Chapter 10: Dumbledore's Fall

Draco

Snape is at the forefront of the group. He locks eyes with Dumbledore, and for the first time that night, the headmaster's voice is pleading. "Please, Severus."

The look on Snape's face is pained, so much that Draco thinks for a split-second that Dumbledore is right to trust him. He half-expects Snape to turn on the other Death Eaters, to whisk the slumped, old man away to safety.

"Avada Kadavra!" He says it with finality. Snape's wand never wavers. The spell hits Dumbledore squarely and with such force that he is lifted into the air, seems to hang for an eternal moment in empty space, and then plummets soundlessly out of sight.

Draco can't stifle a gasp. The man is surely dead.

Before he can move, Snape grips him hard by the shoulder and pulls him forward. He is dimly aware of Yaxley and Bellatrix in his peripheral vision. The other Death Eaters must be close behind. They all burst back into the castle where a battle is still raging. Draco twists around, looking back through the lopsided door, back out at the Astronomy Tower, not quite believing what he'd just witnessed. He sees Potter materialize from nowhere, his wand raised, his mouth contorted in an unheard oath. Potter bursts after them through the door, his expression wild.

They run through the madness of flying hexes and crumbling walls, Snape pushing Draco ahead of him, the unsuspecting members of the Order stepping aside to let them pass. He looks frantically for Ginny's telltale red hair, but he doesn't see her, and Snape's fingers are digging into his shoulder, urging him forward. Suddenly they are hurtling down the staircase, two steps at a time. Snape pushes him on, faster, faster.

Draco glances back to see Potter round a corner, shouting hoarsely, not close enough to catch them, but nipping at their heels.

They skid into the main entranceway, out of breath, and Draco finally breaks away from Snape's grip. He didn't see Ginny. Could hers be one of the bloodied bodies on the ground, beneath the rubble?

His aunt and the Carrow siblings dash past them, escaping through the great oaken doors.

Snape reaches for him, but Draco pulls away. "Come here, Draco," he snaps, and his voice is tight and breathless.

"I'm not going," he says.

They can both hear Potter running down the staircase. He'll be here any moment.

Snape growls with impatience. "This is no time for games, Draco. You will come with me now. I promised your mother I would protect you, and I intend to fulfill that promise."

"Tell my mother I'm sorry," he says. "I'm not coming. I'm never coming back. I'm not a Death Eater." He looks desperately at Snape, and yanks up his sleeve, thrusting the Mark out at him. "I'm not a killer!" he shouts, and his trembling voice echoes off the castle's stone archway. "I don't want any of this. It was a mistake."

Snape's black eyes are impenetrable. He stares at Draco for a beat, then turns swiftly and disappears out the main doors without another word.

Seconds later, Potter rushes past him, his eyes full of madness, of unbridled hatred. He follows Snape into the darkness.

Draco stares after them, catching his breath, his heart still beating wildly. He can see students in their night clothes, drawn from their common rooms by the commotion. He tries to swallow, but his throat is completely dry. What has he done? What about his mother, and his father in Azkaban? Will they suffer the Dark Lord's ire on his behalf?

He cannot face the confused, sleepy looks of the students milling slowly into the corridors. Professor Trelawney is hurrying ahead of the crowd, and Filch is close behind, both in their dressing gowns.

And then he sees Ginny. She is descending the staircase with Longbottom. Her hair is covered in white dust and debris, but she is whole and alive. Draco exhales. She is making her way down the stairs, to join the trickle of students who whisper urgently about the Dark Mark above the Tower, of nighttime battles and Death Eaters at Hogwarts.

As the torches flare all over the waking castle, Draco takes two steps back into the shadows. He realizes his sleeve is still exposed, and yanks it down, wiping his sweaty brow with his other arm.

The first curious onlookers begin to wander outside, into the spring-scented darkness. Draco's stomach drops as he realizes where they are drawn, and what they will find at the foot of the Astronomy Tower. He imagines Ginny's face when she sees what he has done, what he has orchestrated.

He turns away from the gathering crowd, and he runs from the great oak doors into the first empty corridor he sees. The corridor is dark, and he stumbles into a coat of armour which clashes noisily to the ground. He can hear Peeves bursting into cackles somewhere above.

Draco picks himself up, drawing his wand. "Lumos," he croaks. He hurries away from Peeves, but doesn't know where to go. His first impulse is to go back to the Slytherin common room, but he can't just carry on like nothing has happened. He can't crawl into bed while the rest of the student body is drawn outside by some unnamed force, drawn to look upon the broken body of their headmaster.

Snape killed Dumbledore, and Snape now knows that Draco is a traitor, that he is reneging on the promises he's made to the Dark Lord. His days are numbered. He needs to hide.

He remembers then what Dumbledore told him, to find McGonagall.

He turns around and runs towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower, where her office sits on the first floor overlooking the Quidditch Pitch. On the way, he passes more students heading in the opposite direction. They throw him curious glances, but Draco doesn't pause, running faster. He should be less conspicuous, but he feels panic rising in his throat, and the only way to temper it is to keep moving.

He skids to a breathless stop in front of her office. The door is ajar. He pushes it open and walks into an empty room. She must have left in a hurry, with no regard to locking the office behind her. If she's not fighting with the Order, she'll probably be outside by now.

Draco decides to wait. She may not return for hours, maybe not until tomorrow morning, but he is in no rush to admit his failure, to denounce himself a traitor. He sinks to the floor at the foot of her desk, across from an empty fireplace which springs magically to life after sensing his presence.

Draco stares into the flames. He becomes dimly aware of a sound, a melody. It's faint at first, but the song grows stronger the more he listens. It seems to be coming from within his own mind, pulsing through him like his own blood, a sad, longing melody that is both heartbreaking and cathartic. He closes his eyes and let's the Phoenix's lament overtake him.


The night wears on. Finally, Professor McGonagall's long shadow appears at the doorway to her office. Draco scurries to stand up. She stares at him in utter shock. "Mr. Malfoy," she says. "We thought . . . we saw you running away with Severus."

Draco rakes his fingers through his hair, which must be in complete disarray. Professor McGonagall looks battle-weary, scathed by minor hexes, her heavy robes torn and streaked with dirt (or is it blood?). He had planned his words carefully, but now finds he is too ashamed to say them.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, go on then. Explain yourself!" McGonagall has recovered from the initial shock. She purses her lips, and one hand unobtrusively flutters towards her wand.

"I've been branded with the Dark Mark," he begins. Best to get it all out in the open. He pulls up his sleeve, and McGonagall frowns distastefully at the black ink on his skin. "It happened this summer, before I returned to school. The Dark Lord had given me a task." He pauses, his heart hammering suddenly in his ears. He didn't think he'd be so nervous, saying it now, but he can barely keep his voice from shaking. "The task was to kill Albus Dumbledore."

McGonagall lowers her eyes. Her whole body tenses. "Severus killed him. Potter said so. He was there."

"I couldn't do it," Draco stutters. "Not at the end. Not the killing curse. But I did everything else. I'm the one who let Death Eaters into the castle."

She looks him sharply in the eye then, and Draco tries not to cower at the intensity of her stare. "Do you not realize how much danger you've put us all in? You foolish, selfish boy!" She looks away, her wand now firmly in her grip, shaking her head. "But there are protective spells all over the castle. It's not possible to enter . . . and if what you say is true, then why are you here? Why are you in my office, Mr. Malfoy? Why have you not fled the scene with your compatriots?"

"I guess, you could say they are no longer my compatriots." He tries to shrug. He isn't sure how to explain.

Suddenly, Harry Potter walks into the room. His face is strained, and there is a pinched, drawn look in is eyes. Draco has never seen him look so unraveled.

McGonagall whirls around. "Potter!" she exclaims. "I thought you'd gone to bed."

"I saw that Malfoy was here," he says tiredly.

"What do you mean you saw? Nobody saw me. I've been alone this whole time." Draco eyes him suspiciously, feeling once again that Potter has some dirty, back-pocket tricks that nobody else knows about.

"Shut it, Malfoy," he says irritably. "I'm here to help you, all right? It's what Dumbledore wanted me to do. It's what he said on the tower before . . ." Harry's voice trails off.

They stand in silence a moment, each thinking about the end of that sentence, each replaying their versions of this terrible night, until McGonagall snaps out of it.

"Well, go on Mr. Potter. What is it that Professor Dumbledore wanted you to tell me?" Her voice is firm, but it trembles on the dead man's name.

"He wanted me to vouch for him." Potter indicates Draco with one hand. "Malfoy didn't kill Professor Dumbledore."

"I know that, Potter. What else? Get on with it."

Potter frowns. "Malfoy said that he didn't want to be a Death Eater anymore. He said he would switch sides. Join the Order, I guess."

Potter's eyes dart upwards to catch Draco's. Draco looks away, embarrassed. There is no question now that Potter was on the tower, that his was the second broom. He must have witnessed everything: Draco's weakness, his ineffectual threats, his final unraveling.

McGonagall looks from Draco to Potter, her frown deepening. "And why didn't you say anything before, Potter? While we were in the hospital wing?"

"I forgot," Potter shrugs.

"Thanks a lot," Draco drawls, crossing his arms, trying to regain some measure of self respect.

"I had some things on my mind, you ungrateful git!" Potter throws his hands in the air, and McGonagall launches into action.

She hustles Potter into the hallway, sending him off to bed for a second time. Then, she conjures a bed for Draco, a small cot wedged between her desk and the wall. "You will sleep here tonight, Mr. Malfoy. I may be foolish to trust you, after everything, but Professor Dumbledore appears to have found your words sincere." She pauses, surely remembering another man whom Dumbledore trusted implicitly, who betrayed him in the end.

"You can trust me," Draco says quietly. "Please believe me, Professor."

The witch nods, her weariness seeping through for a moment. Then, she continues briskly, as if there had been no interruption: "We will have to get you out of the castle. I imagine you are in grave danger, so you will not be able to remain at the school. In any case, classes will be cancelled after today's events, and a great many students will be heading home." She pauses again, closes her red-rimmed eyes. Again, she continues briskly, as if nothing had happened, "After Professor Dumbledore's funeral we will make alternate arrangements. Tonight, I want to keep you in my sights. Get some rest, Mr. Malfoy."

Her own bedchamber is footsteps away. She goes inside and closes the door firmly behind her, not waiting for him to respond.

Draco sits down on the hastily conjured cot. It's harder than a slab of stone. He lies on his back and stares at the shadows of the flames dancing across the stone ceiling. His mind should be abuzz with a million thoughts, his whole life flipped upside down in a single evening. Instead, he find himself thinking of Ginny. He wonders where she is. He wants to speak with her, but he is afraid of what she will say to him. He is afraid she will never forgive him, especially since deep down, he knows she ought not to.

How many times had she urged him to talk with Dumbledore, to seek his help, to fully seek hers? Too many times. If only he'd listened, it could all have ended differently.