Better Be Slytherin
LV
Those of Great Ambition
And power-hungry Slytherin loved those of great ambition.
There was blood everywhere. Blood and death. And as the morning sun rose slowly over the castle, it cast an even redder light through the enchanted ceiling.
It was all over.
Voldemort had been spreading his infection over England, over Britain, over the world... But it was all over now. Yet Draco didn't know if he felt joy or grief, or anything at all. He wanted to disappear, he was afraid of what the near future would hold. And more than ever, he wished he'd taken Dumbledore's offer of protection – switched sides before it was too late.
Would they even believe how he'd felt the past year, the past two years even? Would they believe he hadn't wanted it? That he'd loathed the Dark Lord in secret – cursed his father for putting him in this situation?
Had he even deserved to survive? He had a skull branded into his forearm. So many had died... and their arms were clean. Why had he lived? Nobody wanted them in the new society anyway.
He hid under a table. If that wasn't symbolic of his cowardice, he didn't know what was. He felt vulnerable and exposed after Potter and Voldemort had mentioned him.
The ruckus around him was too much; everyone was cheering, grieving, and embracing their savour. Draco was glad he was hiding under the table. He stared down at his left forearm and let out a gasp of pain as his face screwed up. It felt like his forearm was being ripped open. It was burning like it was actually on fire, and it hurt more than it ever had before. Clenching his fist, he could feel the skull almost writhing on his arm. But this, he knew, was the definite sign the Dark Lord was actually gone. Dead. Was he imagining it or had it already begun fading slightly?
Sixth year had been the beginning of the end. And now the end was here, finally.
"Draco!"
The quick footsteps and loud voices sent him into some sort of panic – he jumped, his heart was sent racing, and slithered backwards under the table, but when he saw the two people bending down, shouting his name again, "Draco!" he stared at them, terrified, and realised the hand reaching out to him was very anticipated. The long blonde hair was a calming signal to him; his body relaxed and he came out of his blur.
"Mother..." he mumbled, panting slightly, and grabbed her equally dirty hand. He was pulled up and instantly embraced by Narcissa, and he could smell safety, even though she was sobbing loudly. Lucius lay his arms around them both.
"I thought—I thought you were—" sobbed Narcissa, her hold on Draco's arms painfully tight.
"My son!" gasped Lucius. His normally slicked back hair was grimy and tousled, his waxy face more serious than Draco had ever seen it before. They embraced for a long time; Draco had never embraced his father like this.
"We have been searching the castle for you," his father whispered. "We heard you were hurt. We were not sure we would find you."
"I met Potter," mumbled Draco, "I wanted my wand back. But Crabbe wanted to bring Potter to the Dark Lord, and... He produced Fiendfyre..."
Lucius grabbed his shoulders and stepped away to stare at him.
"It got everywhere... Goyle and I had to climb the furniture, but we couldn't find Crabbe. Father... he died."
Both Lucius and Narcissa stared blankly at him. Narcissa covered her mouth.
"Then Potter came and saved me. He saved my life." Draco swallowed thickly. "I would've burned, like Crabbe, but he got me out of there."
"Potter saved your life?" his father looked slightly taken aback, and mildly impressed.
Lucius and Narcissa looked at each other as if they knew something he didn't. His mother cleared her throat. "I lied to the Dark Lord, Draco. I told him Potter was dead when I could feel a pulse. I just wanted to enter the castle to find you."
A wave of emotion came over him – his mother had actually risked her life by lying Voldemort, all for him.
Everywhere around them people were crying, grieving, celebrating, laughing. It was as if the Great Hall had exploded after Voldemort's oppression had ended.
"We have each other," said Lucius forcefully. "We're all safe. It all worked out. We always prosper."
The three Malfoys embraced again, and all thoughts of uncertainty, of fear of the future, of the trauma he had witnessed, were eradicated from his mind momentarily. He was safe.
Pansy made her way across the hall in desperate hurry – she didn't care who she shoved, she just wanted to get to Draco. Mothers were sobbing over their dead children, the Order of the Phoenix people were moving the Dark Lord's body, Aurors were capturing the few Death Eaters who hadn't escaped yet – but she didn't care about the chaos around her. With a jolt going through her stomach and a tensed breath leaving her body, she saw that Draco's parents had huddled around him, his mother was crying. Draco looked as out of place as she felt. Lucius had turned away and was speaking to a group of Aurors, undoubtedly trying to explain something inexplicable.
Draco's robes were ripped and dirty, his white-blond hair messy, and his eyes tired. She had never seen him like that. Finally making her way past the last crowd, she gave a long sigh and approached them.
Draco looked up, mid-sentence to his mother, and gaped at her. She saw his mouth start to form a question, as he sprung to his feet. She held out her arms for him like a child.
"Pansy," he murmured as he held her around her waist, his hands moved around as if just to make sure she was really there. Her arms were around his neck and she was kissing his neck repeatedly.
"You're alive," she mumbled and he pulled back to look at her, she stared back and ran her hands over his face. He was really there.
"You came back..." he breathed. "I told you not to come back, silly... Where have you been?"
"In Hogsmeade, hiding. I was so afraid, Draco," she breathed, "I kept thinking you could die... I had to come back."
"It's all over now," he whispered, pulling her close again, "The Dark Lord's gone."
She could feel him exhale tensely into her neck. She suddenly realised she was still in her pink dressing gown, muddy and bloody from what had happened outside. But she felt calmer now that she was with him and he was holding her.
"Are you all right? Not hurt?" she asked.
"I'm fine. Are your parents all right? Why didn't you go home to them?"
"They're fine, I spoke with them over the Floo, how are your parents? Have the Aurors arrested your dad?"
"No, he's speaking to them now; I think he's trying to set up some deal... Mother's over here, come on..." And he led her to the table where Narcissa had now sat down. The two women embraced but there didn't seem to be any fitting words. All around them, dead bodies were being moved, and Death Eaters were fleeing. There were teachers, parents, students, Centaurs, ghosts and House-Elves alike. Peeves was zooming all around their heads. Yet Draco felt empty.
He placed Pansy next to him and held her hand. He had to say it now.
"Vincent's dead," he whispered.
She stared at him. "What? Dead—NO!"
He felt warm tears glassing his eyes again but he wouldn't cry. "Yes, it was an accident..."
And he told her the entire story. She held onto his hand hard.
"I just can't believe it," she said when he'd finished retelling it, staring blankly and covering her mouth with her hands. "I'm so sorry, Draco... He was our friend, after all, even though..."
He knew what she meant. He held back what he was feeling, he wanted to tell her how it was all his fault, and he wanted her to assure him he had no part in his death, and no need to feel guilty. But it was eating him up. He turned his head away from Pansy, towards his mother, as a tear rolled down each cheek. He wiped them away casually and then turned back to Pansy, hoping she hadn't seen.
"The Carrows have been sent to Azkaban anyway," he said, changing the subject because he couldn't talk about Vince. He didn't want to cry in front of her, and he wanted to try and think of something else. "I just saw them being taken away by Aurors."
"Really?"
"Yes, apparently they were found bound in the Ravenclaw tower. A few Aurors are taking them straight to Azkaban."
"Finally," said Pansy in a low tone, "That's where they belong."
"I can't believe it's all over."
"Draco..." said Pansy in barely more than a whisper. "What's going to happen to us? I tried to give Potter up."
She was tearing up and Draco looked at her. He knew she hadn't been malicious when she had wanted to give Potter to Voldemort; he knew she had merely been too dumb to realise Voldemort had been lying. She had actually believed he would leave them alone if they gave him Potter. She wasn't evil, she was just dumb. He slightly pitied her.
"Nothing's going to happen to you," he said, looking away. "You haven't done anything illegal. Not like me."
All he'd wanted for the past couple of years had been to get out of this with himself, his parents and Pansy safe. Now, that had happened, but he still felt terrified, unfulfilled.
He looked away at his father talking in low voice to the team of Aurors, and briefly wondered how Lucius was going to snake his way out of this. He wondered what they were saying – his father could surely not deny their involvement with the Dark Lord, nor the fact that both of them had used the Unforgivables. Surely, he couldn't explain away that fact, just by claiming Narcissa had lied to Voldemort about Potter being alive?
He sighed and watched as the Great Hall grew lighter. The morning had come. He glanced around, uncomfortable with still feeling this great emptiness, and wondered where Goyle was. The whole Ministry was there now, he noticed. He looked at them. Would they take him away? He hardly heard his mother and Pansy talking in whispers behind him.
With a jolt of his stomach, he saw his aunt's body being moved to the room off the hall where he knew they had put the Dark Lord. He knew that that was the last time he would ever see her, and the thought filled him with an enormous relief, a relief so strong he was almost embarrassed by it. He didn't dare express this to his mother, who he knew had at least some sort of bond with her sister.
"Forgive me, Draco," came a raspy voice from his left and he turned to look at his father. Surprised, he wasn't sure he'd heard him right. Lucius' usually sleek blonde hair was uncombed and his eyes glassy. None of the past elegance and pride that his father usually wore. "Forgive me for what I've done..."
Draco looked at him silently. He felt anger and love at the same time, twisting around his insides, one trying to win over the other. Finally he sighed and put his hand on his father's.
"We'll get through this," he mumbled. Narcissa was crying again, looking at the two of them.
"Yes," Lucius cleared his throat. Draco wondered if he too was close to tears, and it made him look away, to spare his father the humiliation. "I'll make sure of it. Don't you worry, Draco, this was my mess to begin with, and I'll get us out of it."
"It's all right, father," he lied, and he knew that Lucius knew that he lied. What was he supposed to say? Yes, he blamed his father for getting them involved with the Dark Lord, but Draco had willingly accepted, and his father was remorseful. What more was there to say?
There was death everywhere. Death… Death… He needed to get out of there.
"I need to find Goyle," he said abruptly. He had spotted Potter on the other side of the hall, surrounded by his fans and loved ones. He didn't know what to feel when he saw him. Gratitude? Jealousy? Because now, forever, Potter would be worshipped, wouldn't he? And Draco would be shunned, and ignored, and hated.
He sighed. How much time had passed since the Dark Lord died now? Seconds – minutes – an hour? It was all very blurry.
Potter was now kissing Ginny Weasley to some cheers and catcalls from their friends. Draco silently observed for a second.
Pansy made a tutting noise with her tongue and said, "Disgusting."
Quite surprisingly to himself, Draco said, "Leave it, Pans."
She raised one sceptical eyebrow at him but he said nothing and turned his gaze back to Potter. Bloody Potter. Did Draco need to thank him now?
"He saved my life," he muttered. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Pansy gaping at him.
"What are you talking about?"
Draco shook his head. "Later."
Peeves was zooming around the house tables singing his victory song, people were using magic to clean up the hall, and some people were drinking Fire Whiskey and dancing on the table. Draco wondered where they were going to bury all the dead.
He needed to get away. He needed space, he needed quiet, he needed to be with someone who understood what had just happened in the Room of Requirement. He needed Goyle.
"I need to get out of here," he mumbled to Pansy. As he got up from his seat, he instantly received very sour looks from the other students. Not a surprise there, he thought. Finally he could see clearly, and he spotted Goyle across the Great Hall.
"Do you want to go outside for a bit?" asked Pansy and he nodded vigorously. He grabbed her hand and led her through the crowd towards Goyle. Reaching him, he saw that Goyle looked terrified and absolutely miserable. Pansy hugged him at once and said, "I'm sorry, Greg."
And as they made their way out the entrance hall, he spotted Potter, Weasley and Granger. They made eye contact and both parties slowed down. There was a great tension; they all looked at each other as they were placed before one another. Draco was looking at Potter, but he could not focus his eyes, and he was having a hard time finding words.
Then he cleared his throat and tried to formulate what he wanted to say. Slightly awkwardly, slightly coolly, he said, "Thanks, Potter."
Potter only nodded and Draco was incredibly grateful that he didn't smirk at him. Draco was not completely sure what he was thanking him for – everything. That he finished everything, that he finished the Dark Lord so that Draco and his family could be safe. That he saved the entire Wizarding society. He had prevented a lot of people of dying. Potter had turned back in the Come and Go-Room and like a friend pulled him up on the broom behind himself and saved his life despite that Draco had been terrorising him for seven years. Draco had found a whole new respect for him. He was a big man. Potter probably understood why Draco was thanking him, he reckoned.
Potter reached inside his cloak, looking for something.
"I've got something that belongs to you," he said and pulled out Draco's wand. Draco gave a whimper, his lips twitching, and made a sudden movement as if he wanted to jerk it out of his hands. My wand – he thought fiercely.
Potter handed it over to Draco who studied it for scratches and the likes, and then put it back where it belonged – inside his cloak close to his heart, feeling satisfied.
"Thank your mum for me," said Potter then. Just like that. Draco looked up slowly. He nodded, slightly frowning in a grave manner. A tensioned silence was spread – none of them knew whether they should keep walking past the others, or stay and talk to their former sworn enemies.
Then there was a mutter. "Sorry."
Everyone, even Draco, turned surprised to Pansy, who was glancing at Potter with an air of feigned nonchalance. Pansy opened her mouth and closed it again. Draco wondered briefly if she was ashamed or just trying to put herself in a better light. And she opened her mouth again, shaking her head slightly. And looking slightly defiant, she said: "For what I said in the Great Hall. I just reckoned… One life... instead of hundreds… I was panicking..." she trailed off, and her eyes darted between the trio, and then away in a would-be off-hand manner. Granger's mouth had fallen open in disbelief.
But to everyone's surprise, Potter smiled. Smiled. "I know," he said, nodding, replying her eye-contact.
The tension lightened slightly. After a few seconds of silence, supposedly Weasley felt the need to comment... "Don't you look cosy," with a small crooked smile. Just for old time's sake. They had to keep it up, they all felt like it.
"Jealous, Weasley?" Draco replied his crooked smile, that wasn't a sneer – it was friendlier. He held up his and Pansy's linked hands.
"No way," said Weasley with a small grin, his arm around Granger's waist. Potter snorted out a tiny laugh. It was quiet again, and then Draco said: "Well…"
They all nodded at each other, and continued past each other. Draco made sure to push Weasley as they passed, just for old times' sake.
As they strode down the grounds towards the lake, the morning sunlight seemed brighter and clearer than in years. They sat down on the bank in the wet grass, and for a moment all they could hear was the wind in the trees of the Forbidden Forest and their own breaths. The surface of the lake was still.
They didn't mention the encounter they'd just had. Draco told Pansy about what had happened in the Room of Requirement. Goyle was in bits over Crabbe, crying the whole time Draco told the story.
"I can't believe it..." mumbled Goyle.
Draco's eyes were burning from exhaustion, and he wondered if he was still in shock over Crabbe because it didn't feel real.
When footsteps approached and he turned around to see Zabini, Queenie Wilkes and Tracey Davis walking towards them, he momentarily imagined Crabbe to be joining them to. But he didn't.
The girls all embraced for a long time. Zabini sat down bracingly and looked at Draco for answers.
"Crabbe's dead," he said stoically. Goyle's sobs enhanced again, his face hidden in his large hands.
Queenie and Tracey gasped. Zabini stared.
"What?!" exclaimed Davis.
"What happened?" screeched Wilkes.
Draco looked away. He didn't feel like talking about it, the flames erupting onto Vincent's face haunted him every time he closed his eyes. "It was an accident. We followed Potter to, er," he gulped, "get my wand back." It was all Draco's own fault. He looked down at his wand disgusted, and the urge to snap it into several pieces and throw it in the lake hit him, but he fought back – if his friend had died because of this wand, he should keep it so that he hadn't died in vain. "Vince produced fire... Tried sending the flames after Potter and his friends... but it got out of control... it was Fiendfyre... It got everywhere..."
Goyle sobbed again.
"We were all going to die," he said, quite defensively, "All three of us. And he... he fell... into the fire. Potter and Weasley rescued Greg and I on brooms... But it was too late..."
There was a long silence. Draco's heart beat quickly. Were they blaming him for Crabbe's death just as much as he himself was?
"I can't believe he's just gone," said Queenie, shocked. Greg sobbed harder than ever, his bulky frame shaking.
There was a long silence, for several minutes, while Draco looked out onto the lake, avoiding everyone else's gazes. He wondered what they were thinking.
"I thought the Aurors would've taken you away," said Zabini, breaking the silence.
Draco shrugged. "My father's talking to them. I don't know what's going to happen."
Pansy looked away, out over the lake. She was oddly silent today.
"So where were you all night?" Draco asked all of them. He was tired. His eyes were burning. He needed to change the subject, if not only for his own sake, but for Goyle's.
"In the Hog's head," said Queenie Wilkes. "When Pansy made her lovely statement in the Great Hall, we were escorted out of school through a room on the seventh floor—"
"The room of hidden things," added Pansy, sending a scathing glance at Draco who felt ashamed at once. He didn't think he'd ever hate a place as much as he hated the Room of Requirement. Perhaps the manor's drawing room, on second thought.
"There was a passage to the Hog's Head for some reason. So everyone got Portkeys from there, or Floo'd home. We were the last to leave; all the younger kids were scared so we got them out. And then when it was just us left," Queenie went on, and he guessed she meant the seventh years, "Nott and Bulstrode wanted us to go with them to the Dark Lord."
Draco raised his eyebrows.
"Apparently, Bletchley and Montague all of them had already joined him. Daphne and her sister went home. So it was just the four of us left – well, me and Tracey and Pansy and Blaise. We didn't know what to do so we just stayed there, waited it out... Then Slughorn came back and we all went back to school..." She trailed off and looked out onto the lake.
Draco felt a huge comfort in finding out that they all had refused to join Voldemort, and he felt warmer towards all of them, even Zabini. There was another long silence.
"I wonder where Bulstrode is," said Pansy, breaking the silence. Her voice was hoarse and weak.
"And Theodore," sighed Zabini, looking away. "I told him not to do it."
Draco's insides ached. He wondered which of them – he or Theodore – were more likely to be sent to Azkaban.
"The ministry will probably want to question you, Pansy," said Zabini then.
"Me?" squeaked Pansy. "I haven't done anything!"
"They'll want to question anyone remotely related to the Death Eaters, and seeing as you're close to Draco..." said Zabini.
Draco felt guilty at once. He had brought this onto her. He tried to catch her eye to convey that he was sorry that she had to speak to the Aurors because of him but she avoided looking at him.
Silent tears were now running down Pansy's cheeks. He closed his eyes and felt himself starting to shake. It was all his fault...If there were anything he could do for all of this to be over, he would. Should he take Pansy side-along apparition and just get out of Hogwarts? Or would that make the situation worse?
"Perhaps you should go home then, Pans," he said quietly, reaching out his hand to find hers.
"I don't think that's a good idea," said Zabini scathingly.
"No!" agreed Davis and Wilkes at once.
"They'll see that as uncooperative. If she hasn't got anything to hide, why would she run away?"
Pansy looked between them, confused and frightened.
"Yes," muttered Draco, "that's true... I just don't want this to affect you," he directed it at Pansy.
"She's already involved, Malfoy," said Zabini shortly.
"Yes – all right!" bellowed Draco suddenly back at Zabini. He didn't need to be reminded that he was accountable for all of this. It made Pansy jump, which made him feel even guiltier.
Surprisingly, Zabini didn't retort.
"I'm sorry, Pans," he mumbled, moving closer to her. He put an arm around her.
"We should probably head back up to the castle. Get it over with. The Aurors will want to speak to you and Greg too, I suppose," said Pansy. Then she said something he'd been thinking about but not dared to say for hours. "And... someone will need to tell Mr Crabbe what's happened."
Draco swallowed. Goyle gave out a noise that sounded like a mix of a groan and a sob.
"I think he's already been apprehended by the Aurors," mumbled Draco.
There was an awkward silence. Then Pansy said, "...Oh."
"Well..." said Wilkes, confusion etched on her face, "What do you suppose will happen? Are we still having lessons tomorrow?"
"How can we when half the school is blasted apart?" said Zabini scathingly.
"So they're closing the school? What about our NEWTs?"
"I assume they will tell us what's going to happen," offered Draco. "We'll have to wait and see."
"I suppose... I'm going home then," said Zabini after a moments pondering. Wilkes and Davies looked relieved.
"Then so am I," said Davis.
"Me too," said Wilkes.
"We'll go see professor McGonagall about Portkeys, then," Zabini suggested. "I suppose we'll see you at the burial, or at school," he nodded at Draco, Pansy and Goyle, who was wiping his eyes on his sleeves.
Draco grabbed Pansy's hand as he stood, she followed. Pansy however, let go of him, and quickly moved over to Queenie and Tracey, and the girls hugged sentimentally. He heard them whisper words of empathy to Pansy.
"Take care of yourselves," said Zabini, and Goyle almost jumped at him, and they hugged. Zabini looked surprised, but patted him on the back. Then, sort of naturally, Draco and Zabini shook hands, probably for the first time since the first time they'd met when they started Hogwarts.
War made everything else less important, Draco thought.
"We'll owl about the funeral, I suppose," said Draco while Pansy came back and they held hands again, walking back up to the castle.
When they got back in, the chaos awaited them. The castle had experienced massive damage, and he wondered if they were going to be able to rebuild it. Parts of the main staircase had been blasted apart, and there was rubble and dust everywhere. People were sleeping everywhere, unable to go home, but unable to stay awake any longer.
Inside the Great Hall, Ministry officials were sorting out the situation by bossing people around, making a list of the dead and trying to locate escaped Death Eaters. Apparently, Kingsley Shacklebolt had been appointed temporary Minister of Magic and Professor McGonagall was temporary Headmistress for the school.
The atmosphere was absurd; so much sorrow and despair mixed with relief and happiness.
The Daily Prophet's reporters had arrived now, photographing everything and interviewing anyone who volunteered. Potter couldn't be seen through his large group of admirers and loved ones.
They were told that innocent people in Azkaban had been released, that Imperiused people were coming back to themselves, and that Death Eaters and accomplices were being detained at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
"We'd better stay and help clean this mess up," muttered Lucius as soon as he saw Draco. "To make a good impression for the right side."
Draco almost rolled his eyes. So much had to be done just to weasel their way out of things. He knew his father would never stay unless he felt he had to, to help himself. Draco could stay simply to help, whatever the gain. He supposed that was the difference between them.
The day flew by in a blur – Draco did everything the professors, Ministry people and Order of the Phoenix members told him to do. He'd never done so much manual labour in his life, and by late afternoon his hands were numb and blistering. Not until twilight were they able to have some food. The House-Elves had prepared what he guessed was some kind of beef stew for everyone who was staying to help out. Draco glanced down at it reluctantly; he knew there'd been a war but surely they could've produced something more edible than this?
Pansy was already complaining loudly to Narcissa about exhaustion and the quality of the supper provided. They heard a clink of a glass and looked up. The busy Hall went silent.
"Thank you all for your help today," said Professor McGonagall from the teacher's table. "Without your assistance, I doubt we will be able to rebuild the school. We have decided to let the castle stay open to anyone who wishes to stay overnight – the unused classrooms will serve as dormitories for parents who wish to stay. Students can remain in their House dormitories as usual, as they are untouched by the battle."
Some people clapped and raised their glasses in a salute.
"Students are not required to stay, as all education has been suspended for now. Those who wish to take their OWLs or NEWTs will hopefully be able to do so in a few weeks time, but we cannot yet confirm whether we are reopening the school in September."
Draco glanced at Pansy – what had they been doing for the last seven years if they weren't going to get any NEWTs out of it? He'd only been going back to school because his mother had made him realise it was the cleverest thing to do. He wasn't about to quit school without any qualifications.
"The staff and I would like to invite everyone to come back tomorrow to help with the rebuilding. We will also need help identifying bodies of the fallen."
There was an uncomfortable silence at this. Then the Headmistress kept talking.
"Now, I would like to raise a glass to Harry Potter, for without him I fear many of us wouldn't be here. To Harry Potter, for defeating the greatest terror we have ever seen in this community. Many lives have been spared because of what he did and we are finally free of Tom Riddle!"
Cheers broke out again, and Draco glanced at Potter who was sitting by the staff table with Weasley and Granger, looking slightly abashed to have the whole hall toasting him. Lucius and Pansy didn't touch their glasses, but Narcissa held hers high, and so Draco grabbed his own reluctantly, but before he'd raised it, everyone around him were lowering theirs.
Suddenly, loud bangs were heard above them and for a split panicked second Draco thought they were being attacked again, but then he along with everyone else, looked up and saw the enchanted ceiling explode in purple and orange fireworks across the evening sky above. People gasped and cheered and clapped. It was overwhelming, with its piercing sounds and the sparks raining down like a million falling stars but vanishing before they ever reached the inside of the hall.
It was magnificent, eerie and bittersweet at the same time. Everyone watched on silently at first and then shot sparks in the air with their wands and wooed and laughed and hugged.
He looked around as if in a daze. They were all so cheerful.
He didn't crack a smile.
The Slytherin common room was as the Headmistress had promised, indeed untouched by the battle. It unsettled him; you couldn't have guessed there'd ever been a battle standing in the murky green common room. It was uncannily calm, as if the common room hadn't realised what huge thing had just happened.
The door creaked open to the empty dormitory. He took a deep breath before going in, because the intensity of knowing he'd be alone in there frightened him slightly. Crabbe was dead. Zabini had gone home. Merlin knew where Nott was, probably on the run or caught and on his way to Azkaban. Goyle had informed Mr Crabbe of what had happened before both he and Mr Goyle were taken into custody, and Goyle had gone home with his mother. It was only Draco left.
He stepped inside slowly and lit the lanterns on the walls with his wand. To his left was Vincent Crabbe's bed. Draco shivered looking at it. He would never sleep there again. He wondered who would sleep there next. A first year? If Hogwarts even opened up again...
Crabbe's trunk lay half pushed in under the bed, the lid open. He could see a mess of bundled up school robes in there. A Slytherin tie and dirty socks lay on the floor next to the bed. How messed up it was to think Crabbe would never pack that trunk and bring it home on the Hogwarts express. Who would remove it? What would happen to his things? Would they be thrown away? Crabbe's father would be going to Azkaban, and he had no mother to sentimentally keep his old things. Would they be burned, just like his body?
Mustn't think like that, he told himself and swallowed hard. He was sweating again.
He turned to his own four-poster bed and started collecting his things. Robes, Spell books, potion ingredients, old History of Magic notes, quills and empty ink bottles, Quidditch gloves, his old Hand of Glory, some money... It was all pointless rubbish. He sent it all flying into his trunk using his wand. He locked it by hand though, flicked the gold clasps shut and drew his hand over the faded Slytherin stickers he'd put on it years ago. He doubted he would ever open this trunk again.
It had been a long day and he was sure it was after midnight when they arrived back at the Manor by Floo powder. They appeared in the sitting room – the drawing room would probably be unused for a very long time, and were met by Binky.
"A drink, I think, in the parlour," said Lucius. "Bring us a bottle of Fire Whiskey. The Parkinsons should arrive any minute."
His stomach was growling, he realised when they got home. Except the tiny portion of beef stew at Hogwarts, he didn't know when the last time he'd eaten was – it was probably only the day before but it felt like another life. However, his body was aching so much he wanted nothing more than to go to bed. But Lucius had requested a drink.
"Thank you kindly for inviting them over, Mr Malfoy," simpered Pansy. "I didn't want to leave Draco."
"Naturally, they must be very worried."
"And you are welcome to stay for as long as you like, Miss Parkinson," said Narcissa smiling politely.
Pansy smiled and accepted her glass of Fire Whiskey from the House-Elf and sipped it. She looked like nothing major had really happened at all today. Or was he exaggerating?
He had downed his own glass before her parents even showed up.
"Mother! Father!" squealed Pansy a quarter of an hour later when Mr and Mrs Parkinson emerged from the deep green flames of the large grandiose fireplace looking severe. He was in Ministry work robes and she was in an elegant hat. Draco quickly stood, along with his parents. They all cheek-kissed and shook hands and then sat down, Binky quickly appeared again to top up their drinks.
"What a day, what a day," said Mrs Parkinson. "And to think we didn't know anything until Pansy spoke to us over the Floo! We had already departed for bed! You would think they would send out some sort of public announcement to everyone who isn't involved to know!"
"Yes, it's been quite the day," agreed Narcissa slowly. "Everything has changed."
"Oh, I know about your sister, Mrs Malfoy, I am terribly sorry," said Mrs Parkinson. "And your friend, Draco."
He merely nodded. Had he been a friend? Lately he'd been more of a foe. And he hadn't been a particularly good person. So why was he feeling this way? Was it simply the feeling of guilt?
"What a relief this nasty spot of bother is over. And who would've thought that Potter boy had it in him!"
Pansy fell down on Draco's bed, almost too tired to take her clothes off; she pulled them off while lying on top of the covers, eyes closed, in an uncomfortable position.
Draco came out from the bathroom after finishing brushing his teeth, and got into bed, crept up close to hug her, hiding his face against her neck and she was overwhelmed by the feeling of belonging. She was satisfied Lucius and Narcissa had not offered her a guest room this time as they usually did when she would spend the night at the manor – it felt as if they acknowledged, for the first time, that she and Draco were no children anymore – that they were a serious couple now – perhaps they understood that Draco needed her with him. She smiled contently to herself.
But she froze when she felt something wet against her neck and with a shock, she realised that Draco must be... crying.
"It's all right now... Draco..." she murmured, stroking his hair. He did not answer; he just stayed in position, desperately clinging onto her as if his life depended on it, continuing to cry silently. He made himself small in her arms, his face on her chest, the top of his head against her chin... She felt his soft white-blonde hair, smelling of him, against her chin and neck. She felt sick to see him like this, because she realised with a jolt that she loved him so much.
She wanted to believe that she was comforting him, but she really did not have a clue what to say – it all sounded like empty words and she felt inadequately awkward. She could understand why he was crying, the shock of it all being over had made her feel confused as well, not to mention afraid for the future, and anxiety over friends' deaths. She just did not know how to talk about it.
She held him tight and stroked his hair, and she mumbled "It's over now..."
"He died because me," he croaked out. "It's my fault."
"No..." she began, and swallowed hard. "It's not..."
"Yes it is!" Draco cried out angrily, upset like a small child. "I was the one who wanted to follow Potter, and I brought him with me."
"He didn't know what he was doing; he didn't have control over his magic. It was an accident. And you had nothing to do with it. It's all right," she mumbled, planting kisses on the top of his head.
"He fucking died, Pans! It's not all right!"
"I'm sorry," she mumbled into his hair.
He did not answer, only continued crying. Sobbing and sniffling, tightly clinging onto her. And then he said: "I'll probably be going to Azkaban, Pansy."
Pansy went cold and her entire body stiffened. She did not answer, shivering and feeling her stomach tingle uncomfortably. Subconsciously, she grabbed onto him tighter, as if stopping them taking him away.
"No," she mumbled. "You're mine."
"I've been a Death Eater for two years; I've followed whatever he's said for two years, I've tortured people on his demand, Pansy. I've used the Unforgivable Curses, and I've got a Dark Mark, and I'm fucked. I really am fucked. And my father is as well." He paused, and then he snivelled: "The thing is we wanted out. We didn't even want it anymore; we only stayed in because otherwise he would've killed us. But I'm still fucked."
"Your father will sort it out. Hasn't he already been speaking to the Aurors? Draco, you have years of information on the Dark Lord and Death Eaters to give to the Ministry!"
"But what if he comes back then? Everyone thought he was gone last time around, didn't they? Then he came back. What if he does it again!"
She spent ages whispering words of comfort, however unsure that he could ever get any. Not in a long time, at least. Months, probably. Years, possibly.
When he finally fell asleep he dreamt of Aurors barging into the Manor to arrest his father and send him off to Azkaban again where he would rot behind bars with Dementors slowly, painfully, sucking out his soul... And he dreamt of Pansy and Narcissa being hit by the Dark Lord's killing curse, and he dreamt of Crabbe's grey, cold corpse with its murky misty pupil-less eyes and his purple lips wandering towards him like an Inferi, shouting of loyalty to the Dark Lord and blaming Draco for his untimely death.
He forced himself to wake up, ran to the bathroom and vomited, and decided not to try for any sleep again. Not yet.
They embraced like spiders all night. He didn't say a word but he held her hand hard to his chest until daybreak.
