Author's Note: Since I keep forgetting to do a disclaimer, I might as well do one in the last chapter. All of the characters in this story, except Katherine Williams, belong to J.K. Rowling. If any of the characters are out of character, I'm sorry, but it was all part of the story and there for a purpose. Thanks to all the reviewers, especially the ones that gave me feedback, because feedback (positive and negative) is always good. On to the last chapter....
He wasn't planning on apologizing. How could he? He wouldn't even know where to begin. Sorry, chaps, but I was just having some trouble deciding how I want my life to go. You happened to get in the way, of course, but I really didn't mean anything by it. Yeah, right. He would just live out the rest of the year the way it had always been.
Crabbe and Goyle once again took their places at his sides and barrelled into anyone who didn't move out of his way in the corridors. He made cracks about the Weasleys and the Potters at any chance he could get and he still found it very amusing. Kat was a little upset with him at first, but she came around after a month, saying at least he was back to normal again.
It was toward the end of the year that the unthinkable happened. Harry, Ron, and Hermione disappeared as per usual. Nobody thought much of it--they never did. Draco simply had more time to brood over his next maddening insult. The very next day, however, they were back and Draco received a letter. He found it slightly unusual that it had come just before the rest of the mail. He read through it and felt his stomach drop. His father was dead. He read it again and again, but each time it said the same thing.
He didn't cry--he just couldn't believe it. How could his father be dead? How? Then it dawned on him. Potter did it. That's why he was gone, of course, to stop Voldemort once again. And in the process, his father must have gotten involved, so Potter killed him.
All those hours he had spent completely clueless of what to do…now he knew what to do.
Six years later, Draco Malfoy wondered what had made him do this, finally recalling the moment when he had received the letter. He drew his cloak tighter about his body to keep out the cold autumn wind and held tightly onto his wand. Staring up into the sky, he spotted the Dark Mark he had conjured. When would they come? They should have arrived by now.
He felt he had avenged his father's death a hundred times by now, ruthlessly murdering so many people….
Suddenly he heard voices shouting. He could safely watch from behind the bushes as an eerie green light fell upon the Aurors and Ministry workers searching the area.
"How many tonight?" one asked.
"Two dead, three tortured," another replied. "With all of these attacks, there won't be a Wizard left who's not working for You-Know-Who."
"Where's Harry Potter when you need him, huh?" The man chuckled grimly and Draco scowled. He hoped Harry Potter was dead or tortured so horribly that he couldn't recognize his own mum. He pulled his hood over his head and went deeper into the woods. He would tell his master what he had done to them, how he had long suspected the family and had gone to their home to get information from them, how they had refused and how he had tortured them. Two of them, weak, had died, while the others simply collapsed. Though he had known the family, he was somehow blinded against recognition and emotion.
Draco cursed himself over and over for saving Harry's life in his sixth year at Hogwarts. He cursed himself for becoming soft and weak. If he hadn't been so foolish, perhaps his father would be alive now.
He Apparated into a dark room, where a single candle gave off a cold light and a man sat in a high-backed chair with his long fingers clasped together. "Ah, Malfoy," said an icy voice.
"My Lord." Draco bowed low.
"Tell me, what of the Weasleys?"