Of Choices and Regrets

The Interrogation-

Draco looked around the dimly lit apartment. Harry Potter had taken him here, but had not spoken to him as to why. Draco had been seated at the table in the little kitchen and left alone.

Sighing, Draco got up and went to find something to drink. As he was reaching for a bottle of butterbear, the front door slammed and he could hear hushed, urgent voices followed by quick footsteps coming toward him. The door swung open, revealing the trio.

Hermione Granger recoiled slightly, Ron Weasley scowled as always, and it was Harry Potter, carefully neutral, that spoke first.

"Have a seat, Malfoy. We need to talk."

Draco did as he was told with wide eyes. The public had not seen the Trio together since Potter had left the Burrow merely a month after Dumbledore's funeral and the subsequent closure of Hogwarts. It had been speculated that they had simply split up and Ron and Hermione had gone into hiding only coming out when Harry needed them the most, commanding the Order from a secluded place, and letting the Order take care of the war for them until the 'Final Battle', as it was being called. Every now and then, a picture of them on vacation would surface and it was hailed as proof, but they all turned out to be forgeries. The Trio, along with Ginny Weasley, were only seen when they were fighting, thus their movements and conditions were unknown.

Remembering himself, Draco smirked and tilted his head toward Ron. "It never changes, does it, Weasley?"

Ron's brow furrowed further, and Draco could clearly see that he was tightly gripping his wand in his pocket. Hermione gently laid her hand on Ron's arm, as if she were prepared to hold him back. This simple and almost useless gesture made Ron visibly relax, causing Draco's eyebrows to rise briefly at the two of them.

Turning back to Harry, Draco asked, "And how long will I be held here? I would not want my mother to worry, and she is expecting me to be back by dark, which is in an hour or so."

Harry opened his mouth but Ron was quicker. "Don't want your mum to worry about you, Malfoy? Oh, aren't you the best son in the world. Don't want mummy to worry! And why should we care? She's a bloody Death Eater!"

Draco frowned, but it was Harry that reprimanded Ron.

Hermione hesitated, her eyes flickering between Harry and Ron, before she answered Draco's question. "We are not entirely sure, but we think, or at least I think, and I can't see why not, you should be able to go in, oh, a few hours. You might be able to get home by dark, so you really shouldn't worry."

Harry nodded. "We just want to know what you know, and if you answer the questions, we will let you go."

Draco gave a short laugh, "What I know? I don't know anything! They don't tell me what is going on, I don't normally talk to my mother, I'm not permitted to leave the house, and I have only left it twice since Dumbledore. This is one, that horrible battle was the other."

"Are you sure about that?" Harry asked. His voice was low and edged, and his narrowed eyes pierced Draco's flesh, looking inside for the truth he was seeking.

Draco began to nod, then pensively stared at a random spot in space. "Oh, yeah. I went to my cousin's house. Nymphadora Tonks. But I do not see -" Draco was cut off by the Trio's laughter.

Hermione composed herself and, still smiling, turned to Ron. "Remind me to tell Tonks that."

Draco was confused, though he only let a brief expression of annoyance flit across his otherwise blank face. "What do you think is so fun?"

Harry had a half-smile on his face. "She doesn't let anyone call her Nymphadora. Its Tonks, just Tonks." Suddenly his smile disappeared, replaced by pursed lips and suspicious eyes. Harry began to shoot off rapid, urgent questions. "Why did you go to Tonks's?"

"I dropped a girl off."

"That does not tell me much. What girl? Why Tonks?"

"A little kid from the battle. You don't know her. And Tonks because she was the only one I could think of that is not a bloody Death Eater."

"And you did not want her with a Death Eater."

"Yeah."

"Why? You are a Death Eater yourself."

"That was not my choice, and really I am technically only the Dark Lord's servant; I do not have the Dark Mark yet. She would have been killed by a Death Eater, finishing the job, and all that." Draco coolly answered, looking at Harry as though he were ludicrous for even asking him to explain his reasons.

Harry's eyebrows shot up and he briefly turned to the other two for support. Hermione saw his loss for words and stepped forward, leaving Ron still leaning against the doorway.

"Now, Malfoy," she began softly. "Where did you get her?"

Draco laughed. " 'Get her'? What do you mean, 'get her'? I watched her fall during the battle, and I 'got her' to safety. Who do you think I am? I did not kidnap her or anything!"

Hermione frowned and a look of honest worry crossed her kind, graceful face. "Fall? Was she hurt?"

Draco sighed. "She had a lot of cuts, mainly on her arms and legs. Scrapes on her face, twisted ankle, stuff like that. A Death Eater hit her with a spell, but I do not know which one. Luckily, I was able to heal all that. She was just unconscious for a while, and then was fine. No big deal. Why do you care?"

Hermione ignored his question and eagerly asked her own. "And her name? Where was she from?"

Draco narrowed his eyes and slightly turned his head. His gaze shifted adeptly from Hermione's enthralled and excited face to Harry's expectant yet reserved face, landing at last on Ron's distrusting scowl.

"What is this?" Draco demanded harshly in a dangerous voice. "Why do you care? You do not even know the girl, and I am sure that you are not trying to decipher my character by analyzing how I reacted to the situation with the girl. So why am I here, and what the hell do you want?"

By the end of his rant, Malfoy was shouting, spitting each word with hatred, and he found himself on his feet, attempting to tower over the cowering figures of the Trio. They had stepped back from him, and Hermione had raised her hands to stop his words.

"Calm down, Malfoy," Harry said delicately. "If you do not want to talk about the little girl, then we will not talk about the little girl. Just... please. I want to know... some more things. Okay, Malfoy?" Harry's voice and gaze were steady, and he motioned for Draco to sit down, which Draco did grudgingly. Malfoy slouched low in the chair and crossed his arms, putting up a physical barrier as well as a mental one.

"That's better," said Harry indifferently. "Now, on with the business at hand. Why did you become a Death Eater, Malfoy?"

Malfoy snorted. "I was supposed to. My parents raised me for the job, I was promised when I was born, and what else was I supposed to do? Both my parents are Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord was going to kill them if I did not follow through with 'the plan'. If you were in my position, what would you do?"

Harry grimly nodded. "And you do not want to work for Voldemort?"

Draco rolled his eyes, clearly disgusted with the obvious and tedious questions. "Oh, yeah. I absolutely love working for the Dark Lord. Who doesn't want to be afraid of their boss? Of the punishment for failure?" Draco's sardonic voice was dripping in thinly veiled sarcasm. "In fact, everyone should have to work with the thought of painful, premature death hanging over them. I have found it is a wonderful motivator."

"Then," Harry asked carefully, "why did you not accept Dumbledore's help?"

Draco was startled. He wondered how Potter had learned about what happened on the Tower, or if he was just taking a carefully measure guess. Eyes narrowed, Draco slowly asked, "What are you talking about, Potter?"

Harry smiled; he had caught his prey. "I mean, when Dumbledore offered to hide you and your family. He said that the Order would protect you. Yet you just stood there on the Tower, much like you are just sitting here now, and you did not even try to contact us. Why not?"

Hermione and Ron exchanged confused looks; obviously Harry had failed to mention those details about the night on the Tower.

Draco closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Draco whispered, more to himself than to Harry, "Dumbledore is dead. No one, or, at least, I did not think anyone, heard our conversation. I could not go to the Order; you would have killed me. I could not ask you to hide my parents, as I know perfectly well that they would refuse and kill me for my incompetence, betrayal, and distrust. I am not delusional, just idealistic. No one has left Voldemort and survived, except maybe Snape, though no one is sure of his loyalties, and if Dumbledore could be killed..." Draco opened his eyes as his voice petered out. He shook his head as though he could get the bad memories out of his heavy mind.

"Is there anything else, Potter?" Draco sounded exhausted and defeated, finally realizing the lies he had to live with and the difficulties of his situation.

The slamming of the front door cut off Harry's answer. A voice called out.

"We're in here!" Ron shouted and a few seconds later his ginger-haired sister, Ginny Weasley, appeared.

She froze when she saw Draco. "What his he doing here?"

"He is answering some questions," Harry softly replied, touching her hand. "Did you bring her?"

Distractedly Ginny nodded and fluttered her hand back the way she came. Hermione caught Harry's eye before she left the room.

Resting his head on his hand, Draco dryly observed, "Well, isn't this a pleasant reunion. I have not seen you all since... I left Hogwarts."

Ginny frowned at him, but no one responded.

Hermione reappeared, holding her hand out to someone behind her that Draco couldn't see.

"Come on, hun," she pleaded. "It's okay." Shyly, Natara poked her head around the doorway, hugging the wall with all her strength. She warily looked around the room, but as soon as her eyes fell on Draco, her whole aura changed.

Natara smiled, clapped her hands, and ran to Malfoy. Hugging him for dear life, she climbed into his lap. "C'est vrai? Is it you?" she anxiously asked, clearly relieved.

Draco smiled. "C'est moi."

Ginny, Ron, and Hermione looked shocked at the reunion, but Harry simply shrugged his shoulders, looking on with a detached interest.

"Like I thought," he muttered softly as Natara babbled in a strange mix of French and English, happy to be back with someone she knew.

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C'est vrai?- Is it true?

C'est moi- It is me