Draco lounged on the divan above the pub, drinking firewhisky after firewhisky. There was an emptiness in his gut that remained unfulfilled. The whisky left a scorching sensation there, as though someone lit a match to his insides. He cherished that feeling. The same feeling obtained from licking a poison off the lips.
He downed the last bottle, swallowing deeply as the liquid danced sinfully with his tongue. He didn't have the strength to take another. He didn't have the strength to move. There was that feeling of procrastinated intentions roaming freely. Aberforth's words continued to echo in his mind.
It frustrated Draco to no end. How was he supposed to step forth from the grey...if there was no path to walk upon? Or, perhaps, there was, but his past struck him unable to see it.
But Draco Malfoy was no Gryffindor. He found it difficult to simply blindly find his way there. There was no need to trust something invisible. But, his thoughts continued to drift towards his fate. Perhaps Fate had already laid the path of stones—and this was all a test. He'll succeed only if he finds the courage to take the first step.
So, that night, after everyone had already cleared out, Draco decided to talk to Aberforth. He didn't know what he was going to say. But, it didn't matter. As long as he could leave the grey.
"Hogwarts." He said.
"Excuse me?"
A hint of a smile grew on Draco's face. "That's where they wanted to go." He looked expectantly at Aberforth, who shook his head.
"I don't know anything about that blasted place." He said briskly, taking out two bottles of firewhisky.
Draco smirked. "Weren't you, oh I don't know...educated there?"
"Wipe that smile off your face, boy." Started Aberforth. He opened a bottle, and handed the other to Draco, who refused it quietly, and waited for an answer.
"Listen. All Hogwarts offered me, was an opportunity to go without my sister for months at a time. While she was locked up at home, with no one to talk to but our mum...and eventually..." he looked away forlornly. "She was gone too...
The words came out of Draco's mouth before he could stop himself. "I'm sorry..."
Aberforth took a swig of firewhisky and nodded in compliance. "Me too."
"But, they need to get to Hogwarts. It's the only way they can-"
"Do, what, boy?" came a grunt in response. "It's over. There is no war, as you rebellious little youngsters seem to think there is."
"Funny, because you weren't telling me that last night. I thought you wanted me to...'step out of the grey'...choose sides..."
There was silence for a moment.
"You've got some nerve, boy..." Aberforth started, finishing his bottle, and scratching his beard thoughtfully.
Draco tried his hardest to muster a smile. "It's not nerve we need to fight this war..." His expression darkened. "We need to get into Hogwarts."
"We?" he chuckled. "Who's we?"
"I." his voice wavered as he paced around the room. "I need to get into Hogwarts. I am counting on you, to get me there."
"And what if I don't?"
A smirk appeared upon his face once more. "Then I'll be living in the grey."
"He's...dead."
Once the words left Narcissa Malfoy's mouth, she resisted the urge to put a hand to her lips and hold them back in. It was done. The damage. Yet, a guilt hadn't arisen in her when she did. But, she knew that she would pay the price. They had escaped; all of them. And the Dark Lord knew. She winced with pain, as she felt her husband's nails digging into the alabaster skin of her weak arms. She wouldn't go by unpunished that night.
His thin lips curled. "Dead?"
Narcissa nodded. "Dead." She looked down at the floor nervously, "He...he tried to-to kill the mudblood girl..." Her only hopes were that he would view her apprehension as mourning for her child.
"Tried?" Voldemort's eyes flickered from Narcissa to Lucius, and then back again. "Yet...Potter and his accomplices, have ESCAPED ONCE AGAIN!" his voice rose in fury, and dropped to a dangerous whisper. "As your dearest son has passed, I daresay you find the courage to find an excuse, Malfoy?"
She swallowed, knowing what was to come. "No, sir."
"I find..." he continued. "That my supporters consider me to be...most...merciful. You, Lucius-" he glanced in the direction of the bedraggled, blonde man. "Have been at my side since the very beginning."
Lucius nodded feverishly. "Yes, My Lord! If you could only-"
"SILENCE! I have not asked you to speak."
Narcissa tried not to notice the spot of blood appearing where his hands now rested on her shoulder.
"Step forward...Narcissa." he motioned her forward with one insipid hand.
'For Draco...' She walked slowly; no tears.
With one fluid motion, he pulled out his wand, a trace of a sneer upon his stony, snake-like features. And with one miniscule flick of the hand, Narcissa Malfoy was left writhing on the floor. His smile widened at the screams, yet he himself was silent. No words.
The Dark Lord never needed them.
Author's Note- Hello! Just so you know, this last passage, with Narcissa, and Voldemort, isn't set at the same time as the Aberforth/Draco scene in the pub. It's sort of a flashback, but Draco has no idea that this happened. So! Like always, thank you for reading and reviewing and following and favoriting and talking and everything. It really does mean a lot to me, and as an "author", I really appreciate everything you do. I love you, and good night!
P.S.- A virtual internet hug goes out to whoever got the chapter title reference. :)