Chapter 38

Draco put his hand down carefully on the stone floor where it met the wall. He pulled his hand back sharply when he felt a small puddle forming there. His eyesight was lost in the darkness entombing him, and he felt panic rise in his throat, cold and choking. Calm down, he commanded himself and took a few steadying breaths.

Dammit all, he thought sourly as he realized water was beginning to seep into his dark cell. He put a clenched fist against his forehead and fought to hold back acidic tears.

I don't even get to die in some gallant way. I'm just going to drown alone in this cell. Forgotten...

The realization hurt. As soon as his father was killed, he hadn't thought he was going to survive long. He fought to survive to protect his mother, to see her get somewhere safe, but he had failed at that just like he failed at everything he tried.

He wondered if anyone in the castle knew when the cells down here flooded, or if they just left it to chance. Would anyone come check on him to make sure he was still alive? Probably not.

Maybe myrtle will stay with me while I die, he mused grimly. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a sad smile. How fitting. Lucius Malfoys only son, heir to the Malfoy fortune, dying at the hands of the people Lucius fought so hard to be a part of.

I'll never see the Manor again. I'll never get to clean it of the filth Voldemort brought into, I'll never get to go into the wine cellar for a prized vintage. I'll never read another book in the library. Or visit the greenhouse. I will never plant jasmine for my mother in her favorite part of the garden. Tears were streaming down Draco's sunken cheeks now, bitter with anger and regret.

He slumped against the wall and closed his eyes. He idly wondered if Astoria had heard of his capture. If she had heard of it, she probably would have rejoiced. The thought filled him with loneliness. Astoria hadn't wanted to be a part of the war or live constantly afraid for the future. Voldemort grew more paranoid with every passing day, and every family wondered who would become the object of suspicion next. Some families, like the Parkinson's, would gladly feed into the paranoia, whispering into Voldemort's ear about all the other death eaters, stoking the flame of suspicion as one would stoke the flames on a dying fire in a fireplace. The Parkinson's were especially dangerous, and no one was as happy to watch the Malfoys dethroned as Cassius Parkinson, Pansy's father, had been. Thinking of Cassius and Pansy made Draco's anger flare up.

Pansy had had a sweet mother, however, named Abilene. She had been a dear friend to Narcissa. Draco had remembered more than a few times that Abilene had come to the manor, covered in bruises and hands shaking too badly to do anything about her appearance. Narcissa had always helped get her right again, giving her pepper up potion, magically tending to her wounds. Poor woman, he thought to himself. Cassius for a husband and Pansy for a daughter. Her happiness never stood a chance. Abilene had been fraught when Pansy had gotten her dark mark, but she had only confided that to Narcissa. Narcissa had even wondered to Draco once if Abilene would consider going with them when they escaped. But after the Malfoys fell out of favor, Narcissa never saw Abilene again. No doubt Cassius had banned her from going to the manor.

His thoughts returned to Hermione. He pictured how her face had looked, flushed from fire whiskey, with her slender hands clasped on the table in front of her as she laughed. He pictured her face as she worked through her riddle from the Sphinx. She's brilliant, he mused. I wonder what it would be like to kiss her. The thought was on him before he realized his mind was wandering in that direction, and it caused him to freeze up. He didn't want to kiss Hermione, he couldn't. She was a pedant, and a Gryffindor. She cried over house elves and hung around the lowest level wizards and witches of society. She was beneath his status. She was the most annoying person Draco had ever known. It would do him no good to entertain thoughts like this. And I was going to offer myself to her. What is wrong with me? In a moment of absolute lunacy, in the forest, he was going to offer himself to her, so that if she was a virgin, her first time wouldn't have to be from rape. He was almost not able to stop himself from making the offer. Upon reflection, he realized how chaotic and wrong the offer would have been. I would have made it good for her, he mused. I would have been gentle; I would have kissed her; I would have gone slow. He felt blood rush to his face, and then down south. Where was this coming from? Now he was picturing her underneath him, groaning, her hands wrapped in his hair, her legs locked around him. The idea made him burn with desire for her. Would she scratch him in the throes of passion? Would she moan into him, asking for more? No, if they were both naked together, she would see his Dark Mark, come to her senses, and tell him to bugger off.

He was relieved she had been with Ron, someone she chose and had control over the situation. Was he relieved? Jealousy had flared in him when she admitted to having been with Ron, and he did not understand why. He was not interested in her, couldn't be, and yet, the thought of that undeserving Weasley being with Hermione had taken his mind to a dark place.

"Draco," Myrtle spoke, so close to Draco's ears that he shot up into a seated position.

"Yes?" He answered, his voice coming out hoarse.

"Someone is coming down to get you. Good thing too, I think the cell is starting to flood," She answered airily, and Draco felt a cold gust of energy pass through him. He shuddered. The water was about an inch high now, and very cold. Draco estimated it would probably take around 4 hours for the tiny cell to flood completely.

"Who is it coming down? What do they look like?" Draco asked in a hushed tone.

"I don't know their name, no one ever bothers to introduce themselves to lonely old Myrtle," she told him forlornly.

Draco sighed. He didn't know if the witch or wizard coming down to his cell would be better or worse than slowly drowning to death below the Hogwarts Lake. He shivered.

"He's a rather tall man," Myrtle added, "And the black-haired witch seemed very angry that he was allowed to come down." Myrtle whispered in a gossipy way.

Draco ran through his mental rolodex, flashing between a myriad of 'tall' wizards he had been acquainted with previously. There was too much in his mind's eye. And all enemies now.

"They've got that awful Hermione Granger in the headmasters office," Myrtle said, her voice now coming from above him instead of in front of him.

"Oh?" Draco answered, unsure of what to say. He felt a chill. He knew whatever they were doing to her wasn't good.

"I can't cross over into that room, too many ghost wards, but I know that they can't get Dumbledore's portrait down. And that gruesome new headmaster has regular fits that he can't get the portrait down. You should hear him yelling." Myrtle giggled in a girlish way.

"What are they doing with her?" Draco asked, knowing that Myrtle wouldn't have an answer. He felt his fight or flight response kick in. He wasn't quite sure why.

"Nothing good, I expect," She answered dryly.

Draco longed for his wand. He began mentally preparing himself to use his legilimency, to guard his mind against whatever was coming down to meet him. He had failed at so many, many things in his life. He didn't want his last moments in this realm of him failing again. It struck him that Hermione would probably tell people about him after his death. That panged him with sadness. She was a noble person, which didn't always serve her, but that nobleness would carry out of her mouth what Draco had done. And that made him feel ashamed for some reason that he couldn't work out. The thought was almost alien to him.

The sound of approaching footsteps snapped Draco's mind back into the present moment. He tensed. He felt so helpless with the situation unfolding around him. He couldn't defend himself and he couldn't escape. The sound of footsteps stopped, and the cell door swung open with a creak. A lighted wand nearly blinded Draco, and he was filled with relief that he could in fact still use his eyes. The light glared in his eyes so he couldn't see who the wand belonged to, but the unmistakable voice met his ears and filled Draco with so many conflicting feelings that his mind was racing almost as quickly as his heart.

"Malfoy," Blaise Zabini said, voice as smooth as butter. "I don't want to get to my robes any more wet than they already are. Stand up," he commanded. Draco took a breath and mustered any courage he could.