A Last Stand

A Last Stand

Malfoy blinked and opened a heavily bruised eye-lid from a shallow sleep. He had dreamed again; it was of his mother’s death. After killing Lucius, Voldemort took her as his queen and when she would not sleep with him, he killed her. A flash of green light and she was lying crumpled on the ground; it was not a memory he had wanted relived. When Malfoy had askedsarcastically why Voldemort did not torture her first, Voldemort said with a sad type of nod that she was too beautiful. Then he had swooped out of the room in much the fashion of Snape, his black robes billowing out behind him. They had knocked Malfoy on the head next and brought him down to the dungeon.

“I see you’re awake, Draco.” Malfoy jumped or as high as you could jump being chained to a wall. He turned his head to his discomfort; his neck was sore, and saw in the shadows of the corner, Professor Snape.

“Hello, sir.” He nodded curtly- keeping up his Malfoy airs and on a sudden impulse dropped them. “Sir, do you remember what happened?”

“Yes, Malfoy, I do. We were taken down to the lowest prison; the one reserved for traitors and betrayers, Voldemort was always creative when designing his torture chambers, he made this one like the layers of Hell.” Snape laughed coldly.

“And Harry?” Malfoy asked. His lips were dry.

“Potter is hiding at the Order of the Phoenix lair with Granger. Weasley and the rest were caught, except for a few stray wizards that no one much cared about. It will be a matter of days before they are found and killed.” Malfoy nodded, something clenched up in his throat, but he pretended he were indifferent. Even if he wished he wasn’t a Malfoy anymore, it was no use trying right now to disobey the rules taught to him since he was two.

“And now, sir, what are we expected to do?” Snape let out a hollow sort of laugh.

“Now?” he scoffed. “Now we are to wait to die, wait to live, wait for an absolution that will never come*. Are they’re any last wishes you have Mr. Malfoy? I doubt they will come true.”

“Yes,” said Malfoy slowly, “I wish to know why you did it.” Snape looked at him curiously.

“You know that I almost killed Granger, for asking me that, do you not?” Malfoy nodded, “But for you, ha, for you , I shall say since you are the last heir of the Malfoys. I did it for her.” He said this with what Malfoy almost thought was, a tinge of sadness.

“Who was she?”

“Your mother.” Malfoy stared, not sure which emotion to convey and Snape laughed again, except this time it sounded quite genuine.

“What?” snapped Malfoy, angry at being taken by surprise.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever seen a Malfoy ever surprised.” Malfoy scowled darkly and with his eyebrows furrowed it reminded Snape of a thirteen old Malfoy instead of the dark powerful figure he had become like his father, where scowls were too petty to serve his face. Malfoy’s face softened slightly as he spoke of his mother, “What did you mean when you said you did it for her?”

“I did it to be close to her. She saw me as nothing but an acquaintance, one of your father’s many ‘business’ friends. But I saw her as beautiful and at those rare chances that we did talk, our conversations were so very different from the ‘I’m powerful and I’m going to kill the mudblood lovers’. But she had to live up to the Black family image; obedient and beautiful. And your parent’s match was perfect-the two most powerful pure-blooded families joined…. She had to stand up to the Malfoy image. She had to become cold and powerful and beautiful. And that was the end of our acquaintance.” He turned to glance at Malfoy. “And you, Mr. Malfoy, I know why you did it, but I do not know why you turned to stand with Dumbledore at the attack at the school.”

Malfoy laughed hollowly. “I was a foolish young boy, then. I did it as a rebellion against my parents. It was Parkinson who ignited the flame, actually. She said something of our wedding and I said that I would never be married to her. And she said, of course I would because I always did what my parents told me to, and so I stood with Dumbledore.” Snape looked at him curiously again.

“And that is I suppose why you have an infatuation with Potter, then?” Malfoy shook his head, a fleeting glimpse of longing swept across his haggard bruised features which had once been smooth and clear.

“No, that was love. I do not know how it came about, but it is here and it’s been one hell of a ride.” He caught Snape’s gaze and his face dropped, his eyes no longer held their vivacity, but merely sadness. “What do you suppose is to come of us?” he asked. For this Snape did not have an answer and it distressed Malfoy more than he could say. Snape, his guide, his mentor, had always had an ice cold answer for everything and now that he too was silent with the thought of the bleak impossible future that lay ahead, he realized that there was no hope.

A noise from outside startled them, then shouting and curses. Malfoy stood up and stood on tiptoes to see out the window of the dungeon and he smiled weakly. “Potter, Granger, Longbottom and it seems they’ve rescued Weasley. A last stand of the Gryffindors.” Malfoy turned away; they would be killed for sure. He turned to Snape and did something none would have guessed; quoted Hagrid, “What comes will come and we will meet it as we may.”