So Now, We Fall

So Now, We Fall.

One morning, at about 3 or 4, possibly 5 am, just as the dawn was approaching, a castle stood somewhere unplottable in the Scottish highlands. A particular tower in this castle housed several boys and girls, all of whom, for once, were fast asleep, tucked up in their maroon and golden bedspreads, enjoying a peaceful respite from the toils of life in the wizarding world, the school and social life and whatever else plagued teenage minds. Two tiny figures crept in for the briefest of moments, muttered a few obscure words and clicked their fingers, and with a crack like a whip the fireplace set in the side of the room burst into flame. That is to say, a fire appeared in the grate, not that the whole mantelpiece...never mind. The two tiny figures left just as quietly, polishing the odd table leg with the tea towels they wore as they went or sweeping an untidy pile of books to one side, but within a minute the room resumed its tranquillity. The whole thing was rather too monotonous for a Hogwarts castle. Dreadfully uninteresting, in fact. So much so, that you could actually hear the workings of fate breathe an audible sigh of relief when five mysterious people fell through the fireplace and landed in a heap on the rug.

The first thing Gregory noticed was the horrid beam of early morning sunshine that was streaming onto his face, telling him that it was nearly morning. They had been gone the entire night. The next thing he realized was that, if the sunshine was shining on him, then they had not arrived in the dungeons as planned. The next thing he realized--and was not, as usual, grateful for--was that, if the sun was shining on him, then it was nearly breakfast time.

As cautiously as he was able, he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up to a kneeling position, taking in his surroundings as he did so. Maroon and gold as far as the eye could see. He groaned.

"Where are we?" he asked unnecessarily.

"The Gryffindor common room," Blaise supplied from behind him. He heard a whimper and turned to see Pansy lying with her head in Blaise's lap, who smoothed her hair back awkwardly whilst Draco finished tying a torn shred of robe around her stomach. He yanked it tight, and she gave a loud cry of pain, and the tears started to form in her eyes.

"Can you walk?" he asked by way of apology. She shook her head, clinging miserably to Blaise's hand. He stared helplessly at her for a moment, then scowled angrily, stood and turned away.

Gregory and Draco met one another's eyes. They stood still for a second, and then--and neither was sure who stepped forward first--they found themselves in a tight embrace, soaking each other's shoulders with salt tears, pouring out all their fear and frustration into their best friend, hanging on to each other so hard that they brought each other crashing to the floor again, unsteady and uncaring as they were.

Silently, the portrait hole swung open and a tall black robed figure climbed stealthily through it. He stopped short at the sight of the four teenagers on the floor, one bleeding, all crying out their rage and despair, all missing wands, all Slytherins, all heroes.

"Pansy..." he rasped, moving over to the two girls that were huddled by the fireplace. The boys didn't acknowledge his presence.

Bending over the blonde and the redhead, he examined the wound on the formers leg, expertly bandaged by a boy who had had too much experience in the field of injuries. It would heal, just as soon as he got her to the hospital wing. He turned to the girl who cradled the wounded girl in her lap.

"What happened Blaise?"

She didn't answer him, the tears only rolled down her cheeks as she stared down at her friend.

"Blaise, what happened?" he asked harshly, forcing her head up to meet his gaze.

Her hollow, pale blue eyes met his glittering black ones.

"It's over. We've been exposed. Our parents have been taken to Azkaban." Her tone was flat, yet muffled by her sobs, and heartfelt in its delivery. She shuddered suddenly.

"He-He-H-He's...gone!" she burst out, shaking, falling to pieces before him. He looked at her in shock.

"Who?"

The three boys came up behind him and stopped down. The tallest took the redhead by the shoulders and cuddled her, and the thinner, shorter one took the poor blonde's hands in his. The man stared at the five of them, sallow and afraid.

"Who?" he said again.

"Sirius Black," came the level reply from Draco. "Bellatrix Lestrange killed him." The man looked at him in incomprehension, not understanding what implications Black's death could have on Blaise Zabini. "The Ministry have it on record that Black was her guardian--her seventh cousin three times removed or something," Draco explained in a drawling, despairing tone. "They never check they're records unless something's wrong, and with Black dead they'll dig up everything for the Daily Prophet, including his guardianship of Blaise. She's got to go back to her home now. She doesn't have a legal guardian with him dead and my father in Azkaban, and every other relative under suspicion," he went on through gritted teeth.

"Where were you?"

With the Death eaters. Voldemort was there, he interrogated us. Pansy didn't lie up to his expectations, so he did this to her. Then he was told that Potter had fallen for the mind game and gone to the Ministry building, and left. Whilst Potter and The Dark lord were working out their issues in the department of Mysteries, we left to find help. But it was too late. Now we've lost everything--Pansy, our parents , our reputations...Vincent...," he gulped.

"They gave Vincent the Dark Mark," Blaise said haggardly. "Now all we've got to do is wait for my parents to come and take me home and I'll be standing at those gatherings, side by side with him, matching robes and burn marks..." she broke off, crying bitterly. The man's eyes widened for the most short-lived of instants. He looked at Blaise, sobbing onto Goyle's shoulder. It was true. Now, with her cousin gone, her godfather, Lucius Malfoy, on his way to Azkaban and all her other relatives dead, imprisoned or on the run, she had no way of telling the Ministry that she was being cared for as a minor. The poor child was going back to her parents. The Zabinis. She could be dead before the summer was over.

He looked at the three boys. Their inheritance was all but displaced to a bunch of muggles. He would spare no tears for them as far as their finances went. But their parents...the Malfoys were anything but nice, but he was well aware that the loss of his father hurt Draco deeper than to just his honour. He was losing his father, who he loved. Maybe not in a classic fashion, but it was there. And Narcissa would be a wreck once word reached her that Lucius was in fear of his life. And the Crabbes...they we the closest thing to a nice family one could know that were caught up in the Death Eaters. This would hit Gregory hard, and Vincent was in much the same position.

The Parkinsons were so caught up in the power that they old get themselves killed just out of blind sightedness, and where would that leave Pansy? The five children were past the brink of disaster, and were unwillingly hurtling down the path of destruction, through no fault of their own.

"If Potter hadn't gone to the Department of Mysteries...if he hadn't tried to be such a stupid bloody hero...Black wouldn't have followed him...he would have stayed..." Balise broke off.

"If Potter hadn't had the fucking messed up plan of playing the part of the Boy Who Fucking Lived..." Draco seethed.

"Potter," Pansy whispered weakly. "It's all because of Potter."

She was right. It was. Five more lives that the marvellous Harry Potter had managed to destroy.

If he had been just above them now, just up a flight of steps, helpless, asleep, they could have killed him where he lay.

Instead, with the aid of the man, Severus Snape, who was not on their side of the war, but on their side of the fighting, they stumbled out of the unfamiliar common room and made their way to the dungeons. Making ready to face the morning, preparing for the intolerably long summer ahead.

Later that morning, Blaise would be summoned to Dumbledore's office. The old man, being annoyingly knowledgeable about other people's private affairs, would tell her much the same as he had told the boy that she blamed for her current crisis a few minutes previously, including why she, the smartest girl in Slytherin house, had not been elected as a Prefect.

"YOU THINK I HAD ENOUGH TO DEAL WITH? I'VE BEEN DEALING WITH THIS MOST OF MY LIFE! YOU THINK I CARE WHY I WASN'T A PREFECT? DON'T SIT THERE AND TELL ME YOU KNOW HOW I'M FEELING BECAUSE YOU DAMN WELL DON'T!"

Malfoy would confront Harry Potter later that day, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, as always. It would end badly, as always.

Pansy would go to St. Mungo's, and then home. Her welcome was pitiful, to say the least, and the crying wouldn't cease. You could house these children in their family manors and mansions and give them every luxury and all the love under the sun, but the bottom line is, the big moments have come and gone. They've been pushed. Now, they're empty. Now, no-one can stop them falling.