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I Suspect Nargles by foolondahill17

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Story Notes:

Updates may be sporadic.

Dialog you recognize is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling.
Chapter Notes: This chapter came out a whole lot…darker than I first anticipated. The rest should be a tad more cheerful.

Draco had barely stepped out of the fire when he felt the familiar lurch in his stomach that meant his aunt was his only welcoming committee.

Bathed in shadows, leering and unhinged, Bellatrix cackled, –Go downstairs to see our new guest, Draco!”

Draco felt empty nausea sweep over him. Bellatrix’s laughter reverberated off of the wall, sounding cavernous and unending. He stared at her for a moment, the heat and dizziness of his floo passage dissipated into the shadows of the room. His house didn’t look familiar. Furniture was displaced. The lamps glowed lightless and eerie. Portraits of his white-face relatives glared at him from the walls, looking for all the world like ghosts.

–Another one?” Draco addressed his words to the shadow that had just walked through the door, his father. He felt sweat bead at his hairline.

His father was almost unrecognizable, like the house and the world. His hair was long and unkempt. There were dark bruises under his eyes and covering his jaw. He was filthy -- something Draco was not accustomed to. Draco tried to avoid him.

–The Lovegood girl,” said Lucius Malfoy hoarsely.

–The Dark Lord’s given us strict orders to keep her here,” cried Bellatrix delightedly. –He has use of her.”

Draco felt another pitch in his stomach. –Lovegood’s here?” said his lips. –You brought her here?” It had been barely twenty minutes since she’d been dragged off the Express, shrieking as Amycus Carrow yanked her hair. Draco had never imagined Luna Lovegood could look frightened; she’d always looked so…serene. The knowledge that that same girl was now below his feet in the cellar made him -- made him feel sick.

Bellatrix was laughing. Draco wondered if it was at him. He had made sure to keep his face set, had not displayed emotion. Only his thoughts had taken the temporary flight but he -- he could hide that from her, couldn’t he? She had taught him occlumency…. Even so, he resolved not to allow such thoughts to trespass over his mind again. Just in case.

In case it wasn’t just Bellatrix next time.

–Yes,” croaked his father, –she’s here.”

–Why?” said Draco. –Why not Azkaban?”

–Her father’s been causing trouble,” whispered Lucius Malfoy; even his voice was unrecognizable. –The Dark Lord wants her within his reach. She’s a friend of Potter.”

Despite his resolution, Draco found his thoughts straying yet again. They would torture her. She would scream. She didn’t know anything about Potter. No one knew anything about Potter. There wasn’t any use keeping her here . She’d be just as much use in Azkaban.

Draco knew that wasn’t true. Azkaban was reserved only for useless Mudbloods who didn’t know anything. The Dark Lord couldn’t risk the important prisoners’ minds being eaten away by dementors. He couldn’t risk their thoughts and memories being damaged. He needed to prey on their humanity to get them to talk. Azkaban was used only after they were broken.

There was no escaping it. Even at Hogwarts Draco couldn’t get away. Screaming in the hallways and classrooms, reverberating off his skull in his nightmares…. Stupid first years who hadn’t sense enough to get out of the way. Stupid, worthless blood-traitors who had to play the hero, who hadn’t sense enough to know it was useless --

Draco had realized it was useless long ago…it felt like long ago. When that -- that old man had offered him sanctuary only to be tipped over the edge of the Astronomy Tower. There was no use struggling, but they continued to fight -- writhing and screaming on the floor in agony time and time again….

–What is it, Draco?” purred Bellatrix. –You don’t like the thought of her here? You think her screams will disturb your sleep?”

Draco felt cold and sick. He fought the bile that rose in his throat. –No,” he said. He couldn’t manage any more. He fought back the thoughts in his brain like it was a creeping disease, a curse, a physical malady. –Keep her here. It doesn’t matter.”

Whatever the Dark Lord wishes. Who was Draco to go against the will of the Dark Lord? Who was he to fight -- to cast his family into the agony of punishment and death only when they’d begged -- His mother, bloody and beaten on the ground, his father groveling like an animal…just as Draco had been warned in his dreams. He was no one to fight. He had no choice, hadn’t ever any choice.

–Wouldn’t you like to meet her?” Bellatrix continued. –She’s been crying…asking us what we’ve done to her father.” She laughed again, a wild, chilling sound that, no matter how many times it had pierced his ears, Draco had not grown accustomed to. She sounded like an animal.

–Your mother’s in her room, Draco,” said Lucius. –She’s waiting for you.”

Draco met his father’s eye and seized the merciful diversion. He turned on his heel to go.

–Don’t you want to see Lovegood, Draco?” Bellatrix shrieked manically to his back. –Wouldn’t you like to ask her what she knows about Potter?” Draco, despite his strongest efforts to stifle it, felt a shiver run up his back. He remembered Rowle and the others, and the surge of heat from his wand, emanating from the Cruciatus Curse. Surely they wouldn’t -- not this time -- he didn’t think he could stand to do it -- not to her.

He didn’t turn around and Bellatrix laughed again from behind his back. The key to Occlumancy was to close his mind, to be self-aware at all times. But Draco felt uncomfortably penetrated as he turned the corner, feeling his aunt’s eyes on the back of his head even as cold rock and mortar hid him from her gaze.

Bellatrix had told him she’d been crying, but there was no trace of tears on her cheeks. She was pale, but looked completely composed. The darkness of the cellar, instead of swallowing her up as it did Ollivander, seemed to only serve as a backdrop -- as if she was one of his dead relatives, sitting in her frame of tarnished silver.

Draco felt sick. He didn’t know why he had come. She meant nothing to him. He couldn’t seem to make himself leave.

–Are they going to hurt me?” she asked, her voice a whisper, soft and oddly soothing -- as if it belonged to the melody of a song. She didn’t seem to move her lips. It was as if her voice was in his own head. He didn’t recall he’d ever heard it before, yet its ripples and undulations sounded vaguely familiar. Perhaps she had visited him in a dream.

He couldn’t answer her. His voice was hidden somewhere in the twist of his throat.

–Have you come to let me out?” breathed her voice through the shadows. –Can I go home?”

–Yes,” cackled Bellatrix, sounding so near that it was as if she too was inside Draco’s head. Draco turned in shock to find her but she was nowhere in the cellar. –Let her out, Draco. You know you want to…weakling…. You’ll feel the Dark Lord’s wrath the same as her --”

–Please…. Please, Draco. Let me out. Let me go. I want to go home. I’m afraid….”

–Do as she says, Draco. You traitor -- you filth. Let her out and pay the price.”

–Don’t let them hurt me. Please…. Save me…. Don’t -- don’t let them….”

–Do it, Draco! Make her scream! Take out your wand --”

–Please don’t…. You’re the only one who can save me. You’re not like them. Please, don’t…. Please, no….don’t!”

Draco struggled awake. His chest was tight. He couldn’t catch his breath. His sheets were wrapped around his legs, imprisoning him. He caught the gasp of alarm, of fear and torture that threatened to leap out of his throat just in time.

Around him the room was dark -- void, safe…. His heart was hammering against his ribs, so hard it almost hurt. His chest hurt. His head hurt. Sweat ran down the back of his neck and trickled down his spine, making him shiver.

Lovegood’s face hovered on the forefront of his mind. He swallowed the bile that had gathered in his throat and shakily lay back on his pillows. The key to Occlumancy was to close his mind, to always be self-aware -- to shut down his innermost thoughts. He lay on his back and stared at the shadow bathed ceiling…and tried again.

Snow drifted down from the sky and collected like feathers on the ground. Draco remembered, when he had been young, how he used to relish the snow. He enjoyed the cold. He had liked the way the gentle pellets of ice collected in his hand and melted into steaming droplets of water when they lighted on his face. He liked the way the dark gray and brown of the hedges looked covered in the snow. He liked the bight behind the wind and the sting it left in his cheeks.

Now he huddled by the weak flames in the grate, emanating sickly heat into the drawing room. Everything was weak, nothing held warmth. He shivered under layers of sweatshirts and sat stiffly by the fire, hating the snow and chill.

He wondered if it was cold in the cellar.

His hands held a schoolbook he was supposed to be pursuing. He placed the book down next to him on the chair and flexed his fingers, ashen gray against the shadow drenched room. His fingers were long, spidery, trembling…cold. Everything was cold.

When he was young he used to enjoy this time. It meant warm, rich smells wafting from the kitchen and flickering lighted candles. Green wreaths would hang on the mantles with red bows and gold baubles. It was Christmas Eve, Draco wondered if that was supposed to mean something.

Bellatrix was upstairs. His father was in the study. His mother was in her room. For once Draco was alone. All was quiet. The silence was haunting.

Slowly Draco became aware of another sound, hiding behind the dying crackle of the flames. It was gentle and unrecognizable, yet strangely familiar. Draco raised himself in his chair. He felt his muscles go slowly taught.

The sound whispered through the room. Draco felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up on end, his back erupted into gooseflesh. His hands folded into fists. He clenched his teeth.

The sound grew louder. It reverberated off the ceiling and walls. It echoed in the cracks, against the walls of Draco’s skull. The crackle of the fire disappeared, along with the beating of his heart.

It was a song.

Broken, disjointed, out-of-tune, but nonetheless recognizable as a song. Her voice was high-pitched and fluty.

It was a Christmas carol.

Something Draco had heard every year since he could remember. It was a somber, soulful tune that spoke of joy, love, peace, faith -- It hit Draco like a knife, ripped at his heart with such excruciating agony that he wanted to scream.

There was a scattering of footfalls against the hardwood floor and Draco leapt from his seat. His mouth dropped open. To say what, he did not know. Perhaps No, let her sing--

His mother appeared in the open doorway, her face drawn and pale and utterly horrified. She cast him a frightened glance before racing across the room and out of sight. He heard her footsteps as she clattered down the steps to the cellar. Almost unconsciously, Draco tripped over his feet to follow her.

It was darker down the steps then it had been in the drawing room. Slowly the darkness enclosed them. His mother’s white robes were swallowed in the lightlessness. Draco’s feet followed the familiar way down the stairs and halted when they reached level ground.

His mother had taken out her wand. Suddenly a bead of blinding light erupted at the end of it and the door they faced swung open with a creak. The singing stopped.

Draco’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the unsteady mix of light and dark. Something stopped him from entering the room, but he hovered uncertainly on the edge of the threshold. His hand found its way to the doorframe, cool metal that stung his flesh, and he wrapped his fingers around any kind of handhold he could grasp.

Lovegood was sitting in the corner of the room. Just as she had in his dream, her white skin and hair seemed to glow in the darkness of the cellar. She looked shockingly untouched. Ollivander groveled beside her, gray and invisible against her radiance.

Draco’s mother stalked into the room. Lovegood stared patiently up at her, not standing, not flinching.

–Isn’t it Christmas Eve?” said a voice, soft and cracked. Her voice was strangely also like the one in his dream. Lovegood’s lips opened again: –I’ve tried to keep track of the days. But it’s possible I’ve made a mistake --”

There was a crack as his mother slapped Lovegood’s cheek and drew her hand back for another blow. Draco flinched. His fingers tensed around the doorframe.

Ollivander murmured weakly in protest.

–Stupid girl!” hissed Narcissa Malfoy in a voice Draco had only ever heard her use on filth. –Don’t you know she’ll kill you if you keep that up?”

Lovegood raised a hand to caress her cheek. Her eyes were wide and curious.

–I’m sorry,” she said simply.

Narcissa’s hand dropped to her side. She turned on her heel and swept away. She tightly grasped Draco’s arm in her fingers, nails biting into his flesh, and pulled him with her.

Longbottom’s face was red, screwed up in anger and practically steaming. Draco felt the cold rock pressed up against his back, felt Longbottom’s paws tightening on his shoulders.

–Where is she?” Longbottom hissed, his face inches from Draco’s so that he could feel the hot stream of Longbottom’s breath on his face. –You know, Malfoy! You and your lot have her locked up somewhere -- tell me where you’ve got her or so help me I’ll take out my wand --”

–Get off of me, Longbottom,” Draco spat. He felt Longbottom’s hands trembling. Draco’s eyes flickered to the right and to the left. Somehow he had managed to find himself in an empty corridor.

–You pure-blood filth!” Longbottom gasped. His eyes were shining in wrath. Draco had never imagined Longbottom could hold so much pent up power -- –Luna’s worth five-hundred of you!”

Draco felt his lip rise in a sneer, felt the words leave his mouth because it was habit and he could not stop them, –Get your hands off of me, Longbottom, if you know what’s good for you.”

The hold Longbottom had on Draco’s shoulders loosened, –You tell me where she is, Malfoy! I swear -- if you’ve hurt her -- if she’s been hurt -- I swear….”

–What?” said Draco’s voice, –anything you do to me will be paid back tenfold in time. Perhaps they’ll take it out on your friend --”

Something hard plowed its way into Draco’s stomach. He felt his breath leave him. He would have doubled-over had Longbottom’s other hand not still pressed him against the wall.

Draco knew he could raise the alarm by yelling. Longbottom was on the Carrows’ list. He would get worse by far than Draco could give him. They would make him scream, like they had made Lovegood scream -- and scream. And Lovegood was singing--

Longbottom’s fist smashed into Draco’s face. Draco felt his head snap backward and crack the stone wall. Longbottom’s other hand released him and Draco slumped to the floor.

Draco felt the slight vibrations through the floor as Longbottom marched away. Draco grasped the cobblestone floor with his fingers. There wasn’t much pain, just heat. The back of his head was burning, his nose was on fire. His face fell against his knees and he felt hot blood seep through his robes. He shut his eyes against the explosion of lights gone off in his head.

Slowly he took a deep breath. His ribs ached as his lungs expanded and the growing pain in his head grew sharper and piercing. His eyes flickered open and the dim light of the hallways made him feel dizzy. He leaned his back against the wall and slowly, painfully, pushed himself into a standing position. He held one shoulder against the wall as he shuffled down the corridor.

There would be questions asked. People would want to know how he’d been hurt -- who had done it. Longbottom had done it. Draco could tell them simply. It was a chance to get back.

Longbottom, who was looking for information on Lovegood. Longbottom wanted to make sure she wasn’t hurt, was still alive. Lovegood who was imprisoned beneath the floors of Draco’s house--

Draco slumped into the Hospital Wing where Madame Pomfrey repaired his nose with an impatient flick of her wand. Her attitude suggested that Draco disserved what he got. Draco sneered at her, took out his own wand to clean his robes, and left.

The door swung shut behind him.

Easter came all too soon. The school year seemed to be flashing before Draco’s eyes, along with hazy rumors of what was going on outside -- cackled threats from the Carrows -- hastily scribbled notes from his mother. The war waged on. It slipped through his fingers in an unstoppable trickle of sand.

Draco arrived in the drawing room accompanied by a roar of green flame. He brushed ashes off the shoulders of his robes. His mother bustled forward. She looked more pale and drawn than she had seemed when he last left her. She was thin and wavering, as if part of her had vanished over the months.

–Bring this down to the cellar,” she said by way of greeting. She thrust a wooden tray, holding plates of dry bread and meats into his hands.

Draco fumbled for a hold on it. His fingers seemed suddenly unwieldy. His mouth opened to form some sort of protest. Servant’s work. What about Wormtail? But his mother cut him off:

–He’s in there,” she hissed, nodding to the closed door of the adjoining room. Her voice held a carefully restrained sound that Draco had never detected before. It was almost as if she was suppressing hysterics. There was no need to ask who was he.

His fingers found their way around the curved edges of the tray. He felt something clench in his chest and he walked to the cellar stairs without a sound.

The door behind them opened. –Draco,” slithered a voice across the room. It crept in the cracks and crevices of Draco’s mind; it wound itself about his will. Close his mind, shrieked a voice in Draco’s consciousness. His fingers went numb so that he almost dropped the tray. –Welcome back from Hogwarts. Come, join us.”

Draco fought the nausea rising in his throat and turned around. The red eyes glowed in the shadows, overtaking the gleam of white skin. The red eyes met Draco’s gray, met them and caught them. Draco felt the spidery fingers enclose about his mind, probing, searching --

–What have you to hide, Draco?” hissed the voice across the empty expanse of the room, the twisting spaces between shadows and reality. Draco’s heart thudded in his chest. The plates on the tray rattled as he fought the trembling in his hands.

Slowly Draco lowered his defenses. He hadn’t any choice. He couldn’t hide it. There wasn’t any point. He released the thoughts bounding beneath the layers of his mind. He relaxed his resolve. He fought the block in his throat but still his voice came out a whisper, –Nothing, My Lord.”

The Dark Lord smiled. He pierced Draco’s mind with his own. Draco winced. His stomach clenched. The Dark Lord turned with a wrench and Draco was released.

–Come,” said the Dark Lord.

Draco’s mother faltered forward and relieved Draco of the tray. Her eyes flitted across Draco’s face, wide, blue eyes that burned with something Draco could not recognize. His mother, too, released him, and Draco moved to follow the Dark Lord into the next room.

Draco took his place beside his father, who did not acknowledge his arrival. Strangely Draco felt cheated. His mother had been there to meet him. He felt disgust towards his father, whom seemed even more unkempt and disheveled since Christmas. It was his fault …. The thoughts surprised him. He had never felt that way towards his father before. He had felt dignity, pride, shame at his expense, but never contempt.

–I am going abroad,” hissed the Dark Lord. –I request --” the snake that the Dark Lord kept by his side was winding its way around an empty chair, –that I should not be summoned for anything less than what I deem…imperative.”

The meeting went on. Reports were given. The snake slithered onto the table and flicked its tongue at Draco. He tried to avoid looking at it. He thought of what, perhaps, the Dark Lord had seen when searching his mind. What treacherous thoughts had Draco allowed to stray there? He thought uneasily of Lovegood -- crumpled beneath his feet and a captor of his dreams -- obsessive, unending, inescapable.

Draco could feel the Dark Lord’s eyes on the side of his head. He was frozen to his place, terrified to guard his thoughts but terrified should the Dark Lord read them. A creeping pressure grew in the corners of his mind, infecting it, searching it for any shadow of doubt -- of treachery.

–Draco.” The voice startled Draco to look up. It was his mother’s voice, emanating from behind the door. The muscles in his legs flexed to stand, to flee, but he remember to look to the head of the table first, where the Dark Lord’s eyes were watching him.

–Yes, Draco,” said the Dark Lord silkily, hiding a sneer and contempt, threat of punishment. –You may go to your mother.”

The Death Eaters around the table laughed, hiding snickers that breathed of so much more than mockery, but malice. Draco stood. His eyes flickered to the Dark Lord’s face but flickered away before they could again be seized.

The door swung shut behind him, not hiding him from the Dark Lord’s gaze, he knew.

His mother was waiting with the tray.

–Go,” she whispered, and placed it into his arms once again. –Stay with me when you come back up.”

The task again breathed of petty servant’s work but half of Draco felt unreachable gratitude towards his mother. Her eyes gleamed of understanding, Draco knew not from where she had grasped it.

He tread the stairs slowly. They were not people down there, he had decided some time ago. They were no longer people -- never had been people. They were clanking skeletons, reflections of people, a mockery. They were tools, nothing more than something to help the cause. Sometimes they were information, sometimes they were weapons, but they did not have souls.

He would drop the tray inside the door. He would not linger. He would not look. He would not think that it was fellow human beings he was feeding. They needed sustenance because they needed to be kept alive. They were of use and needed to be kept alive. They were not people.

He pushed open the door slowly. The grating shriek of its hinges pounded against his eardrums. It was dark in the cellar, unreached by light so that if a flame was lit Draco was sure it would be stifled from the utter heaviness of the shadow.

–Stay away from the door,” his voice said, not thinking. It was a necessity, a habit. He crouched and slid the tray across the ground.

–You’re back,” said a voice in the darkness. It was a voice still recognizable, despite its parchedness and hidden despair beneath its undulations. –Is it Easter?”

Draco backed up slowly, curiously unwilling to expose his back to the shadows, the ghosts. His eyes flickered upward of their own accord and he caught a glimpse of lifeless white -- she.

His eyes flew back to the ground. He would not linger. He would not look.

It was a torturous system that grew into agonizing habit. Her voice hurt, so gently wafting through the air and into his ears. He didn’t look at her. He refused to look at her.

She was pallid and diminished, like her outer shell had evaporated into the walls, leaving her shrunken and ghost-like, an echo. She was always looking at him. He could feel her. He would not meet her eyes, because they held disease. They held pleading and emotion, and irrefutable evidence that she did, in face, have a soul.

Very rarely would she speak, but sometimes she would:

–Please, are Ginny and Neville alright? Wait -- don’t go! You know -- you know that they’re alright.” Her voice was broken, cracked and desperate, and unnatural to emanate from such a source when she should rightly be full, and whole, and healthy. They -- Draco -- had stolen that from her.

–Tell me! Please, don’t leave…. What does grass feel like? Please…. Is the sky still blue?” As he turned his back it was again as if her voice breathed from inside his own head. –Answer me! No! Don’t leave -- you’re not like them. I know -- I know you’re not. You lowered your wand --” The door clanged shut.

Draco fled to his room where he perched himself on the edge of his bed and realized he was shaking. He tried not -- not to think.

Granger was screaming. Bellatrix was cackling in a perverse duet of fury and delight. She -- she enjoyed this. Weasley was bellowing from the floor below them. Potter -- Draco knew it was him -- was curiously silent. Draco pressed his back up against the wall, unaware that he was shirking away.

He’d never heard Granger scream -- not like this. He’d never seen her writhe on the floor in agony, screaming for it to stop, for death. Draco had seen plenty of people tortured. He had seen them killed. But -- not like this….

‘–It isn’t the real sword!”’ Granger shrieked, her voice hysterical, desperate, high-pitched and pitiful. Draco clenched his fists and felt his stomach twist. He felt like he might be sick. ‘–It’s a copy, just a copy!”’

‘–A copy?”’ said Bellatrix, her voice almost a triumphant crow because Granger was whimpering. ‘–Oh, a likely story!”’ she raised her wand again. Draco knew she didn’t care if Granger was telling the truth or lying. She wanted her to scream. Bellatrix only wanted to cause pain, to break her --

–Bella,” said Draco’s mother quietly, firmly and laced with warning.

‘–But we can find out easily,”’ said Draco’s father excitedly. His face shone with sweat in the flickering candles of the chandelier. He ran his tongue over his gray lips in eagerness, ‘–Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not.”’

Draco felt something in his stomach jump in shock. He had not expected to be called upon. He had half-forgotten he was present. It seemed as if he had been watching the scene from a place apart; he felt detached. He was brought back to the present with a painful jerk.

To go down to the cellar, retrieve the goblin, to feel Potter and Weasley’s eyes on the back of his head, to be in the presence of Lovegood -- whom would be glowing apart from the rest, painfully there and watching him –

His mother and father were watching him. Bellatrix was breathing hard, glaring at him with fevered eyes. Granger was slumped on the floor, hand grappling at the floor, and gasping for air.

Draco swallowed and felt his saliva scrape painfully down his throat. He turned and stumbled to the stairs of the cellar. His wand was suddenly grasped in his hand. They might jump him. They were desperate. Draco was desperate.

He reached the door and grasped the cool handle in his empty fist. The hinges squealed and his voice came from between his lips, ‘–Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don’t try anything, or I’ll kill you!”’ Kill you-- he would kill them. He would have to kill them. Bellatrix would get there first and make them scream, too….

He did not look. He did not linger. The goblin was sitting on the ground. Draco crept into the cellar and pulled it to its feet. It was a disgusting creature. It was covered in wrinkled skin and seemed disoriented. Draco didn’t want to touch it. He dragged it with him as he moved back toward the door.

His eyes swept the prisoners, passed Weasley who looked red and distressed, passed Potter whose face was still blotchy and swollen, passed the other boy who looked terribly familiar -- another schoolmate -- passed Ollivander whom was crumpled on the ground, to Lovegood. She was pale and luminescent. Her eyes were wide and terrified --

Terrified.

The door closed with a crack that echoed in the stairwell and in Draco’s skull. Noises seemed louder. Draco could hear everything as if it was pointed directly into his ears. His heart was thumping in his ears.

Draco hoisted the goblin up the stairs. It seemed either unwilling or unable to use its legs. Draco reached the top of the flight and deposited the animal as Bellatrix’s feet. Draco looked away from Granger and retreated back to the wall.

–Please, Griphook…” said a voice. A voice unlike any Draco had ever heard because it was so unlike hers-- unlike Granger’s. It was not the chirped, clipped tone she used for answering questions. It was not the disdainful voice she used when confronting him. It was not the voice of a seventeen-year-old girl. It was cracked and desperate, begging, pleading -- Draco wanted to clap his hands over his ears.

Granger was screaming again. Bellatrix was bellowing.

Draco shut his eyes but forced them open again because he couldn’t let anyone notice. He could not display weakness.

Bellatrix was brandishing her knife at the goblin. The goblin was muttering something and Granger was again lying face down on the rug. She was barely moving, trembling slightly, and her hand was twitching.

There was a loud crack from beneath their feet. Draco jumped.

‘–What was that?”’ said Draco’s father. ‘–Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar?”’

Draco felt his hands shaking. Everything was very still, nothing moved, nothing made a sound. The air around them waited.

‘–Draco --”’ said his father hoarsely, ‘–no, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!”’

There was silence. Draco could hear his heart beating in its midst. Wormtail arrived in the drawing room and disappeared down to the cellar. His voice murmured something, the door creaked open, there was a pause --

‘–What is it, Wormtail?”’ said Draco’s father.

‘–Nothing!”’ screeched a voice up the stairs. ‘–All fine!”’

Bellatrix turned back to the goblin. She thrust the ruby encrusted sword into its paws and screeched, –Tell me! Is it a fake?”

–Griphook --” whispered Granger.

Bellatrix turned her wand on her in a spasm and hissed, –Do not speak, Mudblood.”

Granger screamed again, thrashing violently on the floor. It stopped. Draco leaned against the wall. Momentarily he was afraid that he, too, had shouted. In his mind he was yelling. Granger’s scream was echoing in his head, pulsing with his blood, filling his veins with cold.

‘–Well?”’ spat Bellatrix to the goblin. ‘–Is it the true sword?”’

‘–No,”’ it said. ‘–It is a fake.”’

‘–Are you sure?”’ Bellatrix’s back was to Draco, but he could see her shoulders heave with barely concealed excitement. ‘–Quite sure?”’

The goblin nodded and the tightened its fingers around the sword, ‘–Yes.”’

‘–Good,”’ said Bellatrix. She straightened up from the floor. Her manner was no longer wild, deranged, but she sounded unexpectedly matter-of-fact. Triumphant. She ran her knife across the goblin’s face. ‘–And now we call the Dark Lord.”’

Her fingers brushed aside her sleeve and caressed the dark, twisting brand on her arm in a fluid motion. The mark upon Draco’s own arm seethed with unexpected fury. Draco fought the urge to grasp his forearm in his hand. His arm burned for longer than usual. Draco felt terrible misgiving erupt into his being. The Dark Lord was angry. Potter was here --

‘–And I think,”’ Bellatrix continued, prodding Granger with her toe, ‘–we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her.”’ Draco felt his stomach lurch and there was a shout --

‘–NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”’

Draco whirled about. There was a flash of red hair and blinding light. Draco hadn’t time to think what had happened. His wand was in his hand again and he was shouting the first curses that came to mind. There was the sound of shattering glass and scuffling. Draco dropped to the ground for some kind of cover. Everyone was shouting. Draco’s father was lying lifeless by the fire --

‘–STOP OR SHE DIES!”’

Draco felt his own heart stammer, as if Bellatrix’s threat was intended for him. He slowly straightened up and turned to look at her. Granger was limp in Bellatrix’s arms. Bellatrix had her knife pressed to Granger’s throat.

Stop or she died. She was going to die. They were all going to die -- the mark on Draco’s arm was still seething. The Dark Lord was coming.

‘–Drop your wands,”’ Bellatrix hissed. ‘–Drop them, or we’ll see exactly how filthy her blood is!”’

Weasley and Potter stood, speechless and unmoving. They were the only of the rest of the prisoners. Draco wondered where the others had gone. He thought hazily of the noises they had heard earlier. He wondered how they had gotten wands.

‘–I said, drop them!”’ Bellatrix shrieked.

‘–All right!”’ Potter yelled hastily, and his wand clattered to the floor. Weasley’s, too, landed at his feet.

‘–Good,”’ said Bellatrix. ‘–Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!”’

The Dark Lord was coming. Potter -- Potter was dead. Everything would be over…. It took a moment for Draco to realize Bellatrix had given him an order. He tripped over his feet in his haste to do as she said.

He bent at Potter’s and Weasley’s feet. It was Bellatrix’s wand by Potter’s, Wormtail’s by Weasley. Draco wondered what they had done to Wormtail. It had all been so silent. Everything had happened so quickly.

‘–Now,”’ said Bellatrix, when Draco had straightened up and backed away, ‘–Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight.”’ Bellatrix stopped speaking. She raised her head to the ceiling, where a rattling sound was emanating into the room.

Draco looked up. The crystal chandelier above them was shaking. Cracks were beginning to spread into the ceiling from its support. Draco realized what was happening a second before it began to fall --

Bellatrix shrieked. The goblin shouted feebly. There was a shattering crash and shards of glass rocketed into the air. Draco tried to turn out of the way but a something leapt at his face. His hands flew to cover his eyes. He felt blood trickle from between his fingers.

Someone was suddenly on him. Draco heard Potter’s frantic breathing in his ears. Potter grappled for the wands in Draco’s hand and Draco struggled for a frantic second. He felt his fingers go limp and Potter pulled away. Let him have the wands…let them get away…they’d die sooner or later…it didn’t matter. The Dark Lord was coming --

There was a flash of red light, visible even from behind Draco’s fingers. Someone’s hand tightened around Draco’s arm and he was lurched away. His mother pushed him slightly and hissed, –Draco, get out --” She suddenly let go and her voice shrieked, ‘–Dobby!”’

Draco pulled his hands away from his face and brushed away the blood trickling down his forehead away from his eyes.

‘–You! You dropped the chandelier --?”’ said his mother.

A creature with abnormally large eyes and ears and ill-fitting skin stepped into the room. Draco choked on his breath because it was ridiculous -- unthinkable. It was Dobby, the disgusting little house elf -- their house elf….

‘–You must not hurt Harry Potter,”’ said Dobby shrilly. He was shaking. He looked terrified. Draco stared at him. He had noticed his absence, of course, all those years ago Dobby had disappeared. Draco’s father had always been mysteriously mum on the subject. But it -- it didn’t make any sense that Dobby should be back here, now --

‘–Kill him, Cissy!”’ said Bellatrix. There was a crack and Draco’s mother’s wand was suddenly in the elf’s hand.

‘–You dirty little monkey!”’ Bellatrix looked deranged, she was trembling so that her voice was almost incoherent. ‘–How dare you take a witch’s wand, how dare you defy your masters?”’

‘–Dobby has no master!”’ squeaked the house elf. ‘–Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!”’

It was -- it was ridiculous…. Draco couldn’t believe this was happening. Panic began to course through his veins. They couldn’t – they couldn’t get away. His arm was burning. The Dark Lord was coming.

‘–Ron, catch -- and GO!”’ Potter bellowed. It was all happening too quickly. Weasley caught the wand Potter threw at him, and turned on the spot to Disapparate with Granger. Potter lunged for the goblin, grabbed hold of Dobby and -- they were gone.

The silence that met the crack of Apparition was crushing, terrifying -- Bellatrix screamed. Draco stared at the suddenly, horrifyingly, empty space where Potter had been. The Dark Lord was coming and they -- they didn’t have Potter ….

A hand enclosed around Draco’s arm. His mother’s fingers dug into his flesh and pulled him away. Her breathing was rapid and terrified. –Go,” she said jerkily. –Get out. He’s coming. To Hogwarts -- Snape will protect you….”

–No,” said Draco’s lips. –Come with me --”

–I can’t,” his mother whispered, drawing him deeper into the house, away from Bellatrix and Lucius, where the Dark Lord would first strike. –He’ll call it treachery. But you -- if it’s just you we can lie and say you were never here. You left after the meeting to spend Easter at Hogwarts. He -- he can’t touch you --”

–No,” said Draco. He didn’t recognize his voice. The pounding in his ears was making it hard to think. He was shaking. His mother was shaking. –I won’t leave you --” not when this was for her. Images of her bloody and beaten on the floor flashed before his eyes. The Dark Lord was coming. Everything that Draco had feared was coming. He hadn’t been able to stop it. Draco had failed.

–Don’t be foolish,” hissed Narcissa, snatching frantically for a pot of floo powder they kept by the fire. –I won’t let him take my son --”

There was an ear-splitting crack. Draco felt the mark on his arm flare with heat so intense he heard a hiss of pain escape his lips. His mother flinched but Draco realized she did not have the mark –

–Go,” she whispered, her voice breaking. She pressed the jar of floo powder into his hands. Draco’s fingers were shaking so violently he almost dropped it.

Rooms away where they had left them, Bellatrix began to shriek. Draco couldn’t yet hear the cruel hiss of the Dark Lord’s voice but he knew he was in the house. Draco could feel his presence, his pulsing anger, as if it was the creeping smoke of a fire. The Dark Lord was coming and Draco’s mother --

–Please, Draco,” whispered his mother’s voice. –I love you --”

–Draco, Narcissa.” The pot of floo powder slipped from Draco’s fingers and shattered on the floor. –What are you doing so far away from the rest of your family?”

The Dark Lord’s red eyes gleamed in the darkness. Narcissa moved to throw her arms across Draco’s chest. –No,” she shrieked, utter terror replacing reason. –Don’t, My Lord! Let him go -- not my son!”

The Dark Lord was smiling. He fingered his wand.

Draco saw his mother’s cascading blond hair because her back was to him. She was guarding him, protecting him -- there wasn’t any point. Draco felt his hand enclose around his mother’s wrist. Gently he pushed her arm down from his chest.

The Dark Lord’s red eyes flared in suppressed anger. His wand rose.

Draco wondered if Lovegood had felt exhilaration while being Apparated away by the house elf. She must have felt a wild throw of joy -- something unexplainable, unbelievable. Draco might have experienced something of the same thing, in its very earliest beginnings. It had been the steady pulse of hope, something wonderful and unattainable.

Dumbledore had pitched over the wall of the Astronomy Tower and it had been gone, that feeling, in a flash of green light.

Someday the end would come for Lovegood, too.

Draco slowly opened his eyes. He recognized the coarse spring of the carpet beneath his fingers. He was still on the floor. His chest slowly rose and fell with his breath. So he was not dead. It had not ended.

Something stirred by his side. In the almost pitch-black of the room he distinguished the shadow of his mother, sitting with her knees drawn to her chest by his side. He had never seen her so relaxed, so without reserve. She was alien to him.

She must have sensed his consciousness, perhaps heard a change in his breathing, or felt him stir at her side, for she turned to look at him. Her eyes glinted in the darkness. Her fingers enclosed around his hand.

–He’s gone, sweetheart,” she whispered. Her voice was choked with tears, perhaps hoarse from her screams. –It’s alright now.”

Draco opened his mouth to say something. His throat felt closed and sore.

His mother shushed him gently. Her other hand brushed the hair off his forehead. Her fingers felt cool, almost icy against his hot skin. –Don’t speak, sweetheart,” she whispered.

Draco wondered what had become of his father. Perhaps the Dark Lord had gone to him and Bellatrix after he’d been done with Draco and his mother.

Draco remembered with a lurch in his stomach that Lucius had been unconscious. Bellatrix had probably waited on her knees, penitent, patient for punishment.

–You’re safe now, Draco,” his mother murmured. She shifted so that she lay on the floor beside him. She pressed her cheek, cool and drenched with tears against his. –You’re going to be alright.” Her fingers entwined with his. Draco realized he was shaking again. She must have felt him for she threw her other arm around his shoulder. –Don’t -- sweetheart, you’re alright.”

Draco turned his face away from hers so that she would not feel the tears that overflowed down his cheeks. He focused on keeping his breathing even, unaware that his fingers had tensed in hers.

–It’s alright,” her voice whispered in his ear. –It’s alright.”

Draco’s mind flew to Lovegood, who breathed and wept beneath him --

But she was not in the cellar anymore, not anymore. She was no longer -- She had escaped. Draco knew not how long he had been unconscious but it could not have been more than a few hours --

It might have been days.

She was -- gone. She was alright.

Draco tried not to think that she was free.
Chapter Endnotes: Next chapter: Luna was a masterpiece more beautiful than Dean Thomas could ever hope to paint… and why Dean’s boggart is a severed hand.

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