Right away, Malfoy felt the Dark Mark burn. He gasped, clutching his left arm, and shook back his sleeve. Potter and Weasley stood over him, watching.
The Dark Mark was darker than Malfoy had ever seen. It was a deep, inky, fathomless black, and it was burning worse than ever before. Then it began to lose color, paling, becoming lighter every second, gray, to white, and then it was gone.
“It’s gone,” whispered Malfoy, stroking his arm in the place where it had once been. “I wonder-is it because he’s dead, or because I betrayed him?”
Potter shrugged. “In any case, we had better get going.” He turned to the Weasley girl, whose eyes were wide. “Ginny, go back up to the dormitory right now. Don’t tell anybody what happened here. Just pretend like it didn’t happen, alright?”
She nodded, her vivid red ponytail bouncing. “Okay,” she whispered. “But where will you go?”
Potter shrugged. “I’ll talk to McGonagall. Maybe she’ll know what to do.”
Weasley nodded. “Right.” She stroked Potter’s cheek tenderly. “Be careful, Harry.”
“I will be.” They leaned closer together, kissing. Malfoy turned away, feeling they might want some privacy.
Finally, Potter’s voice called, “I’m ready.”
Malfoy jumped to his feet. “Good.”
Potter strode over to the door and wrenched it open. “Come on, then. We’re going to speak to McGonagall.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I’ve got an idea. What if you go talk to McGonagall, and I’ll, er, keep watch?”
“Nice try. Come on.” Potter gestured impatiently to him and then walked out. When Malfoy didn’t follow, he turned. “Come on, Malfoy! We don’t have much time! I have no doubt your little Death Eater pals already know he’s dead. And it won’t be long until they find out who killed him.”
“Who, you?” asked Malfoy scornfully.
“Well, yes, I did. But you betrayed him. That’s why you’re in such grave danger. More than myself.”
Malfoy sighed heavily, realizing Potter was right. “Alright. Let’s go.”
The two of them stepped out into the hallway, which was completely deserted. “Let’s run,” Harry whispered. “We don’t want anybody to know you’re here.”
Malfoy nodded, and they broke into a run, twisting around familiar corridors. But Malfoy noticed some differences. The paintings’ inhabitants were all in their own place, not off visiting friends, and all looked at he and Harry rather warily as they sped past. On some walls were small gray devices with red blinking lights, obviously security precautions. All doors were closed and locked, and nobody, not even teachers, were wandering the hallways. It’s because of the war, Malfoy realized with a jolt. Because of the war, the war he’d wreaked havoc in, not even teachers were daring to set foot outside in the night. Before, this would have made him proud. But now, the revelation made him rather sick.
Potter stopped abruptly in front of a wooden door and knocked firmly. McGonagall’s voice called out, a little shakily, “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Professor,” Potter replied calmly, and soon the door was flung open.
Minerva McGonagall stood before them, her spectacles as square as ever, her black hair in a tight bun as always, but with touches of gray. Her face was more lined than it had been the previous year and she seemed to not be so tall and commanding. But maybe that was because Malfoy had grown.
McGonagall stared at Malfoy, then ushered them inside her office, latching the door tightly and sealing it with a spell. “Sit down, Potter, Malfoy,” she said, flicking her wand so that two straight-backed, hard chairs appeared. She seated herself behind her desk and asked, “Well, what is your business here?”
Potter leaned forward and said, “Professor…Voldemort’s dead.”
Her reaction was so intense that Malfoy almost fell out of his chair as she leapt up, positively shouting, “WHAT?” Her glasses slipped down her nose, but she didn’t push them back up. Instead, she turned to Malfoy and glared at him. “I suppose we should take this little wretch to Azkaban?”
“No!” said Potter so vehemently that McGonagall looked up at him in surprise. “No, Professor, you can’t take him to Azkaban. He…he helped me.” He glanced at Malfoy, cleared his throat, and then looked McGonagall straight in the eye. “I killed Voldemort. But Malfoy’s the reason he’s dead.”
Malfoy nodded slightly as McGonagall looked to him, not bothering to hide her disbelief. She sat back down and said rather weakly, “Oh…well…apparently thanks are in order.”
“It was nothing,” muttered Malfoy, beginning to regret he hadn’t stayed out in the hallway.
“Yes, it’s great news,” said Potter, “but we’ve got to run, Professor. The Death Eaters will be after us, no doubt.”
McGonagall nodded. “Well-you could stay in the Room of Requirement-”
“No, we couldn’t,” interrupted Malfoy shortly. “All of the Death Eaters know about the Room of Requirement. From…from the sixth year.” He looked towards the ground, his face flaming.
“Right.” McGonagall’s nostrils flared. “Well. I’m afraid I have no suggestions for you, Potter, Malfoy. The best I can tell you is to try the Forbidden Forest. I’m sure you could easily lose a group of Death Eaters in there.”
“But there’s werewolves,” interjected Malfoy, “and centaurs, and vampires, and giant spiders, and who knows what else!”
McGonagall raised her eyebrows. “That shouldn’t be a problem for the wizards who defeated Voldemort, should it?” she asked smoothly.
“Professor, Malfoy’s right. The Forest is too dangerous.”
“Fine.” McGonagall walked to the door, unlocked it, and pushed it open rather irritably. “You can stay the night in your old dormitories. But I won’t have you staying any longer, endangering the students. You’ll leave as soon as classes begin tomorrow.”
“Can’t I just go back to my office?” asked Potter. “I could set up beds in there-”
“No. Your office is too open. I want you two safe in dormitories. Now go. It’s late.”
Malfoy followed Potter out of McGonagall’s office and then turned left to go to the Slytherin common room. Potter turned left, calling over his shoulder, “Eight o’ clock sharp, be out by the greenhouses.” Malfoy didn’t respond, but Potter didn’t call out again.
Malfoy slowly made his way up to the Slytherin common room, trying to remember how to get there. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to get there. Once he got there he’d be interrogated, and some of them might tell their parents that he’d been there. No, it was probably best to avoid the Slytherins for now.
When Malfoy reached the common room’s concealed door, he walked on past it and instead went to the Room of Requirement, feeling a little guilty about disobeying McGonagall’s orders. But when he saw the soft bed waiting for him, he fell asleep almost immediately and didn’t think about it anymore.
Malfoy awoke quite suddenly the next morning, thinking, I need a clock. He instantly spied one on a nearby shelf; it read seven o’ clock. Malfoy yawned and reached up to rub his eyes-and found that his hands had been tied together.
With a little difficulty, Malfoy sat up. His ankles were bound together as well. His heart began pounding a little faster. He looked around, but nobody was in the room.
BOOM! Suddenly, a huge crash shook the room. Malfoy fell off of the bed and struggled back onto his feet. He heard noises outside-feet shuffling, glass breaking, screams, incantations…
It was a duel.
Malfoy shifted his hands over to his wand pocket to untie himself, but his wand was gone. Figures, he thought. I need a knife. He immediately glimpsed one sitting near the clock. He edged over to it, and after about fifteen minutes of manuevering, he cut open the ropes binding his hands. Then he untied his ankles and rushed out into the hallway.
There were people dueling everywhere. McGonagall was sending jets of red light at Fenrir Grayback, who kept dodging them. Kingsley Shacklebolt was in a fast-paced battle with Bellatrix Lestrange, and, over in a corner, Potter was fighting Lucius Malfoy.
As if in a dream, Malfoy started sprinting over to his father and Potter. Everything seemed to stop, everything but him, his father, and Potter, as he ran frantically towards them and they dueled fiercely. He heard his father cry, “Crucio!”; Potter writhed on the ground but did not call out, and soon was back on his feet, deep hatred set in his bright green eyes. As Malfoy watched Potter aim his wand and open his mouth, he intuitively knew what spell he was going to use-
“AVADA KEDAVRA!”
Malfoy watched in horror as his father crumpled on the ground. Potter turned away, looking a little disconcerted, and caught sight of Malfoy watching him. He winced, and then gestured impatiently to him. Malfoy didn’t follow but ran to his father.
Lucius was clearly dead. His white-blond hair that Malfoy had inherited was disheveled and messy, his cold gray eyes widened slightly with…shock? Pain? Fear?
Malfoy didn’t weep. He grabbed his father’s wand from the ground and looked around wildly for Potter. He wanted to kill Potter, tear him limb from limb…
“DRACO!”
Malfoy’s head jerked up; he saw his aunt Bellatrix running towards him, her wand raised, and all thoughts of killing Potter were driven from his mind. She’s going to kill me. He ran as he’d never run before, leaping over bodies, dodging jets of light. He ran until he reached the heavy doors, pushed through them, and emerged out into the cool morning air.
Potter was ahead of him, running into the forest. It didn’t occur to Malfoy to stop running. He followed Potter into the forest. “POTTER! WAIT UP!”
Potter skidded to a stop just inside the forest and Malfoy quickly caught up. He turned and saw about seven Death Eaters sprinting towards them. “APPARATE!” he roared; Potter clamped a hand over his mouth. “Shh! Don’t scream it, or they’ll follow us! Apparate to Diagon Alley. We’ll decide what to do there.”
The last thing Malfoy saw before he Apparated was Bellatrix Lestrange screaming, “AVADA KEDAVRA!”
The beam of green light never hit him.
___________________________________________________
REVIEWS WELCOME!