This story was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but for ages I've been rolling the possibilities around in my head and finally decided to continue. I like this chapter a lot; we get inside Draco's head and get a different view of Lucius than most other stories offer. Please review and tell me your thoughts on this!
Warning: very brief foul language. Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure. ;) The rating will most likely go up as the story progresses.
II. Seven
At long last the Aurors came for Lucius' body. Hermione stood with Draco as they moved the body onto a stretcher they had conjured and covered it in a purple shroud. They boy was shaking horribly despite her attempts to soothe him. When they pulled the shroud over Lucius' face, it was too much for Draco to bear.
"No!" he cried, breaking free from Hermione and tearing the shroud away. He fell to his knees and threw himself over his father's body. You can't take him away from me! You can't!" Even in death, he thought his father's – his idol's – face was noble and beautiful. Lucius was the one he had looked up to, the one he had admired. He had been the most important person in his life. He couldn't be gone. He wouldn't let him be gone.
"Come on, Draco," he heard Hermione say, as if from very far away. Hands pulled at him from all sides, trying to pull him up and break his grip.
"No! Don't touch me!" he screamed , but it was no use. He was being lifted, and then his father's face was gone.
"Let it go, Draco, just let it go," Hermione said gently as she held him back. He looked on helplessly, too weary to do anything as they floated the body off with them.
"Absolutely crazy," one of the Aurors muttered. "Probably a Death Eater as well – someone ought to take him in. Then he just might be able to go with this one." He gestured at the shrouded corpse.
"Oh, take a little pity on him, Herb," said the other. "He's only a kid."
She sat on the curb with him for a while in silence. Finally she said as gently as she could, "Do you want to go over there?" He looked up to see where she was pointing: directly where Potter, Weasley, and several others were standing. His gaze immediately dropped. "No."
"They won't do anything to you. It can all be over between us... we could try and start over."
"I never knew you were such an idealist." Couldn't she tell he would not allow his already wounded pride to suffer such a blow? To lose the war and then go crawling to the heroes of the victorious side?
"I'm not," she said, standing up. "I'm just hopeful. Come on. You can't sit here all day wallowing in self-pity."
"Can't I?" he said dully, still sitting like a stone, his elbows resting on his drawn-up knees.
"Let's go." She pulled him to his feet; he followed in begrudged detachment.
Potter, Weasley, one of the twins, and little Ginny were milling about in what was more or less a circle. Longbottom joined them, and as he and Hermione approached, Draco saw that the boy's face was drastically changed. No longer was it anxious and foolish – no, now Longbottom looked far older; he wore the grey relief of one who has been swept into danger and survived. In fact, everyone looked much older, so very different. Ginny, even though she was just a sixth year, held a new maturity about her. Fred (at least, he thought it was Fred) wasn't cracking jokes for once in his life. Weasley's nose was as red as his hair, but his face was a ghastly white. His eyes were still a bit teary, but there was a tragic fire in them that Draco had never seen before. And Potter – he looked strange. Not exactly calm, but serene, as if he knew it was all over and no longer had a care in the world.
When they reached the little knot of people, both he and Weasley tries to act like they hadn't just been crying, tries to seem tougher than they actually felt. Draco felt that his old mask was sliding right back into place. It felt safe; it made him feel secure amid all these Gryffindors, especially since Weasley was glowering at him.
As if she sensed the oncoming tension, Hermione opened her mouth to speak but never got the chance.
"What is he doing here?" Weasley cried angrily. "Have you lost your mind?"
"Oh, what are you talking about, Ron?" she responded.
"He and his lot just tried to kill us and all, or did you somehow miss that?"
Hermione took a step towards her friend. "It's over, Ron. There are no more sides, can't you see that? And he's just lost his father—"
"So have I!" the boy exploded. Fred suddenly choked, and Ginny drew him towards her comfortingly.
Draco had no idea what was making Hermione defend him. As he had understood it, she had hated him and his father. The words, 'What an odd day' drifted through his mind without his bidding.
"I know; that's why I thought you'd understand—"
"No, because it's not the same, you see – my father wasn't a vile, wretched, cold-hearted bastard—"
Rage boiled inside Draco at this talk of his father, whose body was still warm under its shroud. He stepped forth and cut Weasley off.
"Sod off, Weasley, alright? Just shut the fuck up!"
"Are you gonna make me, Malfoy?" shouted the other boy, his face flushing. "Can you do it without your little sidekicks or your lout of a father around to save your skin?"
An all-out shouting match ensued.
"Don't talk about my father that way, don't you dare—"
"Bloody monsters, you and your whole family—"
"You didn't know him—"
"He was a Death Eater; that's all I needed to know—"
"—you have no idea of what he was like, so don't act like you do—"
"—and you should have died along with him and all your miserable friends!"
"I agree with you completely, Weasley, so come off it." At these final words, everyone fell into a shocked silence. Eyes dropped since no one wanted to meet Draco's. A fair level of awkwardness was setting in when they realized that another was approaching, although they had the impression that he had heard the whole verbal barrage.
Dumbledore's eyes were grave as he looked at them over the spectacles. Draco wished he would go away.
"I can see in your faces and in your eyes that you are children no longer," he said solemnly. "I regret that your youth had to be spoiled by such dark times, for innocence once lost can never be regained – so spoke a fallen one. Yet what the six of you and the noble dead have done today was and is a great thing. Though you have suffered great losses, you have helped to save thousands of innocent lives."
Draco knew he was not included in that six.
"And, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore continued, "I do not believe you will be giving us further trouble." It was not a question, or even an observation. It was a statement, plain and simple. Yet still Draco refused to reply. He wasn't planning on causing any 'further trouble'; he was just too tired. But he still wasn't going to give Dumbledore the satisfaction of his assent.
"I didn't think so," came the old wizard's soft response. "And so here you may remain for the time being – although we must, of course, take certain precautions. Your wand, Draco." He held out his hand expectantly.
Draco met his eyes; they were light blue and far too calm. He wouldn't hand over his wand. It was all he had left, all he had to prove that he wasn't so weak... but he found himself taking it out of his pocket and giving it to the headmaster. For what else could he do?
"Thank you," Dumbledore said courteously as he took the wand and produced his own. Tapping Draco's wand, he said, "Reddere." He then turned to Weasley.
"Ronald, I place this is your keeping. I have placed a charm on it – it cannot be bought, sold, borrowed, stolen, or given away. It may only be returned to its rightful owner."
The redhead accepted the wand, though he acted like he didn't want to touch it. "Why should you want to give it to me, sir?"
"Because of those present, it is you who has most often been at odds with Draco, even more so than Harry. As I have watched you grow up, I have noticed that you have most often been the target of his words, and even now you were the first to protest his presence. Hatred is not a wise emotion to harbor, and yet you have good reason to feel animosity towards Draco."
"We've all got good reasons," Weasley muttered.
"I do not doubt it," Dumbledore conceded. "But it is you to whom I entrust this. I want you to keep the wand until you feel that he deserves to have it back, Since you will take the most convincing, I believe that by the time you return it, he will be truly ready."
"So you mean he won't be carted off to Azkaban with all the other Death Eaters like he deserves?" Draco thought that perhaps Azkaban wasn't so terrible a prospect. He didn't really have any happy thoughts to steal right now.
"But he is a Death Eater no longer," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort is dead. And though you may have forgotten, it is only mid-May, Mr. Weasley. You are still my students, still under my care, and I may take advantage of that technicality."
"We won't have to take our exams, will we?" Hermione asked with a wry smile.
"Good gracious, no. No, I think you've been through enough. Exams will be canceled this year in light of recent events."
"Good," the brainiac witch responded.
Everyone's changed even more than I thought, Draco realized. Except me, maybe. I don't know.
Harry spoke up suddenly. "But where will we go? I can't go back to the Dursleys' after all this."
"Of course not," said the wizard. "And you need not return to Hogwarts – no doubt that would be too strange a feeling for you after this. And I believe that today has taught you more about the world than we ever could. I think it would be best if you returned to Grimmauld Place for a time – that is, if you wish it. We have been doing our best to keep the Daily Prophet's people at bay, but eventually they will try to find you. At Number Twelve you will be safe. However, I understand if you wish to return home."
"I'll stay," Hermione declared.
"I'll stay if I can," Neville said. "My Gran... oh, never mind what she says. Count me in."
"We three will, too," said Ginny. "I'm sure that Mum would want to go as well. You know, so she's not alone."
Fred shrugged. "We've been this far together. No reason to back out now. Besides, I think Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is kind of toast with half our staff gone."
Everyone was too grim to smile.
Draco felt positively wretched. He was a foe made powerless, now forced to be with those he hated most. If he had to live at Grimpald Place or whatever it was called – and the chances of him doing just that seemed very high – he didn't think he'd be able to stand it.
The seven of them were sitting in a circle in the middle of the street, speaking quietly when they spoke at all.
"So," Ginny said, mostly for the sake of breaking the silence. "He's gone."
"Who're you talking about, Gin?" Fred asked gloomily. "Dad, or George, or Tonks, or Sirius – but that's old news – or even Malfoy here's father? You'd better be more specific."
Ginny looked hurt, as though she was trying very hard not to cry. "You know perfectly well who she meant," Hermione rebuked him sternly.
"He's really gone, then?" Neville said.
"Yes. The prophecy has been fulfilled," said Harry softly.
Hermione smiled. "There's one prediction I'm not going to refute."
As discreetly as he could, Draco raised his left sleeve and eyed his forearm. The Mark there had been black as pitch not an hour ago, but now it was rapidly fading.
"No more worrying," Neville said. "No more looking over our shoulders."
"No more hiding," said Fred.
"No more nightmares," Harry added.
"D'you think he could ever come back again?" asked Ginny. "What with him trying to be immortal and all?"
"It didn't work," Draco informed them. The others looked up at him; they hadn't been expecting him to add to the conversation. "Nothing he tried worked. He thought that killing Potter would be what it would take." He stuck out his arm and showed them the Mark, which still stood out clearly on his pale skin. They looked disgusted by the brand. He didn't care.
"He's dead," Draco said, pulling his sleeve down again. "And he's not coming back. I can feel it. None of them are coming back."
