Chapter 7: Draco's Last Hour

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

Draco repeated those words over and over again. They had almost become a mantra for him - not that he'd knew what that meant. But the views those words represented had been taught to him since his earliest childhood, and he clung to them to control himself, to hold himself together in the face of his imminent death. He was sitting in a cell in the ministry, on a small cot, facing dull, grey walls. His wand had been taken, snapped before his eyes at his "trial". Those traitor and mudbloods had even perverted justice, a noble was supposed to be judged by his peers, the Wizengamot, not some mudblood. He was sure the Wizengamot wouldn't have judged him to have been at fault, would have forbidden veritaserum from being used, would have… he shuddered, feeling his eyes grow moist with tears of frustration, hatred, and… no, no fear. He took deep breaths, forcing himself to be calm.

A Malfoy doesn't show weakness.

A Malfoy is always in control.

A Malfoy is better.

He wanted to believe that. He had believed that his whole life. Even after the war. Even after seeing his father at his worst. Even after the defeat. No, the setback. Or so they had thought, after they had survived the Battle of Hogwarts and had escaped prison, once again. They even had laughed about it, laughed at the wizards from the Order of the Phoenix who considered them redeemed just because they had rendered them some aid. His father had said it would be like 1981 - they'd withdraw a bit from public, avoided old friends who had not been as smart in keeping their options open, showed some fake remorse, and would start to dominate Wizarding Britain again once things had settled.

Draco still didn't understand what exactly had gone wrong, but he knew it was the mudblood's fault. It always was the mudblood's fault, always had been, right from the start of his Hogwarts years. Oh, he knew his father blamed Potter, but Potter was not the real problem.

Potter had been a thorn in Draco's side since they first met on the train to Hogwarts. One could even say Potter had been his rival. Quidditch, dueling, power plays - the two had clashed wherever they met. As much as it galled to admit it, Potter had beaten him often - several times - too, but, Draco knew, just due to his infamous luck.

But Potter had beaten the Dark Lord. There was no shame in suffering a defeat - a setback - at the hand of someone who was equal to the greatest Dark Lord Britain had seen in centuries! And Potter was a halfblood, from an old family. Almost acceptable. Obviously the old blood had won out despite the corruption from his mudblood mother. And with his atrocious manners and clothes, almost as bad as the Weasleys', he would have been no real threat to Draco, despite his luck. Potter had even acted like an ignorant mudblood, just to defy Draco, despite the loss of face that caused among the proper people. The proof was that even his own house had turned against him on several occasions - something he, Draco, would have never allowed.

No, the real problem had been and was the mudblood. Granger. That mudblood had plagued his school years, turned what should have been his best years into a nightmare. Not only didn't she know her place and acted as if she was worthy of learning magic despite being a dirty mudblood, but she had the audacity to actually excel at it! That cursed mudblood had been doing better in school than most proper purebloods! She was the living proof of what was wrong with the Magical World, the best example of the threat the mudbloods presented, but even worse, she seemed to disprove - contradict - the value of blood. How could a mudblood, the spawn of muggles, be better at magic than a proper pureblood?

Draco had almost despaired over it. She had to have been cheating, he had been sure. But how could she have fooled all the teachers, and even Snape? Although Snape had turned out to have been a traitor all along, so maybe… no. Draco had eliminated cheating as the reason for the mudblood's success quite quickly, not even far into his third year. Then he had thought that the mudblood couldn't be an actual mudblood, but was a pureblood in disguise. Maybe she was the child of purebloods who had been killed in the war, placed with muggles by Dumbledore so she'd not know of her heritage, and would be friendly towards muggles as a result. If he could prove it, prove she was actually a pureblood, then the world would see that he was correct, that blood would tell. And maybe she'd see it too, and …

Draco ground his teeth and forced his thoughts away from that particular place. He still hadn't found out what kind of ritual the mudblood had used to change from a bucktoothed freak to someone able to seduce Krum, the finest student of Durmstrang, a school free of mudbloods. That had ruined the Yule Ball for him, seeing the mudblood like that. And only Skeeter had listened to him, and even she had only speculated about love potions, not the darker rituals he had suspected. As if a mudblood siren as smart as Granger would use easily detectable potions on an international Quidditch star - and Draco knew Durmstrang's headmaster had Krum checked every day for a week after the ball.

Draco knew he could have enjoyed his years in Hogwarts if it had just been Potter. Ignorant, stupid Potter. Easily dealt with, but for his luck. But Potter and the mudblood? Protected by Dumbledore and all the teachers? Draco was proud he had managed to keep his own house pure, under those conditions, with everyone, even Snape, who he thought was supporting him, working against him!

Draco remembered that moment on the astronomy tower, facing Dumbledore. He had been ready to kill the old man, when he suddenly realized how suspicious the whole scene was. He, the scion of the Malfoys, but still a student, killing the Wizard who had beaten Grindelwald? He beating the wizard even the Dark Lord feared? It had to be a trap! So he had hesitated, and then Snape had killed Dumbledore. At the time he had thought that Snape had avoided whatever trap Dumbledore had set, Slytherin cunning beating Gryffindor stupidity as usual. Now… he didn't know anymore what happened there, not with Snape having been revealed as a traitor.

Draco shook his head. He didn't know how much longer he'd have, how much longer he'd be alive. They had said at 10, but without a wand he could not tell the time. Maybe it was already past that? Maybe the purebloods had finally realized the danger they were in, had banded together and stormed the ministry, killing the mudbloods and blood traitors, freeing the prisoners, saving him from…

He gripped his knees so hard his nails almost dug through his ugly prisoner robe, to keep them from shaking.

A Malfoy doesn't show weakness.

A Malfoy is always in control.

A Malfoy is better.

He'd not give them the satisfaction to see him tremble. He had his pride. He had lost everything else - his wand, his money, his power, his family, but he still had his pride and he'd have it when he faced death. His father had showed the same pride, he knew, when he had faced his death. He hadn't been there - he had been sure the mudblood and Potter would have thrown him into the Veil right afterwards, since they wanted to kill all purebloods and he was the most prominent one - but he had read the article, and if the paper said his father had cursed his enemies, but not shown fear, then he was sure his father had actually acted with the utmost dignity, or they'd have printed worse lies.

Draco wiped his brows. He was sweating. They couldn't even keep the cells cool, the mudblood barbarians. The spells must be failing already, magic itself rebelling against the corrupt new masters… He shook his head again. No, he had to keep his calm. They wanted to break him, to humiliate him, to harm his cause. He had to keep calm, and foil their plans.

At least his mother had been spared the indignity of being murdered; she had taken her own life before the scum had broken into their mansion. He was proud of her, she had died a pureblood.

Draco once again had to force his thoughts away. If he thought of his mother, he'd… he wiped his eyes, and sobbed. He took a while to regain his composure, and he did it by focusing on his killers. Potter and the mudblood. They'd be there to gloat. To sneer at him, and watch him die. He'd show them!

If only his plan had worked… he had it all planned out. The wedding vows, the magical compulsions, and the torture. Oh, yes, the torture. The mudblood would have been broken when he was done with her, no longer showing up purebloods, and best of all, would not have been able to pollute magic by spawning. And Potter's face, when he saw her with him… all the rage, yet unable to do anything to him since it was all legal. Draco smiled at the fantasy.

Then he ground his teeth. All that wrecked and why? How? Because the mudbloods suddenly showed their true colors and murdered wizards and witches like rabid animals. Wizards who were still weak from a war caused by the mudbloods. He still couldn't understand why this heinous crime hadn't caused an outrage around the globe, why purebloods were not storming Britain to deal with those beasts. Didn't they see that once the last pureblood in Britain was dead they would be next?

It was all the mudblood's fault. If she had gone quietly, followed the law, then no one would have made a fuss. But no, she had to resist, and cause all of the other mudbloods - the lesser mudbloods, as he thought of them - to go crazy. Yes, it was all her fault. And once again, as with Potter, it was all pure luck, no cunning, no planning. Just luck. Wait… Merlin, he finally knew their secret!

The mudblood and Potter had been drinking Felix Felicis all the time! That explained their insane luck, that explained how they could have beaten him, his father, and the Dark Lord! That explained why his plans didn't work as they should, why he failed when he should have succeeded! How they were made Minister and Chief Warlock. Merlin, it was so simple!

Draco was excited. Wait… Felix Felicis was toxic when taken in large amounts. People tended to be overconfident and showed extreme recklessness… that explained Gryffindors! They must be brewing it in secret in their house. It explained everything, the whole war, the whole school!

Now that he knew this, he could…

His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening. "Time's up, Malfoy." He gasped, and stared at the four men - mudbloods - entering. They were not even wearing robes, but muggle clothes, he thought while he felt his stomach turn to ice and his heart miss a beat. Merlin, no!

"Wait, you cannot do this, I know what they did!"

His protests were ignored, and his hands were bound on his back as if he was a common criminal. He protested against that too, shaking with anger - anger, not fear - but it only got him roughly shoved out of the cell, causing him to stumble and fall on the floor. While they laughed - the beasts showed their true nature, cruelly treating one of their betters! - he managed to focus enough to get up. One almost kicked his legs out from under him, but the leader of the murderers held him back.

"No harming the prisoners. Especially not now."

Draco didn't really notice much of the following walk, he barely heard the "Dead wizard walking" announcement by one of his tormentors. His thoughts raced, hope of a rescue, or a pardon - wasn't Potter the Chief Warlock, and the student of Dumbledore, who always gave second chances? He had saved Potter's life, he deserved it - warring with rage at the injustice of it, both straining the thin shred of control he still had over himself.

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

He repeated the same sentence. He was the last Malfoy. No, that way lay rage and madness.

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

When the small group reached the Death Chamber Draco raised his head, wanting to look at his murderers, the mudblood and Potter. He would sneer at them, as his father had, to show them how much lower they were. And he'd expose their secret, their potion addiction. Taunt them with his knowledge. Their own efforts to cover up would undo them. Even in death he'd ruin them! He'd beat them! He ignored Loony and Bell. They did not matter, only the mudblood and Potter mattered.

There they were, standing together, much too closely to be proper. Were they holding hands? Merlin, they were! He knew the mudblood had been shagging Potter, he knew it in their first year even! Mudbloods were like that! Potter's mother had done the same to his father, got her claws into him in their first year, his mother had told him. He sneered at them, then he saw red. Red hair. Weasley! That blood traitor was here too. And he was smirking at him! The blood traitor from the poorest family in Britain, the worst wizard in school, the weakest link in the Gryffindor Trio, a wizard so far beneath him, he was not even worth licking his boots, was smirking at him? Why was he here, didn't they get rid of him?

Draco could stomach Potter and the mudblood being there - especially now that he knew the secret of their success - but Ronald Weasley? Draco's self control, already hanging by a thread, shattered, and rage and hatred overcame him.

"Filthy blood traitor! Mudblood whore! Scarheaded freak! You will all die, you will..."

Draco had planned to expose them then, but found himself silenced. They claimed it was so the executioner could read his sentence out loud without getting interrupted, but Draco knew better. They would not let him speak out of fear! He had failed! He stared at them, trembling with rage and fear, and they stared back at him with… was that pity in the mudblood's eyes? Potter too? They dared to pity him?

Draco began to struggle, cursing them in silence, spit flying from his mouth while he stared at them with madness in his eyes. Two men were holding him by his bound arms, ignoring the desperate but weak kicks he dealt out while his death sentence was once again read out to him. He didn't even notice when the Silence Charm was finited, he just continued to rant.

"... and I'll piss on your grave and kill every single one of your family and friends, you mudblood traitor, you blight on our world, you will all ..." He barely noticed how Granger ordered his last words to be recorded exactly as he said them, he only had eyes for the looming arc in front of him.

As Draco was pushed forward, towards the Veil, his struggles grew even more frantic, but remained ineffectual. When he saw the arc loom over him, when he heard the whispering voice, felt the soft breeze out of nowhere on his face, Draco started to cry. He wanted to scream, wanted to curse, wanted to beg. He did not want to die, did not want to d...


The Quibbler special edition with the picture (taken from a pensieve) of a crying Malfoy being thrown into the veil, and the quote "as if he was a sack of shit - well, he was" from Ronald Weasley sold out in record time. Hermione wanted to propose a law that forbid printing pictures of executions, but Harry managed to persuade her that Wizarding Britain was not yet ready for that. Luna's argument that through the sale of such pictures the criminals would at least do something productive for once in their lives, even indirectly, was less well received, if not less honestly stated.

Molly's reaction to her youngest son's choice of words to be printed for all of Wizarding Britain was said to be heard perfectly clear even at the Lovegood's home.