Chapter 7: The End of A Life

"Damn!" said a sharp, cutting voice as two figures appeared on the road. The one kneeling half dragged, half carried the unaware one to a house on the side of the road that no one would have noticed before. It was strange that nobody would have noticed it. If they had looked at it now, they would have realised that it had been there all along. But all the people on the road were asleep and thus could not be bothered by the appearance of the shabby, dark abode.

Once inside, he hauled his companion to the fireplace and set him down before running out of the room. When he came back, he held a glass phial in his hand - different from the one he held before - with some sort of dark liquid in it. He quickly tipped it into the unconscious one's mouth and held his jaw shut so he would swallow.

Quickly, the man heaved the other's upper body into a mock embrace, lifting the boy's legs with his other arm. Then, he used his wand hand (which had to hurt as he was currently multitasking with it) and waved it at a container of green powder near the fireplace, whisking a handful's amount out of the pot and into his other hand, which he somehow manoeuvred to catch the dusty substance. Then, as gracefully as he could, he stepped into the fireplace, dropped the powder and said "Hogwarts, infirmary!"

Flames whipped around them and they were gone in a flash.


As Severus stumbled out of the fireplace, still garbed in Death Eater robes, Poppy Pomfrey startled and fell out of her chair – almost. She had enough grace to properly compose herself before looking at Snape's charge. It was the Malfoy boy.

Madam Pomfrey ushered Severus to one of the beds in the actual infirmary (the floo led to her office) and he set the boy down carefully.

"What happened?" she exclaimed as she cast diagnostic spells on the child.

Severus took a deep breath. "Branding curse and Cruciatus curse, both performed by the Dark Lord."

Madam Pomfrey stared at Severus for a moment before looking back to the boy and beginning to try and heal the wounds.

"And why did he brand Mr. Malfoy? Why was Mr. Malfoy anywhere near him?"

"He was being recruited," said Severus.

Madam Pomfrey gasped. "Recruited? At sixteen?"

Severus sighed. "Yes… the Dark Lord had planned for him to kill Albus."

"What? Kill – and he refused? That's why this happened?"

"And he refused," said Severus. "So the Dark Lord tortured him and killed his mother."

"A sad fate," said an old voice from the doors to the infirmary, "for a boy so young."

Snape turned to Dumbledore. "It's a sad fate for anyone, no matter how old."

Dumbledore's eyes lacked their usual cheer when he looked at the boy. "Truer words could not be said."


His mouth felt, for lack of a better word, fuzzy. That was the first thing he was aware of. Then came the floating sensation, the painless sensation that came with healing potions. His head was somewhere. Somewhere far away, where he didn't think he'd be able to go, no matter how hard he tried…

But then the memories flashed through his mind and he remembered the terrors he had experienced and it wasn't alright anymore.

"Mmmmmnnn," he tried, but his throat was too dry to properly work.

Someone bustled about his bed – he was on a bed? Why? Shouldn't he be dead?

"Muh," he said, trying to utter the word.

Someone soothed his hair back and then a woman was speaking. "What is it, dear?"

He tried to sit up, tried to do something, but a warm hand on his chest forced him back down. "Shhh, calm down."

But he couldn't calm down. Not until he knew.

"Mmmmother!" he tried.

His eyes shot open and he found himself in a familiar infirmary with a familiar nurse who looked at him sadly, pity blossoming in her eyes.

"W-what happened?" he asked hoarsely even though he was sure he knew what had happened.

Madam Pomfrey sighed and looked away. "I think it's better for you to wait until Severus and Albus are here to explain."

Draco shot out of bed, viciously trying to claw his way out, "No! I need—mother! No! Where – where is she?" he croaked.

The nurse just stopped him with magic, pushing him back onto the bed.

"Immobulus!" she chanted, and he felt the immense displeasure of being locked in his own body.

"You need to calm down, Mr. Malfoy. Your wounds haven't healed yet and you can't afford to open them again. Rest now and you can talk later."

Just as she spoke, however, two pairs of footsteps echoed through the almost empty hospital wing.

"I'm afraid, Poppy, that as much as I appreciate your efforts, we need young Mr. Malfoy lucid for now. As soon as we are done, you may enforce Draco's rest once again."

Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue in frustration and strode away, heading towards the potions cabinet, possibly to do inventory or just so she had something to do.

Professors Dumbledore and Snape turned their attentions to Draco, who was still lying in bed, unable to move.

Dumbledore waved his wand Draco was able to move.

"No one will overhear us now, Mr. Malfoy. Feel free to say whatever is prudent to the matter at hand. You are speaking in confidence."

"What happened? And my mother – is she okay? Is she… is she alive?"

Snape looked away and Dumbledore's countenance darkened as he relayed the news. "Do you remember refusing Voldemort?"

Draco flinched at the name, but nodded.

"What all do you remember?" the headmaster asked.

"I…" Draco said quietly as he couldn't seem to speak any louder. "I remember refusing the Dark Lord, and then the b—" he coughed, "Burning – it… it was terrible… But then he was going to punish Mother for my betrayal, so I jumped in the way and he – and he… I was cursed. Then they grabbed me and the Dark Lord… my mother… he – he – did he?"

"I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Malfoy. Unfortunately, your mother was killed. You apparently fainted – from the strain of pain and emotional stress, I would assume – and when Severus was ordered to administer a potion that would slowly eat away at the lining of your stomach, he instead made a portkey and spirited you away. You nearly died, but fortunately, due to some quick thinking by Severus and Poppy, you did, indeed, survive. Unfortunately, your mother was not so lucky. She passed away four days ago."

All the information his Draco at once: the betrayal, the torture, the death, the rescue and the fact that… his mother would never be there again to comfort him or advise him with confusing proverbs or just hold him. His chest seized and he couldn't breathe! Nothing was right! Nothing was fortunate about his survival; he had killed his mother and there was nothing he could do but panic.

"But – no! Mo-mother, she – she… can't be dead… she just can't!"

Dumbledore and Snape both gave him that dreadful and familiar expression full of pity and Draco was infuriated.

"No… NO! This was – my fault – my fault—"

"Draco, you made a wise move to defy Voldemort, albeit not in the best manner. I am very sorry for your loss, but no one can fault you for doing the right thing."

What? Why were they even talking about right and wrong? And if he was doing right, why did he betray his mother to that – that monster? And Severus – where was Severus!

He turned to the man. "But – you! Where were you? Why couldn't – couldn't you have saved her?"

"It was impossible."

"No – no it wasn't! I was there! You could have saved her; you could have found an excuse to do it! I know you could have! You could have saved her and not me!" he whisper yelled.

One of Severus' brows quirked and he sneered at Draco. "You are a fool! Do you think I could have thrown myself in front of her – like you? Or did you think I would have gone on a rampage and killed as many Death Eaters as possible before I was killed, along with you and your mother? I saw my chance and I took it, and I wouldn't change a thing. You are the one who should have learned not to be so hot headed and thick!"

Draco flinched as if he had been slapped. Snape was right… it was his fault. He was so arrogant and didn't think of the consequences for his mother when he did what he did. He was a fool. And what could he do about it now?

"I – I…" he stuttered. "What do I do now?"

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, there aren't many options for you. You will not be hated by the Death Eaters as much as Mr. Potter, but you will definitely be the subject of ridicule amongst your fellow Slytherins. I'm afraid there really is not much I can do about that, but I can offer you sanctuary here at Hogwarts, whereas if you left, you would not be faced with much kindness. You are always welcome here, however."

"Until I'm seventeen, you mean," said Draco.

"No, my boy. You will find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

"Thank you… I su – suppose," Draco looked down at the bed sheets, in which his fingers were tangled from fiddling. He thought it would be better than meeting Dumbledore's eyes and having his mind ripped apart again.

"I think it would be wise, boy, to allow me to perform legilimency as to ascertain the truth about your loyalties."

Draco froze. "N-no! Absolutely not!"

"Draco—"

"NO! The last – last time that happened, the Dark Lord ripped through my mind and it hurt so much!"

"Draco, you misunderstand. If you let me, your mind will remain intact – not that I will force your mind open. I am not going to brutally rifle through the things you have been through," said the headmaster.

Draco sighed… "Okay."

He looked up at Dumbledore, who just smiled and said, "Thank you, Draco."

He stared at him and then Severus. "What? But nothing," he coughed again. "-happened!"

"You see, Draco. I did not lie when I said it would be painless."

"O – okay…" he said, a little confused. He looked to Severus, who nodded shortly. He couldn't believe it

"Now," said Dumbledore. "I think it is time to let you sleep. I think Severus and Poppy will agree that you need it."


When he next woke, it was dawn and there was no sound in the room. Draco looked around, and when he didn't see Madam Pomfrey, he slowly slipped out of bed. He had been in the Hospital Wing enough that he knew where the bathroom was, so he hobbled over. He still couldn't walk properly because of the Dark Lord's spell.

He finally reached the door after what seemed like years and he pushed it open. He needed to get clean. But he stopped when he got to the mirror that spanned the back wall of the room. This – what was this?! He closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them again, he wouldn't see the disgusting thing he had seen in the mirror.

That was just a hope, though. And his luck was running thin recently, so he doubted this was a dream. He slid his eyes open and as he thought, the grotesque scars he had seen the first time were still there. He stripped so he could see them better.

Was this what the Dark Lord did? He had said everyone would know that Draco was a traitor… so he branded him..?

There was a scar coiled around his leg, twisting from the top of his left foot to mid-thigh. Another wrapped around his back. It started a little below the end of the first one, parallel to the other. Then it curved around his thigh and up to his hip, following the bone until it turned onto his back and ended at his spine. The third one seemed to continue from the second one, only a few inches between the end of one and the start of the other. It simply curved along his shoulder, stopping just before the end. Then there was one that started at the right side of his jaw, three inches above the bottom and an inch away from the ear, and it crossed over his neck to his left shoulder, where it stopped in a curve a little before the end. The next began at his arm pit and curled around to the front of his left arm, slicing right through the empty space where the dark mark should have been.

It was disgusting. The red lines were bright against his pale skin and he could almost feel the brand running across his body when he looked at them. Here was another nasty reminder of everything that happened that night. It seemed nothing wanted him to forget the incident.

He fell to his knees, curling over them in a ball, and groaned as loud as he could – and he couldn't even do that properly! Was he good for anything?

No. Of course he wasn't. He had gotten his mother killed!

He had thought that it might be better to let his parents go than serve the Dark Lord, but he didn't mean that they would die! He thought they would disown him and stay with the genocidal maniac!

Now they were gone and he was alone.

He sobbed until there were no more tears left to cry, and then he curled up on the floor and slept.