He was running, running so fast he could hardly breathe, while steel grey rain pelted out of the sky. The ground beneath his feet was slimy with mud, the hem of his robes sopping, dragging him down. He slipped. Black fluid splattered over his pale face, silvery eyes almost translucent with fear.
What have I done? What didn’t I do?
A bony, white hand gripped his wrist, skeletal, spider-like fingers digging into the boy’s icy cold skin. Eyes like coal-pits bored down a cruel nose and a voice, barely audible in the howling storm, hissed “Get up”.
Barely having time to draw another breath, Draco suddenly found himself on his feet again. He blinked icy droplets of water from his eyes, white-blonde hair dark with rain and plastered to his forehead in sharp streaks. He stared ahead, trying to make out the figures in front of them through the haze of fog, but he could scarcely see the dark figure to his right, the one hauling him along by his wrist. The ground seemed to swallow him and he slipped again. A wizened, pleading face flashed before his eyes.
He jerked sideways, his limbs twisting and twitching as a sudden, intense pain seared through him. He heard a muffled voice shouting something ahead, then the icy tones of the figure directing a wand at Draco’s writhing feet. “Get up, or I’ll leave you here, you miserable little…”
He couldn’t hear any more; with his ears so close to the ground the splash of the rain drowned out the rest of the professor’s words. He wrenched at his nerves, not daring to close his eyes in case that frail face stared into them again. It didn’t matter what happened now, whether he was left here or not. He would gladly rot for eternity in this god-forsaken swamp rather than face what was waiting for him when they finally returned.
He had failed, Now there would be Hell to pay.
There was a shout behind them, and the dreadful curse that swarmed over him was dropped in an instant. Draco struggled to his feet and glanced back. A lone, small figure was toiling his way along the path to the gates, aiming curses at the escaping Death Eaters. Snape let go of the boy’s wrist, urged him on with another muttered threat, then shot a hex behind him and ran.
But he had missed, and their pursuer was gaining on them, shooting streams of light that used every last bit of energy he had. Harry would not let them escape - he couldn’t. Not after what they had done. If he could just delay Snape; the others would reach the gates in a matter of seconds, he knew that, but without Snape, Malfoy couldn’t leave. Stop Snape, and he would stop them both.
All but two of the Death Eaters had surpassed the entrance to Hogwarts and disapparated, the remaining pair were still fighting off Harry’s vengeful pursuit. He shot a half curse, then another - each time they were blocked by Snape. The professor’s white face furious, he spun round to confront the boy head on, shouting to Draco to keep running.
“How dare you…” Draco heard Snape cry, the vehemence in his voice frightening. Nothing, he thought, compared to what was waiting for him.
I don’t… I can’t… Not anymore…
Dumbledore’s words echoed in his mind; an offer of escape, protection. He had worked so hard for this goal, for the glory of serving the one that everyone feared. So many hours of strife and planning only to realise what he had done wrong.
And shouldn’t He have been grateful?! Every moment of my life for the past year devoted to His service, getting closer and closer to succeeding and yet every time punished for failure! I scraped and scrounged for Him - I risked my life… only to lose it at His hands.
What he wouldn’t give for an escape. Some way out, some way just to delay His anger, to find a way of redeeming himself - or ridding himself of the Dark Lord’s shadow once and for all.
He shook his head, his pale skin gleaming against the sullen sky. A few more steps and he was at the gates. He looked back. Snape was still duelling with Potter, while a faint orange glow was emanating from somewhere in the grounds, though the smoke of the fire could not reach him through the hammering rain. The other Death Eaters were gone - had by now reached their destination, preparing to report to the Dark Lord. He already knew what they would say.
The small figure of Potter had finally fallen to the ground, and Snape came tearing towards the gates. Draco was shaking with anxiety, his feet firmly planted in the sodden earth as the hazy silhouette grew nearer and nearer. Snape took hold of his right shoulder in a clamping grip, “Let’s leave before you cause any more trouble,” he whispered.
Dumbledore’s words swam once more through his memory.
This was it - they would disapparate and then join the other Death Eaters, to be mocked and jeered and finally punished. Not Snape, no, Snape would get all the glory, all the reward for my hard work! It isn’t right! It isn’t fair! He didn’t even believe I was good enough to apparate, that I needed a chaperone - He couldn’t give me the location in case I broke under torture. How dare He! I don’t deserve to suffer His punishment... I will be ridiculed by no-one.
In the split second before Snape lifted one foot off the ground, ready to disapparate, Draco dodged to the left.