Sympathy for the Slytherin

Sympathy for the Slytherin

Chapter 2: Nightmares and the Sweet Talking Dragon

Days passed and Hermione found herself obligated to help Draco with his work nearly every night. She could tell what nights he would need it most. In the classes they had in common, transfiguration, potions and arithmancy, when she saw him staring off into space, she knew she would not only have to catch him up on old concepts but review him on the new ones for that day. It was a bit taxing, but she found herself a capable tutor. Her friends asked eagerly what Draco was like during his sessions, and Hermione had to be honest. He spoke little and he was distant and stand offish, but he was also polite. She noticed also, though Draco was trying to hide it, that he was physically exhausted. He looked like he hadn’t slept since his arrival and the tan he’d brought back to school with him, had already begun to fade. Every moment she spent with him, her old perspective of Draco degraded a little bit more. By their fourth session, she couldn’t say she hated him. There was no reason too. The Draco she so despised seemed gone. This was a different person who, she surmised, needed help. She tried to keep up a neutral, dispassionate exterior towards him but during their next session she finally gave in.

On a Tuesday night before dinner, Hermione sat next to Draco at their usual secluded table in the corner of the library. “So, there are three stars for the fourth prophesy of Tapione. But only two of them have to be in alignment for...”

He was staring off into space again.

“Draco?”

“Hmm? Tapione. I’m listening.”

“You’re a million miles away,” she sighed.

“I’m listening. Four stars in alignment. Go on.”

“Two. Draco, I don’t know if this is working. I think you need...something else.”

“What? Need what?” Draco said frowning.

“Well, sleep for one thing. Look, at you. You’ve got bags under your eyes like a frobber hag.”

Draco shook his head. “I’m not sure what that is but I’m positive I don’t look like one.”

“Do you get any sleep?”

“What’s all this concern for my well being?” he said. “You’re my tutor, not my nurse maid.”

It was first time he’d been anything approaching sarcastic around her. It was jarring, like a flash backward to a part of the old Draco. She wondered if he knew who he was anymore. “Yes, “ she said, “I’m your tutor and if you’re sleep deprived, it effects your performance.”

He sat up and took a deep breath. “I mix my own pepperup potion, alright? Works like a charm.”

She nodded and said, “So why aren’t you sleeping?”

He glanced at an imaginary watch. “Oh hey, time for dinner. We should really run.”

He’d stood up and turned his right wrist palm up to look at a time piece that wasn’t there and it was then that Hermione noticed his hand. There were several thick pink scars cutting across his palm and fingers. Hermione had never seen anything like it. It looked as if he’d slashed his own hand with a carving knife a few times. She stood up, nearly knocking over her chair. “Draco! God, what is that?”

Draco saw her staring at his hand and clutched it to his chest. “Nothing. Seriously. I’m famished, how ‘bout you?”

“C’mon, let me see...”

Draco looked down at the brown shiny head of hair and the face of the girl who looked up at him not with any morbid curiosity or suspicion but with something that looked like concern. He held his hand against his chest but she stood there, silently, prying his fingers gently from their grip on his shirt.

“It’s okay,“ she whispered, “just let me...”

He hardly knew why but he let her pry his hand away and she held it in both of hers, touching the long scars in wonder.

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

He sighed, “I have potion for that too. Kills the pain.”

Her pleading eyes looked back up into his. “I never saw it before. They look pretty recent. How did it happen? When you were missing?”

He snatched his hand away and started gathering up his books. “I’ll tell you when I’m drunk and you’re dead. Dinner time.”

“You can tell me, “ she said softly, “strange as it may sound. I won’t tell anyone. Not even Harry or Ron. No one.”

“I can’t,” he whispered. “I just... I can’t.”

“Okay,” she said with a nod of defeat. “Well... I’ll go to dinner with you anyway.”

Draco looked startled, but not disappointed. “It’ll only cause problems.”

She shook her head. “Problems schmoblems. You’ll be fine.”

“A delicate sense of the language, you have there,“ he quipped.

Hermione chuckled, glad to have brought out the old comical side of Draco, which without the insults, was somewhat enjoyable.

It was the first time they’d left from tutoring to go to dinner together even though the both of them always stopped at the house first to drop off their books and got to the Gryffindor table at the same time. This time they walked leisurely down the corridors together, Hermione examining his outfits once again. Draco had continued to wear only muggle clothes whenever possible and tonight he wore a forest green v-neck sweater and black chinos. And now, considering their sudden turn toward some kind of friendship she had to ask him. “If I ask you a different question, will you answer it?”

Draco steeled himself. “That would depend.”

“Why do you wear muggle clothes now? It’s so unlike you. I thought you hated muggle things.” She saw him smile just a little bit for the first time since his arrival back.

“When I was gone... I only hid in muggle areas. That was the first time I really saw what muggle life is like. Turns out I like some muggle stuff after all.”

“Well, the clothes work for you. What else do you like about the muggle world?”

“The music,” he said. And this time she was sure he’d started to smile. “I liked the music.”

**********************************************

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley leisurely strolled back toward their dorms having dropped off three buckets of slop left over from the great hall for Hagrid’s new litter of Bitsy Boars. They’d knocked on his door and Hagrid opened it just a crack, thanking them quickly for the fresh slop.

“But Hagrid,” Harry insisted, “what’s a Bitsy Boar? I’ve never seen one!”

“They’re sleeping now!’ Hagrid whispered. “Very tiny! Can’t take the excitement!”

With that Hagrid shut the door, Harry turned back to Ginny and sighed dramatically. “He gets so moody around new creatures.”

They started walking back. “I’ve heard of Bitsy Boars, “ said Ginny, “but they’re not that interesting outside of the green stripes and the laughing. I wonder what Hagrid’s doing with them.”

Harry stared at Ginny, distracted. “I dunno,” he said wistfully.

The two had become closer over the past year. Ginny’s little girl crush on Harry had transformed into something more mature, an understanding of him that had nothing to do with hero status. To Harry, Ginny now seemed like the only girl besides Hermione who didn’t look to him with some kind of expectation. And more then that she’d also become the most beautiful girl at Hogwarts in Harry’s eyes, with her delicate red curls and porcelain skin. They seemed now to be dancing around each other, nothing holding Harry back but silly insecurities. But this year, he’d promised himself he would tell her how he felt. And now seemed a good a time as any. With the new resolve in his mind, his heart started to beat like a clog dancing banshee.

Just do it, he thought wildly, you know she feels the same way, just do it.

He stopped under a tree of delicate leaves turning sunset colors for the fall. Ginny stopped walking and turned around.“What’s the matter?”

He gazed at her in her muggle outfit, a soft white sweater and a brown skirt. She’d pulled her hair back from her face but that one stubborn red curl still fell over her eye. It was Harry’s very favorite curl. “The matter is,” he mumbled, hardly able to breath, “I have to talk to you.”

She stepped closer, under the veil of leaves. “What is it?”

Harry reached out for her hand and started playing with her fingers. “I have to... er...” Harry rolled his eyes. “I have feelings... about someone. And I don’t know how to tell them. So I... need your advice.”

Ginny smiled coyly but Harry could see the joy in her eyes. “Ah, feelings. Are they good feelings?”

He nodded and said, “Oh, yes. Very good feelings.”

Ginny looked down at their hands and played her fingers through his. “It might help, if you told me who this person is.”

Harry grinned. “Well, she has red hair...”

“Mmmhmm.”

“And one little curl, “ he said huskily, “that falls over her eye...”

Ginny bit her lip and Harry went on, “And she bites her lip when she’s nervous...”

Ginny laughed, “Maybe it’s because she’s happy.”

“I’m in love with a Weasley, Ginny,” Harry blurted.

Ginny looked jubilant. “Well, Ron can be irresistible.”

Harry put a stop to the talking and laced his fingers through Ginny’s.

“Ginny...”

“I love you too, silly boy.”

Harry felt his heart about to burst and leaned in to kiss her. She tasted like apple cider and he couldn’t resist reaching up to fiddle with her bright orange curls. Ginny’s lips trembled. She’d waited for this moment for years, first as a silly blushing girl who couldn’t help but go weak kneed at the sight of Ron’s cute friend who also happened to be The Boy Who Lived. And now he wasn’t Harry Potter: Boy Hero, he was Harry. Harry with that funny boyish grin, endlessly loyal to his friends and equally brave. Harry with the adorably mussy hair and green eyes to get lost in, who made her laugh and challenged her to be a better person.

“Your lips are trembling,” he said leaning back.

She blushed a deep pink and said, “That was my first kiss. Unless you count Colin pecking me on the cheek.”

“I don’t, “ he said caressing the very cheek with his thumb.

“And here’s for your second.”

******************************************

After Hermione and Draco dropped off their books in their respective dorms, they met back in the common room, only to bump into Harry, Ron and Ginny who seemed to be regarding Hermione critically. Tensions were high. Draco had done nothing to further anyone’s dislike but Ron and Harry particularly, still considered him as one not to be trusted. They were civil as much as they did not speak to him and generally avoided him. Harry stuck his hands in his pockets as he watched one of his best friends walked down the stairs with, supposedly, his second least favorite arch nemesis. He kicked one foot with the other. Meanwhile, Ron, who’d been particularly edgy lately looked about ready to pop and Ginny stood fidgeting nervously.

“So,“ Hermione said with a sigh, “we going to dinner or are we just going to stand around like idiots waiting for the food to hit our mouths?”

“We,” demanded Ron. “We should go to dinner?”

Hermione stared him down. “Yes, Ron. We. We as in us, as in a bunch of sixth year Gryffindors leaving our Gryffindor house to sit at the Gryffindor table together as Gryffindors. That’s what Gryffindors do.”

Draco started backing away. “Just forget it, you know, I’m not even hungry-”

“What?” asked Ron, stepping forward. “Too good to eat with us?”

Hermione cleared her throat, “Ahem. Okay, prefect calls a conference. Right now. Over here, please.” She yanked Harry, who had stood glaring at Draco and Ron to an opposite corner of the room.

Ginny rocked on the balls of her feet, standing awkwardly next to Draco. “So,” she said breezily, “how ‘bout those Cannons?”

Hermione eyed her best friends with a steely gaze. “Alright look, I know this is difficult. Sworn enemy, death eater’s son and bla bla bla. But you’re going to have to get over that and give him a second chance.”

Harry sighed and scratched his forehead and said, “I just wish I knew what he did or didn’t do that Dumbledore thinks makes him so innocent.”

Ron continued to look generally stubborn so Hermione threw out her wild card.

“I’ll tell you a secret too. That night I saw Draco arriving, I heard him say that he chose to leave Slytherin.”

Ron looked too shock to speak.

“No way!” Harry hissed.

“He wants starting over and if you two are so concerned about his past then I suggest you take it up with Dumbledore. Since Draco won’t say a word.”

“What did you ask him?” said Harry, now much more interested.

“He’s got these horrible scars on his hand. He wouldn’t tell me how he got them.”

“Scars?” Ron said with a frown. “He could fix that right enough with a healing potion. He could probably make it himself.”

Hermione shrugged.

“Alright, “ said Harry, “we’ll trust your judgment then.” Harry looked at Ron expectantly.

“Alright, “ said Ron, “but if I die a slow gory death at the hands of a bunch of bloody toothed death eaters, you are not invited to the funeral.”

Hermione gave him a look. “I’ll make a note.”

************************************************

Hermione sat next to a typically distant Draco, across from Ron, Ginny and Harry who was scratching his forehead feverishly.

Ginny took a swig of pumpkin juice, a worried look on her pretty face. “Is it your scar?” she asked him. “Does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” he said grimacing, “but it’s...it’s itchy. Like when your foot falls asleep. It’s all... tingly.”

“I hate that feeling!” Ron exclaimed. “Bad enough in the foot.”

“Yeah, “ he said, “well, my whole forehead feels like that.”

“Maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey, “ Ginny suggested.

“Yeah, maybe.“

Draco sat silent, staring at his spaghetti while Hermione talked to her friends about class and gossip and nonsense. He even noticed Ron nearly bringing up Draco’s own name only to remember himself and become quiet. Draco felt a wave of exhaustion and rubbed his hands over his face, feeling the rough ridges of his scars against his cheek. He wanted to sleep. It was killing him. But he couldn’t so much as nap for a half hour without the dark visions returning and even now as he shut his eyes he could almost hear that voice aloud.

Bring me the boy...

He took a breath and opened his eyes to see the four other Gryffindors staring at him strangely. “What?” he barked defensively.

“You’ve been sitting like that for about ten minutes,” Hermione pointed out, after swallowing a bite of roast beef.

Draco looked irritated but not surprised. “Oh. Well, I’m just...upset because... I was hoping for alfredo sauce.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, Draco.”

He clenched his scarred hand reflexively, reminding himself to take more pain potion later. And perhaps some extra pepperup as well.

The five were silent until Ron said suddenly, “That’s exactly what I thought!”

The confused looks whipped from Draco to Ron.

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked.

Ron gave him a look.

“About what you just said! About Hufflepuff using a more defensive strategy at the last game.”

“Ron, I haven’t said anything for five minutes. I haven’t even brought up quidditch. Must be something in your pumpkin juice.”

“But I heard you!” Ron insisted.

Hermione leaned her chin on her hand and sighed. Yep, typical day at Hogwarts...

*******************************************

Hermione sat, tapping her foot wildly during potions and copying down formulas. Next to her Draco was half writing notes, half staring at the wall. She’d decided he would sit next to her in their common classes so she could watch his progress, which was exactly going swimmingly. On her other side sat Ron, eyes screwed up in attention and looking very aggravated. He’d complained since lunch about a “buzzing” in his head and a wretched migraine the day before. Next to Ron sat Harry who was taking notes with one hand and rubbing his forehead raw with the other.

“Sssshhh, “ Ron hissed, “I’m actually trying to concentrate here!”

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. “Ron, we haven’t said a word.”

“Whatever!” he whispered fervently. “Just shut up already.”

“Errrr...” Harry moaned quietly. “It’s like a bunch of flobber worms in my head!”

Draco was now mumbling some muggle tune. “There’s a girl who believes all that glitters is gold...”

Hermione put her head in her hands. I am sitting next to three completely insane people...

“YOU FOUR!” Hermione cringed at the thundering voice of Snape.

“I can’t hear myself think! And unlike my students, I consider that an enjoyable pass time! Ten points from Gryffindor!”

Hermione growled in defeat. And they are dragging me down with them.

***************************************************

On a Friday evening, Hermione and Draco sat at a table in the common room, Draco ostensibly memorizing characteristics of various unpleasant creatures from Defense Against the Dark Arts. The common room was empty that night as outside the unusual event of an after dinner quidditch night game took place between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Hermione had been sure Draco would want to go but he’d shrugged and said he wasn’t interested. This time it was Hermione staring off into space. There were almost too many things to worry about. Between Draco’s mysterious past, Harry’s bothersome itching and Ron’s sudden bout of schizophrenia she wasn’t sure whether to go running to Dumbledore or diagnose herself with madness. She was about heave a sigh when Draco beat her too it.

“Octrul phantoms can be fought off if you enchant one of their eight legs to start dancing, “ he recited in a monotone, “and moo-toos will die if you poke them in the eye with a sharp stick and if I have to read about the manipulative mental powers of sea serpents again, I’m going to...”

He’d been about to say he would kill somebody but stopped just short.

Hermione leaned her cheek on her hand. “Well, have you got them down?”

He set his arms down on the desk and rested his head on them. “Perfectly. Can’t we talk about something else for a while?”

Hermione was shocked. Draco wanted to talk? “What do you want to talk about?” she asked.

“Anything,” he said, though he looked about ready to fall asleep. “What do your parents do for a living?”

She smiled. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we were becoming friends. “They’re dentists,” she said sleepily.

Draco looked lost. “What’s that mean?”

She chuckled and said, “You mean you never came across dentists in your extensive travels amidst the muggles in their native habitat?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Oddly, no. I was busy scrounging for food.”

Hermione looked surprised and Draco winced, as if he’d said too much.

She let it slide. “A dentist fixes teeth. Without magic.”

“Well, obviously,” Draco said smirking. “So what’s that like?”

Hermione had to laugh. It felt odd, to say the least, to be discussing her parents’ dental careers with anyone, least of all Draco. “Um...Say you have a toothache or something. You go down to see them and you sit in this big chair, almost on your back so they can see in your mouth. And they have all kinds of tools... like metal picks and mirrors and little vacuums to suck the spit out. And if they need to they might drill... Do you know what a drill is?
”
Draco shook his head, wide eyed. Hermione surmised that his lack of knowledge on these things stemmed not only from growing up in a militantly pureblood wizard family but from avoiding manual labor his entire life.

She went on, “It’s like a big giant...screw. It’s electric. They plug it in and it makes holes in things. Are you with me?”

Draco coughed. “Oh, sure,” he said easily, “I know lots about screwing.”

“Draco!” Hermione yipped, laughing despite herself. “Anyway, they might drill into your teeth if they have too. But first they shoot needles of Novocaine into your gums, of course. Or sometimes if they have to take an x-ray you have to bite down on these plates and they put a big lead apron on your lap so you won’t someday die of radiation and-"

Draco was gawking at her, horrified.

“What’s the matter?” she asked innocently.

“And they call dementors evil? Crikey, thank Merlin for magic.”

Hermione couldn’t help laughing.

“Oh? I thought you liked muggle things now.”

“I said I liked the music and the clothes,” Draco said, squirming a bit. “Not giant metal instruments of torture.” Draco’s eyes felt heavy and he sighed like a child. “Tell me about something else,” he whispered.

Hermione leaned farther on her hand, closer to the table. “Erm... About what?”

“Anything,” Draco breathed.

“Well...” Hermione dug for a random topic in her mind. “I went to America once.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“I was five, “ she whispered, “and we flew to Hawaii in a big muggle airplane and we stayed in a fancy hotel.”

“Mmm.”

She saw Draco’s eyelids drooping and continued to talk him to sleep in a rhythmic melody of soft whispers. “And my mum and I went snorkeling in the clear blue sea...” Hermione watched his eyelids droop a little bit more. “And we saw blue and yellow fish...and bright red fish...and jelly fish and bat rays...” She babbled about sharks and dolphins and heard his breathing start to regulate. “And palm trees swayed in the breeze...and we drank coconut milk straight from the coconut...”

He was asleep now but Hermione was afraid to move for fear of waking him up. She now suspected that Draco could sleep but was avoiding it. Probably nightmares or something, she thought.

She let him sleep while quietly doing her own homework at the table. She finished the last sentence on a transfiguration essay that wasn’t due for two weeks and then sat back and gazed down at her tutoree. He was sleeping almost desperately. She could see it on his face, he was not relaxed but looked like he was squeezing all the sleep out of sleep that he could. She closed all her books, set her papers in order and took them back to her room. She came back and smiled at the sight of Draco splayed out on the table. After gently removing papers from under his cheek, she put his things together and took them back to his room, resisting the urge to snoop for a clue to the mystery of Malfoy. She went back to the common room and sat at a chair next to the table in front of the fire.

“Meowr?” Crookshanks brushed against her legs and Hermione picked up the sizable feline and set her on her lap.
Let’s see...got Crookshanks...got the dragon...maybe I should go tickle his tummy?

She giggled at the thought and looked up at the clock. It was nearly ten and Hermione figured the game was going long. Even with the giant charmed candles suspended over the field, it was probably difficult to spot the snitch at night. She wondered why Draco hadn’t gone to the game. She’d assume he still loved quidditch even if he’d come too late in the term to play.

Then again, he’d be playing for Gryffindor and he certainly couldn’t have been the seeker...Then again if he’d come early he probably wouldn’t be in Gryffindor...

Hermione shook her head and said aloud, “I’m cracking up, Crookshanks. I blame it on these loopy boys of mine.”
He’d been asleep for nearly three hours now and she supposed she should wake him up and try to get him to fall asleep in his own bed before a bunch of loud and sweaty quidditch fans made their epic return. She set Crookshanks back on the carpet and crouched down next to Draco. “Draco,” she whispered.

No response.

She sighed, feeling the weirdness of the situation. “Draco...” she said a little louder.

“Mmph.” He turned his head to face her, still asleep.

“Draco, c’mon,” she said smiling. “You’ve got to go to bed.”

“Never tomatoes,” he mumbled sleepily.

“Goofball,” she muttered, giggling a little. She touched his arm and he stirred. “Time to go to bed.”

Draco’s woke slowly to see two cheerful looking, long lashed brown eyes. He sat up and took a deep breath. “Was I asleep?” he asked stupidly.

“Like the dead. Go to bed already.”

Draco sat, feeling a little puzzled. “How long did I sleep?”

“Almost three hours, you’re going to have a wretched knot in your neck tomorrow but I thought it was better then napping in class.”

“I’ve never-”

Hermione put on her stern face. “Yes you have. But the professors seem to be leaving you be for now. They won’t forever so go to bed and sleep.”

“Three hours...” he mumbled. It was the longest he’d slept all at once in a long time without any nightmares. And now that he thought of it, he had dreamt but they were pleasant dreams. He’d dreamt of a tropical island, of sparkling blue oceans and glittering palms and...vegetables.

Hermione sat on the table smirking. “And what do you have against tomatoes anyway?”

Draco blinked. “Tomatoes? I don’t like them.”

“You said ‘never tomatoes’ in your sleep.”

Draco rubbed his eyes and said, “I dreamt we were making salad on a beach.”

Hermione cocked her head to one side. “What’d I do? Try to add tomatoes?”

Draco got up and stretched. “Yes.”

“But you don’t like tomatoes.”

“Right.”

“Makes sense. Only I don’t like tomatoes either.”

Draco leaned on the chair next to Hermione. “At least we’re clear on that issue. Because if you liked tomatoes, you and I could never be-” Draco stopped himself, feeling awkward.

Hermione could tell what he’d been about to say but she let it go. “Draco, as your tutor. I would like to give you a piece of wisdom to take you through life’s journey.”

Draco gave her an annoyed look.

“Go to bed,” she said again.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, professor.”

Draco trudged off to his room just as Hermione heard noises from the corridors. He ambled to his room and lay down on the bed wondering if he could get through another six hours without a nightmare. He decided to give it a shot and didn’t bother to change into his pajamas but just crawled under the covers and fell to slumber.

**************************************************

That night, Draco had another dream.

Lucius stood before him, black robes billowing in the cold gusty wind on the cliff of Grier’s Mountain overlooking an angry gray sea. Two other death eaters stood gripping Draco’s arms as he struggled.

“WHY MUST YOU DEFY ME?!” Lucius thundered. “Why now when this could be our proudest moment?!”

Draco wasn’t listening to his father, instead he just screamed with all that was in him.

”You’re a coward! You’d moan and groan and say you wanted out of the circle! That’s why you ran from the mark and then you went running back to him! COWARD!”

“Foolish boy! You know very well what all this has been for! What you have been raised to be!”

“I will not join you! You taught me muggles are like vermin, mudbloods are dirty and unworthy! You said they have no souls! And maybe they are, I don’t know anymore! Fun for a lark to throw them up in the sky and watch the stupid muggles! But this...” He looked away to the chaos around him, to the other death eaters chasing down the victims that had escaped by Draco’s hand. “You kill children! That girl in the dungeon, she was pleading for her life! How can you say she has no soul when she pleaded for her life?!”

“You know what it is to be a death eater, Draco! To serve our Lord! It is your destiny! You cannot turn from it! And if you do, you will only fall with the rest of them. I will kill you if you get in my way! Which you appear to be doing right now!” Lucius held a sword that was really a wand in one hand that pointed at his son, in his other hand he held a glowing orange stone that looked like fire.

“This was supposed to be over...” Draco said pitifully.

The stone glowed brighter, the father glared down at his son who looked in his eyes only to see them turn a horrifying blood red. “No, my boy. It is just the beginning.”

Several things happened at once. From the corner of his eye, Draco saw someone who looked suspiciously like Albus Dumbledore and four other angry looking wizards swooping nearer the mountain on Firebolts. The death eaters holding Draco had just noticed this and were on the verge of warning Lucius who was now staring entranced, at the orange stone that was beginning to project a blinding white light. Lucius stared at the stone and almost as an afterthought, was pointing the sword at Draco saying.

“Avada Ked-”

But before he could get the spell out Draco had wrenched the sword away from Lucius with his bare hands. He felt the agony of the double-edged steel blade cutting into the soft flesh of palm and for a moment as he held the sword and Lucius attempted to maintain his grip and focus on the stone at the same time, Draco felt a hot burning surge through his body as if boiling water had been poured through his veins. Feeling a sudden bout of near superhuman strength, Draco pulled the sword away, whipped around and slashed wildly at the two death eaters holding him, turned back and swiped at Lucius’ hand, knocking the burning stone to the ground.

His father’s eyes glowed red again. “NOOO!”

Without a moment’s thought, Draco surged forward and with his bloodied hand, ran the sword through his father’s chest. Lucius fell to the ground, eyes blazing.

“You can’t escape it, boy,” he wheezed.

Draco gave the sword a final thrust and hissed at his father.

“Avada Kedavra, you bloody bastard.”

Draco watched the red eyes turn back to his father’s dull blue, now lifeless. He shut his eyes and pulled the sword from his father’s chest, throwing it with all his might into the sea. He turned back to look for the stone, only to see it now just a pale peach, oddly shaped rock on the ground. Eyes wide with terror, he looked around him to see the death eaters and a bunch of aurors in the midst of heated battle, aided by the now unbound victims. He saw his old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Lupin, come running towards him having just paralyzed another death eater.

“Draco!”

Draco turned and spying a Firebolt, ran with wild abandon toward it and screamed, “UP!” And with seeker’s reflexes he flew swiftly away into the stormy black night.

The next morning, Draco woke up angry.

**********************************************