Thanks to Elo, Hannah, Caitlin and The Darkest Wizard for their reviews.

Last chapter of the film version! Enjoy!

Dumbledore looked at them, whereas he couldn't bring himself to. But he heard the voice that sounded a hell of a lot like the one that had been screaming in his mind all night.

"Well. Look what we have here."

Bellatrix slowly came up behind him. "Well done, Draco," she breathed, very close to his ear, and kissed the back of his neck.

Her touch - though it wasn't directly on his skin - felt like a burning. If she knew... But what was left to know? His fate was closing in on him, ready to crush him.

She walked around him slowly, her eyes focused on Dumbledore, with a sharp intake of breath as he addressed her.

"Good evening, Bellatrix." His voice was so calm - how could he be so calm? "I think introductions are in order, don't you?"

"Love to Albus," his aunt purred, "But I'm afraid we're on a bit of a tight schedule."

He was still standing at the same spot, his wand extended, and she whirled around to face him, her black, shining eyes meeting his for the very first time. "Do it!" she hissed.
A low voice came from his right: "Doesn't have the stomach, just like his father. Let me finish him in my own way..." Draco glanced at Fenrir Greyback's eager face.

"No!" Bellatrix shrieked, "The Dark Lord was clear - the boy's to do it!" There was no more enthusiasm and joy in her voice, but a sharp edginess - was it a bit of anguish?

"This is your moment," she breathed now, so low that he could hardly hear her at all. "Do it."

I can't, he wanted to scream.

"Go on, Draco," she said, her voice raising, more and more hysterical with every word, shrill with fear and the familiar, bitter feeling of a betrayal she didn't expect. "NOW!"

His hand wobbled, his face contorting - he wanted to cry, to yell, to run –

"No."

Jumping at the sound of the cold, firm voice, he whirled round, turning his back on Dumbledore to face Severus Snape.

He stepped aside, his heart beating hard in his chest with something that was neither relief nor terror. Snape walked quietly forward to the place Draco had just left.

"Severus," Dumbledore said – his voice was almost like a sigh – "Please."

And the words came:

"Avada Kedavra."

There they were. Sounding so easy, so quick. Dumbledore toppled, collapsing down the Tower into the unknown, and the first sob tore through Draco's chest, but it was very low and stayed unheard; the Death Eaters were suddenly in motion, Bellatrix's scream of triumph as she blasted the Dark Mark into the sky pierced his ears, and Snape grabbed him by the shoulder, pushing him towards the door.
They hurried down the stairs, on to the familiar corridors of the old castle, on and on, heading out quickly, deadly shadows in the night; Snape was walking first, the others following in a loose grouping, and he was in the middle, walking as if through a haze, barely awake, his mind stirring under the terror that wasn't sharp or torturous anymore, but numbing. Fenrir Greyback was striding quite close by, and he knew that Bellatrix was at the end of the group, having stayed longest under the Dark Mark's morbid glow, now hurrying behind them. Had he turned around, he would have seen her glinting eyes and pale face, maybe flushed by the excitement of the kill, he could have said something – what? Understand? Forgive me? I'm sorry? I'm not like you? What was left to be said, and what would she have answered? But he was too afraid to turn, to look back and face his aunt and mentor. Maybe too cowardly.

Surely for the last time he saw the Great Hall, and he heard behind him sharp noises of broken glass, of chaos; his aunt was having her fun. The others strode out, but he stopped, he turned at last; it wasn't for her though, he faced this huge room he had lived six years in, he saw her in the middle of the chaos, and he saw his broken innocence; for the first time, he felt tears on his cheeks. She was stepping on his past; but he had stepped on his future. Their eyes met in the glow of the candles, before they were extinguished. Time to run.

And so they ran, into the Forest, like a pack of unleashed wolves; he hurried, twisting his ankles, and his aunt overtook him, stumbling and waving her arms to keep her balance. They soon reached the limits of the park.

He had tuned out the sounds of their run, the other Death Eaters' panting, Bella's jeers and calls to the stupid half-giant - she seemed determined to enjoy herself thoroughly in this night of chaos and death – but he couldn't help but hear Potter's furious screams. He stopped, he turned; but then the sound of the blazed hut made him whirl around again, he didn't know where to go, what was right anymore, if there had ever been a right path, and Snape barked "Run!".

He ran. Alone.