CHAPTER THIRTY

.  .  .

AS Draco waits for Madam Pomfrey to go to bed, lying wide awake, he eats the rest of the chocolate. The bear lies on his stomach, rising and falling with the rhythm of his breath. The only two reminders that anything remotely eventful happened earlier that day. Otherwise, Draco might have just brushed off his memories as strange, but pleasant dreams. But no, it happened.

He's down to the crumbs of the chocolate by the time Pomfrey disappears, perhaps having eaten them too fast out of nerves. He carefully folds the empty wrapper up—wasting time—before he slips out of bed. Now it's his turn to travel through the halls in his pyjamas, slinking in the shadows, avoiding anyone else that might be out of bed. In the silence of the evening, his heart thumps loudly in his ears—every breath, every nervous swallow, every step sounds too loud. He's almost certain someone is going to catch him, scold him and ask him what he's doing out of bed and out of the Hospital Wing. He's not even sure what he'll tell them. Going for a nighttime stroll?

The Room of Requirement feels both safe and dangerous. Once inside, he no longer sneaks around. His movements turn purposeful, long strides towards the cabinet he has hidden inside the messy room. Still, his breath nor his heartbeat has calmed down, both at speeds that only feed his nerves. Each careful stride is filled trembles, barely suppressed. As his hand hovers over the handle, he can't control the shaking. Taking one deep breath, he rips the bandaid off and pulls the door open.

A bird, tweeting happily about its newfound freedom, flies out above his head. The trembles take over his body and a shaky sob escapes his lips. The breath catches in his throat, turning the next sob painfully choked. He slowly lowers himself to his knees in front of the open cabinet, now empty except for a single feather. Somewhere in the distance, he can hear the bird chirping. It's alive. Alive and well despite it's trip to Borgins and Burkes. It worked.

Another sob leaves his body and he punches the door of the cabinet, desperate for an outlet. The door just creaks, swinging quickly back into his fist, and all he's left with is a sore fist that just seems to make things worse. The bird chirps, tormenting him. It worked.

He was going to have to kill Dumbledore.

.  .  .

A day. That's all Draco has. One day before the Death Eaters storm Hogwarts and he has to kill Dumbledore. Maybe he could run away—but where would he run to? He doesn't know anything but the wizarding world and that wouldn't be safe for him. Nowhere would be safe for him if he ran away. No, he can't run. If he ran, they'd kill his family instead. They might even kill Enoch, if they figured out how close they were.

The younger Hufflepuff stops by after classes, so unknowing and carefree. Draco realises what he's done the second Enoch walks through the door. He's doomed him. If the Dark Lord was to find out about their newfound relationship, it'd be used against Draco. Even without the Dark Lord, the second Enoch realises just what kind of monster Draco is—that'll probably break his heart. All Draco wants to do is confess, apologise for the actions he's about to commit, but he can't. That'd also doom Enoch. The less he knows, the better.

"Are you okay?" Enoch asks after sitting in silence for a few moments. Draco realises he hasn't been talking, has instead been fixating on his thoughts, and nods his head unconvincingly. He didn't get any sleep last night, exhaustion hitting him hard—even Madam Pomfrey didn't believe him when he told her she was fine. Enoch looks equal unconvinced, frowning softly at him. Draco doesn't deserve the concern that rests in his eyes. He drops his own gaze to his hands, fingers interlocked tightly with one another. "Classes were pretty boring today. You didn't miss out on much. I did manage to do the Alchemy practical fine by myself, so I think I'm getting better."

"That's good. You'd hope you'd be getting better." Enoch's gloved hand rests atop Draco's, warm against the cold. His fingers break apart his own, replacing the painful twisting with a comfortable grip. The blond stares at them for a few seconds before he looks up at Enoch. The brunet just smiles at him. "I'm glad you came this year. And I'm glad you studied Alchemy and partnered with me, even if I am a prick. Thank you."

"Were a prick, you're less of one now. I was right, by the way—you are nicer than you like to pretend." Just you wait...

Enoch doesn't say much more for the rest of the visit. He just sits there, holding Draco's hand, providing a comforting weight. The blond clings to it, knowing it's likely the last time he'll be this close to the younger. His presence is all that keeps Draco from sinking into a panic as he counts down each second of each minute of each hour until the time has come.

But, eventually, even Enoch has to go. With some reluctance, the younger seems to detach his hand from Draco's. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out that familiar tray of lemon candy, and places it on the Slytherin boy's lap.

"In case you need it while you're here. I've got a full one back at the dorms." He says with a smile. It's a shaky smile, as if even he knows something's wrong. He probably does, being Enoch.

Draco just hopes he doesn't know what.

.  .  .

Before going to open the cabinet, Draco stops by his dorm to change from his pyjamas. He has time. The others are woken by his movements, watching him with bleary eyes and tired scowls. He ignores them, focusing instead on his reflection. A pale face, gaunt and shadowed, stares back at him with that clear glimmer of fear in his eyes. Shaky hands make slow work of his buttons, until he just uses a spell to button them up. Then he takes one last look at his reflection, steels his expression until all he sees is an exhausted but determined boy, and leaves the room.

The Slytherin boy that walks down the halls betrays none of the panic rolling around inside of him like a thundering storm. A sense of dread still hangs in the air, in the ringing silence, the buzzing anticipation, the real storm approaching outside. His footsteps aren't muffled like every other visit, the cold tap of expensive shoes against the stone floor.

He loses control of the panic as he stands in front of the Vanishing Cabinet, the cloth hiding it sprawled across the floor. The ticking of the door seems in beat with his rapid heartbeat that he can still hear thudding in his ears. His bottom lip quivers uncontrollably as the doors open slowly, shadows rolling out. He doesn't wait for the others to arrive, not wanting to face them, but he can hear them as he leaves the room.

Each step up the tower feels like an eternity and a second simultaneously. His legs feel heavy, unwilling to get closer to Dumbledore, forced along by his determination and fear of death. The old man is talking to someone as he approaches and the thought of another being there almost causes Draco to run away. But the door has already slammed behind him and his foosteps aren't particularly quiet, so they likely already know he's there. By the time he reaches the top, Dumbledore is alone.

Draco keeps his wand focused on Dumbledore, watching for any sudden movement. He's already outranked in experience and skill, but he has the element of surprise behind him. Maybe through sheer luck, he can kill the old man.

"Good evening, Draco." The headmaster greets him as if it were any other, normal evening, as if he hasn't just been cornered in the Astronomy Tower. Draco starts circling around the structure separating them, but Dumbledore starts moving as well.

"Who else is here? I heard you talking." Draco ignores him, wand shaking in his hand. The wind blowing around the open space sinks into the blond's bones, turning his exposed skin numb. A rainless storm rages on out in the night sky.

"I sometimes like to talk to myself. I find it helps clear my thoughts a great deal. Have you been whispering to yourself, Draco?" The Slytherin pauses, unable to hide the confusion from his face. A wand directed at him threateningly, about to die, and the old man still has time to talk riddles. "Or are you acting alone?"

"No, others are here. I got Death Eaters into the school, and you didn't even notice."

"Very good." Dumbledore is too calm, the praise sounds too genuine. Draco's confusion only worsens. "But, you seem to be alone now. Where are they all, Draco?"

"They're fighting your lot." Draco is reminded of the body he had to step over to get here. The body he almost tripped over, going unnoticed as it lay in the dark shadows. He's not sure if he hopes it one of Dumbledore's or the Death Eaters. "I went on ahead. I-I have a job to do."

"Well, by all means, don't let me get in the road of your job. You had best get on with it, my dear boy." The old man's voice is soft when he speaks, not scared, oddly compassionate. There's even a smile on his face. The opportunity is there, but Draco is frozen. "Draco, you are no killer."

"How do you know what I am?" Resentment replaces the confusion in a great flare. Yet another person who doesn't believe he can do it. Even the person who set him up to this didn't think him capable. Why must everyone think he's so weak? Surely by now he's proven himself. He's here, isn't he? "You don't know what I am, what I can do. You don't know what I've done!"

"Like cursing Katie Bell in the hopes that she might give me a cursed necklace in return? Or poisoning a bottle of mead in the hopes that that too might be sent to me? Forgive me, Draco, but they have really been feeble attempts. I cannot help but feel your heart isn't really in it..."

"It is!" Draco spits unconvincingly. Even the old man doesn't seem to believe him.

There's a noise—a distant yell, the scuffle of fighting—and the fear fills him again. It could be so easy, alone here with Dumbledore, to forget who he has set loose in the school. Killers. Dumbledore's men are likely fighting, likely the ones struggling against the Death Eaters, but that's not to say the students haven't left their dorms out of curiosity either. What if Enoch were to leave and get caught in all this mess? The boy has the worst sense of self-preservation. What if that was his yell?

"Somebody is putting up a good fight." The older man comments, but Draco can't draw his attention away from the sounds of battle. "But, I must know, how did you manage to introduce Death Eaters into my school. I must admit, I thought it was impossible."

There's a beat, Draco can't find the words to answer, stuck in paralysing fear as he listens to the fighting.

"Perhaps, you ought to get on with your job. You must realise, you aren't the only one who has back-up tonight. Members of the Order of the Phoenix are likely fighting your Death Eaters now. What if they were to beat your back-up?" The blond's head snaps back towards Dumbledore's at the reminder of his task. All he can do is stare at him, his stomach rolling in protest. "I shall even make it easy for you."

As Dumbledore reaches for his wand, Draco's reflexes kick in and he disarms him before he even has a chance to utter a spell. And yet, as the wand flies out of the old man's hands, the lack of alarm on his face makes Draco think this is all as he intended.

"Very good, very good." He praises, like a teacher assessing Draco's dueling abilities. Despite the wand being aimed at his heart, unarmed, he still seems unfazed. As if sensing the question resting behind Draco's lips, he continues, "I don't think you will kill me, Draco. It's not as easy as you might think. But, as we wait for your friends, tell me... How did you smuggle them in here?"

"I fixed the Vanishing Cabinet, created a passage. The one Montague got lost in." Comprehension flashes across the old man's face, followed by a slight groan.

"Very clever. It has a sister, I take it?"

"At Borgin and Burke. No one figured it out, except me. I realised if it was fixed, there was a way into Hogwarts."

"So that was how the Death Eaters were able to slip in. A very clever plan, indeed. Right under my own nose, too." The first bit of praise Draco has received while doing this job, and it comes from the man he's supposed to kill. Still, he can't fight the pride that blossoms in his chest, the way it sates the need for approval he hadn't realised he had.

"Yeah, it was!"

"Regardless of who is winning, our time grows short." Dumbledore's voice takes on a somber tone as he clasps his hands in front of him. Throating burning, mouth dry, Draco feels his stomach roll around fearfully again. He licks his lips, but it does nothing. "Let us discuss your options, Draco."

"Options? I don't have any options!" Draco responds, louder than he meant. His wand shakes in his hand still. "I'm the one with the wand. I have to kill you."

"Draco, years ago, I knew a boy who made all the wrong choices. Please, let me help you."

"I don't want your help!" Draco spits, though his words don't ring true. A lump in his throat makes it hard to talk, pain filling every syllable. "Don't you understand? I don't have a choice. I've got to do this. I have to kill you. Or he'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family, anyone that I care about!"

"Draco, make the right choice. You haven't hurt anyone yet, I can help you. We will hide you, better than you can even imagine. Order members will collect your mother tonight, your father is safe in Azkaban but we can protect him too. Even Enoch Desrosiers and his family, if you're concerned about your attachment to him..." Draco's breath catches in his throat, feeling caught, reminded of the brunet he's desperately trying not to think about. His wand wavers in the air. "We will protect them, Draco. Just come over to the right side. Draco, you're not a killer..."

Draco can't speak. He knows, if he does speak, he'll be unable to stop himself from accepting such promises of safety and protection. But the old man is wrong. The promises are nothing but lies—nothing will protect him from the fury of the Dark Lord should he fail and turncoat.

Footsteps make the choice for him, thundering up the stairs. His Aunt leading the pack, Death Eaters burst into the room. Startled, Draco adjusts his grip on his wand, hoping he looks more confident than he is. At the sight of Dumbledore, unarmed, pleasure brightens Bellatrix's face. She grins wickedly as she greets him, stepping closer to the blond. She whispers praise in his ear but it doesn't feel the same as Dumbledore's. It makes him feel sick.

"Good evening, Bellatrix." Dumbledore says in that same conversational tone, despite now being far outnumbered. "I believe some introductions are required."

"Introductions? Think these jokes'll save you?" One of the other Death Eaters—Alecto Carrow—sneers as she moves further into the room.

"No, not jokes. These are manners."

"Would love to, Albus, but we have a bit of a tight schedule." Bellatrix hisses before turning to her nephew. "Do it."

Her order is echoed across the room, as the large man thundering into the room barks, "Do it, or I'll do it for you."

Draco's attention snaps towards the great, horrifying werewolf leering back at him with dirty pointed teeth. His heart lurches in his throat and his arm starts to burn as if in memory. All he can see is Fenrir hovering over him, teeth sinking into his forearm, laughing manically as the boy screams and squirms.

"Is that you, Fenrir?" Dumbledore asks and Draco looks back to him, desperate to look anywhere but at the man who turned him into a werewolf.

"Pleased to see me, Dumbledore?" Fenrir responds, voice too close for Draco's comfort. "You know how I love kids. Wouldn't miss this for the world."

"I can't deny, I am a little shocked that Draco invited you, of all people–"

"I didn't. I didn't know he'd be here." Draco says too quickly. Bellatrix's hands hover over Draco's shoulders, voice still whispering in his ear, as she directs the topic back to the task at hand.

"Do it, Draco. This is your moment."

"Go on, Draco."

"Kill the old man. Doesn't look long for this world anyway."

"Doesn't have the stomach. Just like his father."

"Come on, Draco. Now!" The voices all surround Draco, urging him onwards. But all he can see is Dumbledore watching him, the promise still resting unspoken between them, a sympathetic glimmer in his eye. Compassion is etched all across his weak face, the suggestion that no matter what Draco chooses, he doesn't blame him. But Draco is near tears and he's not even sure he'd be able to aim properly with his hand trembling uncontrollably. He feels as if he's about to vomit, for real this time.

"No." A voice breaks through the noise, silencing all those around him. Draco recognises the voice without having to turn around, knows Snape has joined the group. It brings him little comfort, only more terror.

"Severus." Dumbledore's voice is soft, pleading. It's the weakest he's seemed this entire evening, as he begs the dark man watching him. Snape steps forward, pushing Draco out of the way, moving through the throng of Death Eaters easily. "Please..."

There's barely a second of hesitation as Snape raises his wand, pointed at Dumbledore, answering the older man with, "Advada Kedavra!"

Draco watches as the green light bursts from his wand and hits Dumbledore cleaning in his chest. He watches as the old man flies into the air, as his headmaster is knocked out of the building. He stares in horror at the space where Dumbledore once was, unable to believe he's now dead.

Draco feels disconnected as his collar is grabbed and Snape urges him to move, practically dragging him through the door. His legs barely cooperate as he feels hands push his back, keeping him moving. Destructive celebration follows them through the Great Hall as the cutlery neatly set out on the table is kicked, as the windows are shattered, candles blown out. It followed them through the hallways and out into the courtyard, as Hagrid's hut and the neighbouring trees are set alight. Draco watches in horror as his home is turned into chaos with wicked laughter.

A spell shoots past them, followed by the anguished, angered cry, "Snape, he trusted you!"

Draco turns to see Potter chasing them. Of course, Potter is chasing them. Why must he be such a Gryffindor? This isn't the time to play hero, to chase after the Death Eaters that just killed one of the strongest men Draco can think of. Draco prays, in the adrenaline of this night's events, none of the Death Eaters forget who Potter is promised to.

"Go on. Run, Draco." Snape orders, giving Draco another shove to get his legs moving. It takes little more encouragement to continue running towards the gates. He starts running, away from the death, away from the destruction, away from Potter and his shouts of coward. While they're not intended for him, they still echo around his head tormentingly. He keeps running until he can no longer hear them, until he's past the grounds and the safety of Hogwarts. If it even is safe anymore.

Then, along with the other Death Eaters that had kept moving, he Disapparates into the night.

Fin.

( AUTHOR'S NOTE )
I tried to not just directly write this final scene word for word but some of the dialogue is like hard to just kinda twist. Hopefully it was still decently entertaining to read

Should clarify, this is only the end of book 1. There's a sequel coming (intro should be published not long after this) called "Savoir" that goes into the next year

I can't believe I just finished my first ever Harry Potter fic, as well as my first successful OC. In first fic fashion, I think it has a lot of things that could've been done better but, all in all, I'm pretty proud of & attached to this. Thank you all for putting up with me during all the many slow updates and struggles I had in writing, thank you for all the support & love you've given this. Every time anyone says anything remotely positive about this fic, I absolutely burst. I hope I get to see you all in the sequel (because it's not over yet!!) and any future HP endeavours I have planned