Tales of the Battle

Bad Faith

'Are you sure there's no troll blood in your family?' the dirty, pale-faced and frightened-looking blond asked acidly as he staggered under the weight of his soot-blackened companion.

The seventh floor corridor walls were shaking. A painting fell from the wall and landed face down on the floor. The painting's subject, a full bearded wizard wearing a tartan tam o' shanter, sprinted into the next painting.

'Re-hang me,' the portrait demanded of the two young men.

While Draco Malfoy looked frantically around for the source of the voice, his companion simply put his foot through the fallen canvas; he then broke the frame for good measure. Gregory Goyle laughed vindictively at the angry screams of the portrait.

Draco stared down in bewilderment at the broken frame. Goyle, meanwhile, clenched his huge ham-like fist and swung it around hard. There was a loud crack as Goyle's knuckles connected with Draco's left ear. The slim blond boy staggered sideways and his knees buckled. Unexpectedly floored by his fellow Slytherin, Draco whimpered.

'Crabbe?' Goyle asked threateningly. His huge hands remained menacingly clenched.

'He's dead. He conjured Fiendfyre and couldn't stop it. We're lucky to be alive,' said Draco, trying to hide his pain and regain control of his deranged companion. 'I dragged you out. I saved your life, Goyle! You should be grateful.' Draco's pleas were met by a disdainful sneer.

'Need wand,' demanded Goyle fiercely, holding out his hand.

'Crabbe knocked mine out of my hand when we were in the room of hidden things, it's gone,' Draco whimpered.

'Your fault,' Goyle grunted. 'Wha' 'appened t' the Mudblood 'n Potter? Did yer kill 'em?'

Draco looked at Gregory Goyle in amazement. That was two sentences in a row from the big oaf, and they almost made sense. He needed to remind the moronic ox who was in charge.

'They escaped! I've just told you that Crabbe knocked my wand out of my hand, you idiot! And Potter disarmed you! Don't you remember?' drawled Draco, failing to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

Goyle raised his fist again.

'Don't hit me! I'm on your side, remember?' begged Draco.

Goyle simply raised his fist higher. As a frightened Draco tried to push himself away, as he slithered across the floor, Goyle kicked him in the ribs.

'Didn't hit, kicked,' said Goyle, chuckling at the subtlety of his joke. Draco moaned in pain and clutched his side.

'Crabbe's dead, your fault. Yer shouldn't've stopped us killin' 'em. Yer next, traitor,' Goyle grumbled.

'Don't hurt me, please,' Draco begged.

Goyle merely sneered, and raised his fist, but a loud explosion some distance behind him shook the walls and floor. The burly youth turned to look for the source of the blast. It seemed to be around the next corner. While Goyle was distracted Draco took the opportunity to struggle to his feet and flee. He was, he knew, easily capable of outdistancing Goyle. As he ran along the corridor and round a corner, he looked back to see Goyle lumbering in pursuit.

Draco smiled to himself, confident that he would escape. Goyle was slow in more ways than one. Then, in the distance ahead of him, a window broke. Four huge and hairy legs forced their way inside as an Acromantula began tearing at the walls. It was trying to widen the gap, trying to get into the school. Draco stopped and turned. He was trapped between the spider and Goyle, who had also halted.

Goyle glared in hatred at him, and Draco realised he had no chance of talking his way to freedom. There was a crash, and Draco looked back to see that the giant spider had succeeded in it's attempt. It was inside the school, and scuttling towards him. Draco trembled in terror, convinced that he was going to die. When he turned back to plead desperately with his former companion he discovered that Goyle was already fleeing; he followed as quietly as he could.

As they went back past the room of hidden things, Draco saw a chance. He accelerated, dodged around the lumbering Goyle and sprinted ahead.

'I don't have to be faster than an Acromantula, just faster than you!' he shouted spitefully over his shoulder.

Draco continued to accelerate, but halfway along the rubble-strewn corridor he passed a huge hole in the wall, not far beyond it a red-headed body lay carefully hidden in an alcove.

Sliding to a hasty halt, Draco looked at the corpse. It was a Weasley twin. He had no idea which one, but it didn't matter. There might be a wand on the body. He looked back. Goyle was not far behind him, and was closing quickly. Realising that he did not have time to find out, he ran. He looked ahead worriedly hoping that he'd be able to reach the next corner before Goyle found a wand, if there was one to find. He put on a desperate spurt of speed, rounded the corner, and almost ran into the other Weasley twin. He was with a buxom round-faced girl with shoulder-length corn-coloured hair. He didn't recognise the girl, though there seemed to be something vaguely familiar about her.

The twin examined him carefully, wand ready, and Draco was thankful that he was still wearing his school robes.

'Don't hurt me, I'm on your side,' begged Draco. 'I haven't got a wand.'

George Weasley looked at his companion.

'Draco Malfoy, Slytherin,' the girl said. 'He's a creep; he was in my year.' Draco stared at the girl. She was in his year? Who was she? She was neither Slytherin nor Gryffindor, he was certain of that. 'He's the one who almost killed Katie with that cursed necklace.' she added spitefully.

Malfoy looked at the girl again and recognition dawned, she was that timid and stupid Hufflepuff half-blood: Abbot. As he looked at the girl in astonishment, the twin punched him in the right eye, and he again fell to the floor. Weasley looked scornfully down at him before running to the corner with the Abbot girl.

'Fred?' the twin yelled, ignoring Malfoy and staring in disbelief up the corridor. 'No! Fred! Leave him alone!'

Malfoy watched the twin raise his wand, presumably aiming at Goyle, and took the opportunity to escape. Pulling aside a tapestry, he took a short cut down to the second floor and slipped through a secret door and into another corridor. To his horror, another Weasley was sprinting towards him. It was the bespectacled one, the idiotic former Head Boy. He looked wild and out of control.

'It wasn't me, I found him like that,' Draco shouted at the approaching figure, holding out his arms to show that he was wandless. 'Don't hurt me; I'm on your side.' The Weasley waved his arm to knock Draco aside and his flailing hand caught Draco a painful blow on the right ear.

Draco staggered sideways and watched the Weasley sprinting towards the stairs leading down to the Entrance Hall. Uncertain where to go or what to do, he decided to follow. Moving cautiously down the corridor, he heard spell-fire ahead. He had walked into the battle.

The fighting seemed to be everywhere. Scuttling nervously past several combats, Draco cautiously made his way towards the Entrance Hall. If he could reach his parents, then he'd be safe. He'd lost his mother's wand! Now no one in the family had a wand! But she'd forgive him, wouldn't she? After all, it wasn't his fault, it was Crabbe's. He reached the main stairs and was halfway down when he was spotted.

'Another Hogwarts student who thinks he can defeat the Dark Lord.' The Death Eater raised his wand and Draco cursed the fact that he was still in his school robes.

'I'm Draco Malfoy, I'm on your side,' he begged. Then, to his astonishment, someone stunned the Death Eater. He looked up gratefully, only to be punched on the nose.

'That's the second time we've saved your life, you two-faced bastard,'* Ron Weasley shouted from somewhere close.

Draco carefully felt his thin, pointed nose, it was bleeding profusely and he suspected that it was broken. He stumbled tearfully down the stairs. Weasley had saved him, and then broken his nose. In a way, he told himself, that was a good thing; it wouldn't do to be in any way indebted to the filthy blood-traitor.

Once in the Entrance Hall Draco looked out into the castle grounds. The area outside the entrance was a seething mass of duellers, giants, trolls and giant spiders, and he was wandless. As he watched he realised that, even with a wand, he'd never be able to get through that raging combat unscathed.

There was only one thing he could do; it was time to hide. His decision made, Draco slipped stealthily across the entrance hall and crept down the stairs to the dungeon corridor. Once there, he cautiously made his way towards the Slytherin Common Room. As he turned the final corner, he discovered that the route to his refuge was blocked by a beautiful woman with silvery-blonde hair.

They stared at each other in surprise, and he recognised her. It was that silly French girl, the Beauxbatons champion, the part-veela freak. A man stepped out from behind her. To his horror it was another Weasley, the one whom Greyback had scarred.

'Don't hurt me, I'm on your side,' begged Draco. 'I haven't got a wand.' He held up his empty hands.

The Weasley did not attack.

'I'm hurt, I was looking for somewhere to hide,' Draco explained.

'The only place down here is the Slytherin Common Room,' the Weasley said suspiciously. Then a silver weasel Patronus arrived.

'Seventh floor, the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, as soon as you can,' the weasel spoke in a mature male voice, but the message ended with a distraught sob. The blonde girl and the scar-faced man looked at each other in white-faced horror.

'Someone's dead! Ginny was on the seventh floor!' said scar-face. He stared into Draco's face, and suddenly wolf-like, bared his teeth. Draco took a fear-filled step backwards.

'You knew! But you weren't going to tell me,' he accused. 'Who?'

'One of the twins,' squealed Draco involuntarily. He was terrified by the scarred and snarling creature in front of him. The Weasley's fist lashed out angrily, connected with Draco's jaw, and everything went black.

Draco had no idea how long he had been unconscious. He was groggily staggering back to his feet when the Dark Lord's voice rang out, announcing a ceasefire. He wondered whether to risk trying to rejoin his parents.

After some thought, he decided to try. Anything was better than being stuck here with the suicidal defenders. Stumbling dazedly back up to the entrance hall, he reached the main door as a thickset man with a heavily bandaged hand entered. The man was dragging an unconscious girl.

'Give me a hand, laddie,' the man ordered. 'We need to get this wee lassie up to the Hospital Wing.'

Before replying, Draco looked out into the grounds. He saw dozens of defenders, many of them were students, and most of the students were the troublemakers he had given detentions to, or reported to the Carrows. They would recognise him, he knew, and they would definitely not be friendly. He was trapped, he realised; he nodded, took the girl's legs and lifted.

'Malfoy!' someone yelled in horror when he entered the Hospital Wing. Draco looked up, worried, but it was only one of the Hufflepuffs, a whining Half-blood named Hopkins. The boy had always wanted to be a Healer. He was getting his wish.

'I haven't got a wand,' implored Draco. Hopkins simply stared contemptuously at him.

'I'm hurt, too,' he looked hopefully at Madam Pomfrey. The school nurse examined him brusquely.

'A broken nose, and few bruises, that's all!' she snapped. 'You'll have to wait.'

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again without speaking. His usual arguments; that he was Head Boy, that his father was rich and powerful and that his family were very well connected would simply get him hurt. Besides, everyone knew that this was no longer true. The Malfoys were out of favour. The Dark Lord was living in their house and spending what was left of their fortune. Draco backed against the wall and stood there, watching, but saying and doing nothing. Perhaps he'd be safe here?

Then, to his horror, Longbottom and the Weasley girl arrived. They were carrying a badly bleeding girl on a stretcher. Draco watched them carefully. He'd spent six years taunting the fat and useless Longbottom, but this year Longbottom had turned into another Potter. The filthy blood-traitor was argumentative, annoying, and was always bleating on about the rights of Mudbloods and Muggles.

Draco had tried to hex the Muggle-loving blood-traitor Longbottom several times during the year. He'd failed every time. He had lost the only duel that they'd had, and had only been saved from a serious hexing by the arrival of Professor McGonagall, who had given him detention. The Headmaster had countermanded the stupid old bat of course, but for some reason Professor Snape hadn't punished Longbottom.

A few days after that incident Draco, with Crabbe and Goyle's help, had managed to ambush Longbottom. But dozens of students had rushed to Longbottom's aid. Worse, the day after that he'd been forced to go to the hospital wing because someone--someone in Slytherin House--had smeared Bubotuber pus inside his robes.

Draco did not understand Longbottom. He was a pureblood, as was the Weasley girl, but blood status seemed to mean nothing to them. They associated with Half-bloods and Mudbloods, they treated the filthy scum as though they were equals. Malfoy watched them cautiously. Fortunately, they were busy and they hadn't seen him.

The Weasley girl and Longbottom had deposited the injured girl on one of the two unoccupied beds. They were talking quietly. Draco decided to move closer. If they knew what Potter was doing, where he was, then he had a chance. That was information the Dark Lord would be pleased to receive, it would improve his standing, improve his chances of survival.

He crept cautiously forwards, watching and attempting to eavesdrop; he needed something, anything, to take back to the Dark Lord. Longbottom, nodded in reply to an unheard question and the colour fell from the Weasley girl's face. Suddenly she was pale and frightened. Then she slapped Longbottom's face, hard.

'You bloody idiot, you let him go!' she screamed.

Draco chuckled gleefully at Longbottom's misfortune. That was a mistake; he turned his chuckle into a cough, but it was too late. Weasley had heard and she was marching towards him, her eyes blazing with hate.

'Don't hurt me, I haven't got a wand,' begged Draco.

He backed hurriedly against the wall as the girl approached. She was at least six inches shorter than he was, but her anger somehow made her even more frightening than her scar-faced brother. She was like a lioness; she was even growling, and when she raised her hand he cowered in terror. While he gazed fearfully at her upraised hand, she kneed him in the groin. Her knee connected with enough force to lift his feet from the ground and he collapsed to the floor, whimpering in agony.

'Well, who'd have thought it! You do have balls after all,' Ginny Weasley snapped.

'Come on, Nev, let's try to find more survivors.' She turned and strode determinedly from the ward.

Draco remained curled in a heap on the floor. A long time later, after the pain had subsided to an ache and a humiliating memory, he risked peering around the room. He was simply being ignored by the busy occupants of the Hospital Wing.

He did not sit up until the Dark Lord told everyone that Potter was dead, but everyone stared their hatred at him, and soon afterwards the battle noisily recommenced. He did not try to leave. He was safe here.

Eventually, the castle fell silent, and then the whispers began. "Potter was alive. Voldemort was dead. It was over." Draco did not know what to do, whether to believe it or not. Madam Pomfrey and others were continuing to look after the seriously injured, too busy to celebrate or even find out whether the rumours were true.

If Voldemort was dead, what had happened to his parents? They were wandless and alive only at the whim of the Dark Lord. If his parents were dead, if the Mudbloods had won...

Then another Weasley arrived, one Draco had never seen before. He was a squat, burly and weather-beaten man with long and untidy hair. Draco remained seated on the floor, watching warily.

'Draco Malfoy?' the Weasley asked.

'Don't hurt me, I haven't got a wand,' begged Draco.

'Why should I hurt you?' enquired the Weasley as he examined Draco's bruised face.

'The others all did,' admitted Draco suspiciously.

'The others?' asked Charlie Weasley curiously. 'Who broke your nose?'

'Ron.'

'Your black eye?'

'That was the twin,' Draco admitted.

'Jaw?'

'He had a scarred face and was with that blonde Veela-freak,' said Malfoy. The Weasley bristled, but said nothing.

'Not mild-mannered Percy though?'

Malfoy rubbed a bruised ear and the Weasley chuckled.

'What about our little Ginny?' he asked curiously.

Malfoy involuntarily moved his hands to protect his groin and Charlie Weasley laughed manically, almost crazily. It was as though if he didn't laugh, he would be crying.

'Well, Draco, your parents are looking for you, and I'm here to take you to them, not to thump you.' Charlie said, swinging out a calloused hand. Draco dodged it, and hit the side of his head on a bed.

Charlie just laughed louder.

'I was going to help you up, not hit you. Your parents are in the Great Hall.' Charlie turned and strode from the Hospital Wing. Draco hauled himself to his feet and scampered after him.