Madam Pomfrey hovered whenever she was in the infirmary. Draco was her only patient, and even he had to admit his injuries were extensive. It seemed ridiculous that broken bones healed more quickly than cuts.
Calling them cuts put it lightly. They'd cut through muscle and tendons, only stopping at bone. The one on his throat had given her the most concern. Knowing how intensely Voldemort reacted to the cuts on his face, Draco attempted to redirect her efforts. He huffed and angled away from her until she silenced him with a sharp warning about losing his voice.
"Now if you're proficient in non-verbal spellcasting, I would be happy to apply more dittany to your face," she said.
Draco let her work.
She fed him more potions than food for lunch. Draco picked at his meal before remembering she thought he had an eating disorder, and then because he was keeping his left hand hidden under the bedsheet. It covered both the dark mark and the wand clutched in his hand.
Voldemort had left with the assurance of returning that night to carry out his plan.
Harry had left with the promise to stop it.
But also…
Draco couldn't let himself think about it or what it might have meant. Pushing those thoughts away was safe. Regulating Harry's comments and looks to the back of his mind had gotten him this far, and right now, all that mattered was Harry's promise to return.
Draco never put any stock in Dumbledore. But Harry had left to tell him everything with complete faith in their ability to stop Voldemort. As the day waned on, Draco's confidence faltered. If Dumbledore did something, wouldn't it have happened by now?
If there was fighting, would word reach the infirmary? Would Draco hear the echoes of a duel?
Nothing happened. By the time the light outside deepened to gold, Draco had been able to heal enough to dress. His school robes had been torn, but Madam Pomfrey brought him a set of hospital whites. When she went to her office, Draco stole a roll of bandages from her cart to wrap his arm. He softly cursed the hospital clothing for having short sleeves.
He kept a thick layer of the dittany salve applied to this face, although he'd already accepted there would be no getting rid of the scarring. Maybe one day, they would fade enough to be hidden by a simple glamor. He knew eventually he would break down over the thought of living the rest of his life with them, of having deserved scars being the first thing people noticed about him.
To keep himself stable for the inevitable conflict incoming, Draco avoided the mirror. It would have been simpler to nap, but he had followed Snape's instruction to take something for energy. He sat up in bed, twirling his wand and staring at the window across the room, anxiously watching the sunset. With every new shade of darkness, his worry grew.
Harry should have been back by now.
When Draco heard the door open, he debated pretending to be asleep. It was a moment of foolishness. There was no hiding from whatever would come.
Whatever turned out to be Voldemort, still disguised as Thomas. The disguise felt pointless, given he held his true wand.
"It is time."
Draco put bare feet on the hospital floor. The March coolness radiated through him, and Draco couldn't repress a shiver as they left through the large double doors. Draco fought to maintain even breaths. Voldemort, despite continuing to wear Thomas's face, walked ahead, leading Draco into certain conflict. Knowing what he'd been working towards all year failed to prepare him.
Harry had known for hours now, but the path from the infirmary to the seventh floor was entirely empty. Draco hadn't told Harry how the Death Eaters would enter the school, so defenses might have been coordinating at the front gates. That assumed anyone had believed Harry. How could they when his story would have come from a rival who he nearly killed?
Lost in thought, Draco startled when Voldemort grabbed him midstep. Voldemort pulled him over to the banister, and leaning over, Draco saw the red of an Auror uniform. He stutter-stepped back, not wanting to risk being seen. Voldemort stepped back smoothly.
They looked at each other, the question not needing to be said. An Auror patrolling the corridors could only mean they had been found out.
They continued on, though at a more hurried pace. Students being at supper would prevent crossfire, and they still needed time to get everyone in the castle. Draco kept his thoughts dedicated to following at Voldemort's heels, and not on his two recent attempts to prevent this day from happening. The Death Eaters were getting into Hogwarts.
They had to stop once more on the path upstairs when they nearly ran into Alastair Moody and what could only be another Weasley. Fourth Year flashbacks stalled him for a moment, and then the confusion gave way to panic. He was walking through Hogwarts with Lord Voldemort, while a beacon in bandages and hospital whites.
Voldemort's pacing became rushed, but the door to the Room of Hidden Things opened all the same. The clutter seemed to have grown in the time since their last visit. The aisles squeezed together, objects that had been precariously perched all year now threatened to teeter over. Draco wove carefully down the path to the cabinet, wand at the ready in case everything decided to fall.
"Remove those bandages," Voldemort said, and his gaze indicated the ones on Draco's arm, covering the Mark.
There was no sense in pretending he hadn't taken an active role in Voldemort's plans this year. He was one of them, he reminded himself as he unwound the cover over the Mark.
"They are all waiting at Borgin's," Voldemort said. "You will go through to bring them."
"I'm testing it?" Draco asked, unable to stop himself from questioning the dark lord's will. They hadn't tried sending someone through. Draco's body was much more complex than their test bird or an apple.
"Or would you rather remain here to discuss this?"
Voldemort reached into his robe and brought out a folded parchment from the breast pocket. Draco recognized the handwriting as his own. The letter to Neesy had been such an afterthought, Draco barely remembered the contents. But he did remember enough.
"My lord—"
"Choose now. Though you will be going through regardless of your decision."
There was no reason to question how Voldemort had come across the letter, or why he had waited to reveal it until now. Draco had underestimated the dark, no, overestimated himself. Had he been able to hide anything? What else had the dark lord uncovered?
Draco opened the cabinet. He held it open for a breath, staring inside and imagining the various ways it might rip him apart, cell by cell. His hands trembled on the curves of the handles. He had to step inside and close the doors. He couldn't linger. Even if he had finished apparition lessons, he couldn't escape from Hogwarts.
No matter what Draco might have thought, what beliefs would have changed, there was no denying that Voldemort was one of the most powerful wizards in generations. If he believed the cabinets were fully repaired, certainly they must work.
Inside, Draco turned and found that Voldemort had taken hold of both of the door handles.
Voldemort closed the doors.
Like with apparition, a tightening sensation overwhelmed Draco, pulling and twisting and reforming Draco into something new and nonexistent. His mind flickered out.
Draco stumbled out of the cabinet, clipping his hip on one of the doors. He turned to check it, terrified of the repercussions if he broke it. A hand grabbed at him before he could try closing it again.
Lucius gave the scarring brief attention before putting fingers in the braid across Draco's hairline, brushing it out. Strands immediately clung to the salve. That, apparently, wasn't such an insult to his appearance.
Bellatrix knocked Draco aside to be first through the cabinet. Draco looked around the typically empty shop to find essentially the full inner circle of Death Eaters. They all stared his way, and the attention he'd once craved now drove him to staring at his father's shoes. They could have been looking for a myriad of reasons: the fresh scarring, the bandages around his throat, being dressed in white in the suffocating darkness of the shop, or, what he feared the most likely reason, the truth of the role he'd played during the year.
He'd accomplished the impossible, and now the Death Eaters filed through the cabinet and into Hogwarts. He watched them vanish one after another. That was his doing.
Lucius led Draco around a display of bottled powders, passed Mulciber and Rodolphus, and to a mostly empty corner, where his whispers were likely to go unheard.
"He called you his during your winter holiday. This has been happening the entire school year?"
Draco didn't bother looking up when he nodded, but Lucius didn't allow his cast away gaze, and gestured for Draco to lift his head. Then the scars drew the scrutiny Draco expected from the start.
"Potter will die for what he's done," Lucius said. "This insult to you won't go unanswered."
Lucius hooked a finger in Draco's collar, then pulled down his shirt to follow the cut down his throat. Draco's chest was still fully bandaged.
"And you're certain it was a curse?"
"Yes."
"Your mother is sourcing specialized healers. The scars won't linger."
Draco nodded. "That is our lord's wish." He forced out the words, feeling the rough strain at the prolonged effort.
At the mention of the dark lord, Lucius paled. It was one trait Draco wished he had inherited from his father, rather than flushing at every shift in emotion. Lucius held onto Draco's shoulders tightly.
"You have redeemed the Malfoy name," Lucius said quietly. "It never should have fallen to you."
After Lucius's failure and subsequent arrest, Draco determined to prove himself worthier. It hadn't been entirely family pride; Voldemort returned with the promise of a revolution. Purebloods wouldn't be equal, but respected more highly. Families who spent generations preserving magic would be held in esteem rather than those who stumbled into it. And what family had done more to curate their lineage than the Malfoys? They deserved a place of honor. Draco would lead them there, he had told himself.
And then he had been branded and saw his idealism for the lie it had always been. Was any of this the respect he wanted? He redeemed the Malfoy name? This was redemption?
"You shouldn't keep him waiting," Draco said, voice cracking with the strain.
Lucius's hand securely cradled Draco's face, an expression out of place while surrounded by the dark lord's followers. Draco didn't step away. His father had led him into this world and this forced responsibility, but despite the impending fight, for a moment, Lucius wasn't a Death Eater, simply Draco's father.
When Lucius lowered his hand, he straightened his shoulders and settled his walking stick to support him more steadily. "You've done well," Lucius told him, and as he turned to walk away, added, "In spite of the scarring."
Draco startled. Had that been the reason for the stares? Were the scars seen as a moral failing? He bit back a protest he didn't even have the voice to form. The scars had come in the dark lord's service, the same as the new wrinkles and sallow complexion Azkaban had given Lucius.
No, those weren't comparable. Draco purposefully antagonized Harry. Lucius failed fighting for the dark lord; Draco failed running from him.
Thinking of running caused Draco to force down the thought, only to catch himself. His task was over and his mind his own again. He attempted to be subtle as he scanned the Death Eaters remaining, far fewer now, and drifted his attention to the unguarded front door. He knew the Mark bound him to Voldemort, but Draco hadn't gotten his apparition license, or even successfully achieved it during the lessons. Gringotts would still be open at this hour. How far could he get before Voldemort called for him?
If he could make it far enough, he'd render himself incapable of returning before Voldemort grew tired of the summons or Draco came to his senses. He spun his wand against his palm, calculating his chances as one Death Eater after another left, bettering his chances.
Draco rested against a small strip of empty wall, hunching his posture in hopes of slipping from sight. Taking over the castle wouldn't be a quick process. Voldemort had to defeat Dumbledore, and the professors would fight. Draco could name several reckless students who would fight. How long could he actually hope for? Two hours?
Even that presumed his absence would be noticed straight off. Voldemort needed nothing further from him. What purpose would Voldemort have for searching out Draco after he'd won?
"Well?"
Draco jolted from his thoughts to find Dolohov pointedly staring at him, the two of them alone. Keeping his hands folded around his wand, he searched around for anyone else he might have overlooked. But he was alone with Dolohov; everyone else had gone through the cabinet and into Hogwarts.
When Draco didn't respond, Dolohov gestured to the cabinet. "Did your injury leave you stupid?"
"No?"
"Don't leave our lord waiting."
Any hesitation would be noted and reported. Draco pushed off from the wall and began walking to the cabinet, the image of the open front door at the forefront of his thoughts. He and Dolohov were alone. If he intended to run, this would be his opportunity.
When he reached for the handle of the cabinet door, he caught a glimpse of the Mark. He hadn't looked at it often, but against the paleness of his skin, there was no ignoring it.
And there would be no ignoring any summons. What little courage Draco had would falter as it always did. He would break, return, and be killed as a traitor. Tortured, and then killed. If there had ever been any chance to escape this path, it had been long ago, when Voldemort first proposed this assignment.
Draco's answer had been enthusiastic and proud. Tonight's events came down to his involvement, and running from his choices was a childish dream.
He stepped back into the cabinet, more confidently this time. It didn't lessen the tight pulling from his core, of his body being broken into pieces and thrown across cities.
He pitched forwards and out of the cabinet to find the Room of Hidden Things entirely changed. The stacks of furniture that had been towering all year had been blown to the sides of the room, exposing a massive empty swath of space where the Death Eaters had assembled, standing around Lord Voldemort in his true form. Voldemort had situated himself at the podium Draco had used all year, with his last remaining notes on the top, and the base still surrounded by a few trinkets: the pickled cat, the dulled tiara, and a set of pixie bookends.
"Is that everyone?" Voldemort asked.
"Dolohov is last," Draco said, and thought to step to the side before he exited the cabinet.
"The school is to remain unmarred," Voldemort said, as if picking up from a left off speech. "Ten of you will secure the Great Hall and prevent anyone from leaving. Do not harm a student. When word of this spreads, I will not have it said Lord Voldemort slaughtered children."
A group of Death Eaters knelt, accepting the order and leaving, Draco guessed to the Great Hall. He scanned the remaining faces and realized others must have already been sent out with commands. His father and Bellatrix were yet to leave, still hovering near the dark lord. Draco resisted the pressing urge to hide at his father's side.
No one expected him to fight against his classmates, Draco told himself. Particularly not when his voice had yet to heal fully. What spells could he cast properly in his condition?
How could he defend himself if the need arose?
"As for Dumbledore's Order," Voldemort went on, turning to Dolohov, who had left the cabinet to kneel before him, "I want them all gone. Anyone who does not teach here will be appropriately dealt with. Take who you need."
Dolohov bowed his head, then stood to choose who he would take with him. Given that they were heading to a fight, he called out for more than twenty, giving orders to everyone with different locations. Everyone here had attended Hogwarts. They knew the school.
Lucius was selected to fight, and he didn't look Draco's way when he exited.
"The apparition charm is still in place, which means several of you will need to defend the entrance should they call for backup."
That order was accepted by Rodolphus, who gestured for those around him to follow.
It was Voldemort's final command for taking the castle, and left the Room of Hidden Things nearly empty. Draco's heart raced and a sense of being out of place settled over him. Voldemort had been left with Bellatrix, Alecto and Amycus Carrow, Fenrir Greyback, and Draco. It was an odd assembly, which Draco didn't think he should have been a part of.
"We will handle Dumbledore and Potter," Voldemort said. "They left the school earlier today, and we will be waiting for their return."
"They left, my lord?" Alecto asked.
"Severus confirmed it this afternoon. They left on brooms, and will likely return the same way. Come."
Voldemort led the way out, and before Draco could decide whether he was expected to go along with them, Bellatrix linked her arm with his, taking the choice from him.
"You have done beautifully in service to our lord," she whispered, voice giddy and grip secured on his arm. "To think we never knew of this honor bestowed on the Black family."
"I'm glad to be useful," Draco said, not looking at her.
"If I had known, your lessons would have been far more productive."
Her occlumency lessons raged on for hours, consuming days in the haze of pain. Legilimency didn't come naturally to her, although she took great pleasure in casting the spell at Draco. In her efforts to teach him, she rampaged through his mind, ripping and tearing, upending and taunting memories as she came across them. Once, Narcissa had come in to find Draco on the floor with blood pouring from his nose. She lectured Bellatrix, but the next day, they returned to the same training.
"And you were successful without additional preparation. Don't listen to what your daddy is saying about those scars. They are a sign of your devotion to our lord."
Lucius wasn't the only one who took insult with the scars. Draco might not have understood how Voldemort saw them as equal to the Mark, but he would never take them as devotion, not to him, at least.
"Thank you," Draco said rather than prove her wrong. The roughness in his voice could have just as easily given him away.
They followed Voldemort down the corridor, passing the stairs. No one should have been on the seventh floor, and if Dumbledore and Harry had left, Draco expected they would meet in the Entry Hall.
"Alecto," Voldemort said without raising his voice, "Cast my Mark out the window."
She rushed to the nearest one, gleefully casting it into the sky, flooding the school in a green glow. She was the only one of them to stop, and it didn't take long for Draco to realize that they were on their way to the Astronomy Tower. If Dumbledore and Harry were returning on brooms and a group of Death Eaters blocked the entrance, the Tower would be a reasonable place for them to land.
People claimed Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard of the generation. He wouldn't walk into a trap, would he?
He hadn't realized that Voldemort was living in Hogwarts for the last six months. Raw strength didn't mean much when faced with cunning. Voldemort had strength and cunning on his side.
Draco had made it possible to take the school. If he hadn't gone along with the plan, would someone else have taken his place? Would Voldemort have managed it on his own?
They started up the winding staircase to the Tower, and Bellatrix still didn't release her hold on Draco. Voldemort no longer needed him, and he would appreciate the time to go to Slytherin to change, or at least to put on a pair of shoes. He could spend the rest of the night hiding out there—
His breath caught. Even Bellatrix paused at the top of the winding steps. Dumbledore and Voldemort stood opposite each other, bathed in the green light streaming down through the open ceiling. The evening air raised goose pimples on Draco's skin and froze him in place.
Two brooms rested against a column behind Dumbledore, but there was no other sign of Harry. Both Dumbledore and Voldemort had wands in hand, but not raised.
"It must have been difficult for you, pretending to be a student all this time," Dumbledore said. "Though I admit I am surprised to hear you chose one who shared your name."
"Now that Hogwarts is mine, breaches in security like this will not happen again."
"It's your arrogance that made this possible," Dumbledore said. His tone never wavered from that calm knowing. "I never anticipated your willingness to humble yourself back to the role of a child."
"You failed to anticipate that I will do as it takes to accomplish a goal? Your age betrays you." Voldemort lifted his wand. "I will do anything necessary."
Dumbledore raised his own wand, and it was impossible to miss the shake in his blackened hand or the heaviness in his breath. Wherever he had gone earlier, it had left him exhausted. What hope did he have when he could barely keep his wand steady, or when he was outnumbered?
Where was Harry?
"You can never hope to win, Tom."
"I already won."
Voldemort took a moment, and the weight of it settled over the tower. Maybe Draco should have been ready to aim his own wand, for his own defense, to attack, to prevent the inevitable death, but he might have collapsed without Bellatrix holding onto him.
The first casts came non-verbally. Two green spells fired off, both deflected, but forcing Dumbledore a step back, towards the edge and the steep drop down.
The Carrows cast shields to prevent the deflected spells from redirecting to the group standing aside. This wasn't their fight. Their role was to watch, and perhaps be ready to ensure victory should Voldemort falter. Though, one look at Dumbledore told Draco the outcome of this duel.
Spell after spell covered the stone tower, each driving Dumbledore backwards. He quickly ran out of space to retreat, and the wind swept his robes out into the open air.
"Where is Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked.
"Out of your reach."
"Avada Kedavra."
Draco didn't know if the spell landed or if Dumbledore threw himself over the edge. The outcome was the same.
He fell over the balcony rail.
Bellatrix rushed to the edge, leaving Draco behind. The others followed to look, but Draco remained planted where he stood. Bellatrix's cheer told him what he needed to know; the outcome he had feared finally happened.
Dumbledore was dead.
Hogwarts belonged to Lord Voldemort.
Who stood in the center of the Tower, staring after the empty space where Dumbledore had once stood, his wand still outstretched. After a time, a growled cheer from Greyback brought Voldemort out of his mental reverie, and he lowered the white wand.
"Find Harry Potter," he ordered. "Bring him to me unharmed."
He left no room for celebration. The job wouldn't be completed until Harry had been killed and the castle was entirely secured. Killing Dumbledore had been important to Voldemort, but never his end goal.
Fenrir sprinted down from the tower first with Alecto close behind. Draco listened to the wooden stairs groaning under their rushed steps. Their eagerness seemed to spread among themselves, birthing cheers and praise to their lord. Years of waiting, of sacrifice, imprisonment, and exile finally bore fruit. They backed the winning side.
He could have stayed up on the tower, out of the way of the inevitable fighting below. But the eerie light reflected off the telescope, making the murder and Mark inescapable. Draco clutched the handrail as he descended after the others, the pressure in his chest intensifying. His guilt was equal to Voldemort's. A man was dead, not by Draco's wand, but by his actions.
Exiting the tower stairwell put him into the conflict. Draco pushed back against a wall hardly a moment before a curse flew by his head. He clutched his wand to his chest and willed it to produce a shield he was incapable of casting. Nothing came from his vain prayer, and he shuffled away from the caster and dipped into an alcove near Alecto, who took immense pleasure in shouting taunts to whoever she fought.
Draco covered his face, salve sticking to his fingers, and waited for justice to reach him. He'd come down from the tower with Voldemort. Even if he wasn't Marked, that was condemnation enough.
His hand was pulled down only for another to take its place and press against his mouth. Draco fought the invisible assailant, startled panic taking over rational thought, until he heard the whispered, "Malfoy."
The hand lowered, then a shimmery haze wrapped over him. Harry stood pressed chest to chest with Draco, the cloak barely grazing the floor. When Fenrir sprinted by them, he didn't look their way.
Draco exhaled, some of the pressure deflating. Of course he hadn't seen Harry on the tower, but Harry would have seen everything.
Harry's hand hovered near Draco's mouth, ready to silence him if he spoke. Draco wouldn't have dared, not when Voldemort was somewhere nearby. They might have been invisible, but a wayward spell could hit them all the same.
The cloak diffused some of the light, but Draco still made out the heaviness in Harry's eyes. Harry saw Dumbledore as salvation. Their only chance at salvation now lay broken on the cobbles seven flights down.
Alecto fell back, and Draco and Harry watched, cheeks nearly touching, as the Weasley twins progressed. Was the Order entirely Weasleys? Draco forgot the insult a second later, when Alecto's own twin joined her, evening out the duel. Their fight blocked the only path out of the alcove, trapping Draco and Harry with only the sheer protection the cloak provided them.
One of the Weasley twins reached into his pocket and threw some black, horned object down the hall. It scuttled around a corner, and then a loud explosion shook the Carrows. The moment gave the other twin the chance to cast a jinx at the feet of the Carrows, sending them a few centimeters into the stone flooring, locking them in place by the ankles.
Draco had seen the Whiz-Bangs in action during fifth year, and squinted at the brightness when they exploded. The twins had aimed the firework straight at the Carrows, who were incapable of moving out of their path. They shielded against them, which caused an even louder eruption than Draco remembered.
The Weasleys continued throwing out their tricks in addition to spells, and there was no defending against simultaneous magical and physical attacks. The Carrows were disarmed and left bound under an incarcerous while the Weasleys ran past them to continue their defense of the castle.
Harry faced Draco, too close for Draco's vision to fully focus on him, but as close as necessary to keep the cloak over both of them. "Now will you come with me?" Harry asked under his breath.
"Yes," Draco could finally admit. "Please."
Harry pressed his forehead to Draco's for a second, then seemed to realize there was a wound there. He withdrew, though there wasn't far he could go while keeping them both hidden. Harry breathed heavily through parted lips, then nodded.
"Can you cast?"
Draco hadn't tried, but given how rough his voice was, he answered, "No."
"Hold the cloak down with your right hand. I'll hold it on the left."
Harry turned, shoulders knocking into Draco as he repositioned them. He put Draco in front of him, so Harry's chest pressed against Draco's back, his chin hovering over Draco's right shoulder. Draco did as he was told, holding the cloak down at his side, and once he had it in place, Harry wrapped his right arm around Draco, wand at the ready.
"Small steps. Keep to the walls."
Amycus and Alecto filled a large portion of the hall nearest them, and Draco mimicked Harry's shuffling steps to avoid their violent efforts to escape their bonds.
Harry's arm rested low on Draco's hips, which Draco took to be Harry's awareness of the injuries on Draco's torso. Rounding the Carrows took time, but they didn't have difficulty with it. The real difficulty came when they had to take the stairs.
There were duels in every direction, and even a few flights had ongoing duels ranging top to bottom. Harry controlled their pace, pulling Draco against him whenever he wanted them to stop.
And they had to stop often. On the sixth floor, Fenrir charged after one of the apparent-Weasleys Draco didn't recognize. He slammed against the opposite hand rail, directly across from where Draco and Harry stood frozen. Harry raised his wand—whether he could cast a spell through the cloak, Draco wasn't sure—but Fenrir continued down towards his quarry.
They were a mess of tangled legs and knocking knees, and Draco was certain his feet were visible a few times as they descended one slow step at a time. Harry's arm kept Draco from going far, and Harry's constant presence at his back gave him the reassurance he needed to continue through the battle.
Harry had consistently bested Voldemort.
When they made it to the third floor, Harry gave him a slight squeeze, then began leading him away from the stairs. Draco didn't see what caused the shift in path, but didn't hear any fighting in their new direction. He focused on his breathing and keeping his grip on the cloak, not even willing to turn his head side to side.
"You know the one-eyed witch?" Harry whispered against Draco's ear.
Draco nodded.
"There's a passage out there."
Draco's time at Hogwarts would have been remarkably different if he'd been on decent terms with Harry. Even if they weren't friends, maybe he could have been a part of the escapades everyone constantly gossiped about. He might have known all about the hidden rooms, secret passages, and hidden chambers.
They turned two corners and didn't come across anyone. Harry pulled the cloak off of them, and Draco faced him. Seeing Harry look him over made him wary of the visible Mark on his arm, but when he angled it away, Harry took him by the arm, holding him there to lead him down to the statue.
"This one will lead you to Hogsmeade," Harry said. "It opens up in the cellar at Honeydukes."
"You're coming?" Draco said, halfway to insisting.
"No," Harry said. "I can't leave Ron and Hermione here."
"Potter."
Harry shook his head. "I told them everything before I left. They're out with the Order."
"They're outnumbered."
"I have to try."
"Idiot."
Harry raised a shoulder. "I prefer reckless. Dissendium."
He tapped his wand against the witch, and she inclined her head to him before sliding aside, revealing a dark passage. Draco hardly gave it a glance, because Harry's determination to walk into his death was entirely unthinkable.
"You can't fight everyone," Draco said, scraping out the words.
"And you both—" came a low drawl from behind them, "—need to consider your next steps carefully."
Draco and Harry turned on Snape, who approached them with a large parchment in hand. Harry pushed Draco behind him, wand aimed at Snape.
"It took me most of the year to decipher the enchantments on this," Snape said, lifting the parchment. "Fortuitous timing."
"You let this happen," Harry said.
"So did Draco."
"Dumbledore trusted you."
"You would be wise to take this and leave," Snape said, tossing the parchment at Harry's feet. With it closer, Draco made out the outline of a map.
Draco looked up from it and found Snape staring at him. "You know better than to run."
Harry flicked his wand at the map, wordlessly levitating it into his hand. He shifted so Draco was better hidden behind him.
"I can't," Draco said.
"You will. Do you believe he will let this insult slide? Who do you think will take the punishment for your disappearance?"
Lucius was here, fighting with the Death Eaters, but Narcissa was likely back at home. She didn't fight for Voldemort. She merely offered her home to him and his followers.
She was expendable.
"Don't listen to him," Harry said, glancing over his shoulder at Draco. "He's manipulating you."
"Your idealism won't do Draco any favors," Snape said. "He knows what will happen if he runs. When he comes crawling back, it will be after excruciating pain, and to a dead parent."
Voldemort had found Draco's letter asking Neesy to help Narcissa leave. Draco had already failed the dark lord by letting Harry mark him. Bellatrix had been proud of his efforts, but that could all be lost with one botched attempt to run.
Harry shook his head. "I should have seen it sooner," he said. "Let me help you now."
Draco tried to think of anything to say, but couldn't. He started to speak, but pressed his lips together. The scab running alongside his mouth tightened.
"Don't," Harry said, and faced him fully.
"I'm sorry."
Snape was right. Draco was being idealistic just imagining that he could leave without consequence. What would he actually do? Cut off his arm? Pretend to be fine with being the reason his mother was killed?
"Draco—"
"You're staying for your family," Draco said.
Harry couldn't begrudge Draco for doing the same.
Draco stepped away, holding Harry's gaze while he backed up to stand beside Snape. Draco had made the wrong choice at the beginning of the year, and despite every instinct screaming at him to correct it, he knew it was impossible.
"I believe I saw Granger and Weasley on the second floor," Snape said, nodding to the map.
Draco didn't understand why Snape was suggesting that Harry leave. Why wasn't he attempting to capture him? To drag him to the dark lord and finish what they had started?
Harry touched his wand to the witch again, closing off the exit. He held Draco's gaze until he swung the cloak back around him, vanishing from sight.
Snape put his hand on Draco's shoulder. "You and I will never speak of this exchange. Do you understand?"
Draco only nodded, gaze locked on where Harry had disappeared, Harry's disappointment etched into his mind.
Draco and Snape both had something to hide from this. Since Draco was no longer keeping a secret for Voldemort, there would be no reason for Voldemort to search his mind daily. As long as he gave no reason for suspicion, he could keep this secret.
"You'll be safe in the Great Hall," Snape told him. "Go wait there with the others."
Draco nodded and shrugged off Snape's hand. Seeing his path out of the pit he'd dug himself close left him drained and his energy waning. Everything went numb, and he welcomed it as he walked in a daze down the remaining staircases. He knew better than to let himself hope. If nothing else, this year should have taught him that much.
Draco went to the Great Hall, dark mark on display to all the Death Eaters guarding the student body. When he went inside, everyone would know what he'd done. But there was nothing he could do, or nothing he had the energy to do. The Death Eaters let him pass, and when the doors to the Great Hall were opened for him, every head turned.
Draco ignored them, but felt the weight of their attention with every step. He went to the Slytherin table to take his regular seat across from Pansy. The moment he sat, he felt his resolve deflate. He put his cheek to the table.
"Thank Merlin," Pansy whispered. "We were worried to death."
"I was in hospital," Draco said.
"They dragged in Pomfrey ages ago," Theo said, accusing Draco of lying without actually putting it to words.
"Are you hurt?" Goyle asked.
"Tired."
"Where's Thomas?" Pansy asked.
He left his head on the table, but peered up at Pansy, hoping his pointed look conveyed everything he had been forced to hide for the last half year. Pansy had already suspected.
"No," she said. "No."
Draco closed his eyes. The truth would eventually come out. Or it wouldn't and the official story would be that this was all Draco's doing. Right now, he was too exhausted to care what people thought. He had just watched Dumbledore die. That had been his fault.
This was all his fault.
For a while, no one said anything. There were murmurs from other tables, but nothing from Slytherin. It was quiet enough that Draco could drift, although not completely. He didn't want to think, didn't want to focus. If he could fully disappear, Draco would have welcomed the nothingness.
Pansy kicked him some time later, and he sat up when the doors opened.
Lord Voldemort walked inside, flanked by all of the Death Eaters who had been fighting in the halls. Draco didn't see them lead in any prisoners. If anyone survived, they must have fled, abandoning the castle.
If Voldemort found Harry, he would have paraded him in front of everyone, to prove he had been victorious. Draco sat upright, hoping it came across as being respectful, and not actually because he needed the angle to scan the Gryffindor table for Granger and Weasley.
Voldemort walked down the center aisle. He took his time and kept an even pace, but eventually took his place behind the headmaster's podium. He ran his hands over the surface, then lifted his gaze to the room.
He had full attention before he spoke a word.
"Hogwarts is safe," he began. "You will all carry out the rest of the school year with no interruptions."
Given the general shifting and grumbles, that wasn't the primary concern. The professors were all seated behind him, most of whom had wands leveled at them. Death Eaters lined the walls, and no one would have been thinking about tomorrow's lessons.
"Hogwarts is under new leadership, which the board of governors will be meeting on tomorrow to establish."
That must have been in the works all this time. Lucius would have been assigned to work on it, even if as a fugitive, he was no longer on the board. Many Slytherins had a parent on the board. The others could be strong armed.
"Anyone unable to accept this change, you may leave now," Voldemort said, and gestured to the door.
No one stood.
"No?" Voldemort said, and let the amusement fill the silence. "I assure you that I have no intention of spilling any magical blood tonight. You may have heard that I returned to destroy. That is a lie."
Voldemort's gaze roamed over the room, and almost everyone turned their face away when his gaze settled on them. A few people kept their heads facing forwards, namely the Gryffindors. Longbottom surprisingly didn't look down. Draco didn't bother looking back at Voldemort when his speech began again.
He wondered if Harry had gotten out.
"I have spent many months evaluating the curriculum here, and found it lacking. Your education is paramount to the future of wizarding kind. You will learn to harness your abilities without limitations."
Voldemort paused with each point he made, searching the room for reactions, including from the Slytherin table. When his gaze drifted past Draco, Draco cast his own gaze aside. The rooted fear of legilimency bubbled up in his throat.
"Hogwarts will no longer simply teach you spells or how to follow directions from a book. You will now learn how to embrace your desires for ambition," he said to Slytherin, "–your desire for true knowledge," to Ravenclaw, "–your desire to protect," to Hufflepuff, "–and your desire for virtuous strength," he said to Gryffindor. "These goals cannot be achieved by learning menial spellwork."
The professors at the table behind him tensed, and McGonagall had to be forced to sit by Macnair, who stood behind her. Voldemort didn't so much as glance back at the scuffle.
"The systems you have looked to have failed you. They have kept you weak and compliant. I desire to see each of you come into your full strength, which cannot happen while maintaining your norms."
Pansy lightly kicked Draco's leg. He met her gaze, and she mouthed, "Thomas?"
Draco nodded.
Her eyes widened, and she didn't look back to the front of the room.
"You will be led back to your common rooms," Voldemort went on. "And your professors will remain here to discuss the new curriculum."
The Gryffindors were led out first, not held at wandpoint, but with Death Eaters herding them out. There was a moment Draco thought Ginny Weasley would attack one of them when she was pushed ahead, but Longbottom put his hand on her arm.
Draco jumped when a hand landed on his arm nearly at the same time. He turned, but found his father behind him.
"Come with me."
Lucius pulled him to his feet. He tripped over the bench when Lucius gave him no time to protest, and gave Pansy a final look before being led out.
They stalled behind the loitering Gryffindors and Lucius kept checking back on Draco, as though he might try to run. Draco couldn't make sense of it. His father's nervous energy felt out of place given Voldemort's victory, but Draco hadn't known Lucius since his time in Azkaban. Since his release, Lucius had believed that Draco was given a suicide mission.
They got outside and kept a quick pace out towards the gates. Draco wanted to check in on his father, but knew it wouldn't go over well. Lucius was too desperate to risk crossing Voldemort. They had nearly lost everything.
"Your mother is waiting at the Manor," Lucius said as they neared the gate. "You are under orders to comply with the healer's efforts."
He was being sent home because of the scars?
"I can't apparate."
"I will take you then. The dark lord insists those scars be removed."
They were curse scars. Snape knew they couldn't be healed and had made no effort to hide that fact. What Harry had done, while accidental, was permanent.
Marked by the dark lord and the chosen one. Neither to be proud of.
"You have your wand?"
Draco nodded, barely having the time to prepare himself before the pull of apparition caught him. He stumbled when they landed at the entrance to the Manor, and Lucius kept hold of his arm to steady him.
Draco expected Lucius to return to the school without word; the order had already been given, after all. He took a step towards the stone path to the front door, only to be pulled back. Lucius caught Draco with a hand on either shoulder. He stared at Draco for a drawn out moment, not at the scars, but into Draco's eyes.
"You rose to expectations and did what I could not."
Draco's mouth tightened. His face heated under the praise, the likes of which he so rarely received. His breath fluttered in his chest.
He had done it, hadn't he? He'd aided the dark lord when no one else was worthy. He proved the Malfoy family could be of use. He'd been successful.
The success came laced with bitterness. What he'd done was hand Hogwarts over to the Death Eaters, gotten himself permanently marred, and led to Dumbledore's death. Then he walked back to the dark lord when Harry offered him a way out. How could any of this have been a success when every choice was wrong?
"Your mother is waiting for you," Lucius said, and released Draco with a squeeze. "I'm proud of what you have done."
Lucius disapparated in a loud crack before Draco's expression betrayed him. He walked numbly to the Manor, vision blurred and mind unfocused, clinging to instinct to keep him moving ahead. He became hyper-aware of the scars pulling at him as they healed, and with them scattered across his chest, lost his breath in the constriction.
His entire life, he'd been desperate to live up to the Malfoy legacy.
Narcissa opened the front door before Draco made it up the steps. Her gaze took him in before her hands could cup his face, and Draco saw every bottled emotion now reflected back at him.
"Mother—"
He couldn't go on.
He'd done it.
They'd won.
"You're safe now," Narcissa whispered, pulling Draco in so his head could rest against her shoulder, concealing the overflowing of everything he had been pushing down all year. She stroked his hair and said nothing of his weakness, only, "It's over."
He let the lie go unchallenged, and they remained in the fantasy long enough for Draco to regain his composure. He had been sent to a home that was no longer his. Before long, it would be filled with raucous Death Eaters and a victorious dark lord.
"Come," Narcissa said, gently pulling Draco to arm's length. "Let's attend to these scars."