A Night to Forget

"A Night to Forget"

Part 2 - Draco's Doubts

Draco lay awake in the narrow bed in the smaller bedroom. He restlessly rolled on one side then another, but sleep seemed to have deserted him that night. He lighted his wand up, and pointed its beam around to inspect the room. He guessed that probably he was in a boy's bedroom, judging by the simplicity of the decorum and the narrow bed that suited Draco perfectly, but would have been uncomfortable for an adult. Wormtail had slept there too, but he was no ordinary man after all. The room was rather bare, and it definitely lacked of any kind of personal touch to it. It looked like its former occupant did not spend much time there. Boys, especially teens, tend to personalize their own bedrooms according to their tastes, creating with the place a sort of emotional bound. On the contrary, that room had all the air of having been an unpleasant place for its owner. The only sign left of a human presence were three small letters carved in a lower corner of the head of the bed: HBP. Draco stared at them curiously, wondering about their possible meaning. He soon gave up that useless, impossible game of guessing, because they could mean nearly anything.

He tried once again to close his eyes, wishing with all his strengths for a dreamless sleep. A vain hope that was, because the memory of his first meeting with Death haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, the scene on the ramparts at the feet of the Astronomy Tower kept repeating itself in his mind's eye. He could see the jet of green light from the end of Snape's wand, hitting Dumbledore squarely in the chest. He could clearly see, like he was watching the whole scene in that same moment, Dumbledore blasted into the air and then fell slowly backwards, like an oversized rag doll, over the battlements and out in the darkness below. He could remember every detail of that night, among which the Dark Mark stood up prominently. He had seen it gleaming deadly in the sky, and remembered the shivers its sight had sent along its spine.

It had not been the first time he had seen it. The first time happened just two years before, at the Quidditch World Cup, but then he had felt nothing for it. The Mark had been for him something meaningless, something that did not concern him at all. But now... now it was different, now that he had one braced in his own left forearm, just like his father did. His father ... Did he really want to be like his father? He had been called Lucius' son so many times since his childhood, that he had grown up taking it for granted he was going to follow his father's steps.

"You are not a killer," Dumbledore had said. " I wonder if your heart has been really in it," he had suggested.

"Oh, no. Dumbledore was right. He was not a killer or probably not yet," Draco mused, "and that's what makes all the difference between my father and me," he thought.

Surely his father would not have had a second of hesitation in his place. In spite of the mortal danger he and his family had been in, he had not been able to raise his wand against a disarmed man. He kept thinking about his conversation with Dumbledore, the man's calm smile contrasting with his own nervousness, his fear that the other Death Eaters might not come and, even stranger, he remembered the strange sense of comfort and near encouragement he had felt at Dumbledore's unexpected praise. Praise ... What a rare thing praise had ever been for him. For much that he strained himself, he could not remember a single praise he had ever received from his father, a father who never had a kind word for his son, a father who derided him for his defeats, a father who had raised a child just to be the spitting image of himself.

"Enough!" he shouted annoyed, and jumped out of bed.

He desperately needed some distraction to block those unpleasant memories. He headed to the door believing that, maybe, a cup of tea would have calmed his nerves a little. He went down the narrow staircase and opened the hidden door leading to the tiny sitting room below. The walls were completely covered in books, and the dim light cast by a candle-filled lamp hanging from the ceiling was too weak to illuminate more than a pool beneath it, giving the room a feeling of a dark padded cell. Draco headed to a second hidden door he had been told led to a small kitchen.

"Insomnia?" a cold voice said, making Draco jump. He gave an alarmed look around the dark room, and suddenly realized he was not alone as he thought. There was somebody sitting in an old armchair.

"Oh. It's you, sir," he said, feeling a pang of guilt for the way he had treated Snape that year. He now felt a fool to have even suspected Snape wanted to steal his glory. He had always treated him with some respect, almost affection after all.

"I'm not surprised you can't sleep. Was it your first death?" Snape asked giving the boy a knowing look.

"Yes, sir. I had never seen anyone die before," Draco whispered, staring intensely at his former teacher.

"I know it can be disturbing the first time. But don't worry, you'll soon get used to even that," Snape said conversationally. Draco gulped hard at the evident hint at what a Death Eater's life is supposed to be.

"Well, it's not much that," Draco said and paused, uncertain if he could go on.

"Then what?" Snape asked in his silky voice. He knew there was something troubling the boy, because it was probably the same thing that was tormenting him as well. Maybe talking it through was the only way to alleviate the weight that was oppressing them both.

"Dumbledore talked to me before you and the others arrived, and now his words haunt me," Draco said in rush, doubting he would have been able to end his sentence if he had stopped to breathe.

"Yes, they tend to do that," Snape whispered as an half smile curled one corner of his thin lips. For a moment he had not realized he had talked about Dumbledore as if he was still alive, and when he suddenly did it his expression became blank.

"Dumbledore told me he had been knowing I was behind it from the beginning, but didn't say or do anything to stop me. He said he knew the Dark Lord would have killed me, if he suspected someone knew," Draco said and then his face showed confusion. "Did he really care to protect my family and me after all the trouble we have caused him?"

"Dumbledore was a man who could easily forgive and forget," Snape stated.

"Not really like the Dark Lord, from what I heard," Draco smirked, his nervousness rather lessened from the ease of the conversation. "It's so easy to talk with him, to confide in him. Why the hell haven't I done it before?" Draco realized with surprise. Evidently Snape was trying to make it the easier for both.

"No, Draco. The Dark Lord hardly forgives anything, as you have rightly heard. There's no way back from being in his service, unless you count death as an option," Snape said in a tone that could only be interpreted as bitter resignation. Option ... that was the word that triggered Draco's next sentence.

"He told me I had options... He promised that, if I had gone over to his side, he would have hidden me and protect my father and mother likewise. Was it true? Could he really keep us all that safe? Was I really offered a chance to change my destiny?" Draco burst out the doubts that were tormenting him the most.

"Yes, Draco. He really meant it. The Order of the Phoenix actually has the means to do all that. The members of that organization are tied by a bound of solidarity, of a sort of brotherhood, which pushes them to protect anyone in need in every possible way. It's nothing like being a Death Eater, where you have to watch your back constantly," Snape bitterly said, his face hardened in a mixture of hatred and remorse.

"My mother told me she made you swear you were going to complete the mission if I failed. If I had accepted Dumbledore's offer, what would have happened to you?" Draco asked with corner. He now knew he had been an extra burden to the man's double-agent duties.

"I should have had to go on with the mission unless I wanted to die, or else your mother could have released me from the vow," Snape whispered, surprised that the boy actually cared about his fate.

"I see," Draco simply answered and looked away.

The sudden realization that his choices had determined even four other people's destiny as well had made increased the weight he felt on his chest. He probably was not as cold and detached as he had thought to be. That conversation had not given him the comfort he was desperately looking for. He took seat on the sofa and searched his pockets, wishing some chocolate would have done him good. He found a Chocolate frog and tear the box open. He bit angrily at the sweet, chomping it in silence. Yes, chocolate felt good. It was a well known anti-depressive, after all. Then he idly looked at the Famous Witches and Wizards' card within. His heart skipped a bit when he saw Albus Dumbledore's card smiling at him. He stood up abruptly, like if an electric charge had stricken him from his seat. He took a few quick steps towards the rickety table, abandoned the sweet box and card on it, and turned on his heels toward the door.

"Goodnight, sir," he quickly said before rushing upstairs.