When the noise from Potter's swarm of journalists has died down, I step out of the bathroom feeling useless and all of a sudden craving sleep. I get to the end of the corridor, ready to descend the stairs to the Dungeons when I hear an odd ticking noise. It's getting nearer.
I spin around and come to face to face with Rita Skeeter, who is wearing immaculate robes and an oily smile. Her nails flash and she has her quill and parchment out before I finish blinking in shock.
"Draco, darling," she says chummily, "what juicy tidbits have you got for me today? I'm just dying to know."
I feel an unexpected surge of dislike towards the woman I used to admire so much, unscarred from the war and hoping to profit from it. I mask it, knowing what she writes about people who challenge her.
"I hear You-Know-Who has been vanquished," I say, off-handedly. "Other than that, I've been out of the loop."
Skeeter laughs, false and high, and coils her arm around my shoulder, her fang-like nails digging just so into my bicep. Not enough to hurt, but there.
"Malfoy, Malfoy..." she patronises, "I am one of the most brilliant minds in the newspaper industry. Seeing Potter, face like thunder, storming from a bathroom? I wonder… what could have made him angry in there? Not a clogged toilet, surely? While everyone was crowding around the poor boy, stupidly expecting an answer to their half-baked questions, I simply stepped back to wait. My job was done for me as I saw you come out of the very same bathroom, not three minutes later."
Her eyes gleam in my direction, and her perfume cloys in my throat. My brain is whirring, knowing I can't tell her anything to do with Potter because she'll twist it. I try to put on a dumbfounded expression, like a slow child.
"I know there's a story here," she says, sweetly. "And I hope you'll tell me what it is, for your own sake and that of the public. What will it take? Money?"
My heart starts hammering adrenaline around my body. "There's no story... I was just using the toilet."
My lie is atrocious, and I know it. I can't think straight, with an insistent buzz of panic in the back of my head. If Potter's in the papers because of me, Skeeter will surely quote me with something, and if he sees it, there's no way he'll do anything for Mother. He'll think I'm up to my old tricks, and I couldn't blame him if he did.
Skeeter's giving me a you can do better than that look.
"There's nothing more I can tell you." I shrug, trying to project an air of innocence. Her nails dig deeper, and I gasp.
"Draco, I thought we were friends?" Her voice sounds falsely hurt. "I thought we could help each other out..."
I don't say anything, and she releases me roughly, expression malicious.
"No matter, Malfoy. I don't need your account of events, I'll simply report what I saw. That is, two very good looking boys coming out of a bathroom, looking flushed..." She begins writing, her quill almost a blur. "One the saviour of the wizarding world, one a Death Eater on trial for murder... The forbidden fruit angle... Lover's tiff... Kind of writes itself, don't you think?"
I lunge forward involuntarily, my eyes wide. I try to grab her quill but she expertly dodges me. "Shit-!"
"Hitting a nerve, am I?" She trills, joyfully. "See you at your trial, Malfoy."
Her wand flicks out and I feel a pulse of magic against my chest as her heels clatter away from me, sending me stumbling backwards. Regaining my footing, I run back through the archway to follow her.
I stop short. She's gone. How...?
Perhaps she Apparated, I think as I trudge back to my common room. Head throbbing, dangerously close to passing out, I ignore my parents who are embracing in the middle of my dorm. I climb into bed, and close the curtains. Mother's worried face disappears and is replaced with green hangings.
Before I can even toss and turn in turmoil, or tell my family how I've made everything worse, darkness enfolds me and I know nothing more.
A few hours later, I jolt myself awake in panic. Night has fallen, and it takes me a moment in the blackness to realise that I'm at Hogwarts, safe in bed, rather than where my nightmares took me. After I get over the feeling of the Dark Lord's looming, icy presence which has me frozen in terror, my muscles unlock and I can swing my legs out of bed.
My parents - in separate beds - are breathing low and steady. I look at them, just lumps under their respective duvets, and wonder how I'm going to break it to them that not only is Potter not going to testify on my behalf, but now will probably testify against us, because I managed to piss him off then ran straight into Skeeter to give her an exclusive interview. At least that's how Skeeter will write it.
I look at the clock on the wall and my heart gives an almighty lurch as I realise the trial is later today. It's past midnight. I can't put this off. I creep over to the lump that is Mother, and stand watching her for a moment. Suddenly, there's a noise behind me, from Father's bed. Heart thudding in the suddenly broken silence, I turn to listen.
"Nughh... Not Draco, send me... anyone but Draco... Kill me instead, anything, please..." He says, soft and strained, as his body twists rigidly, as though his muscles are locked and he's fighting it. Shame washes over me. I stand still in the renewed silence, heart pounding with resolution not to fuck this up.
I won't have to tell them. Maybe if I talk to Potter, he'll understand I didn't mean for it to happen, and he can probably even pull his strings at the Ministry to stop Skeeter publishing the article. She's probably been working on it all night, to have it in this morning's paper.
I silently tread across the room and up the stairs to the common room. The fire is dying, illuminating all the gleaming wood and dark furnishings like they're hunched in shadows, and a chill steals across me. Outside the room, the Aurors snap to attention when they see me.
"Where are you going?" The shorter, muscled one asks, igniting his wand.
"I need to speak to Harry Potter." I say boldly.
They look at each other, confused. They've clearly had their suspicions about what I might get up to after nightfall, but my openly approaching them with my plans obviously hadn't crossed their minds.
"Potter's under security," the taller, female Auror says. "What do you want with him?"
"I have... information." I lie, but it's close to the truth. "About a plot against him."
"You can tell us that." Says the shorter Auror. "We can pass it on."
"I'm not telling anyone else," I snap, "it's sensitive."
"Tell you what," says the taller, "we'll take you to his tower, and speak to the Aurors there, and they'll decide whether to fetch him for you."
I sigh, but nod my agreement even though I really don't have time for this.
"Wait, Bruckley-" says the shorter, "if we both go, who'll keep watch over the other Malfoys?"
The taller, Bruckley, thinks about this for a moment. "This could be part of a plan to compromise security. One of us could go with him, and the other could-"
"Could what? Be clobbered from behind by two full-grown suspects? You know the rule, Bruckley - one Auror per adult suspect."
"You're right." Bruckley scratches her chin. "I'll send them a message, one of them could come down here..."
"Send it straight to Potter." I order, patience in shreds. "Let him know Draco Malfoy has important news and it can't wait. He can bring an Auror if he feels so compromised."
Bruckley glares at me, not happy with taking orders, but acquiesces. A small silvery shadow bursts from her wand and flies off, leaving a trails of wispy silver behind.
"Impressive," nods the shorter Auror, "though why is your Patronus a rat?"
"It's a pygmy marmoset," Bruckley says sharply, "looks nothing like a rat."
"Well it's small like one. With a tail like one."
"It's the smallest monkey in the world, living in the Amazon basin and-"
He puts his hands up in a stopping motion. "Alright, alright. I only asked."
Bruckley rolls her eyes, and they fall on me. "You. You'll have to surrender your wand and allow your person to be searched."
"I don't have a wand." I speak through my teeth, regretting this fact. "Or any other implements."
"We'll see about that." The shorter one bustles over, running his own wand up from the back of my neck down the back of my body, and the same down my front. He forces my arms apart and goes down my sides too.
"Ah! Careful, you idiot, that tickles." I reprimand, trying not to wriggle.