Chapter 13) Our Darkest Moments

Selected Listening: Family History- James Newton Howard

Author's Note: Hey, all you magical friends! Technically, I posted this yesterday, and then I took it down because I needed to change something. Now it's back, so apologies if you checked your alerts and didn't find anything new. Thanks for bearing with me. Here it is!

The day Pansy sabotaged the potions experiment, Draco ran out of the class, needles rolling through his face. He dashed down the dungeon corridor and found an alcove where he fell against the floor and stayed there in a ball.

Everything was going to shit. Anastasia wouldn't speak to him. Blaise was still in France. The rest of his friends were being jerks.

His parents were getting divorced, whether he liked it or not.

A few moments later, the pain dissipated, but his face remained sore, and he rocked back and forth in the stone corner, breathing from his inhaler, crying softly. He had to pull himself together before the bells chimed for classes to change.

A pair of heavy footsteps rushed to the door and stopped at the sound of crying. Draco held his breath, but was unsuccessful as his lungs felt like collapsing, he sucked in another inhale from his inhaler before stuffing it away in his pocket.

"Come out, Malfoy," Snape said sternly. Draco rose to his feet and ducked out of his hiding space.

"What?" Draco asked avoidantly.

"When did you decide it is acceptable to abandon your cauldron in the middle of class?" Snape asked sharply.

"It doesn't matter…" Draco said as he pushed past the professor into the hall, "…is class over?"

"It's over because Parkinson sabotaged the Dumbledore girl's cauldron to blow up in her face. I understand it had something to do with you considering your unabashed outburst the night of the lockdown…" Snape said sharply.

"God dammit, Pansy—" Draco slammed his fist down against the air. He couldn't shake the twat.

"Watch your, language," Snape grabbed his sleeve. "What I don't understand is why you ran out screaming like a banshee.

Draco faked a laugh.

"It was disgusting. Didn't you see her face?" he bluffed.

Snape chose to ignore his avoidant question.

"I'd like to see you in my office…now."

Draco begrudgingly trudged a few meters behind, wondering what Snape could possibly need to talk to him about. Did he know about the lifeline? Did he know about his inhaler? When they reached the dungeon abode, Snape cast a fire into the hearth to beath the chill and sat behind his desk.

"What's going on between you and Miss Dumbledore?" Snape asked

"Nothing. Why would there be? Why do you care?" Draco asked defensively. He folded his arms and watched the dancing flames.

"Care is too strong of a word. I'm annoyed because your father keeps flooing me, asking if I have any information to give him about the girl and her whereabouts and what she's doing. Do you know why he keeps bothering me with these pointless questions?"

Draco cringed. He wasn't sure how much information he could trust to Snape. Would he simply tell on him and get him into more trouble? He couldn't risk that right now. He decided to say only what was necessary.

"Father barred me from speaking to her. That if he found out I was still talking to her, he would take me out of Hogwarts and put me somewhere else."

Snape raised his eyebrows.

"And have you spoken with her since the start of the year?" he asked.

"No," Draco lied.

"I suggest you attend occlumency lessons," Snape suggested through narrowed eyes.

"What? Occlumency, why—" Draco's gaze snapped back to his teacher.

"You may lie frequently, but anyone whose spent a substantial amount of time with you knows your tells. You always say the exact opposite of what you mean. You always say it forcefully. If your father were to ask you the same question and you gave him that answer, he would know in a heartbeat."

"So—" he began defensively.

"So, pureblood families are known for using legilimens as punishment. Do you want your father prying through your brain, finding all your pitiful teenage memories?"

Draco took a step back.

"My father would never use that spell on me! Neither would my mother. That club you run is only for students from abusive families!" Draco sputtered, trying not to let his memories flicker to his home life during the summer.

Snape stared at him in utter annoyance.

"Draco, you might not believe me now, but the Malfoys and the Blacks have used legilimens on their children as punishment for generations. Just because your parents have not used it on you before, doesn't mean they never will. And I don't think you want Miss Dumbledore suffering due to your lack of discretion!" Snape stood from his desk authoritatively.

Draco's anger had short circuited his thought process. How dare Snape insult his parents? How dare he accuse them of the same thing their parents did? How dare he assume that he would put Anastasia in danger?

"You don't know what you're bloody talking about."

Draco stormed out of the office.

The day of the game, the students lined up in the locker room, staring at the raging storm outside, hearing the cheering crowd of students, faculty, and visitors.

A bolt of lightning flashed. Anastasia began counting.

One, two, three, four… she made it all the way to ten before thunder crashed. The worst of the storm was only two miles away.

According to official rules, Quidditch couldn't be cancelled due to the weather. Gossip was that Slytherin had a good divination student who gave the weather prediction months ago, and they weaseled out of playing Gryffindor by using Draco's arm as the excuse. Now, Gryffindor would be playing Hufflepuff.

Anastasia had seen Draco walking with Crabbe and Goyle to the stadium, teasing Harry from under a large umbrella, but when Draco saw her, he stopped laughing.

If she had to play, it would put them both in danger.

A shrill whistle sounded outside. It was time. Anastasia readjusted her grip on her broom, and Harry nervously scooted his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. The team strode onto the field, rain pelting them. Madam Hooch stood at the center of the field with her wand spraying a shield of water upward, and her silver whistle in her left hand.

Unable to bring her wand onto the field, Anastasia stood to the side, frigid water soaking her down to the bones.

Madam Hooch blew the whistle a second time, and the game began. Anastasia could hardly keep track of Harry through the mist. She shivered violently in the sharp November wind, gripping her broom as tight as she could to stop. Her teeth chattered against her clenched jaw. A few moments in, a shadow appeared beside her with a large, clear umbrella.

"Thought you might want to see the game," Minerva said with a great sigh. Anastasia could tell the professor had already lost hope.

"I'm sure Harry can handle it," she said softly. She saw Harry weave to avoid a bludger, and then to avoid Fred and George who knocked it in the direction of the Hufflepuff seeker.

"Not with Diggory, he can't," Minerva said plainly. "Boy's been training for years, took the seeker position this year."

Anastasia grimaced.

A bolt of lightning flashed again, jagged across the sky, and Anastasia counted again.

One, two, three, four, five…the thunder erupted. Only two miles away now.

Wood called a time out, and the team rushed into the locker room. Minerva followed Anastasia and cast a drying spell for them.

"I can't see anything!" Harry complained.

Hermione, who had been watching carefully, appeared beside them and took his glasses, casting her own spell on them to repel water.

Now with a slightly better fighting chance, the team returned to the field, and Anastasia stayed on the sidelines with her guardian. She glued her eyes to Harry as he darted through the players. Lightning flashed, and Harry froze, stunned by a cloud formation before him.

One, two…Anastasia couldn't even get to three before the thunder shook the ground.

At the same time, Cedric swooped in for the snitch behind him.

Oliver signaled to Harry and Harry swerved after the snitch behind Cedric.

Anastasia watched Harry soar higher and higher, disappearing into the cloud. Lightning struck again, thunder crashing horribly in their ears.

"Wood!" she yelled towards the keeper's posts. He glanced up, around him, at her, and shook his head.

"Potter's not out of bounds yet," said Minerva.

She waited for a few more seconds. Dementors gathered above the stadium, and she felt her heart go cold, as they soared up after Harry.

"Wood!" she yelled, but he didn't give her the signal.

She would have to take things into her own hands.

Draco watched from the stands as Potter soared up into the clouds. The crowds gasped as a trail of dementors followed behind him. The obnoxious Gryffindor, Lee Jordan, narrated.

"Harry Potter has disappeared into cloud cover to go after the snitch, but the dementors are fast in pursuit…what's this? Anastasia Dumbledore has mounted her broom and is soaring across the field! But Potter isn't out of bounds yet! Blimey, this isn't an attempt to save the game for Gryffindor…this is a rescue mission!"

Draco's jaw dropped as Anastasia kicked off the ground, ignoring Wood's desperate screaming at her to get off the field.

"Anastasia, no!" Draco found himself calling, but no one heard him over everyone's frantic screams at the dementors. "Stop!"

Draco knew what would happen next. As the tiny shape of the girl soared into the gray clouds, Draco felt a coldness come over his body. Darkness surrounded him. When his vision came back, he wasn't looking at the game, but at the figure of Albus Dumbledore cowering before him.

"Anastasia, please," the old man begged.

The vision went black again in a swirl of movement, and when it came back, he stared at the horrified face of Professor Flitwick as equipment flew from the desks and shelves onto floors, textbooks flew at the professor's face.

Then he had another vision he'd been struggling to forget…

Anastasia felt Harry's body hit hers. Her arms came around him, and they tumbled helplessly through the air as the dementors cold seeped into their veins…and then she found herself in a dream.

At first, she saw the same vision she had before. Her father cowering before her, but then the scene kept going. She flew through the castle and destroyed the Charms classroom. Terror reigned in Flitwick's eyes.

Then the vision shifted.

She walked down a dark stairway in a house of completely dark wood. Her hand glided down the polished banister, but it was not her hand. It was a boy's hand, pale and shaking.

Voices drifted through the door at the end of the stairs. It was slightly cracked, lamp light pouring out. She crept closer.

"Lucius, what—"

"You lied to me! You lied to us. You lied to the whole world—" Draco's father yelled.

"I did what I had to—to protect our family," Narcissa's voice seemed strained.

"You didn't have to do any of that—"

"Yes, I did, because—"

"Because why?" Lucius snarled.

"Because I had to for Draco's medication!" Narcissa finished. "You gave me permission to obtain it by any means…Dumbledore offered me a deal. I tell the truth about the girl, and he has his medication off-record for the rest of his schooling. The nurse already gave him the first dose before the year was out."

Anastasia felt her heart cramp in her chest, but was it hers at all?

"Don't say that crackpot's name in this house! Are you telling me that if it hadn't been for that, you would have kept all this a secret for your entire life? Your experiments? Your research? You would have lied about all of this? To me? To him?" Lucius demanded.

Anastasia fell back against the wall and peered inside, trying to see what was going on. She felt her hand clutch her sternum, her chest heave in and out.

"Take your wand off me," Narcissa said, voice shaking.

"You will learn your place. Answer me, Cissa—"

"Lucius, please—" fear cracked her voice.

"No!" Draco's voice came out of her mouth. He fell around the corner of the doorway onto the floor of the study, coughing and sputtering. "Sta-ha…p"

Anastasia saw the blurry outline of Lucius backing Narcissa against the desk. Lucius held Narcissa's wand in one hand, and the tip of his own pointed at her heart.

"Draco—" Lucius gaped when he saw his son and ran to his side. "Where's your—the blasted thing, where is it?"

"Behd—ruum," he forced out, lungs constricting.

Narcissa snatched her wand from Lucius.

"Accio inhaler!" she shouted, and within seconds it zoomed into her hand. She handed it to her son. Draco brought the inhaler to his lips and breathed deeply. Once he caught his breath, he said.

"Please don't fight. It's my fault for being ill…I'm sorry…," he begged his father.

Narcissa and Lucius eyed each other harshly.

"You…you're right, Draco. I…I shouldn't have raised my wand," Lucius reached out to stroke Narcissa's hair. She recoiled.

Draco looked to his mother. Her face softened.

"It isn't your fault, darling. It's not something to be ashamed of," she placed a hand on his shoulder, "you might even grow out of it one day. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said, and climbed to his feet, "I suppose I'll go to bed," he said.

But Draco couldn't go to sleep. He sat at his door, listening down the hall…