Better Be Slytherin
XXXIV
Spider and Fly
The Entrance Hall was packed with students and teachers alike. There were dust and broken pieces of stone all over the grand, marble staircase, presumably a curse had hit the interior. The giant hourglasses on the wall next to the entrance to the Great Hall were spilling the House-colours onto the floors. The large oak doors were wide open and people were streaming outside to find out what had happened.
Pansy twirled around, pushed from both sides by a few Ravenclaw boys who made their way past. Everywhere people were screaming about Death Eaters and the Dark Mark...
The only thing occupying her mind was Draco. She knew he had something to do with this, she just knew it. He had told her it was happening tonight, she'd never known what but she didn't think it was a coincidence that the Dark Mark showed up on the same evening Draco told her his mission for the Dark Lord was happening. Was it Draco that had conjured it? Where was Draco? Was he even alive? Had he succeeded with whatever his job was?
"Somebody must've been killed!" Daphne Greengrass squealed, and looked more anxious than Pansy had ever seen her usually smug face. "The Dark Mark over Hogwarts! That's never happened before..."
Pansy pulled her favourite pink dressing gown tighter around her as the other girls peered their heads to try and see what was happening just outside the castle. She didn't care what had happened outside; she only wanted to know about Draco.
"I saw them," Blaise Zabini muttered. "The Death Eaters, running from here."
"Where'd they go?" Pansy inquired at once. Daphne shot her an irritated look as if to say that Pansy shouldn't ask such a thing.
"No idea. I'm going outside to have a look," Blaise went on and pushed passed them, following Theodore Nott outside into the crowd. Pansy joined her girlfriends reluctantly as they too walked towards the exit with the rest of the gossiping, nervous students of Hogwarts. They mixed with Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors and Ravenclaws on the way outside. Everyone was just as afraid.
"Where's Malfoy, Pansy?"
Her head jerked up to see Theodore Nott running up the steps towards her as soon as she came outside. Her insides immediately turned cold. Why would he ask her that? Why that, with all these things happening right now? She stared at him as her girlfriends moved on towards the crowd of people gathered around the foot of the Astronomy tower. Theodore was panting and looking up at her angrily. Why was everyone standing around the Astronomy tower? What were they looking at? Was that Draco's dead body? Murdered by the Death Eaters?
Pansy swallowed harshly. "What's that got to do with—"
Suddenly a loud scream was heard. People mumbled nervously and Pansy knew something was wrong.
"We're going back inside!" Blaise Zabini hurried towards them followed by Bletchley, Pucey, Yulley, Yardley, Warrington, Vaisey and Urquhart. They were all looking at her.
"What is everyone looking at?" Pansy said fiercely. She was breathing quickly, her heart rate matching. "What is that over there?"
"Come on, Pans, let's go back to the common room," Nott urged and grabbed her arm to lead her back inside, just as Daphne, Tracey, Queenie and Millicent made their way back to them, looking very afraid but silent.
"No!" she jerked her arm out of Theodore's grip. "What is happening? And why is everyone looking at me?" the last part she added angrily as she noticed every Slytherin around her was staring at her.
"Does anyone know where Draco is? Where are Crabbe and Goyle?! The only time you actually need them they're nowhere to be found!" Pansy shouted angrily at her friends. Daphne, Tracey and Queenie looked up at her, seemingly frightened half to death.
"Pansy, just come with me!" Nott shouted back at her.
"WHY?"
"Because the Headmaster's dead body is lying over there," Blaise Zabini finally said, shortly.
Pansy's world froze.
The Headmaster. And Draco was gone. And there had been Death Eaters at the castle. Dumbledore was dead. Had it been an accident or had it been the plan all along? Had that been what Draco was working on all year long, murdering the Headmaster...? It just couldn't be, he wouldn't be that stupid...
The entire Slytherin Quidditch team, as well as Blaise, Theodore and her gang of girls were staring at her as others passed by.
"Where is Malfoy, Pansy?" Blaise Zabini questioned fiercely, almost threateningly. She wondered briefly if Zabini wanted to turn Draco in had he done the crime. If so, he wasn't a true Slytherin in her opinion.
"She doesn't know, Blaise!" Theodore spoke for her, for the first time not being a hundred percent loyal to his friend, but to Pansy instead. Pansy was breathing heavily.
"Pans, are you all right?"
The entire world was spinning and she barely heard her best friend Daphne speak the words. Suddenly through the crowd she saw two familiar faces. Crabbe and Goyle were standing awkwardly in the back of the Entrance Hall close to the stairs down to the dungeons, looking sheepish and out of place.
Not realising what she was doing she bolted and began running towards them, with Theodore, Blaise, Daphne, Tracey, Queenie and the Slytherin Quidditch team shouting after her.
Crabbe and Goyle realised what was happening too late. Pansy pushed through the crowd of Hufflepuffs and flung herself at Crabbe, furiously punching every part of him she could reach.
"HOW – COULD – YOU – LET – HIM – GO?!" she yelled at him to screams of pain from a surprised Crabbe. He quickly put up his one arm as a shield, and it was big enough to cover his entire face.
"Pansy, stop it!" Goyle shouted at her pleadingly, and Pansy gave a last punch in Crabbe's throat, the only place she could reach, and then Crabbe grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away.
"Mental fuckin' bint!" He was bleeding from the lip and looking at her, shocked and angry. Suddenly the others were around them, separating them from curious eyes of by-passers.
"Shut up!" Pansy screamed at him, "This is your fault!"
"Pansy!" Daphne shouted, shocked, while Theodore and Blaise held her steady so she wouldn't attack Crabbe again. At the same time, the Quidditch team held back Crabbe.
"I didn' do nuffin!" Crabbe yelled at her.
"That's the bloody problem!"
"Pansy, stop it, we didn't know, honest!" Goyle chimed in.
"What the fuck are you on about?" Bletchley asked. The girls and the rest of the Quidditch team looked as incredulous as him.
"Guess!" Crabbe shouted. All the Slytherins stared between them, until some began gaping. Daphne put her hand over her mouth.
"Pansy, come on, let's go back to the common room," Nott told her, trying to distract her from the others who were now looking at her wondering if her boyfriend killed the Headmaster.
The problem was, she wondered just as much.
Over the next few days at Hogwarts, the rumour that Draco Malfoy had killed Dumbledore spread like wildfire. The Slytherins received more dirty looks and shoves in the corridors than ever before. Whenever Pansy entered a classroom or the Great Hall for meals she was whispered about. Everyone knew she was Malfoy's girlfriend. In contrast to how the rest of Slytherin house behaved (lowering their heads), Pansy spent her time insulting Mudbloods in the corridors. The first time she saw Potter she called him all kinds of scum, filth, trash in her head, and shoved him as hard as she could when they passed. He turned around looking surprised, she gave him her angriest look but said nothing until she felt the message was clear, and then they both walked on without a word.
The hasty departure of Draco and the Head of house left a huge feeling of confusion and emptiness in Slytherin, especially for Crabbe and Goyle who weren't quite sure what to do without Draco. Pansy worried about him constantly but didn't tell anyone. She didn't even know if he was alive or if she would be able to see him all summer. Would he even come back for school in September?
Pansy cried at Dumbledore's funeral but not for the same reason everyone else did. She hadn't lost a headmaster; her boyfriend had become a murderer. Or else he had died. She hadn't a clue.
When she finally came home a rainy Sunday evening, she felt even emptier than at Hogwarts.
"Oh, how are you feeling, darling? Come and tell me about all of this nonsense! Fancy a cuppa?"
She slumped down into the sitting room sofa and said, "Yes, thank you, Earl Grey will do."
Her mother screamed for the House-Elf who returned a few minutes later with a tray of steaming hot tea and a few biscuits. Pansy didn't drink anything. She watched the fire dance and for a minute the only thing audible was the crackling of the wood. Then she unwillingly let out a sigh.
"Somebody killed the Headmaster, mother."
"We know, yes, saw it in the Prophet, didn't we... Most unfortunate..."
Suddenly, shecollapsed into her mother's soft bosom. Mrs Parkinson looked down at her daughter, surprised.
"Pansy Honoria Parkinson! What is possibly the matter?" she asked worriedly, a tone Pansy rarely heard. Her mother had sensed that something was wrong.
Pansy stared into thin air. "They think it was Draco who did it."
Mrs Parkinson's cup shook slightly as she moved to put it down. A few light-brown drops ran down the porcelain surface.
"Oh, what are you on about, silly girl?" she said, trying to make the situation less severe. "Draco Malfoy?"
"Well, yes," Pansy stated apathically, "I suppose he had a task from the Dark Lord this year."
"Oh dear," her mother mumbled and slowly brought her cup up to her mouth to blow on it absent-mindedly. "But you can't possibly think it was him who did it, can you?"
Pansy didn't answer at first and her mother swallowed nervously.
"Yes... I do. I think it was him, mother. Please don't tell father."
They stayed silently and stared into space.
Pansy hated the Dark Lord for taking her Draco away from her.
She spent the rest of the summer worrying about Draco when she wasn't shopping for new dress robes, eating sweets in Daphne's manor house or flirting with Theodore Nott under the influence of Butterbeer round Bletchley's. She wondered if Malfoy was already out on new missions from the Dark Lord. She wondered if he would return to school in September – she wondered if he was even alive.
One sodding letter would be nice. Luckily, Theodore Nott soon calmed her worries when he told her Malfoy was alive – Nott's father was a Death Eater after all, so he had a vast insight in what was going on.
The village nearest to Theodore Nott's home was a typically English place. There was a narrow and curvy road leading through it which the Muggles occupied with their cars to get to the post office and on their way to grocery shopping. The houses were early 1700s; their sloping roofs not reaching above the surrounding trees and their time-stained brick walls were cracking. Everything was grey – the road, the houses and even the summer sky. It was the sort of village where everyone knew everyone's business, and everyone prided themselves upon their gardens.
The remnants of an old river were the centre of the village - everything had been built around it before it had dried up. Now the submersion was filled with overgrown bushes and weed. Pansy could imagine Theodore enjoyed walking about the Muggle village since he didn't mind blending in – but in Pansy's case, it was far too quiet and gloomy. On the outskirts, however, a Wizarding pub lay – Theodore had told them his father had been a regular before he was sent to Azkaban. You could meet all sorts of Wizarding folk there, Theodore had said. Ministry employees, farmers, Death Eaters, Warlocks, hags and vampires were among the customers.
Pansy hadn't declined to visit, simply for the reason that the Wizarding pub of The Wicked Wand in Chelmsford, Essex, only a couple minutes broom's ride away from her family home in Basildon, had been the place she'd taken Draco Malfoy the previous summer.
She'd realised it was time to move on, since Malfoy hadn't so much as owled her since he left Hogwarts. And since the holidays had been cold and cloudy so she couldn't sunbathe, there wasn't much else to do but accompany Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass to The Broom Cupboard.
While Daphne had run off to the girls' lavatory as soon as they'd arrived in the musky, dimly lit pub, and Nott and Zabini had gone to the bar to get drinks, Pansy sat down by one of the tables and shrugged off her cloak. A candle was standing in a metal frame in the middle of the table, burning fiercely, dripping wax on one side for the wind that seeped through the badly sealed windows. She confidently glanced around for 'fit blokes'. Malfoy couldn't expect everything to be on his term, could he, she thought irritatedly... She could do whatever she liked.
"Bloody disgusting!" An exasperated voice on Pansy's right broke off her thoughts.
Daphne Greengrass had returned from the lavatory and as she slid into the chair next to Pansy, she pinched her nose ostentatiously. "It's as if they let Mudbloods clean the loos, about once every hundred years – that's how filthy it was."
Pansy laughed cruelly.
Zabini returned with a pint of something that emitted smoke. He was smirking, while Theodore was eyeing it cautiously, carrying a glass of elf-made wine for Pansy and Butterbeers for himself and Daphne.
Pansy sent Zabini a questioning look. "What in Merlin's name is that?"
"Simison Steaming Stout," he shrugged, looking down onto the dark liquid. "I asked for a strong beer."
Daphne giggled in an uncharacteristically sweet way, looking up at Zabini who took no notice of her.
"Well, you must be happy, Theodore," Pansy stated lazily as the boys took their seats, "now your father's back from Azkaban."
"It's comfortable," Nott agreed casually, taking a sip of his Butterbeer.
"I suppose Malfoy's dad's back too," Daphne said, looking questioningly at Pansy. "Have you heard anything?"
"No," Pansy snapped and looked away. Stupid Daphne, not understanding when to shut her mouth. Nervous by Pansy's reaction, Daphne reached out for her Butterbeer but accidentally grabbed Theodore's. He hastily grabbed it out of her hand – he obviously didn't like it when people touched his stuff, Pansy thought.
"So where's everyone tonight then?" Pansy demanded again.
"Well, Tracey's on holiday in Greece with her family, and Astoria's at home, she and mother went robes shopping today so I suppose she's prancing around the mirror trying everything on," Daphne sneered, "I haven't spoken to Queenie - I would suppose she wants to spend time with her father now that he's back from prison... and who cares about Bulstrode and Crabbe and Goyle..."
"The Quidditch team's at Bletchley's," Zabini muttered, referring to all the boys who had just left Hogwarts and wouldn't come back in the autumn.
"Then why in Merlin's name aren't we there?" Pansy groaned and gave Zabini an unpleasant look. He merely sniggered.
"You enjoy the sound of your own voice too much – and they're too loud."
Pansy rolled her eyes. Not true.
"And nobody knows where Malfoy is," Theodore finished matter-of-factly. Pansy glared at him.
"Well, stating the obvious, are we?" she snarled. Daphne looked away, but Zabini gave a snort-laugh. Pansy turned to him at once, fixing her murderous glare on him.
"Did you want something?" she snapped.
"Not from you," he sneered back at her. They had never got on – Pansy found Zabini to be haughty and boring while he probably found her dumb and boisterous.
Lucian Bole had apparently finished Hogwarts three years earlier and was now a professional Quidditch player for Puddlemere United, or it might have been the Falcons actually – she hadn't listened very well. His toned body and sporty good looks spoke to her more clearly. It was nothing like Malfoy's pale and skinny body.
He left without a word, she reminded herself. His loss, she thought decisively and snogged Bole.
He had arrived with Marcus Flint, someone they only knew very casually, and sat down by their table. While Pansy and Bole flirted, Flint had been speaking to Zabini and Nott, leaving Daphne to try and get the attention of their friend, Terrence Higgs who looked coldly around the room. It was an hour later and they had a few Butterbeers under their belts.
Suddenly, breaking the conversation of Hogwarts memories he had been having with Zabini and Nott, Marcus Flint had interrupted Bole trying to tell Pansy about recent Quidditch match scores.
"You heard about Malfoy?" he asked casually, fixing her with a look in which she glimpsed malice, when she looked up slowly. Her insides suddenly went cold.
Zabini, Nott and Daphne looked up too.
"What?"
"Thought you might want to know," Flint went on trying to sound mysterious.
"Know what?" she snapped. Her patience was low lately.
"'Bout his failure of course. You haven't heard, girly?"
Pansy's jaw clenched and she refused to look at Theodore Nott who she was sure would be pleased about this.
"Heard what?" she glared at Flint.
"Malfoy didn't kill the headmaster, did he? No, he was too much of a wimp, wasn't he, Bole," Flint leered.
Bole sent him a murderous look, probably angry with his friend for ruining his chances to snog Pansy again.
"So Snape had to finish it off..." Flint went on, a gleam in his eye, "Heard it from the league themselves, didn't we..."
"What a load of dung," muttered Daphne, but she looked unsure.
"Since when are you even involved?" Pansy said coldly, fixing Marcus with a look. "Why would the Dark Lord want trolls like you in his service?"
She detected a flicker of anger on his face, but then he composed himself.
"Dear old Draco made the Dark Lord very disappointed," Flint went on, purposely aggravating Pansy.
"Is that true?" Blaise Zabini asked haughtily. Pansy would probably strangle him later.
"Shut your mouth! Don't you dare even say his name, you filthy liar!"
Theodore watched her and suddenly felt sad; Pansy's loyalty to Malfoy was unwavering.
A few of the nearby wizards looked over by the sound of Pansy's suddenly loud voice. Bole mostly looked like he wanted them to switch subjects so he could have a go at Pansy again, but Higgs was listening with great interest. Zabini and Nott looked quite confused, as if not sure what to believe.
"And who the fuck are you to call me that?" Flint gave Pansy a cold look.
"It was Snape who pushed Malfoy away, wasn't it?" said Theodore Nott, despite himself. "It's what I've heard, from my father."
Pansy silently thanked him.
"Then you've heard wrong," Marcus Flint said calmly.
"That settles it then," Pansy exclaimed, procuring another few glances from the other pub residents, "Snape obviously wanted Draco's glory for himself!" However mixed her feelings were about Draco, she wouldn't have this come out for the rest of Slytherin to start gossiping about Draco's weaknesses.
"You don't soddin' listen, do you, Parkinson?" Flint went on, staring at her, making her feel like they were the only two in the room. "I thought I was doing you a favour telling you this."
Pansy snorted at that. She hardly believed him.
"Snape had to do it because Malfoy wouldn't," he continued, "He couldn't do it. He hadn't the nerves for it," he added with a sneer. Pansy's insides were boiling. "He's being punished for it as we speak. You don't believe me? Then tell me this – why isn't he sitting here with you lot righ' now? Why's he not writing you lot letters to explain where he went? Because he can't, because he's bein' punished by the Dark Lord, locked up in his own house..."
"Liar," she breathed. Daphne put her hand on Pansy's under the table. It didn't calm her.
Flint tilted his head and looked at her puzzlingly.
"You a right piece of work, aren't ya," he muttered. "Come on lads..."
"Piss off!" Pansy shouted after him as they left, their dark robes billowing behind them.
Zabini was frowning and Nott looked away unsurely.
"Don't listen to them Pansy!" Daphne said at once. "They're probably just jealous that Malfoy's close with the Dark Lord!"
But a seed of doubt had been planted within her and she couldn't simply shake it off.
Had he decided to not kill the headmaster? Or had he been unable to?
She didn't know which alternative would be worse. What if Malfoy wasn't a man, like she'd thought. What if he was just an immature, scared little boy?
It was the impossible yet inevitable choice of being a murderer or a coward. Draco swallowed hard, and raised his wand...
In the end, he turned out to be both.
He shuddered at the memory. He still saw the empty eyes of his old headmaster when he closed his eyes. He still had nightmares almost every night. Ultimately, he'd been unable to perform the Killing Curse, not because of lack of magical talent but because he was ready to accept Dumbledore's offer of help. He wondered if that made him weak or strong.
He was beginning to understand that there was more to life than glory and respect. Family, being safe away from violence, even love and friendship... Yet what had enticed him in the first place still excited and drew him in slightly – his views on Mudbloods and Muggles hadn't changed, the ambition to make Wizarding Britain, well the entire Wizarding world a better place hadn't subsided, and the desire for honour hadn't vanished completely. It was a terribly confusing sort of balance in his head. He had decided however that he hadn't had a clue when he signed up.
He'd figured it all out now. Snape, his father and his aunt had been the Dark Lord's highest appointed Death Eaters. But Lucius got sent to Azkaban and lost all of his authority and status. Instead, Yaxley was snaking his way closer and closer to that spot. Crabbe and Goyle's fathers along with McNair, Pettigrew, Rowle and Travers were of the lowest rank, along with himself after failing to kill Dumbledore. They never got chosen to do anything, or trusted with any information at all. His classmate Queenie Wilkes' father along with the Carrows, Dolohov, Rookwood, Jugson, Selwyn, Greyback and Mulciber were somewhere in the middle.
He didn't want this life but it had now been chosen for him. There was nothing he could do, no matter how much he missed playing Quidditch, being a Prefect, hanging in the common room with his classmates, and even doing homework and attending lessons; there was nothing he could do about it now.
Over dinner, Bellatrix swigged down an entire bottle of their finest Elf-made wine by herself and loudly trash-talked Lucius at the table, while her husband Rodolphus (fresh out of Azkaban) leered and agreed to everything she said. He seemed a very unpleasant man. At the end of the evening when Draco was in bed trying to sleep, he realised he had turned seventeen today and forgotten about it.
Bellatrix trained him in Occlumency and Legilimency, the Unforgivable Curses as well as non-verbal magic during the following few weeks, just like last summer. He'd come a very long way since a year ago. The non-verbal cursing was almost perfect; he just needed to work more on his Occlumency. He had a feeling it could come in handy near the Dark Lord.
The Dark Lord grew stronger and stronger over the summer, and had begun infiltrating the Ministry. Draco had no contact with anyone from school – his home was headquarters for the Death Eaters, Bellatrix took up most of his time and when she wasn't, he was practicing Apparition on his own or trying to catch up on missed time with his father.
The drawing room was full of silent people, sitting at a long and ornate table. The room's usual furniture had been pushed carelessly up against the walls. Illumination came from a roaring fire beneath a handsome marble mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded mirror. In the darkness, Draco could barely make out an apparently unconscious human figure hanging upside down over the table, revolving slowly as if suspended by an invisible rope, and reflected in the mirror and in the bare, polished surface of the table below. He seemed unable to prevent himself from glancing upward every minute or so. He was shaking with fear, he couldn't stop himself.
The door opened and Snape and Yaxley lingered for a moment on the threshold.
"Yaxley, Snape," said The Dark Lord from the head of the table. "You are very nearly late."
"Severus, here," he spoke, indicating the seat on his immediate right. "Yaxley—beside Dolohov."
The two men took their allotted places. Most of the eyes around the table followed Snape, and it was to him that Voldemort spoke first.
"So?"
"My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall."
The interest around the table sharpened palpably; Some stiffened, others fidgeted, all gazing at Snape and Voldemort. "Saturday ... at nightfall," repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon Snape's black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape, however, looked calmly back into Voldemort's face and, after a moment or two. Voldemort's lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.
"Good. Very good. And this information comes—"
"—from the source we discussed," said Snape.
"My Lord."
Yaxley had leaned forward to look down the long table at Voldemort and Snape. All faces turned to him.
"My Lord, I have heard differently," Yaxley waited but Voldemort did not speak, so he went on, "Dawlish, the Auror, let slip that Potter will not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the boy turns seventeen."
Snape was smiling, "My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm has been placed upon Dawlish. It would not be the first time; he is known to be susceptible."
"I assure you, my Lord, Dawlish seemed quite certain," said Yaxley.
"If he has been Confunded, naturally he is certain," said Snape.
"I assure you, Yaxley, the Auror Office will play no further part in the protection of Harry Potter. The Order believes that we have infiltrated the Ministry."
"The Order's got one thing right, then, eh?" said Jugson with a wheezy giggle that was echoed here and there along the table. Voldemort did not laugh, and nor did Draco. The Dark Lord's gaze had wandered upward to the body revolving slowly overhead, and he seemed to be lost in thought.
"My Lord," Yaxley went on, "Dawlish believes an entire party of Aurors will be used to transfer the boy—"
Voldemort held up a large white hand, and Yaxley subsided at once, watching resentfully as Voldemort turned back to Snape.
"Where are they going to hide the boy next?"
"At the home of one of the Order," said Snape. "The place, according to the source, has been given every protection that the Order and Ministry together could provide. I think that there is little chance of taking him once he is there, my Lord, unless, of course, the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchantments to break through the rest."
"Well, Yaxley?" Voldemort called down the table, the firelight glinting strangely in his red eyes. "
Will the Ministry have fallen by next Saturday?"
Once again, all heads turned. Draco hoped with everything he had that the Ministry indeed would fall soon. Then Voldemort needn't hide in their home anymore. Yaxley squared his shoulders.
"My Lord, I have good news on that score. I have—with difficulty, and after great effort—succeeded in placing an Imperius Curse upon Pius Thicknesse." Many of those sitting around Yaxley looked impressed; his neighbour, Dolohov, a man with a long, twisted face, clapped him on the back. "It is a start," said Voldemort. "But Thicknesse is only one man. Scrimgeour must be surrounded by our people before I act. One failed attempt on the Minister's life will set me back a long way."
"Yes—my Lord, that is true—but you know, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Thicknesse has regular contact not only with the Minister himself, but also with the Heads of all the other Ministry departments. I will, I think, be easy now that we have such a high-ranking official under our control, to subjugate the others, and then they can all work together to bring Scrimgeour down."
"As long as our friend Thicknesse is not discovered before he has converted the rest," said Voldemort. "At any rate, it remains unlikely that the Ministry will be mine before next Saturday. If we cannot touch the boy at his destination, then it must be done while he travels."
"We are at an advantage there, my Lord," said Yaxley, who seemed determined to receive some portion of approval. "We now have several people planted within the Department of Magical Transport. If Potter Apparates or uses the Floo Network, we shall know immediately."
"He will not do either," said Snape. "The order is eschewing any form of transport that is controlled or regulated by the Ministry; they mistrust everything to do with the place."
"All the better," said Voldemort. "He will have to move in the open. Easier to take, by far."
Again, Voldemort looked up at the slowly revolving body as he went on, "I shall attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than to his triumphs."
The company around the table watched Voldemort apprehensively, each of them, by his or her expression, afraid that they might be blamed for Harry Potter's continued existence. Voldemort, however, seemed to be speaking more to himself than to any of them, still addressing the unconscious body above him. "I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best-laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be."
At these words, seemingly in response to them, a sudden wail sounded, a terrible, drawn-out cry of misery and pain. Many of those at the table looked downward, startled, for the sound had seemed to issue from below their feet.
"Wormtail," said Voldemort, with no change in his quiet, thoughtful tone, and without removing his eyes from the revolving body above, "have I not spoken to you about keeping our prisoner quiet?"
"Yes, m–my Lord," gasped Wormtail, who had been sitting so low in his chair that it had appeared, at first glance, to be unoccupied. Now he scrambled from his seat and scurried from the room, leaving nothing behind him but a curious gleam of silver.
"As I was saying," continued Voldemort, looking again at the tense faces of his followers, "I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter."
The faces around his displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms.
"No volunteers?" said Voldemort. "Let's see ... Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore."
Draco's father looked up. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.
"My Lord?"
"Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand."
"I ..."
Oh, why couldn't he choose anyone else, Draco thought furiously, his father had been through enough on the Dark Lord's account. Lucius glanced sideways at Narcissa. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale as he was, her long blonde hair hanging down her back, but beneath the table her slim fingers closed briefly on his wrist. At her touch, Lucius put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort, who held it up in from of his red eyes, examining it closely.
"What is it?"
"Elm, my Lord," whispered Lucius.
"And the core?"
"Dragon—dragon heartstring."
"Good," said Voldemort. He drew out his own wand and compared the lengths. Lucius made an involuntary movement; for a fraction of a second, it seemed he expected to receive Voldemort's want in exchange for his own. The gesture was not missed by Voldemort, whose eyes widened maliciously.
"Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?"
Some of the others sniggered.
"I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late ... What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?"
Draco gulped but continued to look away. He glanced at the body above and shuddered.
"Nothing—nothing, my Lord!"
"Such lies, Lucius ..."
The soft voice seems to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving. One or two of the wizards barely repressed a shudder as the hissing grew louder; something heavy could be heard sliding across the floor beneath the table. The huge snake emerged to climb slowly up Voldemort's chair. It rose, seemingly endlessly, and came to rest across Voldemort's shoulders; its neck the thickness of a man's thigh; its eyes, with their vertical slits for pupils, unblinking. Voldemort stroked the creature absently with long thin fingers, still looking at Lucius.
"Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?"
"Of course, my Lord," said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. "We did desire it—we do."
Narcissa made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from Voldemort and the snake. Draco glanced at the Dark Lord for a second and away again, terrified to make eye contact.
"My Lord," said Bellatrix from halfway down the table, her voice constricted with emotion, "it is an honour to have you here, in our family's house. There can be no higher pleasure."
Bellatrix leaned toward Voldemort, for mere words could not demonstrate her longer for closeness.
"No higher pleasure," repeated Voldemort, his head tilted a little to one side as he considered Bellatrix. "That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you."
Her face flooded with colour; her eyes welled with tears of delight. "My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!"
"No higher pleasure ... even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?"
She stared at him, her lips parted, evidently confused. "I don't know what you mean, my Lord."
"I'm talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And your, Lucius and Narcissa. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud."
There was an eruption of jeering laughter from around the table. Many leaned forward to exchange gleeful looks; a few thumped the table with their fists. The great snake, disliking the disturbance, opened its mouth and hissed angrily, but the Death Eaters did not hear it, so jubilant were they at Bellatrix and the Malfoys' humiliation. Bellatrix's face, so recently flushed with happiness, had turned an ugly, blotchy red.
"She is no niece of ours, my Lord," she cried over the outpouring of mirth. "We—Narcissa and I—have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries."
"What say you, Draco?" asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. "Will you babysit the cubs?"
The hilarity mounted; Draco looked in terror at his father, who was staring down into his own lap, then caught his mother's eye. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, then resumed her own deadpan stare at the opposite wall.
"Enough," said Voldemort, stroking the angry snake."Enough."
And the laughter died at once. "Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased overtime," he said as Bellatrix gazed at him, breathless and imploring.
"You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest."
"Yes, my Lord," whispered Bellatrix, and her eyes swam with tears of gratitude again. "At the first chance!"
"You shall have it," said Voldemort. "And in your family, so in the world ... we shall cut away the canker that infects us until only those of the true blood remain ..." Voldemort raised Lucius's wand, pointed it directly at the slowly revolving figure suspended over the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds.
"Do you recognize our guest, Severus?" asked Voldemort. Snape raised his eyes to the upside down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity. As she revolved to face the firelight, the woman said in a cracked and terrified voice. "Severus! Help me!"
"Ah, yes," said Snape as the prisoner turned slowly away again.
"And you, Draco?" asked Voldemort, stroking the snake's snout with his wand-free hand. Draco shook his head jerkily. Now that the woman had woken, he felt unable to look at her anymore.
"But you would not have taken her classes," said Voldemort.
"For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage, who until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
There were small noises of comprehension around the table. A broad, hunched woman with pointed teeth cackled.
"Yes ... Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles ... how they are not so different from us ..."
One of the Death Eaters spat on the floor. Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape again. "Severus ... please ... please ..."
"Silence," said Voldemort, with another twitch of Lucius's wand, and Charity fell silent as if gagged. "Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defence of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept those thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance ... She would have use all mate with Muggles ... or, no doubt, werewolves ..." Nobody laughed this time; There was no mistaking the anger and contempt in Voldemort's voice. For the third time, Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape. Tears were pouring from her eyes into her hair. Snape looked back at her, quite impassive, as she turned slowly away from him again.
"Avada Kedavra."
The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the room. Charity fell, with a resounding crash, onto the table below, which trembled and creaked. Several of the Death Eaters leapt back in their chairs. Draco fell out of his onto the floor.
"Dinner, Nagini," said Voldemort softly, and the great snake swayed and slithered from his shoulders onto the polished wood.
The Dark Lord's wrath wasn't pleasurable, but since both Draco and Lucius had disappointed him gravely, they weren't worthy enough to join the other Death Eaters trying to catch Potter on the evening they were moving him. Not to mention that Lucius was wandless. This wasn't something Draco regretted, quite to the contrary he thoroughly enjoyed being left alone at the manor for what he supposed to be the first time that summer. At least now he could be comfortable for a couple of hours, until they all returned. He didn't care that his family were in the lowest of ranks.
When they came back that evening, it was oddly dark for summer. The Dementors had made everything dark and misty. The manor house that had been silent for several hours was now bustling with sound, coming from the hall. Somebody screamed. Draco forced himself to walk down the marble staircase to overlook the scene. There were Death Eaters everywhere.
It was Rodolphus Lestrange who was injured. His face was messed up, his features barely recognisable or even visible – his face torn and fleshy. There was blood everywhere – in his face, down the front of his robes, dripping onto the floor and puddling around him. Draco felt nauseous suddenly and had to swallow hard not to be sick.
Standing halfway down the stairs, he frowned, seeing everyone rushing by to help Lestrange. Bellatrix was the angriest. Severus Snape was trying to perform healing enchantments with his wand while one of the house elves were cleaning up the blood on the floor manually with wet towels. And everyone was shouting at each other for being defeated by the Order of the Phoenix once more.
Lucius and Narcissa appeared out of the drawing room, asking what was happening – and seeing Rodolphus lying on their fine floor like a ragdoll. Narcissa looked at the scene in front of her with a shocked and disgusted look on her face.
Draco didn't care about Rodolphus, nor did his parents. He didn't care that the Dark Lord had failed once more to kill Potter. And he didn't care that the Dark Lord was angrier than ever that evening. Potter's apparent lack of the ability to die seemed to irritate the Dark Lord extremely.
On the first of August the Ministry finally fell. Scrimgeour was murdered in a short and quiet coup. The Dark Lord took over power and placed and Imperiused Pius Thicknesse as Minister of Magic, to lead under his command. Many of the Heads of different departments within the Ministry were already Imperiused. A few Death Eaters, like Yaxley, Travers and Selwyn became Heads in the new regime. Apparently they also quickly placed a Taboo Charm on Voldemort's name, all to try and catch Potter and other opponents.
One of the most important things about taking over the Ministry, Draco knew, was that once they did, they would be able to break through all the security enchantments around the various safety houses Potter might be in, and thus attack them all. The same evening the other Death Eaters were at the Weasley's place all evening and well into the night, 'interrogating' everyone. It was the second evening alone at home for the Malfoys.
But when they found out Potter weren't in any of the safety houses and not even the Weasley's had any information of his whereabouts, the Dark Lord was enraged to say the least.
Draco's wand-hand was shaking as he raised it. The dark drawing room was alive with the sounds of the large snake slipping over the floor around him, capturing him and Rowle in a perfect circle. A blazing fire in one end of the room made the Dark Lord's eyes even redder, flames dancing in them.
"More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini? Lord Voldemort is not sure that he will forgive this time…. You called me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure…. Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!"
"Crucio!" gasped Draco and he didn't even have to mean it. He'd mastered the Unforgivables so well after countless practices with his aunt. Rowle's screams echoed through his head but he kept his eyes on the writhing man on the floor – he didn't dare glance to his right where Voldemort had his long slender fingers ready on his wand, should Draco stop obeying.
"No!" roared Rowle in agony, "Please, my Lord—"
Voldemort cast a quick silencing charm with a furious wave of his arm.
"Crucio!" said Draco again, his upper lip trembling and sweaty. A jolt went through his stomach when Pansy's face appeared in a memory, and he thoroughly hoped she would never see him like this, see him do this.
He poured all of his hatred for the Dark Lord into his torturing of the fellow Death Eater.
When the Dark Lord finally left, Narcissa decided they would try and maintain some of their past glory, and so she invited the Parkinsons over for dinner to celebrate Draco's seventeenth birthday in arrears. She knew without asking that that was what Draco wanted. He didn't mind waiting another month to see Crabbe and Goyle but he was positively aching to see Pansy, just to have a look at her, to be reminded that she existed. He'd forgotten how she smelled and the way her voice sounded when she laughed and teased him.
Almost shaking in anticipation all morning, Draco cut himself shaving. He fastened the Quidditch captain's badge on his school robes, although his joy was subsided as there was nobody to brag about it to.
The blood on the hall floor after Rodolphus had been cleaned up – and all signs that the Dark Lord had been staying in their drawing room had been magically erased. His absence was nearly blissful.
He wore dark green robes as he strolled down the marble staircase in the dimly lit hall. He couldn't stand to look at himself in the mirror – he was still gaunt and skinny with dark circles under his eyes, just like he'd been that spring at Hogwarts. Summer holidays hadn't exactly been kind on him. He hoped she wouldn't notice.
Narcissa came into the hall with a determined look on her face. Her long blonde hair was combed and sleek for the first time in a long time and she had a dash of colour on her usually pale cheeks. She swung her wand and the torches lining the walls lit up at once. The hall looked less haunted now, and more alive.
"Oh good you're here," she said shortly, noticing Draco at the top of the staircase. Her voice echoed through the large hall. "They'll be here in just a minute. Have you seen that filthy Elf?"
She wrinkled her nose. He shook his head. "I need to inquire about the wine," she went on and for a split second he couldn't have guessed that the Dark Lord had been staying at their home for a month and that they had completely fallen from grace. She looked just as elegant and self-assured as she had before.
"Where is father?" he just had time to ask before there was a bright knock on the stone door.
Narcissa froze and her face lit up in stress. "They're early!" she exclaimed. "Lucius," she then called demandingly, and his father stepped out of the drawing room, grumbling and unshaved but in fine robes that Narcissa had chosen, as Draco moved down the staircase with a thumping heart. "BINKY!" Narcissa called angrily, and the frightened House-Elf appeared suddenly with a pop.
"Yes, mistress?"
"Where have you been hiding, Elf? Well, go on, open the door, the Parkinsons are here!"
His father and mother shook hands and cheek-kissed respectively with Mr and Mrs Parkinson – the man tall, balding and wearing an expensive-looking travelling cloak and the woman short and plump with an evil face, and Draco forgot to breathe for a second when he saw their daughter standing in the darkness outside just behind her father. She had bought new dress-robes for the occasion – he was sure because for one he hadn't seen them before and secondly he knew she needn't a reason to buy new robes. Her usually shoulder-length brown hair had grown a bit since they'd last seen each other. Pansy and Narcissa cheek-kissed while Mrs Parkinson complimented their home. Mr Parkinson nodded curtly at Lucius who shared his stoic form. Draco couldn't take his eyes off Pansy, but he forced himself to shake Mr Parkinson's hand, a quite harsh grip from the latter, and kiss Mrs Parkinson on the cheek. Then, finally, Pansy took a step towards him fully clothed – but he imagined her nude, he suddenly remembered every inch of her naked skin as clear as day, and he couldn't wait to see it again and stop just fantasising about it.
"Hello, Draco," she said casually but they didn't tear their eyes off each other and simultaneously moved closer to hug. Her eyes weren't glinting like they usually did. "Hello, Pansy," he said quietly so she would be the only one to hear, as he got a face-full of her hair in the midst of their hug. She pulled away just as casually.
"Binky will have your cloaks," Narcissa smiled uncharacteristically warmly at the Parkinsons who shrugged out of their cloaks and dumped them on the tiny House-Elf who was quick to bounce back, dizzy, and gather them to hang. He could sense that Narcissa enjoyed being a hostess again, enjoyed pretending everything was just fine.
When Narcissa welcomed them into the dining room, Draco reached out for Pansy's hand but she moved it away quickly and acted as she hadn't noticed, and followed Lucius, Narcissa and her parents towards the dining room.
"Pans," he muttered, walking close to her. She didn't turn around. Their parents voices filled the room inside, but just as she was about to step through the stone archway he grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop. She finally acknowledged him, turning around and looking up at him. His heart was pounding again. He couldn't restrain himself – he moved in for a rough kiss, his lips meeting hers finally, she was warm and tasty and to their parents they might've just been whispering something quickly to each other – her back was concealing them. She responded with less enthusiasm than he'd hoped for, giving him a short, quick kiss back, and then pulling away. The chairs scraped inside, their parents were seating themselves.
"I've missed you," he breathed, despite himself. Pansy jerked her head for them to go inside.
He followed. They ate under the watchful eyes of Draco's old relatives in portraits on the walls, and to the light of burning candles on the table in high silver holders. The conversation was polite and falsely enthusiastic, just as expected.
"How is the department of Magical Law Enforcement?" Lucius offered Mr Parkinson politely but Draco could hear the chilliness in his voice seep through, "That was where you worked, wasn't it?"
"Hard times, Mr Malfoy, hard times," Mr Parkinson replied tiredly, ignoring the attempted jab, and cutting into his lamb shank, "Quite stressful indeed."
Lucius nodded curtly and Narcissa said, "Oh, yes, I can imagine..."
"He's hardly ever home these days," said Perpetua Parkinson haughtily. "I've been having Ilythia Greengrass and Anthea Wilkes and Lucretia Bulstrode over for tea to keep me company... you really must join us next time, Narcissa," she smiled politely and Narcissa mirrored it. Draco knew she hadn't even been invited before. The Parkinsons didn't associate with Death Eaters. But now that the Malfoys had invited them over, he knew they were inclined to return the favour. After all, Mrs Parkinson had invited Queenie Wilkes' mother who was married to a Death Eater, so now she had no reason not to invite Narcissa other than their husbands' disliking of each other.
Later, Narcissa was finishing telling their company of how she and Lucius met, to mild laughter from the others. Pansy laughed as well, and Draco sat back and watched her, forgetting to listen to his mother. When she had finished, Pansy took a sip of her red wine and said casually: "Draco's made Quidditch captain for school, father."
Draco looked up, surprised; he didn't think she'd noticed the badge on his robe that had arrived a few days earlier. So she had in fact looked at him. Draco didn't smile as smugly as he otherwise would've – he never felt completely superior around Mr Parkinson.
"Yes, we're quite proud," Narcissa smiled.
"Has he now?"
"I have, sir, yes," Draco replied to him. Mr Parkinson didn't look very impressed but placed his fork on his napkin by the side of the plate and reached his hand out towards Draco. "I suppose congratulations are in order, then."
"It is quite an achievement after all," Lucius drawled.
Draco eagerly shook his hand and Pansy looked mildly entertained and surprised at the same time. "Thank you, sir," said Draco.
"Yes, yes, good lad," Mr Parkinson said and cleared his throat. Draco knew Mr Parkinson was trying to not dislike him for Pansy's sake. "And what of your marks?"
Binky was pouring Fire Whiskey into Lucius glass, and was frightened when he snorted coldly. Draco knew it angered him that Mr Parkinson even asked. Lucius didn't think they needed to prove themselves to anyone. They were Malfoys after all. But even Lucius couldn't deny that the Parkinsons were an equally as fine and respected old Pureblood family. Draco wished he didn't need to reply but he knew he did.
"I'm sure Pansy beat me this year," Draco said and tried to put on his usual smirk, but it didn't come as naturally. "I had a lot to do this past school year."
Narcissa laughed nervously, probably afraid they would figure out what he'd been doing all last year, and Pansy smirked, content with him admitting she had subdued him.
He knew his father had always disliked Mr Parkinson but somehow he thought Lucius didn't mind spending time with someone who wasn't a Death Eater after all that had happened lately.
"Might I suggest we move to the drawing room?" Lucius said when Binky had poured everyone an after-dinner drink of Fire Whiskey.
"Certainly, certainly," the Parkinsons agreed. Draco caught Pansy's eye through the scraping of chairs and movement of their parents. He made a jerking movement with his head, motioning for her to leave with him. Her face was expressionless, but she followed him, and they casually ducked out while the others moved through the large echoing hall to the drawing room. He knew they would notice their absence quite at once but at least his parents would only be glad the two of them wanted to spend time alone. They hurried up the staircase and he placed a hand on her back, leading her. She did nothing to return his affections.
Draco felt like having her close, stroke her hair and telling her that he loved her and couldn't stop thinking about her, that she was his only light in the extreme darkness at the moment – but he couldn't read her behaviour and he wouldn't admit to something if it wasn't reciprocated. She felt distant, far away, despite the fact that she was nearer to him physically than for a long time. Something felt different – perhaps it was him, he thought as they made their way along the dark corridor leading to his bedroom.
She was his equal, his classmate, his friend, his ally, his first girlfriend…But he didn't know how she would feel about the changes within him. He wondered whether she would understand how worn out he was, not to mention how stuck he felt. Or if it would anger her.
He opened the door to his room with his wand. There was a dark green banner with the words "Toujours Pur" written on it in scrawny silver letters by the head of his four poster bed.
"Bloody hell," she said with a crooked little smile as soon as they were alone and made her way into the large room to sit on his bed, sauntering over. "It's weird seeing you."
He frowned at her as he closed the door. Seeing her sitting on his bed brought memories of last summer back, but he pushed them away. Life was different now. They were older now. He had known nothing back then.
"Been a while, you know, I'm used to seeing your ugly face every day," she joked teasingly. He sniggered. She was playing a game and she knew it, because he left Hogwarts in June without any explanation except "stay in your dorm all night". Ludicrous, she reckoned. She hadn't even known if he was alive. When he left she had realised how much she cared about him but she didn't feel like showing it. She expected an apology of some sort, of any sort, but she doubted she'd get one.
There was so much she was dying to ask him, so many questions in her head. Had he killed Dumbledore, like the rumours said? What did Snape have to do with it all, and Harry Potter? Had Flint been right, had Snape done it? Would he come back to Hogwarts? Would everything change now? Had the Dark Lord taken over unofficially?
She dared not ask anything of what she was dying to ask. She felt as if she didn't have the right to question him – he was not her boyfriend anymore, hadn't been for quite a while – and seeing as he hadn't told her one bit last year about his mission to get rid of Dumbledore and what in Merlin's name he was doing in that sodding Room all year long, she found it hard to believe he would tell her anything now.
"So I suppose your mother thinks we're still together?" she asked matter-of-factly as he came to the bed, and slung himself down, lying next to where she was sitting, with his arms crossed under his head, and his ankles crossed. She had an impulse to reach out and touch him, when he lay in such an unprotected manner. She turned to him, still sitting on the edge of the bed. "That's the reason she invited us over, right? You've not told her?"
He shrugged, avoiding looking at her. Well, that, and he'd wanted company of course. He wasn't really aware that they weren't together but he didn't dare tell Pansy that. He wondered what she had been up to since he left Hogwarts and if they still were the same people they had been a couple years ago – all their lives really. So much had changed during the last year, but Pansy hadn't. Had he? Would it disappoint her, aggravate her, to know he had almost taken Dumbledore's offer of help?
"Don't see the point," he said. "She's got enough to worry about, doesn't she."
Pansy looked away. "Yeah…" He had unwillingly let out that his mother would be upset to know he and Pansy had split up – he was sure Pansy's parents on the other hand felt quite the opposite. Her father had probably told her 'I told you so' a hundred times. He wondered what he called Draco in the privacy of his own home… Fool… Coward… It made his blood boil. It urged him to touch her – he could still have her, and her father could do nothing about that.
He leaned over and grabbed her sides to pull her towards him and grunted: "Come here."
She didn't giggle like she always used to. She just looked down at him with a straight face. He couldn't read it, which was very unusual for Pansy who usually always wore all her types of feelings on her sleeve.
"What?" he asked when she didn't join him. She didn't answer. He felt a strong urge to have her closer. He needed to be close to her, it had been too long. He couldn't believe he'd ever found her unattractive, when they were younger. He wanted to see her naked and touch her – her distant manner confused him but left him wanting her even more. Had she really not missed him? Perhaps she'd been snogging Theodore Nott again now that Draco hadn't been watching. The thought sent a jolt of anger through his stomach. Couldn't she see what she was doing to him?
But when he propped himself up on his elbows and leaned over to kiss her tentatively, she didn't stop him. He grabbed the side of her head, intertwining his fingers into her hair, while they kissed. His heart was pounding, while their tongues met. However off Pansy had behaved downstairs, she didn't seem to mind kissing him. His fingers found their way through her hair down to her scalp and he kissed her quicker, he was hungry, needed his fix, and finally heard a small sigh of pleasure from Pansy. She was softening, and finally she began to kiss him back eagerly instead of just allowing him to kiss her. He had no idea why she was acting so strangely but all he could think of was to keep kissing her. She was still sitting up beside him, leaning down while he reached up. He moved his hand from her head down to her back, gingerly pushing her forwards towards him, and finally she obliged, straddling him and placing her arms around his neck, closer than she usually would when they were snogging. He sat up at once and leaned back against the head of the bed, his hands stroking her sides and finally he wrapped his arms around her back. They were closer than usually – hugging, holding onto each other while kissing. He'd never felt more intimate with her, it was completely new. Her hands were in his hair and she kissed him like she'd missed him, like it wasn't just out of attraction but something more. He didn't think he'd ever enjoyed anything in his life as much, expect maybe winning at Quidditch.
A piece of wood suddenly tumbled down inside the large fireplace, making the fire crackle while a spark flew up. Draco looked into the fire; his pale and skinny body sitting slouched on the side of the bed, only wearing boxers. Pansy realised she still hadn't got a clear answer of what had happened the night Dumbledore died, if Draco had been the one to kill him or not. It was what she wanted to know most of all, and secondly she wanted an explanation for the school year that had just passed. She wrapped the duvet around her naked body and sat up in the bed. Draco stroked her hand absent-mindedly. She didn't think he knew he was doing it. She pulled away her hand.
"People are talking about it," she said. She knew he'd know what she meant.
"Who?" he said quickly, flaring up at once and turning to look at her.
"Flint," said Pansy casually. "He's saying you didn't kill Dumbledore."
"Yeah, he's been over a few times," muttered Draco, but his eyes softened a little. "I, er, didn't."
They looked at each other for a couple of seconds before Pansy spoke again. "... But you were meant to?"
Draco paused and looked away. "Yes," he then said, shortly.
"That was your mission all year," she said. She needn't ask this time. She had figured it out on her own.
"Yes," he said anyway. "Well, Snape did it actually. It was my job to do, but I just…" he hesitated for a second, the question pounding his mind and not leaving him, over and over he heard it inside his mind – how would she feel about him if she found out the truth, that he hadn't been able to finish Dumbledore off? – and then he hastily went on: "Things got in the way. It all happened fast, the Order of the Phoenix was downstairs, so Snape finished him off quickly. We didn't have time. Then we just left. Came here."
Pansy looked up at him with an unreadable face-expression, just looking at him and saying nothing. For a second he felt slightly nervous and avoided looking at her – did she not believe him? Then he looked at her and she gave a soft, half-shrug.
"I suppose what's important is that he's dead. Or was the Dark Lord disappointed? Flint said something about punishment..."
He imagined the Dark Lord with a disappointed, sad look on his snake-like features. It was almost comical.
"Well, a bit, yeah," he told her anyway. He didn't want to tell her about the torture he'd received from the Dark Lord – he didn't want to speak ill of the Dark Lord to her, he didn't want her to – just like him – realise that everything they'd been raised to believe was a lie, that it wasn't as he'd imagined. He didn't want her to start rethinking things just as he was – because that only complicated things. Pansy might not be able to hold her tongue, like he had to, so it was dangerous for her to switch opinion on the Dark Lord. It was best for him to let her think the Dark Lord was all right.
"I thought Snape was going to take me away and keep me from the Dark Lord. I thought He would kill my parents because I failed him. I thought me and Snape would be on the run. Instead I'm here... My father's home from Azkaban and my mother's fine, yet I feel more far from home than ever..."
He hadn't meant to open himself up as much to Pansy. He closed his mouth. Pansy didn't say anything. She frowned at him. He felt sweaty at once; did she think he was a traitor?
He cleared his throat. "The Ministry's been interrogating Mudbloods. They want to keep a registry of Muggleborns," he said then, deciding to change the subject. "You'll probably see it in the Prophet soon."
Pansy just frowned at him again. It unsettled him.
"There won't be any Muggleborns at school this year probably."
Pansy gave a half-snort and a small shrug. "About time, isn't it."
He nodded curtly and turned his gaze back into the fire.
"You are coming back to Hogwarts, right?" she asked, and finally he detected some emotion. Perhaps she did care. "You've got to, now that you're Quidditch captain, don't you?"
He smiled at the fact that Pansy thought a captain's badge could even compete with the Dark Lord's will. The only reason he was going back to Hogwarts was because the Dark Lord didn't care what he did anymore – not because he'd been made Quidditch captain.
"Yes, I am."
She finally smiled in a pleased manner.
By the end of August, The Prophet started printing lists of Muggleborns wanted for interrogation, just like Draco had disclosed to Pansy. And Snape had been appointed headmaster of Hogwarts. It probably couldn't hurt Draco or his fellow Slytherins.
He received his book list, but Bellatrix sent Binky the House-Elf to do his shopping for him. Draco would've killed to just be able to go outside for a minute or two. He hadn't left the manor all summer. But he knew it was their punishment from the Dark Lord. He was going mental lounging around the manor like a prisoner.
All summer long he thought of the same thing. He wondered what would've happened if he'd accepted Dumbledore's offer of protection in the latter's last moment of his life.
He hadn't seen the sun all summer. Anunusual mist had laid itself down outside and the dark clouds that rolled overhead did not seem to be going anywhere. The Dementors' doing probably, he thought.
One evening in late August he found a stash of photographs when he was sorting through his night-stand in lack of other activities. An image of Pansy surfaced – Pansy lying on his chest looking up right at the camera, laughing and making kissy-faces towards him last autumn in his dormitory, before everything had turned bad... He stared at her. He flipped through the photographs – another one of Pansy, accompanied by Draco himself, dancing at the Yule Ball, her in her horrible pink robes and him in handsome black ones... Another one, of Crabbe and Goyle cheering with Butterbeer bottles in the common room, with Miles Bletchley and horse-teethed Adrian Pucey in the background... It felt like a lifetime ago when life had been that carefree. Another photo... Pansy trying on her birthday knickers he gave her last autumn, covering her chest while laughing. He remembered it well. A group photo of the Inquisitorial Squad... And then the fifth year Slytherin Quidditch team...
He kept coming back to the one of Pansy blowing kisses at the camera. If he hadn't known her, he would've thought she looked sweet. He remembered her sneaking up on him, trying to figure what he was doing in the Room of Requirement... He remembered her aggravating him to the point where he punched Theodore Nott... It didn't seem as important anymore, his anger for Nott. He remembered her gossiping with her friends and sticking out her leg tripping a first year and calling Granger a Mudblood in the corridors... He remembered her taunting smirk, her evil eyes when she teased him, her total disinterest in Quidditch... But no matter what, he couldn't bring himself to dislike any of that about her.
He wondered if she had snogged someone else during the summer – what if she'd even done more than that...? He clenched his jaw. It made him feel desperate not knowing whether she would hate him if she knew the truth about that night on top of the Astronomy Tower.
He hoped it was the fact that he had been locked inside the manor all summer that drove him mad, and not Pansy.
