Chapter Sixteen
The moment he heard Snape turn a desperate-sounding Hermione away from his door, Draco's new-found sense of elation deflated like a punctured balloon. He waited rigidly on the tower's small cot, knowing in the pit of his stomach that the other shoe was about to drop, for what seemed a small eternity until Dumbledore arrived and gravely confirmed Draco's worst fears.
Determined to show no weakness to the venerable Headmaster, Draco accepted his fate passively, sitting stoic and silent while Dumbledore assured him that he would not rest until Draco was safely back at Hogwarts. Finally, just when Draco thought his insides would surely burst from the strain of containing his horror and rage, Dumbledore took his leave with a simple, "Please pack your things. Professor Snape will escort you to the front doors in half an hour to meet your father."
Only when the door closed behind Dumbledore and the murmurs of Headmaster and Potions professor had moved down the staircase did Draco allow himself the release of one full-throated, stomach-vibrating roar.
My own father! The coward, the bloody coward, he can't handle a few months in Azkaban and he thinks I can't handle the Wyr Estate – let them starve me, let them beat me, if he thinks I'll beg for my life he's about to see what a real Malfoy is made of –
My own father…I've never been his son, not really, even less so now…
To his own horror, Draco felt hot tears sliding down his cheeks. He rolled over and flung himself face-down into his pillow, futilely fighting back sobs that burned his throat as they tore free. Lucius had never been an affectionate father; he had always treated his son with a mixture of cold disapproval and weary disdain that Draco, try as he might, could never penetrate. But, like most children, Draco had believed, in his heart of hearts, that his father loved him, and that one day, perhaps even on Lucius's death-bed, he would confess how unutterably proud he was of his son.
Now, with that fantasy revealed as a silly pipe-dream, Draco languished between the most intense self-loathing for his own stupidity and the vilest hatred for his father's cruelty. Finally, he gave into the grief and cried until his eyes burned, his throat ached and his cheeks swelled. He cried until his tears ran dry, leaving him hollow and hiccupping.
Slowly, feeling impossibly weak – he was, after all, still recovering from a near-fatal wound – he rolled over on the cot and stared unseeingly at the ceiling. Hermione, he realized, must have found out his father's plan; that was why she had sounded so terrified in the hallway. She had been coming to him, probably with some desperate idea for an escape, or maybe just to be with him for whatever time they had left – it didn't matter, really, why she had come, only that she had.
Draco smiled thinly at the irony of his situation. Two days ago, he would have been almost relieved by Lucius's decision to, essentially, murder him. He might even have determined to attack his keepers so viciously they would be forced to kill him, as death was infinitely preferable to life as a madman and a prisoner. But Hermione had changed all of that. With one kiss, she had driven his desperation far away and rekindled his desire to live, to really live, to leave this tower and rejoin the world and become the kind of man she could be proud to marry. He had allowed hope to spark once more in his soul the very instant before Fate drew a breath to snuff it out.
Potter will take care of her, he told himself, forcing down the rising jealousy at the unbidden image of Hermione collapsing in his rival's arms. He'll see to it that she goes on, that she's happy. I think I can survive this if I know she'll be all right.
Wish I could have said good-bye…
Dragging his leaden feet off the cot, Draco decided it was probably for the best that Snape had barred Hermione from his room. He could remember her now as she had been the last time he'd seen her: flushed and giggling from his kisses, a lock of hair falling loosely over her pretty hazel eyes, happier than he ever remembered her being. That memory would sustain him through anything the Wyr Estate could dole out.
A rap on the door told Draco his respite had ended. He hurriedly splashed cold water from the basin under his window onto his swollen cheeks and pulled on a clean set of Slytherin robes. Looking up into his pale reflection in the tower window, he made a pact with himself: I will not break. I will show no weakness, no fear. I will not ask for mercy, from my father or anyone. I will die with dignity.
Snape said nothing to him as they made their way through the empty corridors to the main hall. At the top of the grand staircase, the Potions professor said stiffly, "You can go on your own from here. Good luck, Mr. Malfoy." Their eyes met and held for the briefest moment before Snape swept back up the stairs in a billow of black robes.
Draco drew in a steadying breath. Below, silhouetted against a cold winter morning, the imposing figure of his father waited in the doorway. Draco pulled himself up to his full height as he descended, repeating the pact with himself over and over again in his mind: I will not break. I will not break. I WIILL NOT BREAK…
Yet he had barely reached the next step when the doors to the Great Hall opened and, to his shock, Harry Potter marched bravely forward. "What are you - ?" Draco began, startled, but Potter, looking grimly determined, bypassed him without a word.
Potter didn't slow until he was toe-to-toe with Lucius Malfoy, who, Draco noted, looked smugly amused at his enemy's audacity. "Well, well, Harry," Lucius purred, "you look a sight better than the last time I saw you. Taking your godfather's death in stride, I see."
"Thanks. You look pretty good yourself, for someone who just spent a few months in Azkaban," Potter shot back tartly. Draco, rooted to the spot at the bottom of the staircase, winced when he saw his father's hand drop to his wand – if Potter wasn't careful, his tenure as The Boy Who Lived would soon run out. "Or do they treat turncoats better than the other inmates?"
Lucius's smirk faltered ever so slightly. "Now, now, Harry, let's put the past behind us, shall we? After all, you should be thanking me for the help I've given your friends."
Potter snorted derisively. "You mean the information you gave the Ministry? Don't think you're fooling anyone, Malfoy. You just did your master's dirty work by cleaning up his disloyal Death Eaters."
An icy chill skated down Draco's spine. Was that true? Part of him warmed to the idea that his father wasn't a blood-traitor after all, that he had at least remained loyal to his one all-consuming passion, the Dark Lord; a bigger part of him, however, feared for everyone who would oppose his merciless father – especially Hermione, who was as committed to destroying Voldemort as Potter was.
The satisfied glint in Lucius's eyes confirmed the truth of Potter's accusation. "I suppose we could never be friends, you and I," Lucius murmured. He reached out and brushed the tip of his wand across Potter's scar. "Pity…Just think, with the power the Dark Lord passed to you, you could have been one of the greatest wizards ever born."
"You mean a wizard like you? A murderer? A liar? A father who condemns his own son?"
Draco stepped forward automatically at the reminder of why his father was there. "I don't need you to stand up for me, Potter," he snapped, emboldened by a sudden fury toward the one person who, in some way, was responsible for his current predicament – the only person besides himself, of course.
Lucius started at Draco's appearance; he had been so absorbed in trading insults with Potter he didn't seem to have noticed his son's presence. "This has been fascinating, Potter, but I have more important business to tend to," he said now, his eyes fixed on Draco's face. "I'm sure we'll meet again soon enough."
"Not so fast." Potter side-stepped so he was planted directly been Draco and his father. Draco was too surprised to push him out of the way. "You're not taking Draco anywhere."
The warning note in Lucius's voice sent a shudder through Draco, who had experienced his father's wrath on more than one occasion. "Get out of my way, boy, or I will move you out of my way."
"Then you'll have to move us, too."
Draco's insides quaked at the sound of Hermione's voice ringing clear and defiant through the hall. He would not allow his father to hurt her; he would grab Potter's wand and curse Lucius into oblivion if he so much as touched one hair on her head.
But what does she think she's doing, challenging a vicious Death Eater so openly? Has she lost her mind?
As he turned to ask her that very question (and to force her, kicking and screaming if necessary, back to the safety of the Great Hall), Draco received the biggest shock of his life: Pouring out of the Great Hall was a mass of students wearing Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw robes and frowns of fierce determination.
The wave of students flooded into the space between where Draco stood, poised on the last step of the grand staircase, and where Lucius remained frozen in the doorway. Every wand in the room pointed fearlessly at the Death Eater on the doorstep.
Draco looked from Hermione, who was beaming at him from the middle of the crowd, to Potter, who was glaring triumphantly at Lucius, to his father, who was purpling with rage.
What the bloody hell is going on?
Lucius immediately sputtered out Draco's exact thought: "What the bloody hell is going on? Just what do you think you're playing at, Potter?"
"We're invoking the Charter of Protection," announced Katie Bell, a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team whom, to be perfectly honest, Draco would have expected to be cheering him on his way to the Wyr Estate's torments. She shouldered her way through the crowd to stand proudly beside Potter. "You're not taking Draco out of this school, Mr. Malfoy."
"Stand aside!" Lucius snarled, reaching for her. He stopped, however, when hundreds of wands bristled in his direction. "This is ridiculous! You can't stop me from taking my own child out of this school! I'll have you all expelled!"
"I don't think so," Ginny Weasley replied coolly. She, too, moved away from the press of students to stand at Potter's side. "Not unless you want to fight all of us."
"Do you think I wouldn't?" Lucius's eyes bored into hers. "Do you think I would hesitate to curse every student in this room? Do you honestly think you are a match for the Dark Lord's most loyal servant?"
"Probably not." Draco's shock increased ten-fold when Ronald Weasley, the last person alive he would ever have expected to protect him, materialized from a doorway to his sister's left and positioned himself fearlessly between Ginny and Lucius. "But as you don't seem cut out for Azkaban, Malfoy, I'd suggest you think twice before you start cursing."
Lucius studied this new arrival imperiously. "Your pathetic father ought to teach you more about our laws, Weasley. You're keeping me from what is mine. No court in our world would sentence me for using force to take it back." His eyes flicked almost imperceptibly toward Draco, who shivered at the absolute lack of feeling there: He had become nothing more than a possession to his father, he saw that plainly now – a damaged possession that needed to be disposed of, and quickly.
"Actually, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione suddenly piped up in a mockingly polite voice, "the Charter of Protection supersedes your claim to Draco. Here, I have a copy of it for you to read."
Draco's throat tightened with fear as Hermione hurried forward, bringing herself entirely too close to his father's wand. He started toward her, refusing to be the reason she was placed in danger a second time, but found himself abruptly encircled by the Patil twins, Lavender Brown, Hannah Abbot, Susan Bones, Luna Lovegood and a number of other Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff girls, all of whom looked ready to petrify him in place if he attempted to break free.
Surrounded, he watched helplessly as Hermione presented his furious father with a roll of parchment. She settled back beside Potter, smiling triumphantly as Lucius's face distorted with rage.
"Dumbledore!" Lucius roared the moment he read the last word. "I demand to see the Headmaster, this instant!"
As if on cue, Dumbledore appeared at the top of the stairs behind Draco. He paused, momentarily surveying the crowd below with a look of unconvincing bewilderment, and then called pleasantly, "Why, good morning, Lucius. Could I offer you a spot of tea after your trip?"
"Dumbledore, I demand to know the meaning of this!" Lucius shouted, waving the Charter of Protection in the air. "Your students are invoking some ridiculous law to keep me from taking what is mine!"
"It's the Charter of Protection, sir," Potter turned and called up to the Headmaster. "Do you know of it?"
Sounding as if he were repeating well-rehearsed lines, Dumbledore replied, "Why, yes, Harry, I have heard of it, though it has been some time since it was invoked. And do you have three of the four Hogwarts Houses in agreement that Draco Malfoy's life would be in danger if he were to leave this castle?"
"Yes, sir," Harry replied victoriously. He nodded toward Neville Longbottom, who dashed past Draco and his ring of captors to present Dumbledore with three rolls of parchment. "Those are the signatures of every student in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff."
Draco blinked in astonishment. How in the world had Hermione and Potter convinced so many people to come to his defense, risking expulsion, possibly even their very lives?
I've never been anything but horrid to any of them. Worse than horrid to some of them. Why would they help me?
Because Potter asked them to, a tiny, wheedling voice in the back of his mind spoke up. That's what people do – they obey heroes.
Well, it really didn't matter why, he supposed, though he couldn't quite believe that even Potter commanded that kind of devotion from this number of people. It only mattered that they were here, and from the looks of it, he wouldn't be marching off to certain death after all. In spite of himself, Draco smiled. A dozen faces around him returned the grin, causing the small bubble of elation in his chest to expand into a large balloon.
"Everything seems to be in order," Dumbledore declared. He handed the parchments over to McGonagall, who, like the rest of the teachers – including the centaur Firenze – had stationed themselves on the landing behind the Headmaster. Even Snape was there, Draco noted. "I'm afraid you'll have to appeal to the Board of Governors, Lucius, but they will certainly tell you the same thing I am about to – so long as the students have invoked the Charter of Protection for your son, he can only leave this castle of his own free will."
"This – I – you – Bloody hell!" Lucius exploded. His fury might have been comical if he hadn't suddenly whipped his wand around and aimed it precisely at Potter's heart. "You can't do this! I'll go straight to the Minister of Magic! Your precious little school will be shut down, you'll all be out on your ears!"
"Try it," Potter replied softly. His voice carried through the suddenly-silent hall; the challenge in his voice obviously meant more than Lucius's spoken threat, taking in the unspoken one in the wand he kept aimed at Potter's chest. "I dare you."
"You filthy little blood-traitor," Lucius hissed, his eyes glowing sapphire with frightening zeal. "I should kill you now, save us all the trouble – "
Without warning, Lucius's wand shot out of his hand and landed on the steps outside with a loud crack. Every student in the hall jumped, including Draco, who turned to find Dumbledore gazing coldly at Lucius. Suddenly, the Headmaster looked taller and more imposing than Draco ever remembered seeing him.
"I cannot allow you to threaten any student here, Lucius," Dumbledore declared, the steel in his eyes belying the softness in his voice. "I think the time has come for you to take your leave."
Still gaping at his wandless hand, Lucius stomped a foot in impotent fury. "You haven't heard the end of this," he spat at the hall, his glare taking in the entirety of the student body as well as the teachers. His blazing eyes came to rest on Draco, who refused to flinch under it. "Each and every one of you will regret this day, I swear it!"
With that ominous threat, he turned and swept majestically out the front doors, which banged shut behind him.
Noise returned to the hall after one stunned moment of silence – students whispering, giggling, cheering, chattering excitedly. As the talk rose to a crescendo, Draco found himself freed from his make-shift prison; he rushed forward immediately to where Hermione, Potter, and Weasley still stood before the doors.
Hermione ran to meet him, grabbing him in a bone-crushing embrace. Draco clung to her as tightly as she did to him, burying his nose in her silky honey-brown hair, unconcerned about the people passing by, staring and snickering.
"I almost lost you," she half-sobbed into his shoulder. "I thought…I thought…"
"Shh," he whispered firmly. "Don't. It's over now. It's over."
They held onto one another for a long time, until at last Potter awkwardly cleared his throat beside them. Draco reluctantly lifted his face from Hermione's neck to find Potter staring at his shoes, Weasley glaring into space and Ginny beaming widely at him. He shifted Hermione to the side, where she tucked herself under his arm with seemingly every intention of remaining there forever.
"So," Potter began nervously.
"So." Draco found it difficult to make eye contact with his old enemy. How could he be grateful to a person he had come, over the last weeks, to despise? Even before that, he certainly hadn't harbored any warm-and-fuzzy feelings for The Boy Who Lived. Being friends now still seemed unthinkable, despite how grateful Draco was not to be going to the Wyr Estate after all.
As the silence grew unbearable, Hermione interjected hopefully, "Draco, this was Harry's idea. He made it all happen."
"It was nothing." Potter blushed bright scarlet under Hermione's praise. He locked his gaze onto Draco's with obvious difficulty. "I owed you."
"No, you don't," Draco answered automatically, surprising himself. A tense silence followed, into which he felt compelled to go on, "What happened, happened. We can't change it. So let's…Let's just forget it, okay?"
Potter visibly sagged with relief. "Okay."
"What I'd like to know," Hermione piped up, "is how you organized this so fast."
Ginny tossed her hair haughtily over one shoulder and replied proudly, "Neville and I decided to go straight for the prefects. Once we had them convinced, it wasn't much to get everybody else down in the common rooms and explain the situation." She glanced sideways at Draco. "People didn't need much persuading, you know."
Draco wondered how true that was. Had some people, the followers of Potter most likely, been so determined that everyone else agreed to go along rather than be labeled an enemy of Dumbledore's prized student? Or were people simply excited by the promise of some action, of being part of a historic event in the school's history?
Come on, give them the benefit of the doubt. These people risked their hides for you; the least you can do is believe in their better natures…
"It was basically the same with Gryffindor," Potter added, though Draco didn't miss the tell-tale scowl he shot Weasley, who was continuing to feign deafness beside his sister. "Everyone wanted to do the right thing."
"Everyone?" Draco couldn't resist saying, looking pointedly at Weasley. Hermione squeezed his hand – whether in warning or pleading, he couldn't tell.
Ears turning pink, Weasley grated out in the general direction of the Great Hall, "I didn't do it for you, Malfoy."
I'll bet you didn't. You did it for Hermione.
Before Draco could respond – and likely start a fist fight – Hermione said, "Look, Dumbledore's coming!"
They all turned to watch the Headmaster walking their way, a broad grin spread across his face. In spite of himself, Draco felt a rush of admiration for the older man; anyone who could face down his father without so much as flinching had to possess some steel. Looking at Potter out of the corner of his eye, Draco realized that compliment applied to more than one person in this room.
"Pleased to still have you with us, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore greeted Draco. His smile took in each of them in turn; it was a little like having the sun shine directly upon you, Draco noted, as his insides warmed happily to the Headmaster's pleasure. "Actually, I've just been conferring with your teachers, and they agree that this seems like a fine time for you to resume regular classes."
Draco blanched. Leave his tower? Endure the taunts and jibes of his classmates? Was he ready for that?
If Dumbledore noticed his trepidation, he ignored it. "You may of course remain in your private room if you wish, but I have spoken with Professor McGonagall, and she has agreed that you would be welcome to share the sixth-years' dormitory in Gryffindor House, if you'd prefer."
Hermione's grip tightened painfully on Draco's fingers. He could feel her silently begging him to accept – after all, it would mean much more time together, without her rushing up before curfew to see him.
But voluntarily throw himself in among the Gryffindors? Willingly associate with all of those do-gooders he so readily loathed? Draco's pride rebelled at the idea. He knew what his fellow Slytherins would call him: coward, blood-traitor, or – even worse – Potter's sidekick. Accepting Dumbledore's offer would mean casting aside the carefully-constructed image Draco had worked so long to hide behind; he would be, symbolically at least, choosing Potter's side in the coming war, and such a choice was not easily undone.
I'd rather stay neutral. Can't they understand? Can't they see? I don't want to be a hero. I just want my life back. I just want to be me again.
By "they," Draco knew he really meant "Hermione," and more clearly than ever before he understood what falling in love with Hermione meant: fighting beside her against Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Love him as dearly as she did, she would never understand, or accept, his refusal to stand with her, Potter, Dumbledore and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix during the dark years ahead.
Looking down into her hopeful up-turned face, Draco was struck again by the sheer magnitude of his love for her. He realized now just how long he had cared for her, how long he had refused to probe too deeply into his heart for fear of finding her there. Life occasionally offered up moments of truth – choices that, once made, irrevocably altered the course of one's fate. He supposed no one ever got notice of these moments; they just were, and the only thing to be done in the face of them was to decide.
And so he did.
"Thank you, sir," he said politely to Dumbledore, his eyes on Hermione's. "I'd be happy to move into Gryffindor Tower." He glanced at Potter, adding, "If they'll have me."
The tiniest pause ensued, during which Draco imagined he heard Hermione telepathically willing Potter to agree. At last, the other boy nodded once, wordlessly, and Dumbledore immediately declared the matter settled.
Hermione exploded into squeals of joy the instant Dumbledore disappeared into the Great Hall. "This is wonderful!" she cried, covering Draco's cheeks with kisses. He couldn't help but laugh along with her; her happiness was contagious. "Oh, Draco, I couldn't have planned this better myself! Everything's going to be okay now, you'll see."
Catching her around the waist, Draco kissed her firmly on the mouth. He was vaguely aware of Weasley storming off, Ginny giggling and Potter turning away with fiery-red cheeks, but he didn't care. He didn't share Hermione's unwavering faith that from now on everything would be perfect; they might have rallied to save him from the Wyr Estate, but his classmates nevertheless had years of harsh memories to overcome before they accepted him as one of their own, no longer an enemy. And some people, even if they didn't believe (or wouldn't admit to believing) that werewolves should be murdered, would always see him as less than human.
The weeks ahead would be rocky, he was sure, and it was more than a possibility that his father would make good on his threat to have revenge on them all. Losing himself in the sweet taste of Hermione's lips, however, Draco decided he could take whatever life had in store for him so long as he had her by his side.
Author's Note: I hope to be updating more regularly now that I've plowed through Book Six – I needed some inspiration! – so don't worry, this isn't the end. Thanks for all of the reviews!