Harry Potter and the Silent Siege

Epilogue

The Heir of Slytherin

Draco Malfoy sat in his bedroom alone staring vacantly into space, the light from a single candle warming the side of his face. He heard but did not listen to the sharp pounding noise of the horizontal rain thrashing against his window and the sounds of his mother's wailing downstairs that seemed to ebb and flow just like the storm.

He had no desire to comfort her or even accompany her. On the contrary, Malfoy steeled himself to resist the disgust that seemed to boil over in his mind. At the end, she was pitiful and frail, just like his father had been. He wanted so very much to lead his kind away from this kind of weakness but he no longer saw how it could ever be done.

He tried with no success to take his mind away from his father's face at the trial that morning, downcast in shame as the sentence against him was read. He wondered whether rotting in an Azkaban cell, it would ever occur to him how right Draco had been. But he dismissed this fantasy almost soon as it had reached into his thoughts, realizing that it no longer much mattered one way or the other. It was too late for him now. It was too late for all of them.

Potter had been there, of course, the Weasley girl holding onto him like she was grabbing an oversized teddy bear. Malfoy had no doubt that before too long they would be spewing out their own malformed, half-breed children, just like her brother and his revolting mudblood girlfriend. They had said nothing to Malfoy, of course, but Potter had tried to look noble, no doubt something Dumbledore had taught his little boy to do; the Weasley girl had just held onto Potter even more tightly while her eyes had narrowed in hatred.

She needn't have worried. She wanted to drive the final nail into the grave of their kind and she was going to do it. It was her mutant offspring that would rule the world to come, the stuff of true wizards fading only into legend, and then a legend only of their defeat. There was nothing Malfoy or anyone else could do to stop it.

Malfoy leaned back on his bed and sighed, wondering idly when he would finally crack and go downstairs to use his wand to silence his mother's whines, a last desperate act of self-respect. He had almost decided to get to his feet when his bedroom windows suddenly flew wide open.

Cursing loudly as the rain rushed in and showered his bed sheets, Malfoy went to the window to close it again when something made him stop.

There was a strange white light on the other side. Malfoy thought at first that it might be a cluster of fireflies dancing incongruously in the rain, then perhaps a strange sort of mist but it seemed to grow dense instead of thin out. Malfoy stared at it mesmerized, even as the rain flew out from the window and began to soak him. He wasn't sure why but he found himself thinking that the cloud or whatever it was had some kind of soul or consciousness.

And then it moved closer to the window, still in a single mass, not very much like a cloud and much more like something driven with its own mind.

"Accio Wand."

Malfoy could not help to feel somewhat foolish as his wand slid off his dresser and into his outstretched hand. Since there was no one around to see him be the fool, however, he grabbed onto it tightly. Part of him kept thinking he should simply shut the window and then take a long hot bath but he couldn't seem to bring himself to move any closer.

And that was when the voice came, a high-pitched silky voice that started inside his head, though Malfoy could not shake the feeling that it was really the voice of the cloud.

"You won't be needing your wand."

Malfoy froze and his wand dropped to the floor. He started to cry out but his voice caught in his throat.

"You needn't cry out, either," the voice said. "It will serve you no purpose."

"Wh - who are you?" asked Malfoy, part of him still feeling strange to be talking to a cloud in the middle of a storm.

"I am that which does not die, Draco," the voice hissed in his head. "But if you wish to speak in human terms, I can see in my memory a frightened little boy who screamed and ran away from me into the Forbidden Forest. But I have seen that little boy become a man now and I know that he will neither scream nor run away this time."

Malfoy fell to his knees as though cowering in the presence of a divine entity.

"My Lord," he said.

"You needn't bow before me, Draco. I come to you now not as your lord and master. It is too late for that. I am here only as your servant."

"And how could I possibly serve you?" asked Malfoy.

But even as he said this, Malfoy felt his fear subside and the sense of opportunism that had first found him sorted into Slytherin began working in his mind. Of course, Dumbledore hadn't really killed the Dark Lord, just like Potter hadn't when he was a baby. And now here he was, disembodied and helpless. And, of course, he had come to find the only Death Eater, the only true loyal Pure Blood in the wizarding world who wasn't already dead or sentenced to a life of living hell in Azkaban prison. And that also meant that he was now completely dependent on him. Malfoy allowed himself a smile. The much-feared Dark Lord had never condescended to pay Malfoy while he was alive, dealing only with his groveling father. Perhaps now he would come to appreciate the error of his arrogance and fully understand what distinguished a pure-blood wizard.

"No doubt you are wondering how a half-breed such as myself could have anything to offer you?" the icy voice said in his head.

Malfoy stiffened.

"You can rest assured that my encounter with Dumbledore has taught me the error of my ways: there is no way that I could hope to match the full range of natural abilities that a pure-blood wizard such as yourself possesses. But consider, Draco, I still have a great deal of knowledge and skill. You've always envied Potter's ability to speak Parseltongue, I can see that. Think what you might achieve with my power, power which I am willing to give to you freely."

Malfoy didn't need to think. Whatever his misgivings about Lord Voldemort's pretensions to lead the wizarding world, he could no deny that he had been one of the greatest sorcerers of all time. With his knowledge in Malfoy's possession, there was no telling what he could achieve. There may yet be hope for wizard kind after all.

But Malfoy tried to keep his enthusiasm away from the edge of his conscious thoughts. It did not do to appear too eager in any negotiation. And Malfoy had a feeling that this negotiation would be the most important of his life.

He was not wrong.

"What do you have to gain from this agreement?" he asked the cloud suspiciously.

A high pitch hissing sound formed in Malfoy's head which he recognized a moment later as the sound of laughter.

"I only wish to finish the work that I have begun. I also desire a small portion of revenge on those who have reduced me to this state. I'm sure that you share no love loss for them, either. I hope you will decide quickly, Draco. We may not get another chance and I could not proceed without your agreement."

Malfoy smiled. Perhaps he and the Dark Lord had something in common after all. Yet still he hesitated, feeling the perspiration gather on his forehead even as he now stood entirely drenched in the rain. Who knew what effect the sudden force of the Dark Lord's thoughts and energies would have on his mind? Was this what he had proposed to Quirrell all those years ago?

Malfoy dismissed these thoughts from his mind. There was no reason for him to compare himself with that stuttering idiot and he only had Potter's word for all of the stories about them down in the depths of the castle. Wasn't he just wallowing in despair only moments ago? Didn't he now have a hope where before he had found none? A true Slytherin recognized the deal of a lifetime when it was presented to him; he did not let the opportunity slip between his fingers.

Unfortunately for him, Malfoy did not stop to consider that his desperation and despair was precisely why Voldemort had singled him out; that he had always found his most loyal servants in their darkest and most vulnerable hour; that he always used their weakness as his strength.

"How shall I show my agreement?" Malfoy asked.

"How does any true Slytherin show his agreement?" replied the voice.

Malfoy smiled and feeling slightly odd again, stretched out his hand. He forced himself to remain still as the cloud rushed through the window and straight toward him. It was only at the very last second before it plunged into him that Malfoy saw the mass take on the form of the thin hungry eyes and wide-open fangs of a snake.

Then he screamed.