The Way We Get By

The days that passed by were excruciatingly long. While the house itself was very comfortable, Draco was beginning to go stir crazy. He had read every book in the library, played with every wizard's trick he could find in the old basement and had already been through all the secret passages of the house. There was nothing left for him to do and it was beginning to drive him mad.

Most of the time, he could be found staring out the front window watching Muggles and wizards alike going about their daily business. He only wished he could join them.

It was an early weekend morning about a week later from his first arrival that changed everything. Yawning rather largely, he took the steps slowly and rubbed at the sleep in his eyes. He had wished he could have slept longer but the nightmares he was suffering from left his nights fitful and uncomfortable. The sooner he woke the better. Coming inside the kitchen Draco found his mum and Aunt sitting quietly around the kitchen table. The Daily Prophet was laid out in front of them and they were very engrossed in what they reading. A small sadistic smile even lay on his aunt's face. He walked to them slowly, careful to not interrupt them. He hovered over their backs and he blanched as he read the main story's headline:

THE FIRST CASUALITY OF THE SECOND WAR

He came closer to them still and looked at the small image smiling up at him. As his eyes connected with those of Albus Dumbledore's, Draco felt as if he was about to be sick. He stepped away from the table, welcoming the realization that he was even in the room from Narcissa and Bellatrix.

"Isn't that something?" Bellatrix cackled, holding up the paper for her nephew to see. "They're holding the funeral at Hogwarts. I suppose they're allowing the whole lot of your wretched little friends to attend."

"When?" Draco asked, leaning against the countertop behind him.

"Tomorrow morning," Narcissa said before taking a small sip from her tea cup. It was difficult to see his mum and Bellatrix seem so nonchalant about what was happening when he couldn't quite grasp what it was that was happening at all.

It was something about that picture that kicked at his insides. At a time, never seeing the Headmaster again was a wish that Draco only hoped would be granted. Now that he was to blame for it coming true, a small voice in his head was sorry he had ever hoped it would happen.

It was as if reality had come knocking and it was making itself known.

Dumbledore was dead and it was his entire fault.

The shuffling of chairs startled Draco out of his thoughts. Narcissa and Bellatrix arose from their seats and moved toward the main staircase. The empty tea cups were left on the table and Bastian, their house elf, came scurrying to clean up the mess.

"Draco!" Narcissa's voice came from the second floor's landing. "Be a dear and wash up quickly. We're expecting visitors today!"

--

"We've got to take inventory on those that are left," one voice said.

"We should kill them all," Bellatrix's voice remarked darkly.

"Snape has got a list of those in the Order. A bloody foolish lot they are. I wouldn't doubt they'd all be easy matches," said another.

Visitors seemed to be a nice word for the obnoxious and rather foul smelling Death Eaters that were all now lingering around the kitchen table. As Draco sat atop the counter, his legs swinging underneath him, he was barely paying attention to the goings on while he wondered if half of them had ever heard of soap, especially Greyback. It was as if there were perpetual stains of blood around the dark whiskers on his face. Draco did his best to avoid his gaze whenever possible. He couldn't ever shake the feeling that he looked like a yummy Pumpkin Pasty to the old werewolf.

His eyes moved over each other man sitting at the table. He watched their movements and began to pick up on their quirks. Augustus Rockwood seemed incline to bite off every one of his fingernails while Dolohov enjoyed picking at his teeth as he listened distractedly to the rest of them. He only paused to speak his piece. For men who prided themselves on their pure blood, wealth and power, they sure seemed prone to act as opposite of that as possible.

There were only a few men there that Draco had any shred of respect for. One of them was sitting right to his left, looking absurdly disinterested. It was Severus Snape. From what Draco could remember Snape had never really frequented many of the meetings held in the Malfoy Manor. Of course a logical explanation for that could be the double life he has led for the past seventeen years. His old Potions Master looked over to him briefly at that moment, an odd gleam in his watery eyes.

"There is no use going after the boy 'till later in the summer," he said, as he turned away from Draco. "As far as I know, which is a great deal, he is with the Muggles at this moment. Though if I know Potter correctly, he'll be free for us to do with what we please of him very shortly."

"Bloody well about time," Rockwood said agitatedly, hitting the table with his fist to prove his point.

"Can we pinpoint an exact time, Severus? What about that bloody wedding for the Weasleys?"

Draco's ears perked as he recognized the voice that was speaking. He stopped swinging his feet immediately and locked eyes with his father, Lucius Malfoy. While he had half expected Lucius to join him and his mother in hiding, he had learned that the Dark Lord had other plans for him. He knew this because he saw the headlines concerning the murders and attacks in the Daily Prophet every morning. The thought of so much blood on the hands of his father shook him considerably to the bone.

"I'm afraid the arranged date has been changed, and that would be at my fault. As I am no longer trustworthy within the Order, many things have been changed on account of that. However, I will do my best to find a proper time," Snape said before leaning back in his seat.

"Good," Lucius replied simply before a small smug smile played across his lips. "I want that boy dead."

An image of Potter lying in a coffin appeared in Draco's head at that moment and caused him to gulp quietly. He had hated Potter for as long as he could remember ever knowing him. Not that he knew him at all, really. It was strange, now that he thought about it. He hated Potter more than anyone, but why? He didn't even know who the boy really was. A small migraine managed to take hold of Draco's head just then and he let out an aggravated groan.

"Something wrong, Draco?" Snape sneered, looking back at him. At this, the rest of the men and Bellatrix turned to look at him. Draco was beginning to think he couldn't catch any breaks.

"No, of course not," he coughed, swinging his legs again nervously. "I want Potter taken care of just like the rest of you."

It dawned on him then that that was a lie.

Draco was beginning to think his whole life was full of lies.

--

Draco was hungry. He had barely made a dent in his dinner before and now his stomach was rumbling for the entire house to hear. Dressed in a pair of striped pajama pants and an old white tee shirt, his bare feet made little noise as he tip-toed down the staircase and into the kitchen. A small light was shining through the swinging doors leading inside and Draco was very careful to not let them bang as he pushed through them. Lucius and Draco's Uncle Rodolphus had decided to stay the night and spend it with their wives. It was a brief break the Dark Lord had offered them after "such good work." He could not imagine how angry his father might be if Draco woke him up on his only night of real sleep in weeks.

Shuffling around the kitchen, Draco opened and closed cabinets looking for something to satisfy his hunger. He moved over to the pantry and let out a small sigh of relief: cookies. Pulling out a handful of chocolate chip cookies, he dropped them neatly on a plate before pouring himself a glass of milk.

It was only then that he realized that morning's copy of The Daily Prophet was lying on the counter beside his glass. As he stared at the front page, Dumbledore's twinkling eyes staring back at him, his curiosity got the better of him and he grabbed the paper in his hand. He settled into a stool behind the counter top and looked down at the front article:

"It is a sad day in the wizarding world. While many of us have expressed both our positive and negative opinions of the man in the past, it is with much sympathy that we report the murder of Albus Percival Wulfric Dumbledore, the most recent Headmaster to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Order of Merlin, First Class and Grand Sorcerer, Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. He was a man of many faces, though they always reflected positively on his strong outlook on life. Noted to be one of the most powerful wizards in the modern wizarding world..."

Draco's throat felt tight as he struggled to read on. The article talked of the good things that Dumbledore did in his lifetime and unfortunately for the Draco, the list was rather long and it only made him feel worse for the foolish mistake he was beginning to realize he made. The reporter went on to say, "I would not be surprised to see hundreds, if not thousands of witches and wizards arrive at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to pay their respects."

Suddenly an odd sort of feeling filled Draco. It was a warm, though pained feeling pulling at his chest. He rubbed at it, his brows furrowed in confusion. He looked back down to paper and was surprised to see that the photo of Dumbledore was now winking at him.

"Oh, come, Draco," it said softly. "It might do you good if you stopped by."

His eyes widened and he rubbed at his ears as if he was hearing things. The talking ceased and Dumbledore's picture went back to its earlier movements of smiling and laughing. Though the words he heard still ran though Draco's mind. Go to the funeral? What kind of death wish could the boy ask for? Of course, the idea did appeal to him in some strange way. He couldn't suppress the feelings in him any longer.

A very large part of him wanted to apologize for what he did. He only wished he had the power to turn back time. Though what he could have done was a large mystery to him, still. He could never have turned down the Dark Lord's wishes, not with his parents' lives at stake.

He pushed the paper aside angrily, before pushing his stool out from underneath the counter. He dropped his plate full of crumbs in the sink alongside his glass and trudged out of the kitchen and back up the staircase. He paused for a moment as he watched the inklings of the sun rising over the city streets from a window on the second floor landing.

He let out another one of his, now frequent, aggravated groans.

"Stupid, bloody conscience. Why in Merlin's beard did you have to show up now?"

--

He left word with Bastian that he was taking an early morning stroll before taking the back door out of the house. Underneath heavy black robes and a large hood, Draco was dressed in black dress slacks and a gray v-necked jumper with a fresh white tee shirt poking from underneath. He had refrained from wearing anything that could give away who he might be.

After pulling the hood low to cover his platinum locks and gray eyes, he concentrated hard on the alley behind The Three Broomsticks. There was no better and faster way to get to Hogwarts now that he could Apparate freely.

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