The Slytherin Common Room & Malfoy Manor

"Here at school things are different, but we won't be here forever. Soon we're going to have to choose what kind of men we want to become."

"Didn't you hear?"

Pansy turned to look at the other Slytherin seventh years as they struggled through a particularly long Transfiguration essay.

"What?" Blaise asked, scratching his chin with his quill. He, Draco, and Daphne had been talking about Ravenclaw's upcoming Quidditch match with Gryffindor and what the outcome would mean for Slytherin.

Pansy put down her quill. "Weasley's been banned from the Gryffindor team. They haven't got a decent Chaser now and their new Seeker is rubbish – some fifth year who can hardly catch a Quaffle, let alone a Snitch."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "How do you know all this?"

"Oh, I've been going to their practices."

"Very mature," Daphne muttered, turning back to her essay. Pansy scowled at her.

Nearby, Theodore Nott yawned pointedly.

"Why was she banned?" Draco asked, ignoring him.

"Well, remember when the door to Professor Carrow's office was jinxed shut?"

"Yeah," said Draco, "but everyone knows that was the Patil twins."

Pansy smiled gleefully, thrilled to have such great gossip to share. "I know, but when they were finally caught, Longbottom said he did it."

"Longbottom?" Blaise scoffed. "He could never pull off a jinx that good."

"How do you spell 'snufflilfors'?" Goyle asked, looking up from his parchment.

"Anyway," Pansy went on as though she hadn't been interrupted, "that's what he said. And somehow Weasley got herself involved, too. And Loony Lovegood."

"Of course," Draco muttered. "Those three would never turn down a chance to play heroes. Now that Potter's gone, I bet Longbottom fancies stepping into his shoes. Probably to impress Weasley – though he hasn't got a chance with her."

"Weasley?" Pansy repeated. "Not her – Longbottom fancies Hannah Abott."

Daphne turned to face her again. "How do you know all this?" she asked, half annoyed, half impressed.

"It's obvious, with the way he gawks at her all the time."

"You have far too much time on your hands, Parkinson," Nott sighed, rolling up is finished essay.

"What's Abbott's blood status?" Crabbe asked, suddenly.

Pansy thought for a moment. "Pure, I think?"

"She's at least half though, isn't she," Draco said, "or else she wouldn't even be at Hogwarts."

"I'm sure plenty faked their statuses," Daphne shrugged. "I would have."

Crabbe scowled at her, but before he had opened this mouth to say anything, Draco absently said, "yeah, your sister said something like that the other day."

It was Pansy's turn to scowl.

"What?" Nott asked as he stood to leave. "Who wouldn't try to fake it?"

Pansy ignored him and he quickly realized that he had mistaken why she was scowling. "You're still talking to Astoria, then?"

Before Draco could answer, Daphne flared up. "He can talk to my sister if he likes. Why don't you try keeping your nose out of people's business for once?"

Blaise leaned back in his chair, looking over his essay. "Will you two shut up? I'm reading."

Daphne turned back to her essay, but Pansy still glared at the back of her head.

"Seems stupid though, doesn't?" Blaise said suddenly. "Weasley should have known not to get herself in trouble – if Gryffindor doesn't win by at least fifty point they'll never have a chance at –"

Nott laughed quietly to himself as he strode away from the group.

"What's so funny?" Draco demanded.

"You all still think Quidditch matters?"

Neville rushed down the second floor corridor, his shoelaces untied and books and loose papers clutched to his chest.

"Late, Longbottom?"

Neville looked up to see Draco Malfoy standing in the middle of the corridor, barring his way.

"Just let me by, Malfoy," he sighed.

Draco shook his head slowly. "You know, I don't think I can. You see, as a prefect, I have certain duties to uphold. You, for instance, think you're a real rebel, don't you? How do I know you're not late because you were jinxing Professor Carrow's office shut again?"

"I'm late because I couldn't find my Herbology book," Neville snapped. "Now, would you please move?" He stepped quickly to the right, but Draco mirrored his movement, still standing in front of him.

"Not so fast. You see Longbottom, I know what you're doing. We all know what you're doing, even though you think you're being sly about it."

"What are you talking about?" Neville asked, though he felt his face grow warm.

"It's fifth year all over again, isn't it? Only Saint Potter isn't here to marshal you all, so the job's been left to you, hasn't it?"

"Just let me by, Malfoy…" Neville muttered, staring down at his shoes.

Draco went on as if he hadn't spoken. "You and you're ridiculous friends actually think these stupid little pranks you pull are going to somehow put Hogwarts back to the way it was." Draco laughed. "Really, as if Fanged Frisbees are going to bring Albus Dumbledore back or – "

Neville took a menacing step forward, a new fierce look in his eye. "Shut up, Malfoy," he spat.

"Oh, touched a nerve, have I?"

"Let me by, or I'll… I'll…"

"You'll what, Longbottom?" Draco sneered. "It's just you. You haven't got your friends to protect you anymore. Potter isn't going to curse me for you and that filthy Granger isn't here to whisper something useful to you – "

Neville shifted his books and papers and clumsily pulled his wand out of his robes. The sneer didn't move from Draco's face. "Really, you'll probably end up doing more damage to yourself then to me," he laughed.

Neville could nearly feel his blood boiling. All the hatred and frustration that he had been feeling ever since he had returned to Hogwarts suddenly felt as if it were about to burst out of him. He saw Terry Boot, beaten and bloodied, on their first night back. He saw Lavender crouched on the floor or the Dark Arts classroom, with Seamus holding a terrified Parvati back. He saw Ginny sitting alone in the common room, undoubtedly thinking about the three people she loved most. He saw Ron and Hermione at Dumbledore's funeral, crying. He saw Seamus smoking. He saw Hannah and her lovely, sweet face, contorted with sadness and concern as he limped towards her and his fellow seventh years after another one of his detentions.

And he saw Malfoy, standing there in front of him, grinning stupidly.

"Go on," he jeered. "Curse me."

Neville swallowed hard. "No."

Draco laughed, quietly. "Good choice."

But Neville took another step forward, so suddenly that Draco actually took a step back. "I'm not going to curse you because it's not worth it."

"Please, Gryffindor is already negative points, thanks to Finnigan."

"This isn't about points. I don't like cursing people. You're just not worth having on my conscience."

Draco stood there for a moment, and then said, "you're making no sense, Longbottom. As usual."

"You know Malfoy," Neville continued, stronger then he felt, "There is gonna come a time where you have to choose who you really want to be. Here at school things are different, but we won't be here forever. Soon we're going to have to choose what kind of men we want to become – and I don't want to be a man who curses ever idiot who insults him!"

A horrible smirk pulled at the corner of Draco's lips. "That's quite deep, Longbottom, especially coming from you. I didn't think you were able to string that many words together."

"You might act tough to make yourself feel better, but I know."

"You know what?"

Neville lowered his voice. "I know you see them."

Draco tried to make his voice sound confused, though his heart began to race. "See what?" he demanded.

"Thestrals."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because I saw you're face when we were getting into the carriages."

Draco stood there stupidly for a moment, his mind racing to figure a way out of this situation, but he couldn't come up with anything. All he could think about were those horrible winged horses and how different their sunken, dead eyes were from Charity Burbage's huge, pleading ones.

"You know what?" Draco said at length. "Go by. I don't care. You're really not worth my time, anyway."

"I'm worth twelve of you," Neville muttered, shouldering Draco sharply as he strode past.

"There's something there," he whispered, "it could be the scar, stretched tight… Draco, come where, look properly! What do you think?"

Draco walked up beside his father, looking down at the boy he knew was Potter. It would take more then a Stinging Jinx for him not to recognize the boy he'd gone to school with for the past six years.

"I don't know," Draco muttered. As quickly as he could, he moved form his father and the bound prisoners and stood beside his mother. She seemed to sense the fear in him and when her cold, blue eyes met his, they silently told him to be strong, to make it through this night with dignity, however hard that might be.

He heard his parents and the werewolf talking excitedly as he stared into the fire. He loathed Potter – loathed him – but he never wanted to see him, to see anyone, in this state. He was tied up like an animal, dirty and terrified. He thought back to a distant Dark Arts class and realized then that he would never have been able to Crucio that dog.

"Yes – yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"

Draco was pulled sharply back into the present when he heard his name. He looked down at the girl in front of him. There could be no question this time – it was Granger.

But, where Potter's swollen, distorted face had been unable to show much emotion, exhaustion, worry, and terror were etched clearly on Granger's face. Her eyes begged him to spare her and her friends and he shuddered, silently praying that no person would ever look at him that way again.

"Soon we're going to have to choose what kind of men we want to become."

Draco tired very hard to push Longbottom's quivering, stupid voice from his mind. It was easy for him to be noble and heroic at school, but this was real life – this was his life. How could he choose the kind of man he wanted to be when his path had already been chosen for him? He was acutely aware of the ugly burn on his left arm and in that moment he hated Voldemort, he hated his father, and he hated himself.

"I… maybe… yeah."

"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" his father shouted.

Draco looked away, staring intently at the carpet as if trying to commit it to memory. Yes, that was the Weasley boy. It was as clear as anything.

"Draco," his father went on excitedly, "look at him, isn't it Aruther Weasley's son, what's his name –?"

Ron, Draco thought. His name is Ron.

Ron glared up at Draco. His eyes were much different than Granger's had been; not pleading and hopeless, but angry and hateful.

Draco couldn't bare to look at them anymore and turned away. "Yeah. It could be."

He felt Ron's hot, evil glare bore into his back. I know, he thought, I hate me, too.

When they tortured Granger, Draco calmly excused himself and, shaking all over, vomited in the yard.