Better be Slytherin
Battle of Hogwarts II
"We're going to die," panted Draco. "You understand that, don't you? Just like Vince..."
For the first time in his life, Gregory Goyle said, "Shut up, Draco," and grabbed him under his arms and pulled him up like he was a small, unwilling child. "Let's get out of here."
But when Draco dizzily got to his feet and Goyle let him go, he noticed his friend sweep an arm over his face, wiping what Draco presumed were tears away. Draco looked away out of politeness.
The seventh floor corridor was now full of rubble, broken glass and dust, he noticed as he staggered after Goyle, the world spinning. Everything was happening fast and in a blur around him – he didn't seem to take in his surroundings, although he couldn't escape noticing the fact that the walls and ceiling were shaking, and with a jolt of anxiety he wondered whether the Death Eaters had entered the castle.
He didn't have to wonder for very long however, as when they reached the end of the corridor and turned the corner, they came upon the main staircase and shock hit him. Death Eaters and their opponents were duelling – jets of different coloured light flying in every direction.
What was he supposed to do? He needed to get out of there, he needed to save himself! Crabbe had already died, Draco wasn't about to go the same way. He wanted to get as far away from Voldemort as possible but at the same time he wanted to find his mother and father, and somehow he knew the two were connected.
He swore loudly.
House elves were fighting; professor Trelawney was throwing crystal balls at random Death Eaters, inhabitants of portraits were moving about, yelling at the battlers; Professor Sprout and Neville Longbottom were ordering a vicious-looking giant plant to attack; Professor McGonagall had magicked stone gargoyles to come alive and fight for them. Peeves the Poltergeist was hovering in the air throwing things at the Death Eaters and laughing loudly. Draco felt like he was going to pass out.
"Let's get out of here!" he shouted at Goyle who looked stunned.
He dodged a curse which hit a suit of armour nearby and exploded. Strips of metal were catapulted into his skin like bullets.
"Are you okay?" Goyle was bellowing, as Draco clutched his forearm where the robes were all torn and bloody.
"Yes!" he grunted, "Protego!" and he roughly grabbed Goyle and pulled him along behind a tapestry.
"What are we going to do?" exclaimed Goyle, "We can't just hide in here until it's over!"
Was it ever going to be over?
"I want to go home with my..." Draco began, but before he let himself finish the sentence he closed his eyes, dizzy, and shook his head. "No... I can't," he breathed, "I have to go to the Dark Lord."
"Where is he, though?" said Goyle despairingly.
"I don't know."
Images flashed behind his closed eyes – Crabbe falling into flames; riding on the broomstick clutching onto Potter; Potter saving his life… Did that mean Draco was forever, magically indebted to him? He shuddered at the thought...
The Dark Lord... where was he? Where were mother and father? What was he supposed to do?
He was the worst Death Eater there'd ever been, he was sure...
"Let's just try to get out of here!" he exclaimed presently. He didn't know where it came from, because his brain said to go to Voldemort, but his natural instincts were to flee, to get as far away from there as possible... Perhaps they could sneak out of the castle and down to the Quidditch pitch? There he could break into the changing rooms and get his and Goyle's broomsticks, and fly away from there, towards the mountains.
But then what about his parents? He couldn't leave them.
Regardless, he ripped open the tapestry and revealed the scene behind it. The Order of the Phoenix was there now, duelling the Death Eaters.
It felt as though his heart stopped when he suddenly saw huge, enormous, hairy, black spiders emerging from the broken windows and up the staircases.
Chaos, panic, fear, blood, possible deaths? Centaurs, ghosts, statues, giants, spiders, Dementors...
It was like a nightmare. A real living nightmare, not something fictional conjured up by his terrified sleeping unconsciousness. This was real, it was everywhere, wherever he turned, and he couldn't wake up.
His whole body was shaking, he looked around and realised how lost he was, he literally had no idea where to turn, where to go next. He started running towards the staircase, Goyle loyally treading in his wake, and they dodged curses on the way. Draco was quick with his mother's wand, manically flicking it around him over and over, thinking 'protego' inside his head. He could see the entrance hall now, it was full of duellers and various creatures, but he'd just reached the upper landing.
Suddenly something or someone grabbed his robes from the back, nearly choking him.
"Hogwarts students!" a raspy voice shouted in his ear and roughly turned him around, "trying to escape?" it was a masked Death Eater, and in his shock and confusion Draco couldn't instantly recognise who it was.
The Death Eater readjusted his grip and now held Draco up by the collar. Draco gasped. Was this how he was going to go down? By one of his own, by accident? He was worthy of better.
"I'm Draco Malfoy, I'm on your side!"
There was a flash of light and the grip disappeared, and so did the Death Eater, and Draco looked around, massively relieved, thinking Goyle had come to his rescue, but Goyle was still several steps up the staircase coming down, and there was nobody on his other side. To his surprise he saw a fist coming out of thin air, and subsequently hit him square in the face.
He fell on top of the stunned Death Eater, instantly in pain and even more bemused. He clutched his mouth and noticed his hand becoming stained with blood.
"And that's the second time we've saved your life tonight, you two-faced bastard!" he distantly heard a voice shouting, disappearing off, and he realised it must've been Weasley. The idiot, why had he punched him out after saving him from the Death Eater?
"Goyle, come on!" he shouted, and when he spoke, he realised one of his front teeth was missing. His tongue was unaccustomed to the openness. He swore loudly again and tried to stop the bleeding by holding the ripped sleeve of his forearm over his mouth. Goyle had made it down now, panting excessively, and bent over with his hands on his knees.
"You've—" Goyle gasped, pointing at Draco's face with a disgusted face-expression.
"I know I've lost a tooth," snapped Draco. "Look, the entrance hall is just down there, I think if we make a run for it we can make it out!"
Goyle looked hesitant, and Draco could see why: there were duellers all over the stairs and down in the hall, as well as students dragging injured friends away. Draco swallowed.
"You don't have that old Hand of Glory, do you?"
"NO! And we haven't got time to stand around and discuss this!" shouted Draco. More Order members were approaching from above. "RUN!"
The Slytherin hourglass that had recorded House points spilled its emeralds everywhere, and he was close to slipping as he ran down the stairs into the entrance hall. Draco briefly thought, bizarrely, of how pointless it had been to collect all those points. The lights were flashing so badly around him he could hardly see anything, with all the curses flying by.
He was running bent over, with his hands over his head, when a spell hit him. Before he had time to register what was going on, he had crashed into the opposite wall. He came to as he lay face down on the stone floor.
"Draco!" he heard Goyle scream. He opened his eyes into narrow splits; his head hurting so bad he thought the skull might have broke from the collision and all he could see was the staircase leading down to the dungeons, he was lying right on top of it. Perhaps he could just slide down it without being spotted and go and hide in the common room, or better yet the dormitory.
But then, someone was hovering over him. "Take his wand!" he heard a familiar Irish voice, and realised it was Seamus Finnegan of Gryffindor, and before he could resist, another figure was digging into his robes and got a hold of his wand. Adrenaline made him get up to quickly, and he staggered up to see Ernie Macmillan holding Draco's mother's wand.
"Give it to me!" Draco shouted, dizzy and nauseous, and he realised he probably had a concussion as he staggered forward towards Macmillan, but Finnegan quickly said, "Protego!" and he was pushed back.
"Accio!" he stupidly shouted even though he didn't have a wand, and tried to lunge forward again. "GIVE ME MY WAND!" he roared and jumped at Macmillan – they were locked in a physical battle at once, Draco tried to pry the wand out of his hands. Where was Goyle when you needed him? He tried prying Macmillan's fingers open, but he was still clutching the wand.
"Reducto!" Finnegan shouted and Goyle, who was running towards them, was thrown back several feet in the air and landed against the staircase, apparently unconscious. Red sparks were shooting just over their heads missing them by inches.
Draco did the only thing he in his unclear state could think to do. He bit Macmillan on the hand. Macmillan screamed and swore and Draco managed to get a hold of his wand. He held it up, pointing it at the stone pillar next to them and shouted, "Bombarda!" before he dove backwards. It exploded over them but did more harm to Finnegan and Macmillan than to Draco because he'd been prepared and thrown himself aside.
But Finnegan managed to save himself and began shooting curses at Draco, blood in his face.
"PROTEGO!" Draco kept shouting, over and over, as Finnegan's wand slashed in the air repeatedly.
"You sneaky little rat!" Finnegan shouted, "You're not getting away Malfoy, you're a Death Eater and you're going to get what's coming to you!"
Their wands flashed like swords, sparks in different colours erupting everywhere.
"PROTEGO!" Draco shouted again, breathless, and looked around for help, but the only Death Eaters he could see in the entrance hall were duelling two Order members at a time... All of the most skilled Aurors and Order members were there. The Death Eaters were now maskless, but he still couldn't recognise any of them. How many Death Eaters did Voldemort have? The thought scared him, and it must be hundreds he thought, as he'd lived at Headquarters and thought he'd met most but now more and more unknown Death Eaters approached.
He'd looked away a second too long. "Expelliarmus!"
Draco's wand slipped out of his fingers and rolled across the floor. "No!" He screamed, and before he could reach for it, Finnegan made another slashing movement with his wand, making purple flames erupt, and Draco felt his cheek being sliced open as if by a knife. He groaned in pain.
"You're disgusting! You've helped kill our friends! Students, kids!"
"Stupefy!" shouted Macmillan, and Draco was sent to the floor. As he scrambled to get up, ignoring new aches in his legs and back, Macmillan viciously stupefied him again, and Draco fell again. He tried to get up once more but was hit by another Stunning Spell. Now, Finnegan was shooting Curses at him as well. He was defeated. They wouldn't stop. He was hit over and over, so he couldn't get up...
Was Goyle dead too or just unconscious? Where were his parents? Was Voldemort coming closer? His insides were burning with anxiety and panic.
"STOP!" Draco shouted, desperate now. "I'm not on their side," he got out, through gasps of pain. "I'm not, I swear..."
"Nice try, Malfoy!"
Was he going to die? They weren't stopping. Memories appeared in his minds' eye, memories of sharing Liquorice Wands with her, shaking hands on the train for the first time, the memory of their first kiss... Her cheering him on in Quidditch by singing their song; memories of making her laugh, of teasing her, of dancing with her at the Yule Ball... It was all spinning around in his head, and he guessed that must mean he was dying.
But he wouldn't. He wouldn't die. He was Draco Malfoy and he wouldn't die here on the dirty floor of his school, while his parents and girlfriend were miles away. He was better than that. He was Draco Malfoy and he wanted to see the end of this battle.
He was not dying here, not now.
Suddenly he was roaring and he was getting up, and he didn't care what they did to him – they would not kill him. It wasn't logic or his heart's wishes, it was survival instinct. Before they knew it he had lunged at his wand that was still lying on the floor and he had grabbed it and from the floor, he pointed his wand up at them.
"AVADA KE—" He couldn't see them anymore, they had jumped aside, and were probably running now. His Unforgivable Curse hit the ceiling where a chandelier exploded. Glass, metal and crystal was raining down on the duellers.
He lay panting for a while, realising his whole body ached. Then he got up and staggered over to Goyle.
"Rennervate!" he screamed. Goyle didn't wake up. Draco exclaimed in fury and he shot the Spell again. "Wake up! We've got to go!"
He swore again and shouted, "Levicorpus!"
Goyle's unconscious body was floating after him as he ran through the entrance hall towards the doors leading to the grounds, shooting green light after green light around him not caring who it hit as long as it wasn't him. He didn't care if he killed Death Eaters or Aurors, as long as it meant him getting out of there in one piece. He'd mastered the Unforgivables so well he didn't even have to say the words out loud.
Pansy rounded on Tracey immediately. "What about you?" she snarled, and Blaise wondered where all that anger had sprung from so suddenly.
Tracey didn't look alarmed, simply tired. She still wouldn't look at him. He wondered if he'd made a mistake trying to make Daphne stay. "What about me?"
"Well?" Pansy demanded. "What are you going to do? You've been a bit of a Blood Traitor all year, haven't you! So are you going to join the Gryffindors and fight against my boyfriend or what?"
He knew in usual circumstances this would've made her angry but she merely sighed and said, "Come off it Pansy. Of course I won't."
Pansy still didn't look satisfied but seemed to find nothing else to say so she sat down again and turned away from them.
"Don't call me a blood traitor," said Tracey to the back of Pansy's head, and when he glanced at her he saw she was shaking slightly. Pansy froze.
"You have been." She said without turning around. "I'm really disappointed in you."
She sounded briefly, ironically, like professor McGonagall reprimanding a student for not doing homework. Blaise wondered what the hell he was part of.
Tracey sighed again. "Yeah you would be, wouldn't you, disappointed with anyone who didn't jump at the idea of putting the Crucio on kids. Whatever, Pansy."
"That's not what this is about!" She fired up and spun around on her chair to face them.
"Then tell me! What have I done? Besides not being a Pureblood! I don't get you, Pans, one second you're telling Nott how you don't support the Dark Lord and the next you're condemning me for being a Blood Traitor!"
"What's wrong with that?" Pansy squealed, "I don't support the Dark Lord! I hate him! That doesn't mean I'm against his views or that I want to fight against him!"
"It should! You're either on his side or against him," Tracey insisted.
"Then what are you doing here, you big hypocrite? We're all hiding out because it's dangerous to pick sides! I don't support the Dark Lord, I hope he doesn't win, but my boyfriend is up there," she pointed a shaking hand towards the castle, "fighting on his side because he has too, and so are his parents, and a whole bunch of our friends."
All of them were silent for a moment and then Pansy went on speaking.
"Have you any idea how powerful the Dark Lord is? Why would I stand in the way of him? I'm not going to risk my life to stop the Dark Lord!" she seemed to be struggling to put the words together to explain. "It doesn't matter who wins, Trace! It's not going to be perfect either way. Either the Dark Lord wins and we'll have to pretend we like him. Or the other side wins and they'll shun us!"
"It matters because of principles," muttered Tracey. "I don't want any more killings."
"Neither do I!" said Pansy defensively, "but I'm not willing to give my life for it. And neither are you by the look of it or you wouldn't sit here, would you!"
"I hardly think they'll be happy if they see a Slytherin coming to fight for their side. I would do it, but they don't want me there. They might even curse me if I come near, they'll think I'm on the Dark Lord's side, surely."
Pansy was silent for a moment, pondering this.
Blaise cleared his throat. "That means we can all agree then? That You-Know-Who is a power-hungry nutter who's just doing all this for his own personal gain? And that we would've needed a better champion for our views?"
Pansy, Tracey and Queenie muttered in agreement.
"I still think us Purebloods are better than Muggles and Mudbloods," spat Pansy. "Obviously, because we can do magic and they can't."
"I think we all agree on that, Parkinson," said Blaise in a snappish tone. Anything to get them to stop arguing, his head was pounding and he was sick of agitated female voices.
"Just tone it down a bit, will you," sighed Tracey looking at Pansy, "it gets tiring to hear it all the time."
"I don't care that you're a Half-Blood," said Pansy, "but you've been defying me all year! You've been flirting with Gryffindors and Ravenclaws! It's disgusting!"
"So your problem with me is that I'm not Slytherin enough?"
"Yes! Of course! It's embarrassing! We've got plenty of boys in Slytherin to pick from!"
There was a stunned silence for a while. Then Tracey said something none of them had ever thought about before.
"For Merlin's sake, Pansy, it's only a way of dividing students at a school! It's only a school house! It's a way of choosing where we sleep! It's not a lifestyle! What the bloody hell does it matter in real life?"
Pansy gaped.
And perhaps for the first time, Blaise realised how large the world outside Slytherin, outside Hogwarts was.
"Will you lot ever stop rowing?" sighed Queenie. "Or will I too have to go home to get some peace and quiet?"
The sky had turned a light pink, she noticed as she peered through the curtains of the Hog's head. She wondered how many hours had passed. She wondered what the odds of Draco being alive were.
"This is the only bottle left," muttered Zabini and dragged out a dusty old bottle of Blishen's Firewhiskey.
"Pour us a glass then," demanded Pansy. Her eyes were burning and it felt as though she had sand in them. She sat sipping on the burning liquid for a while, her eyes open but unseeing. A distant clock was ticking. The old wooden floor creaked when someone moved. She looked up.
She'd been lost in her own thoughts of Draco and how the world would change, and so she hadn't noticed Zabini getting up from his seat by the table to join Tracey by the window facing the castle. Distant shouts, curses, thundering of giants' footsteps and stone breaking could be heard.
They were leaning in close to each other and Pansy wondered what they were speaking of. The room was dark and the only light came from the fireplace and the dark window. Their bodies were silhouetted against the vague light of the window; she only saw them as black shapes. But she thought she saw his arm around her. And she briefly thought, if this night, this battle, this war ever ended, she would have to tell her best friend that Zabini and Tracey seemed to like each other. She hoped Daphne wouldn't be too distraught.
She sighed. Looking at the two of them close to each other made her think of Draco. She ached more than she ever had for his touch, his body close to hers, his scent, to drag her fingers through his hair, to be held by him, to kiss him, just to be near him, to speak to him, to know that he was alive...
She let out a sob and hid her head in her hands. The alcohol and the fear made her wimpy. She heard footsteps and soon felt the presence of Tracey beside her, kneeling.
"I can't take this..." Pansy mumbled into her hands, not caring that she showed herself weak in front of Zabini. "What if he's dying up there and I'm just sitting here?"
Tracey put her arms around her.
"It'll be over soon," muttered Zabini. "Like Davis said, there's no point in going up there now. We'll just be cursed."
Pansy kept crying, and she thought of how she'd admired the Death Eaters when she was younger. She never should've told Draco being a Death Eater was cool. If he died now it was her fault.
"You're the best," she remembered him smirking at her. "Crabbe and Goyle have nothing on you."
She actually didn't know what she would do if he died. Her eyes were sore from the crying and the lack of sleep and her brain was fuzzy, warm and vacant from the alcohol. With an uncomfortable jolt through her stomach, she thought they might have actually... gotten married someday... lived together, had a child or two... the thought, for the first time, brought tears to her eyes.
Please let him live.
Her knuckles were so clenched they were completely white.
She had thought the thought a few times before, but each time more than before, and she felt that now she really did love him. Really.
Draco could feel the cold breath upon the back of his neck, or so he imagined. "You have fought," said the high, cold voice, "valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. "Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured. I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."
It was just before dawn but everything seemed pitch black, and unnaturally quiet. There were no screams, no flashes of curses, just blood on the broken battlements. Voldemort's voice left him and so did some of the fear. His head was still throbbing with the concussion as he lay Goyle down onto the the stairs of the empty Transfiguration courtyard. He felt his pulse. He was definitely alive.
He shook him, first gently, then violently. "Greg! Wake up!"
It was cold, ghostly and lonely, and Crabbe was dead. Maybe so were his parents.
"Augamenti!" he shot water at Goyle in an attempt to wake him and then tried the Reviving Spell again. Groggily, Goyle's eyes began twitching and finally, slowly opened.
"Draco?"
He realised he had tears in his eyes. Crabbe, his parents, the stress, Voldemort. He quickly wiped them off.
"You look a right mess," said Draco.
"You're one to talk."
"I need to find my parents," Draco grunted.
Goyle took a deep breath and began to sit up. "What happened?"
"We were ambushed by a couple Gryffindors."
"Draco..." Goyle wailed, "I can't believe he's dead..."
"We can't think of that now. We're still alive, so we can't just give up."
"Where is everyone?"
"The Dark Lord has called off the battle and asked Potter to meet him."
"Potter's never gonna do that," said Goyle.
"I don't know anymore," groaned Draco. They looked at each other. For the first time, Draco realised Goyle was covered in soot, grime and blood. He looked down onto his own ripped and bloody robes, and ran a hand through his hair. It was wet from sweat. He'd probably never been this ungroomed.
"I just want it over..." said Gregory. Draco looked at him severely.
"Me too. I don't even care what happens anymore. I just want to find my parents."
"Me too," echoed Gregory.
Draco cleared his throat awkwardly. They had never spoken so openly. Draco pulled himself up and sat on the stone steps next to his friend and felt the cold air sweep over his skin.
"We have to tell Mr Crabbe..."
"We don't know where he is! And that's not our priority right now."
"So what should we do then?" said Gregory in a small voice. "I don't want to do no duelling'. I'm sick of the Unforgivables."
"Looks like the Dark Lord's winning," sighed Draco. "But if he doesn't... I'll probably be sent to Azkaban."
Gregory's eyes widened in fear. "No!"
"I've tortured people. I've been working for the Dark Lord for ages now..."
"I've tortured too," said Gregory, almost defiantly. "If they're going to take you, they're going to have to take me too."
Draco almost smiled. "They're not going to take you, Greg."
"You're my only friend now," Gregory said. Draco looked away. How odd it was to be the two of them, it had always been the three. For over seven years. How times were changing.
"Come on," said Draco and rose shakily, his body was still aching all over. "Let's go back inside."
He knew he should be going away from the castle, not back in. He knew his parents were going to be wherever Voldemort was, and Voldemort had just told them all he was in the Forbidden Forest. But the Forbidden Forest was the last place Draco wanted to go now. He could just say he hadn't found a way out of the castle. He'd make up an excuse, he supposed, it didn't matter as much anymore.
The castle was eerie and empty, even the ghosts had left their paintings. Everyone was in the Great Hall, where the House tables were gone and the survivors stood in groups while the injured were being treated. The dead lay in a row in the middle of the Hall. The sight of it made Draco's stomach turn upside down and his mouth watered as he prepared to vomit. But Goyle dragged him aside. They snuck in and hid down the end of the hall. He knew they were unwelcome in this mass mourning, but it didn't feel wrong to be in there.
There was no sight of his parents anywhere. They were in enemy territory but it felt safe, and like home.
Suddenly they heard a pop downstairs, as if somebody had Apparated there.
"Hello?" Pansy shouted stupidly, Blaise glared at her, terrified. What if it was a Death Eater?
There were quick steps up the stairs to their anticipation. They saw his large belly first of all. And then appearing over the creaky old wooden floor were a balding head and a walrus moustache. It was Professor Slughorn.
"Goodness me, you gave me quite a fright!" he exclaimed. He wasn't in his normal black robes, but in leisure wear of purple trousers and a brown cardigan. "What are you doing here? You were all meant to go home!"
"We're hiding from the Dark Lord, professor," said Blaise, which earned him a raised eyebrow from Slughorn. "What are you doing here yourself?"
"Well, children," he said, fumbling with his hands nervously, "I went home... I had a bath and a meal. Thought of going to bed. But then I realised I couldn't just sit there. And so," he took a deep breath, "I have decided to come back to fight."
Blaise sprung to his feet. Slughorn fumbled for his wand, surprised and frightened. But Blaise hurried over to him and said, "I'll join you."
Pansy, Tracey and Queenie looked at each other quizzingly.
Blaise and Slughorn looked at each other with narrowed eyes. "If—" said Blaise slowly, "you're fighting on Potter's side."
"But of course I am!" Slughorn spluttered.
"Pansy, come on!" exclaimed Blaise, and merely because he'd never asked or told her to do anything, the surprise of it made her stand. "You want to see Draco don't you? Make sure he's all right?"
"Yes of course!" she said, her eyes still watery. Queenie stood too.
"If you're going, I'm coming with you. You're my best friend, Pansy. I'm not sitting here if you're going back."
Daphne's face went through her mind, and so she could not say it back. But Queenie was a strong second.
"Davis?" Blaise asked expectantly. She smirked at him and took his hand.
"Let's go then!" said Slughorn.
"Thank you for coming back, Professor," said Blaise as they hurried downstairs.
