Better Be Slytherin
XXXIII
Malfoy Manners

Draco felt like he could vomit, like his eyes were coming out of his head and as if his enitre insides were upsidedown. He saw nothing while they were twirling in obliviousness and for a second he wished he could stay right there, in between two places, nowhere to be found. But then the spinning stopped and he was roughly pushed down onto hard, solid ground – and as his feet came in contact with it, he fell over by the heavy blow. His knees hit the road and were scraped up, stinging horribly.

"Get up," hissed the smooth voice of his old Potions master, and Draco opened his eyes, still feeling close to vomiting, and saw nothing but the dirt on the road outside their manor. He looked up and in the darkness he could just distinguish the high iron gates that surrounded his childhood-home, and dim lights in a few of the windows. For a second he wondered why Snape had brought them here, it would be the most obvious place for the Ministry to look for them, wouldn't it? His knees were dirty and bleeding, he could feel them wetting his trousers with blood. He felt dizzy, and tried to sit down again. Snape pulled his arm to prevent it, but Draco stumbled down to the ground.

"Draco, look at me."

Draco realised he was shaking, and he barely heard his teacher's commanding voice somewhere close to his face, apparently Snape was down by his level now. He felt his face screw up, he did not know whether it was because of his knees or because he did not want to see the image stuck in his brain, imprinted on his closed eyelids. He tried closing his eyes even harder, but the green flash and his headmaster's empty, blue eyes as he fell, would not disappear. Instead, he only made himself more dizzy and his vision blurred. He groaned out, again feeling like he would vomit.

"There, sit up," he vaguely heard Snape mumble. "Compose yourself…"

"Ugh," Draco groaned out. He could not get the image out. It was burning before his eyes. He did not realise he was tearing up until his cheeks were already wet. He groaned again.

"Draco," he heard Snape's voice, firm, shaking his shoulders slightly, trying to connect with him. Draco still would not open his eyes.

"I…" he mumbled.

"You must compose yourself. They'll be wondering where we are," Snape was saying in a low voice, quickly. "Bellatrix and the rest must've returned already. Draco," he added the last word firmly and loudly, but Draco did not want to hear it. Bellatrix and the others would be here as well? That made him want to go inside even less.

"No," he groaned out. He felt his tears running but he could not stop them. "I… I killed him," he finally choked out.

He'd always reckoned the Headmaster was a nutter, a silly old man – but somewhere deep inside he had always known that Dumbledore was pure good and that his death really did mean the end for Potter and the rest. A part of him, he supposed he had to admit, cringing while not able to hold another sob inside, had been mere seconds away from accepting his Head Master's offer of protection and safety. He had been about to lower his wand… But now it was too late – the greatest wizard of all time was dead and it was practically by Draco's own hand. Keep those thoughts out, he thought feverishly. He was about to come eye to eye with the Dark Lord – the mere thought sent a jolt through his body, feeling a hint of panic. What would he say – do – how would he behave for the Dark Lord to not kill him and torture his family? Having to take the life of a defenceless old man felt like punishment enough. Draco was shaking.

"Listen to me!" Snape was almost shouting at him now. Dizzy, he looked up. He realised he was still crying, it was uncontrollable; it made it hard to breathe. His body lunged forward with every sob. "Draco! The Dark Lord cannot see you like this. Do you understand me?"

Snape grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. Draco looked up, finally coming a little bit to his senses. He realised he must be in shock. He finally felt slightly embarrassed knowing Snape saw him like this. He had wanted to be strong – he had tried to block his Godfather out all year long, insisting he could manage, insisting he'd sort it out himself, that he was good enough – that he was capable – now all of that was shattered. Snape saw through him now, knew it had been an act all along. Draco was weak, and now it would be clear for anyone to see. He nodded mechanically, very quickly, avoiding Snape's eyes yet again. Silent tears were running down his cheeks, he felt them going cold on his skin. Albus Dumbledore was dead, and so was Draco's last chance of help.

"We must go inside," Snape continued heatedly. He seemed stressed. "And you must compose yourself." He was now pulling on Draco's arms, trying to drag him up to a standing position. Draco tagged on, not knowing what to do or how to move his legs. He was leaning onto Snape who supported him firmly. Draco heard his breathing loud and fast, he heard his heart beat in his ears like drums. His cheeks were cold. He was shaking from the inside and he knew he could not hide it from Snape. He swallowed hard as they walked slowly. Snape half-dragged him.

"The Dark Lord will be disappointed," he heard Snape's low voice. "But he must not know you doubted, Draco, that is of outmost importance. Do you hear me? There was a flaw in the plan, there wasn't enough time, the Order of the Phoenix was there; I did what I had to do, not because you could not do it. Do you hear me, Draco?" his mantra reached Draco's ears and it slowly sunk in. Draco tried gritting his teeth, biting his tongue to make the crying stop."You were distracted; I had to do it quickly. And we had to leave – taking over the school was impossible with the Order there…"

"Th-thank you," Draco panted out. Snape's face was hidden by the darkness as well as his black hair. But he kept on supporting Draco, whose breathing began to slow down to normal. He was still in shock, but his mind was clear enough to understand that Severus Snape had risked his life for him tonight – and he felt a hint of guilt for not trusting the professor and blocking him out so totally during the year.

"So you really are," Draco began, slurring slightly, still feeling dizzy. "You really aren't Dumbledore's man… People always said…"

Draco did not know whether this made him feel better – safer – or not.

Snape did not reply.

Even though his mother's love awaited him inside, coming home felt like no comfort for Draco. He swallowed hard and kept on walking, hesitant to get inside, but steered by responsibility and fear, his feet dragged themselves toward the gate, Snape by his side. He knew that once inside, the Dark Lord would know that he had failed his mission. He had failed to kill Albus Dumbledore, and he feared it would cost him his life. But right then he only had one thought on his mind: he would not let them see that he had been crying.

He was shaking as Snape raised his left arm to open the big, black gates, and as he wiped the sweat from his mouth they were able to pass right through them. The big manor house towered up in front of them in the darkness – a hint of light now in only one of the rhombus-shaped windows. Draco was walking towards his judgement and there was nothing he wanted less, and yet he knew he could not run, he could do naught but to keep walking.

The big entrance doors slammed open and showed his mother, looking desperately for her son. She saw Draco limping along in Snape's shadow on the garden path, gave out a whimper and rushed toward him. "Draco!"

She embraced him and held him hard. The support and warmth of Snape's presence already felt gone, it made him a little nervous. His head was spinning again, but he wanted to vomit less as he took in his mother's scent and felt her stroking his hair. They broke apart and when he looked up, to his shock, his father had appeared in the door-way, greeting Snape severely. Draco thought he had gone mental from the shock, when his mother hastily whispered: "Daddy's home, He saw to it. No more Azkaban for the Malfoys…"

Draco swallowed hard. He really hoped she would be right.

"Bella and the others just arrived," his mother whispered to him and even though she tried to conceal it, he heard the fear in her voice, "They told us what happened. But don't worry, darling, it's going to be all right. Dumbledore is dead, that's what matters. He will be pleased."

They had reached the stairs up to the entrance door. "Father," he hastily said, he had been longing to see him for a whole year and he could hardly belive his father was actually standing in front of him.

Lucius put his arms around him, and then he said: "Don't worry, son." His voice was firmer and more convincing than his mother's. His face looked waxy and ill, he had big dark rings under his eyes. Draco did not want to imagine what a year in Azkaban did to a man. He did not want to imagine for one second what those Dementors had done to his father, who urged him on inside into the big hall.

He spotted several Death Eaters in the kitchen. By the hasty look of it, the manor had degraded. Everything was dark and he got the feeling that it was not being taken care of. It did not feel like home. At least his mother and father were both there.


Bellatrix Lestrange had been sleeping in his room. He felt disgusted. After calling on their House-Elf Binky to remove all her belongings and change the sheets, he looked into the large mirror and saw a corpse, dirty and messy and with hollow eyes. He could not recognise whoever stood there in his filthy and battered Slytherin robes. He slumped down on an armchair and closed his eyes. He was still shaking. The darkness outside the window seemed to creep up into him, he could not get it off, he felt trapped and choked. On top of everything that had happened earlier that night, he had come home to a house full of Death Eaters, with the Dark Lord occupying the sitting room which no one dared enter except Bellatrix who seemed to properly enjoy it.

Still feeling the effect of the Crucio on his eyelids, he twitched. He had not ever imagined that pain could be so… complete. His parents were as afraid as he was, he saw it in their eyes. Both of them were stiff and pale as the dead.

Their kitchen was messy, uncleaned and full of dirty Death Eaters who ate all their food, made their House-Elf do their bidding, and were loud enough to keep everyone from sleep. Their sitting room was dark and had black sheets over the windows to make sure nobody would see in, the only light was the crackling flames in the fireplace and the greenish beam from a small lamp. That horrid snake was lying on the hearthrug in front of the smouldering fire, not to mention the Dark Lord himself. It all disgusted Draco.

He fell into a restless and nervous sleep that night and awoke several times, boiling hot with something that felt like fever, and dizziness.

The next few days, he tried to stay away as much as possible. He learned that apparantly they would never be alone in the manor. Death Eaters came and went as they pleased; he never had dinner alone with only his parents. Bellatrix, of course, never left the house. She went around changing parts of the decor and bad-mouthed everything, commanding the elf to do her bidding all day long. Draco wished his parents would tell her off, show who was in charge, but he soon realised his parents had no authority left. The manor was crumbling, as were his family's status. Still, Bellatrix and his dad led heated arguments all the time; Lucius as well hated her living under his roof.

The manor had turned into some sort of headquarters after the mass-breakout from Azkaban which Draco soon learned his father had been a part of (the Dark Lord was now apparently in control of the Dementors of Azkaban), and their elf was running around on various Death Eaters' orders cooking all day – it was taking it's toll on her, she was growing old and confused, and Draco liked it as little as she did.

He could do nothing. He was perpetually frightened of being in his own home, but was not allowed to leave because he was wanted by the Ministry for interrogation about his headmaster's death. He could not send any owls because the Ministry had the manor under watch and checked their mail, thinking the residences of the manor did not notice (although that was the only little control the Ministry had over them – under the surface they all knew the Dark Lord was snaking his way into the Ministry and taking over right in front of their noses). He could have no contact with anyone. Draco did not think he had ever been as lonely. It had only been a few days, not more than a week, but he already felt like he was slightly losing his sanity. He missed having Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle around to entertain him; he even missed ruddy Theodore Nott.

The only thing he could hope for was that the Dark Lord would take over the Ministry soon enough, so that he could finally get out of the house.