No spoilers for book 6 will be in this story, just to tell those of you who have not yet read it. I like the way this story is going, so I'm not changing it to encompass plot developments made in a book which came out after I started this. I guess from now on it's considered AU. So don't come yelling at me for depicting a certain character wrong or making some mistake or whatever! ;)
On a lighter note, I think I've kept you lovely people waiting for a new chapter for long enough. Therefore, here's a nice long one for you. :) By the way, this chapter is not beta'd, so although I'm usually good at catching my errors, any and all mistakes here are entirely my own fault.
IV. Dreams Descend
Draco awoke, knowing what he had to do: kill Harry Potter. He could do it, he thought calmly. He'd killed before. And this would get rid of the hateful little bastard once and for all. His wand was in the drawer of the bedside table; gently he slid the drawer open and removed it. He then lowered his feet to the floor and padded out into the hallway.
Harry's room was the third door on the left; he'd made sure to secure that piece of information when everyone went to bed. Draco wasn't sure if the door was locked or not, but he used alohomora just in case – he didn't want anyone awakened by the sound of a rattling doorknob. Cautiously, he eased the door open and peered into the darkness.
"Lumos," he whispered, cupping his hand around the tip of his wand like someone lighting a cigarette on a windy day. He could faintly see Potter's sleeping form on the bed to his right. Now he knew where to aim. "Nox." The room grew pitch dark again.
Potter stirred, or perhaps it was just paranoia. Draco held his breath until the sense of danger passed, and then he focused. That was the key to the Killing Curse: complete, pointed focus. He thought of every nasty thing Potter had ever said to him, all his self-righteous sarcasm. Potter had landed Draco's father in Azkaban, and it was also the boy's fault that Lucius was now dead. The image that burned vividly in his mind was that of Lucius lifeless in the street while Potter still stood. Draco raised his wand.
"Avada Kedavra!" he intoned, his voice low and fierce.
The small room was illuminated in green, the hit striking Potter so it should have killed him. But instead, he just sat up.
"What the hell, Malfoy?" he said irritably. "Just a failure at everything, aren't you?"
"You ought to be dead," Draco quavered.
Potter smiled. "Why, Malfoy, you should know by know – you can't kill the Boy Who Lived."
And then the room dissolved into nothingness that was as cold as a dementor's fingertips, and there were his father, and the Lestranges, and even the Dark Lord himself, all telling him how disgraceful he was.
"Taking refuge with Dumbledore's help, Draco? And fraternizing with a Mudblood?" Lucius said. "For shame, boy, a Malfoy should have more pride than that."
"What do you think you're going to do now," asked Bellatrix Lestrange. "Live out the rest of your days as a good citizen? They'll persecute you because of what you are. They'll all hate you and you'll die alone. At least we died together."
"You're nothing without us," the Dark Lord whispered, his eyes the color of freshly spilt blood. "Without me. There's no place in the world for a Death Eater anymore, and you're too weak to start another attack. You'd be better off just ending it... Avada Kedavra doesn't hurt, you know..."
They closed in on him as the sound of someone screaming joined their words, and all he could do was silently beg them to say that it wasn't true.
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Draco awoke, this time for real, and in a cold sweat. He sat up in bed, his hands shaking from the horrid dream. He ran them quickly through his pale hair, getting his bearings. This was not his luxurious room at Malfoy Manor, nor the homey dormitory at Hogwarts. No, he was in Number Twelve, Potter's house, of all places. He felt completely drained of energy, but he felt the trepidation of those who feared what their minds might do if they gave up control by falling asleep. No, sleep was out of the question. But wakefulness wasn't proving much better.
He turned over in his mind what the dead had said to him, one point at a time. Firstly, the matter of Granger. What the hell had he been thinking yesterday, letting her comfort him like that? He didn't fucking need her to do anything like that, he thought. Filthy Mudblood. Aunt Bella had told him nothing new, really. He knew that even in the crowded house, he was on his own. And what the Dark Lord had said had been true. He was a failure, a failure and a coward. After killing that Muggle for the initiation, he'd...
No. He had sworn never to think of that. He forced himself to change the subject.
He was totally alone, he concluded bitterly. In the house with him were Granger, Potter, Weasley, his sister, Fred, and Longbottom. Ex-professor Lupin was staying with them as well, and Dumbledore had told them to expect many teachers and ministry workers to be coming and going. Draco had been disappointed that Professor Snape had gone back to Hogwarts to finish the term with what few students were remaining. He would have been comforted by the presence of another Slytherin, even if the teacher was a traitor to the Dark Lord. Snape and his father had been friends when they were young...
Suddenly another face appeared before him: that of his mother. He didn't have to be alone, he thought. If his mother was still alive, then he would at least have some shred of hope left. And now for another positive thought: he thought he might be able to get his wand back. He needed it; without it he was hardly better than a bloody Squib. The only way to do so seemed to be to convince Weasley that he was repented (the very thought made him want to laugh; he refused to be beaten). It would require some pretty good acting, when he was actually inclined to do so, but he thought he could do it. After all, he was a Slytherin, and while he might not have been the best Death Eater ever, he was damn good at upholding House values.
Still apprehensive about returning to sleep but very tired all the same, he settled back down into the musty pillows. Eventually, his eyelids grew heavy and closed, and he did not wake until the morning sun shone through his musty little window.
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Rubbing his eyes and thinking how lucky it was that his sleep had continued dreamlessly, Draco pushed away the faded covers and got out of bed. He could hear the clink of silverware downstairs; apparently everyone was eating breakfast. As much as he didn't want to, he knew he was going to have to go down there. And if he was obligated to do so, he wanted to look decent. Thankfully, they had all had their belongings brought from Hogwarts to their new place of residence. He kicked open his truck and selected a black shirt and slacks. Most of his wardrobe was black (though it also included a few greys and greens) simply because he liked the way he looked in the color. But now there was another reason: he was in mourning. He tasted bitterness like bile at the thought of his late father, but now he had to think of his mother. She had to be worried sick about him. He needed to send her a letter straight away.
Having gotten dressed, he opened the door to his room and peeked out; the hall as empty. To the bathroom he went, peering in the mirror to fix his mussed hair. A little water and a run-through with a comb made all the difference in the world, he mused. There were faint shadows under his grey eyes, but otherwise he considered himself presentable.
As he descended the creaky stairs, the sounds of breakfasting became more audible. He could hear voices talking quietly, hopefully not about him. He mustered every bit of Malfoy steel that he could, dreading having to ask anything of these people. But he made his feet take him forward, made his hands open the door to the dining room.
All sounds stopped upon his entrance. Lupin looked up from his cereal and offered a thin smile. The rest simply stared; Draco felt frozen until Hermione – Granger spoke. "Would you like some breakfast?"
He regained control of himself. "No. I'm... I'm not hungry. I'd like to send a letter to my mother," he said, tossing a haughty glance at his fellow teenagers. "Is there an owl in this place?"
Another silence, this one decidedly embarrassed, enveloped the room.
"Oh. Draco," Lupin said, standing, "it's... it's in the Prophet today, about your mother..."
"She's dead," Draco said flatly. He should have known...
Lupin looked at him with some degree of kindness; Draco wanted none of it. "Yes. I'm sorry."
"How?" he asked, in the same dull tone.
The older man unfolded the paper on the table and opened it to the proper page. "The article is right here."
Like one of the Inferni, he walked to the table, ignoring everyone else and leaning over the paper to read.
Burning of Malfoy Manor Kills Four, the headline read. He continued, his face growing whiter with every word.
War raged yesterday as Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, met in the final, victorious battle against You-Know-Who. Yet this was not the only demonstration of war sweeping the wizarding world. Riots and skirmishes blazed throughout England, keeping what Aurors could be spared busy putting them out. These skirmishes were incited by Dark and, regrettably, good wizards alike; one target was the manor of the wealthy and influential Lucius Malfoy, reputed to have been a Death Eater over seventeen years ago. Indeed, Malfoy, 49, was slain in the Final Battle, fighting on the side of You-Know-Who. At the family manor remained his wife Narcissa Black Malfoy, 45. After it was reported that You-Know-Who had been destroyed, sources tell us that Mrs. Malfoy had gathered some of the few surviving Death Eaters at her home.
A mob of wizards, in a frenzy of triumph over You-Know-Who's defeat, stormed the estate. Reports tell us that the manor was once Unplottable, but that the spell was broken with Malfoy's death. The mob set fire to the manor, trapping Mrs. Malfoy and her associates inside. One wizard who participated, who asked to remain unnamed, swore that he and presumably the rest had no idea anyone was inside, and that their actions were "merely to make a statement and celebrate the downfall of You-Know-Who." Three bodies have not been identified; Mrs. Malfoy's body was only identified by her wedding ring... Story continues on page 37.
Two photographs accompanied the article: one of his parents, and one of the smoking remains of his home. He stared in shock at the paper for a moment more, his eyes wide, then snatched it up and left the dining room without a word.
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No one quite knew what to say after this. Remus Lupin sank back into his seat. Ginny bit her lip and stirred her cereal around with her spoon. A joke about how Draco had taken the sports section as well crossed Fred's mind, but he kept silent. Someone sighed. Hermione glanced around and then rose from her chair.
"I'm going to see if he's alright."
"Why bother, Hermione?" Ron asked grimly.
She paused, and then replied, "I don't know. I think he needs someone to bother." Picking up her bowl, she took it to the kitchen sink, and then hurried up the stairs.
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In his miserable room, Draco was rereading the article, feeling a childish desire to scribble out the name Harry Potter wherever it appeared. Biting his tongue fiercely to keep from trembling, he carefully tore around the border of the photograph of his parents. It was a nice shot of them, he thought, wondering how the Prophet had obtained it. They were standing in front of the manor; his mother was smiling and his father was staring out at him with the look of calm superiority he had known so well. When the picture had come free, he propped it up on his nightstand. Footsteps were rising up the stairs.
Please go the hell away; please be going to the bathroom or something and not coming here...
He was not so lucky; a knock came at the door.
"Malfoy? I mean, Draco?" came the Mudblood's voice. He didn't answer. "I know you're in there – are you okay?"
"I thought you were supposed to be smart," he called idly.
A pause. "Can I come in?"
"No."
"Look," she said. "I'm really sorry."
"Great, Granger," he said coldly. "Because that makes things so much better." He flopped down on the bed. "Go away."
"Do you want some breakfast? There's plenty of eggs and cereal—"
"No, I don't want any fucking breakfast!"
There was another period of quiet; he wished she'd spit out whatever she wanted to say or bugger off.
"There's going to be a funeral, if anyone will attend it."
He sat up. "When?"
"Two days' time, I think."
Draco nodded to himself. "My family has a private cemetery near the manor," he said. "They'll be buried in the mausoleum. Someone will have to make the arrangements."
"Professor Lupin says you can see to that today if you want."
"Okay. Yeah. Later, though."
"Okay," she said. "I'll see you later, then." He thought she had left, but then she spoke again. "I am sorry, you know. Really."
"Then you'll understand why I want you to leave me the hell alone," he said, having lost all patience. Thankfully, she heeded his words this time. He exhaled heavily and closed his eyes, listening to her retreat.
Whew! So I hope you enjoyed this chapter; please review and let me know if you liked it, didn't like it, thought it could be better in some way, whatever. I just like feedback. :)
Review Responses
Caladre: Hey, my fellow 'Downer! Thank you for your review; I don't mind a simple "please continue" at all! It at least lets me know that people actually like what I do. ;)
samhaincat: I think next chapter or the one after thatwe'll be seeing some more of Snape and Lupin. Hermione will definitely be an important factor through the whole story. Thanks for the review!
princessdza: Thanks for the kind comments; I try really hard to make my grammar good so that meant a lot to me!
