The man didn't answer. He just simply stared at him; as though he couldn't fathom Draco's question. He sighed.

Draco held his gaze with him. He felt as though the man could see right through him, could read his thoughts, feast on his soul. They were penetrating, his eyes, yet he couldn't look away. After that night...he'd succeeded in repressing the memories as far back in his mind as he could. He remembered clearly how Dumbledore's eyes met his...how he could almost see the reflection of his innocence in the depths of blue. Understanding.

That night, he lost his innocence. He never killed Dumbledore, yet, the state of affairs rested only with his role of deception. But, worst of all, he saw pity. He knew Dumbledore pitied him the moment he stepped foot on the Astronomy Tower. He hated it. Hated the way he never had the courage to break free from the chains that restrained him to the sins he dared not commit. Hated how he couldn't carry out the deed that so bonded him to the life he was destined for. And, most of all...he hated that Albus Dumbledore knew these things. The knowledge was apparent in those opalescent blue eyes.

Draco was ripped from his reverie, once the man in question demanded, "Who are you, and why are you still here?"

He didn't answer for a moment, unsure of what to say. "Who are you?" he countered cockily.

The man chuckled darkly. "Well, you're an arrogant bloke, aren't you? I'm the owner of this pub." He grabbed a bottle of firewhisky from the counter beside him, and took a swig. "Aberforth Dumbledore. Care to tell me who you are?"

"Dra-...er...Neville. Neville Longbottom..." Draco lied easily, scratching his neck profusely to avoid eye contact.

"No, you aren't." Aberforth replied calmly. "I know Neville Longbottom. Very well if you'll ask me...Now tell me who you are, before I kick you out of my tavern."

Draco froze. 'We never discussed this before we left the shack...what am I supposed to do...'

He decided to stall. "So, are you Dumbledore's brother?...Albus Dumbledore..." he added quickly, as Aberforth's expression began to darken.

"Right I am." He said briskly. "Now you have 10 seconds to either tell me who you are, or get banned from here for the rest of your life."

'What do I do now?'

Unfazed, Aberforth began to count. "10..."

'And how does he know Neville...'

"9..."

'Should I just tell him who I really am?'

"8..."

'He is Dumbledore's brother after all...'

"7..."

'But if he knows that I was responsible...'

"6..."

'Maybe I should trust him...he seems like a member of the Order...he wouldn't tell any Death Eaters, would he?'

"5..."

'I think I should just tell him...'

"4..."

'But I don't look like myself...What's the spell again...?'

"3..."

'Er...Ostando...Ostinde...Ostende...'

"2..."

"Draco!" he shouted.

Aberforth looked at him in astonishment, his bushy grey eyebrows meeting his forehead. "What, sir?"

"My name is Draco. Draco Malfoy." He cleared his throat nervously, and stood up.

"Draco? Draco Malfoy, you say? You're lying. Draco Malfoy is dead." He took another swig of firewhisky, and chortled.

Draco gripped the arm of his chair tightly. 'What is this old codger talking about?'

"I...I am?"

"Yes, he is. You're not a very smart fellow, are you..."

"I'm not lying!

"Well, then, Mr. Malfoy, I'm sure even if you weren't dead, you would have seen the papers going 'round with your face on it."

'What the hell...' Draco retrieved the wand from his pocket, and muttered, "Ostende Identitatem." This time, he could hardly feel the changes, but he instantly knew he'd done the incantation right, judging by the shocked expression on Aberforth's paling face.

"Who's this bloke on the front page?" Ron Weasley spit out, between mouthfuls of fudge—provided by his childhood crush, Madam Rosmerta. He picked up the Daily Prophet, and winced as a bit of chocolate smeared onto the paper. An almost greyish-tinged, pale boy with blond hair winked and smirked in the image. Ron grimaced. 'No...it can't be...'

"Draco Malfoy, haven't you heard?" she replied, whisking the paper away, and setting down another butterbeer in front of him.

He blinked. "Er..."

She smoothed her apron. "He died several days ago, you know."

Ron choked on his butterbeer, spilling the frothy drink all over his front. "Excuse me?"

"Scourgify." Rosmerta said casually, flicking her wand. "Yes, he apparently attempted to murder Harry Potter's best friend, Hermione Granger." She lowered her voice, and leaned in. "They're on the run, you know...with this other Weasley boy...what was his name again?" Straightening up, she ticked names off with her finger. "Raymond, is it? Raymond...no, not Raymond..."

He groaned instinctively. ''Spose Hermione was right...how do they...and why...'

"Roger? Roger Weasley?...Rowland...Robert..."

"Bloody he-"

"Rupert! Rupert Weasley, I believe that may be it..."

Ron got up from his seat, and smiled apologetically. "Listen, I have to go. I don't know how much all this is..." He gestured to his table, laden with Honeydukes sweets and butterbeer bottles, and then reached deeply into Hermione's bag. "Here you are!" He dumped a handful of galleons onto the table, and grinned.

"I have to go!"

Dashing out the door, he flashed a quick wave behind him, leaving an open-mouthed Madam Rosmerta to pick up galleons off the floor.

Author's Note- Hi. *looks guilty* I'm fairly aware that I've missed a day, but actually if your time-zone is different then maybe not...ANYWAYS. I haven't gotten any reviews since about Chapter 19-20, so hopefully none of you noticed. :D Ummm...so yeah, I hope all of you reading enjoyed the chapter, and like always, please tell me if you liked it, or have constructive criticism. Honestly, every time I get a review, I feel like Hermione when she gets a test back. Was that a bad comparison? I'm sorry...