped a hidden meaning: If he is not, someone else will die tonight.

"Yes, m'lord," Draco answered, staring resolutely at the table. Every word he uttered to this...this not-quite-man who had taken over his house flooded him with fear. Though he was taking a risk, he decided for once to give credit where credit was due. "Snape did it. He cast the final spell. But I let everyone in."

This was almost too long a statement for Draco to force out; every word could be a potential trap in Voldemort's twisted view.

"I see. And how did you accomplish this, Draco?"

Draco suppressed a shudder at hearing his name. "There's a Vanishing cabinet in—in the castle. There's one in Borgin and Burkes, too. They make a sort of passageway, and I...I fixed it, my lord."

"Fascinating," the Dark Lord murmured. Never mind that they were surrounded by other Death Eaters; this was a private interrogation that the others were privileged enough to watch.

Draco fixed his eyes on his hands, which, despite being clenched tightly around one another in his lap, were shaking badly. A drop of cold sweat slid down his neck. He dared not look up and meet the Dark Lord's soulless eyes.

"Well done," came the calm reply. "Both of you. However, I am deeply disappointed in the rest who were there."

Those around the table who had been at the battle shifted nervously in their seats, but no one spoke.

"How is it," the Dark Lord queried coldly, "that Potter was not brought to me, even with such a number of you there?"

Draco decided to stay silent and let the others take the blame. He, at least, had had a mission which, by whatever means, had been completed.

"We didn't see 'im," Amycus Carrow finally spoke up. "'E weren't there."

"Though I've been compared to a bat, you are apparently as blind as one," Snape cut across him icily. "Potter was indeed there; he followed me and attempted—quite pitifully—to attack me."

The blame was inching closer to Draco; he hoped Snape didn't say he hadn't captured Potter because he was getting "the boy" to safety.

"The aim of the mission, my lord, was to kill Dumbledore—" Draco flinched "—not capture Potter," Snape pointed out silkily.

Draco tensed fearfully. Was his professor actually contradicting the Dark Lord? He was going to get himself killed!

"Though, given the chance, I would gladly have done it, those of...lesser intelligence who could have aided me clearly need specific direction," Snape continued.

"I see," the Dark Lord replied thoughtfully. "It is a shame that I must resort to recruiting their kind; however, they are willing to fight, and this is war. There must always be those who will die."

Draco felt like there was frost creeping up his spine. He hoped desperately that he was not one of "those".

For what wasn't the first time since he'd left Hogwarts, Draco wished he had lowered his wand sooner.