The candle was still burning, but only a quarter remained, the wax was slowly driping on the stone floor where the candlestick was placed. The heavy breaths of young wizard was the only thing that disturbed the faint light and the boy's strength was fainter still. Draco cursed his weakness, the slumber of his magic and most of all his own inadequacy. It took him ages to find a garb, a grey linen tunic and a grey woollen pair of pants, and more time to put it on. No Malfoy heir had ever dressed in hand-me-downs, nor had they ever stolen someone else's clothes, but drab as it was Draco felt so much more comfortable and secure in the grey man's pants. The garment was shabby and too baggy for his emaciated body, but he liked it all the same. He watched at the silvered mirror on the corner of the room, as it was, Draco did not expect the reflection to startle him so much, half-spooked he took a step back. If there was a house elf in this castle, he would not have disagreed if someone thought he was the one. Bold and almost skeletal boy was staring at him, clad in grey and with big grey eyes. The comprehension was there in those eyes of the fact that it was him, Draco Malfoy, the heir of ancient and noble house, not an elf, but Merlin, he could not deny the flicker of doubt was there, too.

It was at that moment the door swung open and two men stepped in. Their hard eyes searched the room and settled on him. They did not utter a word as they grabbed his hands and dragged him out of the room. Too late, you little funk, he thought as he fought them desperately, but the difference in strength was too obvious, he could hardly walk. "Where are you taking me? Stop, let me go! Don't touch me, you filthy!.." Muggles, he almost screamed,it was hard to held his tongue, but he was afraid, he could not expose himself, not even if they were going to torture him, not even if there might be no tomorrows.

Past many steps his captors stopped in front of the heavy red door, the guards made a way for them to enter the dragon's jaw, he observed inanely.

Inside the light was reigning, so bright for a heartbeat Draco was sure they were about to throw him into fires, once again. He closed his eyes, praying...

But when he opened his eyes once more, he was was still alive and herded into a big hall. Sombre people in various state of curiosity were staring at him as he was dragged between the tables. At last they shoved him in front of a raised platform. He did not notice it at first, but on his knees he had the best view of the scene, crime scene, he thought absently. In front of him a body was sprawled out, face down it lied in a pool of blood and vomit, the antlered bucket with golden bells above its purple face. Maester Cressen, he realised as a shiver rattled his own body. You shouldn't have promised anything, you fool.

He raised his eyes and found the actual fool staring at him, Patchface, was it? A clever clever fool, the voice was reverberating in his head. The Patchface was smiling, a genuine smile and eyes mirthful.

"Boy", a different voice, sizzling and scalding, but strangely quite, broke the spell. Draco blinked and turned his head up. Immediately he knew who was in his sight, even though he had never met her before. The woman all in red, The red woman, the witch. Head to heal she was clad in red, even her hair and eyes were burning red, The Gryffindor colour, the colour Draco Malfoy had always loathed. "Draco", she drawled and grabbed his chin, leaning closer. Her piercing red eyes locked with his own as a red curtain of her hair brushed his shoulders. Those were enchanting eyes, he thought as he watched her face, but terrible and so very red. If he were three years younger or there were no war, he would not have felt it, he would not have even noticed, but tonight he felt and knew that the red woman was trying to see him through. But he was too weak, his mental shields thinner than translucent paper, Draco had always prided himself on his Occlumency skills, he knew he was exceptional, but not tonight. Tonight he closed his eyes and forcefully pulled her hand away.

"Don't touch me!" The wizard boy growled.

"Do not presume you have a right to say that, you, the abomination, to the priestess of R'hlor, the Lord of light!" The shriek erupted the silence of the hall. Draco tried to find his feet, when he straightened he saw the owner of the voice, standing on the Dais, an ugly woman with a familiar face that had a moustache above her hard thin lips. Ears, those ears, the image of an uglier princess surfaced on the back of his mind, The Queen. His eyes traveled down to the right and there he was, The king. The handsomest of the lot. The man was the picture of solid rock, so stern and austere he gave the air of doom. He was watching him impassively.

"The abomination, yes, but powerful, oh so very powerful", the Red woman purred, her eyes never leaving him, not for a moment. "Draco, there's fire, fire in your blood, do you feel it?"

Draco was burnt alive once, but woke up here in this strange place with strange seasons and stranger people, yet he was not surprised, he knew what it was in his blood, his magic. The magic that he sorely needed but almost entirely depleted.

"No, I don't. What did you do to the old man?"

"Nothing. The man extinguished the fire of his life by his own hands", the ruby on her throat pulsed like a heart, the rythme steady.

"The true God protect its servants and punish those who attempts on the life of its most devout people", the Queen bellowed. "You stand here for your part in Maester's scheme".

"My part?" Draco repeated in disbelief.

"We all here heard the story! You want to get the hold of magic, Cressen was clear in his dismay, the witch, the boy, all they have interest in is magic of this world, he said. He was talking about you, the abomination, a filthy dragonseed, do not deny it, you were in Dragonmot to find eggs, but when you failed, now you want to steal the powers of the Lord's most loyal servant!"

As the crazy speech continued and accusations were flowing, Draco could not help but wonder if the Lord the mad woman was speaking of was his Dark Lord. No, don't fall into that hole! But nonetheless all what she was saying sounded so very familiar, disturbingly so. He heard all this before, during long hours of excruciating meetings with Death Eaters, they, too, believed muggles were stealing and corrupting their magic. Now being on the other end of spectrum and facing the charges, Draco Malfoy could not reign over his amusement, the burst of choked laughter drowned the righteous nonsense of the royal queen and echoed on the rafters. He had to press his hands on his stomach, his belly muscles ached. The day was long and full of absurdity, the wizard was on the verge of losing not only his magic, but apparently his wits. Will it matter when I'm about to be short of head, too? His mood curdled, the laughter stopped as suddenly as it began.

"Have you finished your laughing?" This time it was king who raised his voice.

"It's not my fault the lot of you lack humour," Draco knew he was well past caring what would happen next. There was no sense in trying to save his skin, when he had already been through hell.

"We may lack humor, but you will be missing a head come morrow".

"What's worth of head, when you can't share laugh and enjoy the life?"

"Your grace, the boy is not himself," the Red woman chirped. "And innocent at that. I saw it in my flames. The maester was stranger to him. And his mind is empty, as we were told. But his power, his power is what we need. The Lord of Light expect a sacrifice, give me the boy and the realm will bend and you shall sit on the Iron throne!"

"No, your grace! We had enough of sacrifice this night, this is a boy, just a boy. He has nothing but his name, he is already sufficiently punished, Gods... the God stripped him of his past, took all his memories. Please, your grace, no fires!" In the far end of the raised table a man was standing, a small man, he looked as if he did not belong there, among those richly dressed people he stuck out as a Mudblood would have looked in the presence of the more nobly born witches and wizards. It was at that moment the words of this man who did not fit reached the rational parts of his frenzied brain. Fire! The Red Bitch wants to burn me as a sacrifice to her god! The boy did not recover yet from his last experience, he was not eager to suffer it all over again. He sobered at once, his Slytherin self overtaking all his senses. Self preservation was his second name, better never forget it again.

"You allow yourself too much, Onion Knight! Guard your tongue or the next stake will be yours," the Queen said, her thin lips tightly pressed.

Draco looked around, to the left of the king everyone was very much interested in the food on their plates, it seemed. He turned his head to watch the other side of the raised table and froze.

"Father!" His voice cracked when he saw him staring down at him, his usual self, so very nonchalant and prideful. The boy's eyes blurred for embarrassing two seconds, he blinked the wetness back away and saw more clearly. He was frowning now, this man, and leaned a few inches forward, the shadow that hid his eyes shifted and revealed two deep purple pools, too focused on dissecting him, Purple, not grey.

Can you guess who this person is?