"Sorted Too Young"

Dumbledore tells Snape, "Sometimes, Snape, I think we sort them too young."

CHAPTER 6 – CRUSHING TRUTH

Soon after, the rest of the memories filled in the gaps. He howled out his terror and wished the memories would not come. It might have been self-preservation that the memories buried themselves. Hermione would have leaned on muggle psychology and called it simply trauma. Now they surfaced. In the darkness of his mind it felt like the air was sucked out and wooshed back in. The world lurched and tipped and spun. It was much like experiencing a portkey for the first time, or apparating via someone else for the first time. Your body sucked into one space, leaving your stomach caught in your throat with your mind somewhere behind. Draco might have thought he fell into a pensieve except he was not an observer but reliving the memories as a participant.

Hogwarts castle was in chaos. After being saved by Potter from Crabbe's fiendfyre curse, Draco owed Potter a life debt. He then owed one to Ron Weasley when the red-head saved him from a Death Eater who assumed Draco was a student and a blood traitor for not attending a meeting all Death Eaters were at. In a way, the Death Eater was right. Draco was being a blood traitor when he convinced Crabbe and Goyle to hunt Potter in the castle instead of attend the stupid meeting. It was a devious way to try to save their lives, save them from becoming killers and dying in the thick of battle. Crabbe died anyway for his stupidity. Goyle now owed Draco a life debt as well as Ron Weasley. Ron unwittingly had some very fine debts to collect in his back pocket. Draco considered reminded Ron of that should either of them survive this.

He stood on the isolated stair looking out a window. "Win this war for us, Potter. Free us… free me." Not that anyone heard. The Dark Army roared out of the woods in great cheers. They stormed the school. Potter was dead. He couldn't believe it. The Dark Lord demanded submission from all. It was just as Draco expected, a slave state. It was nothing he wanted any part of. He was slave to no one. The Death Eaters tore through the castle grounds when no one submitted. It would be a massacre.

Just as he turned, he spotted the Sorting Hat give up the Sword of Godric to… Neville Longbottom? He turned back and plastered his face to the glass to see better. Longbottom killed the vile serpent, Nagini. Draco cheered! Then looked around to see if anyone saw him do something so juvenile. He HATED that snake. It ate people. He shuddered at the memories. It was one of the many horrible fates you might suffer for betraying the Dark Lord. Well, not now. Good riddance! While intent on the scene below, he saw the deception of Harry Potter. Really, that one should honestly have been sorted into Slytherin. He fought the urge to run and hide when he heard screams of agony or death and the joyous cries of death Eaters on their killing spree. He looked down at the singed sleeves and the slightly burned Dark Mark. The fiendfyre seemed to have broken its call or its bonds. Or, Harry ended Voldemort while he was distracted with the impending carnage.

Carnage, the massacre of children. His stomach flipped over. He looked back over the staircase. Spells flung back and forth. Whose side was he on? Should he run and hide? Should he fight with the Death Eaters? What will his parents be doing? The terrified part of him pleaded for him to hide and wait it out. But this was his chance. The Dark Lord had fallen. His father no longer had grounds to beg his innocence. This was Draco's chance at freedom, from the Death Eaters, from his father. Freedom to be whoever he wanted to be. Freedom to be himself. It burned a bright though small flame of courage within him. All he had to do was save some lives and stay out of his father's way. Then he might even become a hero.

He knew many of the Dark Arts and the counter magics for them. He knew how to fight with magic. Dueling with Potter only improved that. He could honestly do something of worth and make major changes in the way pure bloods would be seen. It would resolidify the respect in the Malfoy name. He also knew this school and its little secret corridors much better than most of the Death Eaters. Spurred by his vision of heroism, warmed by the possibilities it carried, Draco rushed off through the castle to guide students into more secure locations or into the defenses of parents or the order of the Phoenix members. He came face to face with Arthur Weasley. The older man's wand didn't remotely waver as it pointed at Draco's face. From behind Draco, a second year girl cried out her uncle's name and ran out from the safety of Draco's tall figure into her uncle's arms and then behind him for protection. Understanding jumped into Arthur's eyes and he lowered his wand. Draco turned and ran back into the chaos, ducking through a panel and into a hidden passage. Every soul he saved seemed to cleanse him a little more and bring sparks of light to the dark corners inside Draco, the one's that he thought he had lost himself to when Dumbledore died.

He heard his mother call his name, but wasn't able to come from the passage into a place where she could see him. He dashed up the stairs to a group of first years. They were huddled, too scared to move. He was about to take them down the stairs to safety, when that route became blocked by Death Eaters. He hated that name, it was barbaric. She herded the kids back up the stairs. His father stood in the hall and executed a prefect there. He reached for his wand. There was no wand. DAMMIT. He forgot, Potter had taken it from him. He was wandless. He slammed his hands on the rail of the balcony landing at the top of the staircase and whispered and pleaded for the castle to help, to protect its students, to change the stairs NOW! To his shock, it did just that. The only threat now was… his father… the only man that actually scared Draco more than the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord was barely human, so one could expect he would barely act human. His father, though, was fully human and had no excuse for his inhumanity.

Lucius yelled Draco's name. "I see you are wandless son. Good thing you brought them to me to deal with." Draco caught his mother running down the hall and skidding to a graceless stop. She pleaded with Lucius to stop, that it was over, that the Dark Lord was dead. "Then I shall take up his cause," snapped Lucius.

Narcissa's eyes pleaded with Draco not to obey. Pleaded with him silently. She mouthed out their secret oath… be the change. Draco stood on a threshold, not unlike when he held his wand ready to execute Dumbledore. Right and wrong and cowardice and courage warred inside him. Moments like this separated men from boys and heroes from cowards. Moments like this could earn a look of pride or scorn, love or disappointment. His mother had been disappointed in him for years for doing his father's will. He was sick of doing his father's will. He was sick of the cruel punishment. He wanted freedom so badly that it was worth dying for. A final look of true love and pride from his mother was also worth dying for. Choosing to defy his father would result in death after all. Draco wondered if he was ready to die now at seventeen on the cusp of eighteen.

He looked from father to mother and back again. "Prefect, I'm scared," whispered a boy behind him. "Me too," Draco whispered back. The sound of the golden Trio running and calling from a staircase that was just moving into place sounded behind him. He made his choice. His eyes went cold. His face lost all emotion, becoming hard. He flung his arms out to either side as it to form a T shape of his body. His robes effectively hiding the kids behind him. "Run, he growled at them. They did.

"BLOOD TRAITOR!" yelled Lucius to his son.

"No father! YOU are the blood traitor when you gave up the lives of witches and wizards. You are the traitor when you threw away your family's love and then their freedom! YOU are the traitor when you beat and raped and tortured with dark magic your only child as if he were nothing to you! You are the traitor when you gave up the manor to the Dark Lord, breaking century old oaths. YOU are nothing!" Draco could not stop his words the moment they started tumbling out. He took in a deep breath to yell out more as his mother gave him the look he always wanted to see, pride in her son for doing the right thing.

Ron Weasley ushered the kids away to safety as Hermione and Harry ran up to provide Draco with aid. They still had two flights of stairs to run up to reach him. Harry could not fire any shots with Draco blocking the way, though. He had no clear line of sight to Lucius. Draco's words were shocking and yet made perfect sense.

Lucuis's face twisted into a terrible expression. His wand thrust forward. "AVADA KADAVRA!"

"NOOOOO!" cried Narcissa who leapt in front of Draco, taking the killing blow in his place. Her love and her life shielded Draco. Lucius attempted a second casting that was merely deflected by the residual effects of Narcissa's most ancient magic, the love of a mother for her son. It protected Draco from that curse that killed her.

"Fine. A fast death is not good enough for your treachery anyways," spat Lucius.

Harry and Hermione shook themselves from their own shock, a shock Draco could not shake himself of. Draco simply stared, stunned, at his mother's lifeless body.

"RICTUS EXCRUTIO PETRICRACKUS!" A pale green ball of light no larger than a snitch shot across and his Draco in the chest. Draco staggered from the impact and fell on the landing between Harry and Hermione. Harry leapt over Draco, wand at the ready. But Lucius as already apparating away.

Draco panted hard, mumbled something, called to his mother. He took in great gasps of air like it was hard to breathe. Hermione knelt by him. She pulled him into her lap and tried to shake him free of the shock in his eyes. The spell he was hit with was nothing they knew of.

Draco then arched and contorted yowling in agony as if the crutiatus curse was being cast upon him. He did so for a count of thirty eternal seconds. Then in the last contorted position ever muscle tensed and stiffened as if petrified. He grew taught so that even the facial muscles tugged his expression into one of horror and held him thus unable to even breathe for another eternal thirsty seconds. Hermione screamed at Harry to do something. A small ball of light rose from Draco's flesh and meandered over his skin, slicing it neatly and leaving the blood trail in its wake to dot and soak Draco's clothing. Then it sank back into his body. A sick crackling crunch sound marked the release from the stiffened state and ripped a scream of from Draco at the bone the cursed ball broke in his body.

The scene was crueller than any curse Harry or Hermione had ever seen or experienced. Draco lay almost limp in Hermione's arms. He panted and sweat beaded over his face. He whimpered for his mother. It brought tears to Hermione's eyes. At least it was over. The castle had started to quiet in the minute or two that passed.

Quiet until the dark magic curse cycled again through Draco. Thirty seconds of writhing torture. Thirty seconds of breathless tension trapped in a rictus of horror while the flesh sliced open slowly in a random path. Then the crack of a bone and a scream. Hermione screamed with him this time. The respite was again only a minute or two. Barely time to catch his breath before cycling again… and again. Ron stared wide-eyes at the fourth cycling and ran for his father or anyone who might know what to do to stop this before Draco ended up a dead bleeding pile of sliced flesh and broken bones. It was a killing curse, a slow one, a new one. It was one of Lucius' creations.

By the sixth cycling, Draco was hardly even bothering to scream. The blood soaked over Hermione's hands and lap. In one of the respites, he gasped out, reaching a bloody hand up to her face, "I … always thought… you were… beautiful…" The curse cycled again before he could say more.

Harry and Arthur came up with a solution, or so they hoped. Harry would trap the ball of light when it made its way to Draco's forearm. Arthur would then tear it from Draco. So many bones were broken. So many blessing cuts covered his body. They knew they had to do something soon. He was not going to last much longer. Hermione held him through it all.

The deadly ball sliced across the exposed dark mark on Draco's forearm. Harry cast his shield spell. The ball sliced furiously trapped there till the mark was unrecognizable. The blood poured freely. It sank and cracked one of the forearm bones before Arthur could rip it free. Remus would have been much better at this than Arthur, but no one else knew what to do, nor dared try in case they worsened things. Hermione desperately tried to stave off of the bleeding or Draco would bleed to death before they could free him of the cursed razor ball. Other students and adults started to gather. Luna quietly retold what she had witnessed from a stairway landing across the area of stairs.

Draco's heart fluttered weakly from loss of blood and exhaustion from the torment. He had endured this curse before at his father's hand. It was what made him more afraid of his father than anyone or anything else. Each breath came randomly and shallowly. Hermione knew he was close to his end. Dobby died in Harry's arms. Draco was dying in hers. A whisper in her ear made her gasp.

No one else had heard it. "I haven't much time," whispered the faintest ghost of Narcissa. I will teach you to save his life. For me, save him. Tell him I loved him and am proud of the man he has become. Tell him to keep his promise… to live… and be the change we dreamed of." She then whispered ancient magical instructions into Hermione's ear. She followed them without hesitation.

She leaned over Draco, pressing her cheek to his to whisper in his ear, one of her hands over his heart as her other arm cradled him. She whispered the incantation and ended it with, "now, breathe with me." And he did. His heartbeat strengthened, his breath steadied, they matched her own. His eyes remain closed. The curse began to cycle again. This time Harry and Arthur were ready. Hermione kept her focus. Draco survived the combined efforts of Arthur and Harry. He lived, only because Hermione willed him to. There had been hints of his true allegiance. The truth was in the penseive. The truth was in his damning words to his father. The truth was his willingness to sacrifice himself for the lives of others. It didn't clear him of everything, but it cleared him of a lot. The rest he would have to prove with his living and she intended to see that through. He'd have to do it alone, for his mother was dead.

He heard her whispers. He felt her warmth. She was an angel with a life line in a sea of torment. Was it minutes? Hours? Days? Draco didn't know. But she was with him through it all over again. His mother… was not… never would be. He opened his eyes to find he had been bundled in blankets in a bed. He felt empty inside. The truth crushed him. He opened his eyes and stared at nothing for hours. He just wanted to fade away.

Be the change…

How was he to be that? He was as much nothing as he had accused his father of being. He was less than nothing with no family, no home and practically a crippled mess. He followed simple commands to wash, dress, eat… like a hollow puppet. There were no words. There was only silence in all he did… for days. His body showed progress in healing, but his heart and spirit…

Draco stared out his bedroom window. "Come down for tea, Draco," offered Molly as she passed his room. Did he deserve this other family's mother and her comfort? He stared out the widow a little longer trying to stay stone inside, trying to bury his pain, not knowing how to deal with it, and less so how to deal with the people around him. The truth… he died out there when she died. He didn't know who he was anymore.

He turned away from the window and obeyed the simple request. He leaned on walls and rails and door frames as he hobbled down to the bottom of the stairs. He eyes on the floor before him. A hand materialised and pressed against his chest. He looked up into Hermione's eyes. There was no pity there, but a degree of understanding and comfort. He attempted to back away as the truth threatened to crash forward and crush him again. She stepped in closer and wrapped her arms around his middle, hugging him to her. His chest started to heave. His face contorted as he struggled for composure. He held her for balance, or so he told himself seconds before the truth spilled with his tears as he buried his face into her hair and shoulder and wept bitterly at last, mourning.

Hermione simply held him through this too. Everyone else in the house gave them space.

"What… what do I do now?" His hoarse whisper was barely audible near her ear, voice thick with emotion still.

"You live, Draco. You live… and be the change you always dreamed of, whatever that was, is, or could be. And maybe one day you will tell me what that is?" she spoke as Narcissa had asked her to.

"Maybe… one day…"

A/N: Long chapter was very long! Please review.