Chapter 5

The owls had gone out last night, and by this morning the faces of their loved ones pleasantly surprised everyone. I was not shocked to find Mrs. Weasley beaming at me when I entered the Great Hall, eight month old baby Rupert sitting contently on her hip. "Oh, Harry," she said, "It's so wonderful to see you again, dear!"

Now the six of us—Mrs. Weasley, The Grangers, Ron, and I—are sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table. Mrs. Weasley is explaining to us why Mr. Weasley couldn't be here, stopping every couple of seconds to keep Rupert from throwing a handful of eggs across the table. I try to give a semblance of attentiveness but my mind is clearly elsewhere. My eyes are looking past Mrs. Weasley to the Slytherin table, behind her. Draco is sitting at the center, looking almost livid. His normally beautiful, porcelain skin is a sickly alabaster and the rings around his eyes show a lack of sleep. He stares down at his plate as he pushes the food on it around with his fork, never once bringing it to his mouth. His so-called loyal friends are nowhere to be seen. Sitting across from him is none other than his father, dressed in his usual black robes. I notice that there is a large space on either side of the both of them, separating them from the rest of the Slytherins and Slytherin alumni. It is very clear that everyone is Slytherin house knows not to interfere with the business of Lucius Malfoy.

I see Malfoy's lips move as he lifts his head to look at Draco. Without looking up, Draco stops the motion of his fork. When Malfoy ceases to speak, Draco pauses for a moment before shaking his head. I begin to wonder what that was about but I don't get too far as Dumbledore soon rises from his seat at the faculty table, demanding silence. All heads, including my own, turn to look at him.

"On behalf of the faculty here at Hogwarts," the headmaster says, "I would like to extend a welcome to all parents and family members of our graduating seventh years. I am sure you are all as proud as I am of their accomplishments." The Great Hall immediately erupts into applause. Dumbledore smiles and waits for it to die down. "Now," he says, "I would just like to remind you all that feast will commence at eight o'clock this evening. Lunch will be served as usual, at noon. Other than that, you are all free to roam the school at you leisure. Feel free to visit your children's classes though, I must ask you to try to refrain from disturbing any of our younger students, as this is still a regular school day for them." And with a slow bow, he takes his seat.

The noise level in the Great Hall rises again, and it accompanied by the scraping of benches as people begin to leave.

-o-o-o-

"Come, Draco," my father says to me as he straightens out his robes, "let's see if you've accomplished anything worthy of my praise."

"Yes, father," I mutter, and I leave my cold, uneaten, food to join him. My stomach has turned into a lead weight and my forearms are aching with the sting of freshly made wounds.

Last night had been terrible, but I would give anything to go back to it. I couldn't sleep for fear of what was to come the next day so, I let myself have what I had been wanting ever since Dumbledore had first mentioned the feast. The first cut had been small, just a scratch on the wrist with the very tip of the blade that had brought forth a couple droplets of blood. The second had been deeper, and the third deeper still. I had continued in this manner until both of my arms were covered with an array of dark red streaks, all of which bled beautifully. Then, I sat on my bed and watched the blood run in little rivulets across my skin. For the first time in months, I was genuinely calm. I wasn't worried about Potter, or my schoolwork, or even my father. None of that had even existed to me. There had been only me, the blade, and the blood.

Those feelings have long since dissolved and, at the moment, my heart is beating at a rate which I am certain should have killed me by now. I follow my father wordlessly as he makes his way to the dungeons. When we arrive at my Potions classroom, we find Professor Snape sitting at his desk, going through a pile of parchment that I can only assume to be essays from a different class. He looks up as soon as we enter the classroom. I take a seat on top of one of the tables and watch anxiously as my father approaches my teacher.

"Lucius," Snape says with a smile, "how good it is to see you, again."

"Yes," my father replies, "how are you, Severus?"

"Quite well, but I think I am right in assuming that that is not your foremost concern."

My father smiles. "You know me too well."

"Let me just get young Draco's file from my office." My father nods. Snape pushes his chair back from the desk and disappears through a door at the front of the room. He emerges seconds later carrying a worn down manila folder, full of old pieces of parchment. "Here we are," he says, handing it to my father. "I'm sure you'll be quite pleased with his work. He has performed most commendably these past seven years."

My father takes the folder, resting his serpent headed cane against Snape's desk, and begins to look through it. As he does so, Snape catches my eye and gives me a very discreet smile of comfort, letting me know that I have nothing to worry about while I am here.

"Severus," my father says, looking up from the folder, "if you were to…rank all of your students, where would Draco stand?"

"Why I am sure he is deserving of nothing lower than the topmost position."

"Hmm." My father takes another look at the contents of the folder. Then, he closes it and hands it back to Snape. Then he takes his cane. "I think I've seen enough. You'll have to drop by the manor, sometime, Severus. Narcissa would love to see you again."

"It would be a pleasure, Lucius. Good day."

As we leave Snape's room, I let out a small sigh of relief, but it isn't long before I am once again overwrought with trepidation. Thankfully, our visits to Charms and Transfiguration go much the same as Potions, though without the warmth of Snape's comfort, and I walk out of McGonagall's classroom thinking, Yes, only one more to go.

When we arrive at my Arithmancy classroom, Professor Vector is standing at the back of the room with a large stack of books in her arms. "Be with you in a moment," she says, without even turning back to look at us. I watch her as she places the books, one by one, on a bookshelf that takes up the entirety of the back wall. Finally, she puts the last book away and walks up the aisle between two rows of desks. "Ah," she says, bringing her palms together in front of her deep violet robes, "you must be Mr. Malfoy. I am(insert first name)Vector."

"Charmed," my father replies, curtly.

"Well, I'm sure you are most anxious to know how Draco is doing in my class."

"Oh, yes, most anxious."

Professor Vector smiles warmly. "You'll be happy to know that he is one of my top students. He's very attentive and focussed in class, though he can be a bit unsociable towards the other students."

"And his rank?"

"His rank?"

"Yes."

"Hmm," Professor Vector says, pensively, "I don't usually rank my students, but I suppose I could say Draco is top student in his class and maybe…second in his year?"

My breath gets caught in my chest. My heart stops cold.

"Second?" my father asks.

"Yes," Professor Vector answers, "that sounds about right. You should be very proud of him."

My father is silent for a moment. He takes a deep breath. "Just out of curiosity," he says, "who is the top student of Draco's year?"

"Oh, er, Hermione Granger. I don't know if you know her. She's a student in one of my other classes. Brilliant girl."

My father is able to retain his stony disposition but I can see his hand tightening around the serpent head of his cane. He is not happy. "Yes, well, I think it's time I take my leave."

"Oh, well, it was nice to meet you Mr. Malfoy."

"Likewise." He turns to the door. "Come, Draco."

I come out of my daze and slowly follow my father out of the classroom into the hallway. My entire body is numb. My breath comes out in short gasps. Oh, God, I think, as we walk down the stone corridor. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

It's all over. Everything I've put myself through, all the hard work I've done. All of it was for nothing, brought down in a matter of seconds.

The lunch bell rings and students begin to rush out of their classrooms, into the halls but we do not stop. Someone bumps into me. My father pushes past the black current, leading me further and further away from everyone else. We reach an old wooden door, in a seemingly abandoned hallway. "In," my father commands, holding the door open. I obey. He follows me into what looks like an old classroom and shuts the door behind him, locking it with a sealing charm. Then, he begins to pace back and forth in front of me.

His nostrils are flared in anger as he takes deep, heavy breaths through them. "Tell me, Draco," he says, twisting his wand in his hand, causing it to emit sporadic bursts of red sparks, "did you hear what Professor Vector said about you, just now?"

"Y-Yes, father," I mutter, barely audibly.

"Can you…repeat it, for me?"

"She-She said I was top student in her class."

"And in your year?"

"S-Second," I whisper.

"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."

"Second," I repeat, a little louder.

"That's not all, is it, Draco. Second best to whom?"

I take in a ragged breath. "Hermione Granger."

"That's right," my father says, "Hermione Granger. A mudblood." He stops pacing and brings his face close to mine. "Tell me, Draco. How do you feel about being outsmarted by a mudblood? Are you proud of yourself? Because, if it were me, I would be hanging myself right about now."

"Well, I-I tried my best, fath—"

Before I can finish, he raises his hand and brings it down onto my cheek, sending me into one of the desks. My lip collides with the edge and it bursts, filling my mouth with the taste of blood.

"Don't you dare tell me you did your best," he screams, "because if you had done your best, we wouldn't be here, right now!" He walks to me and grabs a fistful of my hair, wrenching my face back to his. "Do you know what 'second best' means, Draco?" he snarls, "Hmm? Do you?" I shake my head. "Well, allow me to enlighten you. The term 'second best' is another way of saying 'greatest failure'!" He hurls me into another desk. This time, pain erupts in my ribs as my side smashes into it and I fall, face down, onto the floor. "And there is no room for failures in the Malfoy family. It seems I'm going to have to teach you that lesson again, since you didn't learn it the first time."

-o-o-o-

Where is he? I wonder to myself as I glance over to the Slytherin table for the fifth time. I haven't seen him since this morning. All day long, I've kept an eye out for him but it's as if he's disappeared off the face of the planet. I haven't seen his father either. What if he's in trouble?

No, I tell myself, that's not it. He's just late.

I don't even believe that. Suddenly, I spot a familiar face at the other end of the Great Hall. "Excuse me, guys," I say to Mrs. Weasley and the others before leaving the table and running to where she stands at the entrance. "Olean!" I call out, and the dark-haired Hufflepuff fourth year turns away from her group of friends.

"Hello, Harry," she says, smiling at me.

"Have you seen Dra—Malfoy?"

"Malfoy?" she repeats, "I don't think so, sorry."

My heart sinks. "Alright, thanks any—"

"Oh, wait!" she exclaims. My head perks up. "I did see him, a few minutes ago, actually."

"Where?"

"Um, I was on my way out of Ancient Runes and I think I bumped into him. He was following a man, probably his father 'cause they looked so much alike. Neither of them looked too happy, either."

"What?" My heart begins to pound in my chest. "Olean, which way were they headed? Do you know?"

"Yeah, it looked like they were going to the old hallway that no one uses anymore, you know the one on the seventh floor."

"Listen, I need you to get Madame Pomfrey, Professor Dumbledore, and as many teachers as you can to that hallway, as fast as you can."

"Why? Harry, what's going—"

"There's no time to explain. Just do as I say. Go!"

Before she can say another word, I run as fast as I can out the door to the nearest staircase. I climb the six flights without pause, taking them two steps at a time. Please, please, be okay, I think as I race down the deserted hallway, please, be okay. I turn the corner, into the old hallway, and try the first door I see.

Nothing.

I try the second door.

Nothing.

I try the third door. It's locked. I start to move on to the fourth door but before I can even step away from the third, I hear a crash come from within. "Draco," I say to myself. My hand goes to the knob, twisting it violently, but in vain. I take a step back from the door and hurl my body into it, smashing my shoulder into the wooden surface. The door doesn't budge. I step back once more, lift my foot and bring it down on the door. Still nothing. I hear another crash come from the other side of the door.

"Dammit!" I shout, pacing back and forth, ready to pull my hair out. "Why won't you open?" Suddenly, I remember the magical wooden object currently in the back pocket of my jeans. "Ah," I sigh, grabbing for it and pointing it at the door. "Alohomora!" Nothing. "Er, expeli—no, can't disarm a door. Um…um…" I am pacing again. I need a spell to get past this door, but I can't think. I'm not going to lose him, I think, grabbing fistfuls of my own hair, not to a stupid door! I can't. My head feels as if it's about to explode

"OH, JUST LET ME IN!" I shout, desperately, pointing the wand at the door a third time.

As soon as the words leave my lips, the door shatters into millions of splinters, with such a force that knocks me into the opposite wall. Too frantic to be astonished at what just happened, I quickly regain my senses and run through the doorway. I see the tall figure of Lucius Malfoy standing, with his wand raised, in front of another, writhing on the floor. The familiar white light of the Cruciatus is spilling from the tip of his wand. Draco. Before I can think, my own wand is up. "EXPELIARMUS!" I shout, and Malfoy goes flying. There is a loud crack as his head makes contact with the opposing wall. Then, I run to Draco, who is still twitching and writhing.

I grab his shoulders and turn him onto his back. His face is streaked with blood and tears; black bruises encircle his eyes; his robes are torn—I can see blood seeping through the fabric. His mouth his moving but no sound comes from it. "Draco, what are you…I can't…" And then I realize…

I take my wand out and point it at his throat, muttering the counter of the Silencing Spell that was put on him.

The room is immediately filled with the sounds of his screams, his sobs. "Sorry—so, sorry--" he shouts, over and over again, gasping and wheezing. "Never—never again!"

The words tear into me, into my heart, into my soul. "No, no, no," I say to him, "Draco, it's okay. It's okay. It's over."

"Please—" he continues, "please—no more—no—"

"Draco," I shout, "it's alright. It's over. Please stop. Please!"

But he doesn't. I wrap my arms around his body and bring him close to mine, half trying to console him, half trying to muffle the sound of his agonized screams.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps. It isn't long before the robed figures of Professors Dumbledore and MacGonagall, followed by Olean and Madame Pomfrey, come bursting into the room. The first thing they see is Lucius Malfoy's body lying, motionless, on the classroom floor. "What's going on in here?" MacGonagall demands. Then, she catches sight of Draco and me. "Potter, what is the meaning of this?"

"Professor," I say, looking up but still clinging to Draco's body, "you have to help him! He won't stop! I told him it was okay and he won't stop…"

"What did you—how did this—"

"Step out of the way, please, Minerva," Dumbledore says, authoritatively, and he steps past the witch and kneels beside Draco and me.

"Professor Dumbledore, please," I beg, "do something, anything. I can't take it anymore."

Dumbledore looks over his shoulder. "Poppy," he says, remaining unnervingly calm, "go down to the dungeons and tell Professor Snape to prepare a very strong dosage of the Draught of Peace and bring it to me, immediately."

Madame Pomfrey nods and is off, without a word.

"Harry," Dumbledore continues, now looking at me and taking out hi wand, "I need you to return to your dormitory, at once. I will be there to speak with you momentarily."

"But Professor," I protest, "what about—"

"Draco will be fine," he interrupts, "now, go. Minerva, please escort him."

Before I can say another word, MacGonagall is at my side, grabbing my arm with a surprisingly strong grip.

"No, Professor you don't—"

"Come on, now, Potter," she says, ushering me to the door-less entrance of the classroom. "You heard Professor Dumbledore."

Feech's Noot: Alright, well that only took about six months, right? I'm going to apologize for the crappiness of the end of this chapter. I just failed an English test and I'm not in the best of moods right now. And to Olean, I hope the character was to your liking. The last and final chapitre, numero 6, is well on its way….in my head. Hopefully, I'll get it done before the New Year but, I'm not making any promises. Peaches! And don't forget to review! Oh, by the way, what is Professor Vector's first name?