Draco put his hand down carefully on the stone floor where it met the wall. He pulled his hand back sharply when he felt a small puddle forming there. His eye sight was lost in the darkness entombing him, and he felt panic rise up in his throat, cold and choking. Calm down, he commanded himself and took a few steadying breaths.

Dammit all, he thought sourly as he realized water was beginning to seep into his dark cell. He put a clenched fist against his forehead and fought to hold back acidic tears.

I don't even get to die in some gallant way. I'm just going to drown alone in this cell. Forgotten...

The realization hurt. As soon as his father was killed, he hadn't thought he was going to survive long. He fought to survive to protect his mother, to see her get somewhere safe, but he had failed at that just like he failed at everything he tried.

He wondered if anyone in the castle knew when the cells down here flooded, or if they just left it to chance. Would anyone come check on him to make sure he was still alive? Probably not.

Maybe myrtle will stay with me while I die, he mused grimly. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a sad smile. How fitting. Luscious Malfoys only son, heir to the Malfoy fortune, dying at the hands of the people Luscious fought so hard to be apart of.

I'll never see the Manor again. I'll never to get to clean it of the filth Voldemort brought into, I'll never get to go into the wine cellar for a prized vintage. I'll never read another book in the library. Or visit the greenhouse. I will never plant jasmine for my mother in her favorite part of the garden. Tears were streaming down Draco's sunken cheeks now, hot and wet and full of anger mixed with regret.

He slumped against the wall and closed his eyes. He idly wondered what had happened to Hermione elsewhere in the castle, and if Astoria had heard of his capture. If she did hear of it, she probably rejoiced. The thought filled him with loneliness. Astoria hadn't wanted to be apart of the war or live constantly afraid for the future. Voldemort grew more paranoid with every passing day, and every family wondered who would become the object of suspicion next. Some families, like the Parkinson's, would gladly feed into the paranoia, whispering into Voldemort's ear about all the other death eaters, stoking the flame of suspicion as one would stoke the flames on a dying fire in a fireplace. The Parkinson's were especially dangerous, and no one was as happy to watch the Malfoys dethroned as Cassius Parkinson, Pansy's father, had been. Thinking of Cassius and Pansy made Draco's anger flare up.

Pansy had had a sweet mother, however, named Abilene. She had been a dear friend to Narcissa. Draco had remembered more than a few times that Abilene had come to the manor, covered in bruises and hands shaking too badly to do anything about her appearance. Narcissa had always helped get her right again, giving her pepper up potion, magically tending to her wounds. Poor woman, he thought to himself. Cassius for a husband and Pansy for a daughter. Her happiness never stood a chance. Abilene had been fraught when Pansy had gotten her dark mark, but she had only confided that to Narcissa. Narcissa had even wondered to Draco once if Abilene would consider going with them, when they escaped. But after the Malfoys fell out of favor, Narcissa never saw Abilene again. No doubt Cassius had banned her from going to the manor.

"Draco," Myrtle spoke, so close to Draco's ears that he shot up into a seated position.

"Yes?" He answered, his voice coming out hoarse.

"Someone is coming down to get you. Good thing too, I think the cell is starting to flood," She answered airily, and Draco felt a cold gust of energy pass through him. He shuddered. The water was about an inch high now, and very cold. Draco estimated it would probably take around 4 hours for the tiny cell to flood completely.

"Who is it coming down? What do they look like?" Draco asked in a hushed tone.

"I don't know their name, no one ever bothers to introduce themselves to lonely old Myrtle," She told him forlornly.

Draco sighed. He didn't know if the wizard coming down to his cell would be better or worse than slowly drowning to death below the Hogwarts lake. He shivered.

"He's a rather tall man," Myrtle added, "And the black-haired witch seemed very angry that he was allowed to come down." Myrtle whispered in a gossipy way.

Draco ran through his mental rolodex, flashing between a myriad of 'tall' wizard he had been acquainted with previously. There was too many in his minds eye. And all enemies now.

"they've got that awful Hermione Granger in the headmasters office," Myrtle said, her voice now coming from above him instead of in front of him.

"Oh?" Draco answered, unsure of what to say. He felt a chill. He knew whatever they were doing to her wasn't good.

"I can't cross over into that room, too many ghost wards, but I know that they can't get Dumbledore's portrait down. And that gruesome new headmaster has regular fits that he can't get the portrait down. You should hear him yelling." Myrtle giggled in a girlish way.

"What are they doing with her?" Draco asked, knowing that Myrtle wouldn't have an answer. His felt his fight or flight response kick in. He wasn't quite sure why.

"Nothing good, I expect," She answered dryly.

Draco longed for his wand. He began mentally preparing himself to use his legilimency, to guard his mind against whatever was coming down to meet him. He had failed at so many, many things in his life. He didn't want his last moments in this realm of him failing again. It struck him that Hermione would probably tell people about Draco after his death. That panged him with sadness. She was a noble person, which didn't always serve her, but that nobleness would carry out of her mouth what Draco had done. And that made him feel ashamed for some reason that he couldn't work out. The thought was almost alien to him.

The sound of approaching footsteps snapped Draco's mind back into the present moment. He tensed. He felt so helpless to the situation unfolding around him. He couldn't defend himself and he couldn't escape.

All Of A Sudden the sound of footsteps stopped, and the cell door swung open with a creak. A lighted wand nearly blinded Draco, and he was filled with relief that he wasn't blind. The light glared in his eyes so he couldn't see who the wand belonged to, but the unmistakable voice met his ears and filled Draco with so many conflicting feelings that his mind was racing-racing almost as quickly as his heart.

"Malfoy," Blaise Zabini said, voice as smooth as butter. "I don't want to get to my robes any more wet than they already are. Stand up," he commanded. Draco took a breath and mustered any courage he could.