Beginning Of The End

The three Malfoys were huddled together within the hall, watching the relieved and sobbing families and friends rush to each other. Draco's mother clung to his shoulders, her arms locked around him as though fear that at any moment, some kind of vortex would open above their heads and suck him away from her. His father watched the people that milled together nervously, his icy eyes flitting from face to face, while his own was tight with nerves.

“This can't be,” Draco heard his father whisper. “This is wrong.”

“Lucius, hush!” his mother hissed, desperation straining in her voice. “Maybe we should just leave? Hide our face? Go back to the mansion, cover our tracks --”

Lucius Malfoy's eyes snapped onto her, his expression...strangely blank. Draco had never seen his father so emotionless before, and he moved his shoulder uncomfortably. And tried to ignore Potter's glance towards them.

“They know what part we played,” Draco heard his father reply. “Attempting such a scheme as that would be useless. We'll be made to pay, Narcissa. I say we open a new bank account, under a false name, switch as much --”

“God, is that all that matters to you?” Shrugging off his mother's embrace, Draco crawled back away from his father a few paces. His blue eyes were dark with the sheer loathing that burned the muscle that was his heart. “Preserving your precious money? I could be dead – you both could be dead, and yet all you're concerned of is your damn money?”

Lucius Malfoy's eyes widened slowly. Even Narcissa was staring at Draco as though her son were a stranger that had shoved up to fingers in her face: never before in his entire life had the young man dared to speak to his father in such a way. His father cleared his throat.

“I understand you have had a shock. We all have, Draco. But if we do not have money, we shall be nothing, and we shall have nothing. I am thinking of our future wellbeing.”

The words stung. Wordlessly, Draco pushed himself to his feet, feeling his bones and muscles aching with exhaustion. No one looked at him except his own parents, and they were now the last people Draco wanted to be around. He knew where he wanted to be, with whom he wanted to be, and this knowledge turned his blood to ice.

Should I go? he wondered absently, his gaze seeing past his parents and into his troublesome thoughts. No, I should. The sooner I get away from my parents, the sooner I'll feel more...normal. I'd never really felt that before, not until I was round...her.

He'd missed that, he realised slowly. He missed her, the way she didn't judge him, didn't expect ludicrously great things from him. When they'd parted, something vanished from him, changing him, and Draco could see that now. She'd made him feel normal, wanted. Now that he thought about it, Draco had been wanting to feel that again for a very long time.

Seeing his son begin to turn away, Lucius lunged to his feet and grabbed Draco's arm in a vice-like grip. “Where do you think you're going?”

“Somewhere where I don't need to be with you!” snarled Draco angrily, trying to jerk away from his father. “Let go of me!”

Realisation darkened his father's expression. “You're going to her, aren't you? Without a wand? What are you going to do, take a train? Call a taxi? Don't be a fool, you're better than that! Than her!”

Draco acted without thought. One moment he was glaring his father eye-to-eye, and the next, his fist was connecting with Lucius' cheek. The man stumbled back, clutching his face, snarling angrily. Knowing he would have to move quickly unless he wanted his father to get violent, Draco turned and stalked out of the hall. Every limb of his body quaked with fear, surprise, and anger.

“YOU CAN'T WALK AWAY LIKE THIS!” That was his mother, screaming at him from the hall. People would be watching now, listening, but Draco didn't care – that was his parents' problem. “IF YOU WALK OUT ON US NOW, DRACO, IF YOU GO TO THAT MUGGLE'S WHORE, DON'T YOU EVER...don't you ever...”

Narcissa's tears echoed down the corridor, born by the softest of breezes. Schooling his expression, Draco straightened his shoulders, raised his chin high, and lengthened his strides. He didn't have a wand. He didn't have money. But maybe, just maybe, someone would...help him. Oh, who was he kidding? Who would want to help Draco Malfoy, for God's sakes! It was a long walk down to the front hall, out of the main doors, and into the comforting darkness outside. Draco walked sluggishly, heading towards the snaking path that kept dissolving into the gloom ahead of him.

Light bloomed above his head.

“Bit late for an evening stroll, Malfoy?”

Draco swung round to face Professor McGonagall, seizing up like a rabbit caught before a hound of slobbering dogs. She was following him, the source of the light her wand. Humiliation – when had he ever felt that like this before? – warmed his neck and made Draco drop his gaze.

“I'm...” He couldn't finish his words. He didn't know what to say.

McGonagall paused a few steps away from Draco. There was no hiding the revulsion on her face as she crossed her arms across her chest. Draco, not knowing how else to cure the dryness in his throat, swallowed hard. It was like trying to swallow sandpaper.

“I need help.” McGonagall's lips twisted slight, nose creasing. “Please,” Draco pleaded, trying not to grimace. “I have to get somewhere, to...someone.”

“And why, Mr Malfoy, do you suppose that I should help you?”

Draco shut his eyes and tried to pretend he was someone else, talking to a friend. “Because you can't blame a person for how they're brought up. Because my parents made me follow...Voldemort. Because I spent my entire childhood being told he was this great leader, this amazing genious, who would cure all our problems. That he would make us all great. That everything he did was for the greater good of the wizarding kind.” Now Draco was talking, everything that he had kept bottled up within him over the past odd year was pouring out of him, as though flood gates had opened within him. “And now look where he is! Dead! Damn dead, and all my pathetic parents can think about is their God damn money!”

He shut up then, breathing heavily. McGonagall was just staring at him, unblinkingly. After what seemed like an eternity, the professor cleared her throat. “Well, I guess stranger things have happened tonight. Come on then, Mr Malfoy.”

Scarcely able to believe what he was seeing, Draco watched the head of Gryffindor house push past him along the track. Feeling dazed and a little apprehensive, Draco hurried on after her.

While they walked, they kept their thoughts to themselves. Finally, after Hogwarts station had been passed, McGonagall turned to the Slytherin and pointed absently around her with her wand.

“Here we are, past the boundaries of Hogwarts. I will spell you to well you want to go. Do you have an address, or a --”

“18 Cooper Avenue,” Draco blurted without thinking. “The town of Aldridge. England.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, you do seem very passionate. I hope this person is expecting you.”

Draco frowned. “Why...why are you doing this? For me, of all people?”

The woman tutted dismally. “I really don't know, Malfoy. Because I want to make a difference? To be fair towards my fellow men? To show humanity?” Ouch. “Right, ready?”

Taking a deep breath, Draco nodded. McGonagall's wand pointed towards him, her mouth moving over a spell that Draco's weary mind could not comprehend. Then it felt as though he were spinning through he air, being dragged through some invisible tornado, while his gut went a separate way to his head...

...and found himself standing under a shabby, blinking street lamp. Glancing around, Draco found a shiver crawling up his spine; a shiver he shook quickly away. So what if he was in a Muggle place? Lots of wizards lived in Muggle settlements. Now, where was house number eighteen?

It was, of course, straight ahead of him. There were no cars on the roads; they slept soundly at the sides of the pavements. Draco jogged across the road, leaping the low picket fence nimbly, before looking up towards the house that squatted before him. Creeping round to the dark side of the house ( and praying there were none of those Muggle security alarm-things), Draco snatched up a handful of gravel and snuck over to the left-side window on the second floor. Darkness growled down at him, darker than the initial outside gloom. Throwing back his hand, Draco let a storm of little stones patter against the window. When nothing happened, he went back for another handful.

He was about to throw another handful when he heard the lock of the back door click open, and the hinges creaked slightly. A quiet hiss broke the silence outside.

“Elliot, go away! I've told you, it's over!” Draco blinked, but God, did he know that voice! “For Christ's sakes, Elliot, just go away! I swear I'll let the dog on you.”

This made Draco snigger. “What, that scrap of a thing? It couldn't bite it's own arse, let alone anything higher than my ankle.”

The door slammed shut. Blanching, Draco recoiled a few steps, alarmed, but... He could see her through the misted glass, leaning back hard against the door from the way her dark hair and vivid green nightgown showed up plainly. Slowly, he saw her turn, and the door opened. And there she was, staring towards him with those large green eyes filled with – what? Fear? Alarm? Draco winced inwardly. Hatred?

The girl crept out into the back garden in bare feet, her hand faltering as it made to touch Draco's arm. Scowling, she pulled the corners of her nightgown closer around her body. Draco made himself look at her face, feeling moisture back in his mouth again. But now was not a good time to be admiring his ex's curves.

“What the hell are you doing here, Draco?”

“I --”

Her eyes narrowed. “Ended it?”

Draco whistled a breath out through his teeth. Well, of course she would make this as hard as humanly possible. But after what he'd just survived, Draco was pretty sure he could survive anything.

“Yes. I did,” he admitted heavily. “Look, I've got nowhere to go. I ran. Could I...?”

The unfinished question lingered in the crisp night air between them. The girl studied Draco's face hard, as though trying to find any reason why she shouldn't grab the spade propped against the wall and beat him out the garden, screaming a war cry at the top of her lungs. Then she turned away, swinging her chin towards the kitchen door to show he should follow her. Before they could cross the threshold, however, Draco reached out and placed his hand tightly over her shoulder. Her muscles tensed.

“Helen?”

“What is it?”

What could he say? To be honest, Draco had just wanted to be able to say her name again without looking like a total prat. Well, so much for that idea!

“Thanks, all right.”

Looking back over her shoulder, Helen's eyes looked Draco over. Then she shrugged off his hand and vanished into the kitchen. Seconds later, Muggle electricity sent light bursting into the swan-globe overhead.

“Don't mention it,” she replied, flicking on the kettle. “Now, what do you want? Coffee, tea, or a to-die-for hot chocolate?” Helen shot him a sly look. “I'm afraid we ran out of eye-of-newt.”

Normal. Normal, seventeen-year-old boy normal. Collapsing into one of the red-backed chairs around cluttered breakfast table, Draco started to laugh.

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