Once again, as he had at the ruins when Voldemort had pointed his wand at Hermione, Draco moved with astonishing speed.

In one fluid movement, he rolled out from under Hermione, thrust her behind him, and leapt to his feet, placing himself as a barrier squarely between his father and her. He was vaguely aware that Potter was pulling Hermione to her feet behind him. He was breathing hard, but his face betrayed no emotion as he faced his father, the two of them standing only inches apart, alike in build, height, coloring; in nearly every aspect. Only their eyes were different, and then only very slightly. Gray eyes like steel met blue eyes like ice, and neither flinched.

They stood like that for a long, tense moment before Draco broke the silence. "Father," was all he said.

"My boy," said Lucius, in a soft voice, as his eyes darted to the room's other occupants and then back to Draco; "the hero. You've done the wizarding world proud, son."

Draco's lip curled up in a sneer. He knew his father better than that. His words were like silk, but there was murder in his eyes. Draco had seen his father kill before; he knew that look.

I underestimated the old man, he thought with horrified awe; he didn't come here to disown me; he came here to KILL me! My own father. But he expected to find me alone- the fact that my friends- I mean the damn Gryffindors- the fact they're here has thrown him off. He won't want witnesses, nor will he want to take us all on at once. He's a coward at heart, why didn't I ever see it before? The next words out of his mouth will be trying to convince me to leave with him. Wait for it…

Lucius reached out and clapped Draco heartily on the shoulder. "Naturally I came as soon as I could. Word was that you were terribly wounded in the battle- on the brink of death, they said. Gave me a bit of a scare, to tell the truth. But I see now that the rumors must have been somewhat exaggerated. I must say, you look remarkably well, Draco."

Draco said nothing. He was still waiting. Lucius gave him his patented "loving father" smile; the one that had been fooling Malfoy family friends and business associates all Draco's life. He wondered whether it was fooling the Gryffindors now or whether, like him, they could see through it to the malice beneath. And then came the words Draco had been expecting.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Lucius asked, raising an eyebrow. "Find your clothes, boy. You can't leave dressed like that, and we must get back the manor; your mother is frantic with worry; she is still under the impression that you are at death's door. We must go and put her fears to rest at once."

Draco felt an unexpected pang at these words, because on a very deep level he wished desperately that they were true. That his mother really was worried about his well-being. But he knew better. She had always been just as cold and distant a parent as his father- turning on the charm in front of others, but ignoring him at all other times. He well remembered his amazement when, on the first day of his first year at Hogwarts, an owl had arrived from home bearing sweets and a fond note from her; all that first term, as the packages had continued to arrive, his spirits had soared. Perhaps his absence, he thought, had made his mother realize that she truly did care for him after all. Then came the Christmas holidays. The first words she had spoken to him when he had arrived home had been about the packages; she had wanted to know what the other Slytherins thought of them. That was all that mattered to her; appearances. She wanted it to appear to Draco's housemates that she was a perfect, doting mother, but she warned him not expect "any of that nonsense" while he was home. Well of course not, he had thought bitterly, there's no one around to see now.

When he returned to school after Christmas he had burned all the notes he had been saving from last term in the common room fireplace. A few days later the packages had begun arriving again, but for the rest of the year and all the years that followed, he had handed them straight to Crabbe and Goyle without opening them. He had lost his taste for either the sweets or the notes.

It only took an instant for these painful memories to flash through his mind; then he was right back in the present again, facing down his father, man to man, for the first time in his life. When he tried to speak, his voice felt rusty; he had to clear his throat.

"I'm not going," he said.

Lucius's smile vanished, and his hand, still on Draco's shoulder, clamped down like iron. Someone with less self-control would surely have cried out at the sudden pain but Draco, who had suffered through being stabbed, through Voldemort's Cruciatus curse, and through the blood replacement serum all in silence, was not about to give his father that satisfaction. His eyes narrowed to slits and he stared mutinously at Lucius, who glared murderously back, all pretense gone.

"You try my patience, boy," he snarled. "I strongly suggest that you make yourself ready to come with me, right NOW!" At this last word, he yanked hard on Draco's shoulder, pulling him off balance and causing him to stumble forward. Draco probably would have crashed right into him, except that at that instant he felt a strong hand catch him by the other arm, pulling backward just as forcefully as Lucius was pulling forward. Lucius, who had not expected resistance, was so surprised that he let go. Draco, with the hand- Potter's hand, he realized- still on his arm, steadying him, stepped quickly backward and found himself flanked on one side by Potter and on the other by Hermione, both of whom had their wands leveled at his father. They must have retrieved their wands while he and his father were engrossed in their confrontation, he thought. On the other side of his bed Ron was on his feet as well, also pointing his wand straight at Lucius. He felt Hermione, who was on his right side, press his wand into his hand. Shifting it from his right hand to his left, he raised it toward his father as well, and spoke.

"I said, I'm not going."

Lucius surveyed the four teens before him, all in identical white pajamas, all with their wands trained on him and expressions of grim determination in their eyes. He hadn't counted on this- not at all. He had expected to find Draco alone, and according to the rumors, unconscious or worse. If he had found him already dead, so much the better- but if he had still been clinging to life, Lucius had been planning on killing him right there in his bed, figuring that everyone would assume he had died as a result of his injuries. How could he do otherwise, after the betrayal and dishonor Draco had brought on his family? Even Narcissa had agreed that there was but one course of action open to him. But now- though he never would have admitted it, he was at a loss. His errant son was not going to come willingly, that much was clear; and so, in the face of four wands leveled at him, he had no idea how to proceed. In the end, he did what he did best; he sneered.

"Well, well, well," he murmured, as his lip curled upward in that trademark Malfoy expression of disdain, "the Gryffindor Golden Trio. Imagine that." He stared hard at each of them in turn, then back at Draco, who was as pale as death, but was holding his wand perfectly steady. "So this is what you betrayed our cause for," he said quietly. "This is why you've thrown it all away. You could have had wealth and power beyond imagining, you could have helped to rule the world, but instead you chose this- the friendship of a half-blood orphan runt, a dirt-poor Weasley whose standard-issue hospital pajamas are probably nicer than any other piece of clothing he's ever worn, and this- this- filthy mudblood whore. Oh yes, I've heard all about her-" his cold eyes flicked to Hermione and then back to Draco- "the Dark Lord's little fuck toy. I just hope you realize there's no turning back now; you've made your bed and-"

WHAM.

Draco had dropped his wand to the floor and, closing the distance between himself and his father in one purposeful stride, punched Lucius squarely in the jaw.

In the next instant Harry and Ron had both lunged forward to drag Draco back. They held him pinned between them as he continued to struggle silently, straining to break free and throw himself at his father again. Lucius, for his part, stood motionless, staring at his son, paralyzed by rage. He was breathing hard and no longer looked the least bit cool or composed. To the contrary, his face was so contorted with fury that he looked quite insane. Then, very slowly and deliberately, he lowered his hand toward his belt, where his wand hung in a small silver sheath wrought in the shape of a serpent and studded with emeralds.

Draco stopped struggling against Harry and Ron and stared at his father, panting, his hair hanging in his eyes. It's all over, he thought, with a strange sort of detachment. He no longer cares about witnesses- I've pushed him well beyond that. Sort of funny really, when you think about it- the lengths Potter went to in order to save me from bleeding to death- just so that I could end up being Avada Kedavra'd by my own father.

And then Harry stepped calmly in front of Draco, placing himself as a shield between his father and him.

Despite his best efforts to maintain a neutral façade, Draco's amazement showed on his face. In his entire life, not one single person had ever- EVER- placed himself in harm's way for his sake. Not once. Lucius was taken aback as well and hesitated- and in that instant, before he had the chance to go for his wand again, a clear voice rang out. Hermione's voice.

"Reach for your wand again and I WILL kill you, Mister Malfoy," she said.

In the chaos that had followed Draco's attack on his father, Hermione had not moved a muscle. When Harry and Ron had leapt forward to pull Draco back, she alone had remained perfectly still with her wand trained on Lucius Malfoy's chest. It was still trained on his chest now, as she spoke again.

"The four of us took down Voldemort…don't think we can't take you down as well."

Lucius stared at her, his eyes nearly bulging in shocked outrage. How DARE this little mudblood speak to him in such a manner? Any yet- there was something in the fierce expression on her face that caused him to drop his hand to his side rather than pull out his wand as he longed to do. He could tell that she was ready to make good on her threat.

"Father," said Draco very quietly, "I think you should leave."

Lucius's gaze now returned to his son. "This isn't over, Draco," he hissed.

"How right you are, Lucius, my old friend- it's only just begun," said a cheerful voice from the doorway, which made them all jump. Dumbledore stood there, smiling his usual twinkling smile. "The feast, I mean," he added in clarification, with an airy wave of his hand. "The night is young and the festivities are really just getting underway, and the presence of these four exemplary young people has been rather- ah- forcefully- requested by the other students as well as our many esteemed guests. I have come to bring them down to the Great Hall. Would you care to accompany us, Lucius?"

He beamed and twinkled all around. Only Harry, who knew him best, detected a hint of steely hardness beneath his jovial exterior. Or perhaps Lucius detected it too, because he ground out the words "No, thank you," though it sounded as if it were half-killing him to be polite.

"Ah," said Dumbledore, and he allowed his smile to fade just the slightest bit. "Regretful, but I understand, Lucius. No doubt you came when you heard the news of young Draco's injury- (I imagine you must have been beside yourself with worry)- and now that you have been reassured that your son is alive and well, I suppose you have other pressing matters to attend to. It is a busy time for us all."

"Yes, quite," Lucius agreed, sounding as though he were about to choke on the words. "I must get home immediately; Narcissa was in a state when I left and I must hasten to share the- the-" he glanced back at Draco and a muscle in his eye twitched- "good news with her and put her fears to rest." He nodded curtly in his son's direction, his eyes bright with hatred as he shot him one last malevolent look. "Draco," he said shortly by way of a farewell, and, as Dumbledore stepped aside from the doorway, he swept from the room.

00000

Immediately Dumbledore closed the door and came quickly to stand before Draco, concern written all over his kindly face. Reaching out, he clasped both hands firmly onto Draco's arms, just above his elbows, for which Draco was extremely grateful, because it was at that very moment that his legs seemed to give way and he was fairly certain that he would have sunk to the floor had not the headmaster been supporting him.

"Draco," Dumbledore said gently, "are you all right?"

Draco stared back at Dumbledore, his pale eyes wide with the shock of the confrontation. "He came here to kill me," he said slowly. "My own father. I mean, I knew he would hate me; I expected him to disown me; but…he came here to kill me. To KILL me." He shook his head then, seeming to come out of a sort of trance, and suddenly his eyes were back to normal; guarded and unreadable. "I'm sorry," he said. "I- I am fine, sir."

Dumbledore looked hard at him for a moment, then released him and stepped back. "The wards around the school will be adjusted so that your father cannot enter the Hogwarts grounds again without my being immediately alerted," he said. Draco nodded once in acknowledgement, still looking slightly dazed, though he was rapidly regaining his composure.

"And now, as to the feast," said Dumbledore, "we really should be going down. Nearly the whole school is there. The Slytherins preferred to remain in their dormitories, citing their concern over your condition, Draco, as their reason for being in a less than celebratory mood-"

("I wish people would stop going on about my condition," Draco muttered in annoyance; "I'm not bloody pregnant!" Hermione giggled.)

"-but nevertheless," Dumbledore continued smoothly, though there was now amusement evident in his voice, "there are many, many students and faculty, as well as members of the Ministry and of the press, who are most anxious to greet the four of you. So- if you will excuse me for just a moment, I will step out and see if I can't discover what Poppy has done with your clothes." And he left, shutting the door again behind him.

Instantly, Draco sank onto the edge of his bed, dropping his face forward into his hands. Without a word, the others sat as well, Hermione beside him and Harry and Ron across from them on the edge of Hermione's bed. All four were quiet for a moment; then, without raising his head, Draco spoke hoarsely.

"Just what the HELL did you think you were doing with my father, Potter?"

"Trying to protect a friend," Harry answered promptly.

Draco now whipped his head up and his slate blue eyes were blazing with anger. "You and your bloody stupid hero act!" he shouted. "I can't believe how thick you are! Don't you understand, he wouldn't have stopped because of you. He would have been THRILLED to kill you first, and then me- he would have seen it as an added bonus! A bloody two-for-one special!"

Harry shrugged, apparently unconcerned. "I guess it's a good thing we have Hermione, then," he said, shooting her a grin.

At this, all Draco could do for a long moment was gape at him. Then, in an abrupt gesture, he raised both hands to his head, clenching fistfuls of his fine hair. For a few seconds, it really looked as though he were about to commence tearing his hair out in frustration, but instead he took a deep breath, ran his hands through the silvery tangle, and dropped them again. "Goddamn Gryffindors," he said, but the anger had gone out of his voice. "Never…never understand."

"I think you understand perfectly," Harry countered. "I think you'd have done the same for any one of us."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Don't flatter yourself, Potter." The fact that he knew deep down that Harry was probably right rankled him. DAMNED if he was going to admit it.

It was, perhaps, fortunate that Dumbledore returned at that precise moment. He was empty handed and wore an apologetic expression. "I am afraid I have been unable to locate either Poppy or your clothing," he said. "No doubt, having concluded that you were all healthy, she went down to join the celebration, which is where we should be as well. I'm afraid that you four will just have to go as is." Seeing the looks of incredulity starting to spread across their faces, he added, "there simply isn't time to send you all back to your dormitories to freshen up. I believe the crowd downstairs will start tearing down the walls if you don't put in an appearance soon. And after all," he said thoughtfully and with a distinct twinkle in his eye, "it is rather appropriate, wouldn't you say- the four heroes clad all in radiant white."

The four heroes in question stared at one another, nonplussed. Finally it was Hermione who ended the silence, her face breaking into a sudden and dazzling smile. "Well, why not?" she said, amused; "it's not as though it will be the first feast we've attended in our nightclothes. Remember second year?"

"But Hermione," Ron said in a long-suffering voice, "that feast began spontaneously, in the wee hours. Everyone got out of bed for it. The WHOLE SCHOOL was in their nightclothes. Now we'll be the only ones."

Hermione just shrugged. "I for one don't mind," she said simply, smiling at Dumbledore.

It occurred to Draco to wonder how Pansy Parkinson, the prissy princess of Slytherin and the girl he had been widely expected to fall in love with, would react to being requested to attend a feast, and a feast at which members of the press would be present no less, in her bedclothes. The image that came to his mind caused him to crack a small smile. Pansy would go into a transport of rage. And there it was, he realized; another of the thousand reasons he loved Hermione- it seemed he discovered a new one every day- she was willing to go to the feast in hospital pajamas. (Not to mention the way she had just faced down his father and saved his life…all right, that made two reasons for today.)

At Dumbledore's next words, however, the smile abruptly left his face.

"Besides which," the headmaster said, now looking straight at Draco, "I think white is the perfect color for you especially tonight, Mister Malfoy, considering what will be occurring at the feast with regard to you. Yes; pure, virgin white to symbolize a new beginning."

As far as Draco was concerned, there was so much wrong with this statement that he hardly knew what to address first. This "new beginning" Dumbledore had mentioned made him instantly and deeply uneasy, but far worse was the simple fact that the headmaster had used the word "virgin" in conjunction with him. Ron was sniggering openly and even Harry had snorted with mirth.

"I am NOT a virgin," he hissed mutinously, fixing Harry and Ron with a baleful glare before returning his attention to Dumbledore and asking, "what precisely will be happening with regard to me at the feast?"

"Something most unusual," Dumbledore replied mysteriously, "most unusual indeed." For a moment, it seemed as though he were disinclined to say anything further, but then, perhaps taking pity on Draco, who was beginning to look extremely nervous, he continued.

"You see, Mister Malfoy, something happened to me today which has never happened to me before in all my time as headmaster here. In fact, this has only happened five previous times in all of Hogwarts' long history. The most recent time being roughly three hundred years ago." He paused, appearing to be suddenly lost in thought.

Draco, on tenterhooks, ground out, "the most recent time WHAT?"

Dumbledore, seeming to return to the present, now fixed him with a piercing gaze. "Why, the most recent time the Sorting Hat informed a headmaster that a student is in need of resorting, of course."