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DRACO HAD ALREADY BEEN IN A BAD MOOD THAT NIGHT. He had succeeded in just about nothing with the cabinet, his head cast low as he made his way towards the dungeons.
He noticed that something felt off about the night. It was quiet. Almost too quiet. He didn't hear the usual murmur from the paintings or the shrieking of the ghosts as he made his way through the corridors. It was as if everyone in the castle had suddenly disappeared while he was in the room of requirements.
Just as he had made it to the stairs, he saw the growing glow of lanterns and pressed himself against the wall with a hiss. This was more than just Filch and his blood cat. This was the entirety of the Hogwarts staff rushing towards the doors with their wands drawn.
Without meaning to do so, he leaned forward to try and listen in on their conversation. He was still a bit far, only able to catch bits and pieces as the professors rushed by with seemingly urgent intentions to get wherever it was they were going.
The doors finally swung open and he recoiled at the sight of Arius Blackwell stumbling in, his arms wrapped around a body in his chest. Draco strained his neck to see more and let his mouth drop slightly at the sight of brunette hair cascading over the man's arms.
"They were attacked—"
"Was she injured?" Mcgonagall blurted, rushing towards the man and the girl. She gently pushed her hair from her face, examining her for any sign of injury. With a sigh of relief, she realized that there was none.
"N-No, not that I know of. Her father..." Arius' let his words fall short and Dumbledore finally stepped forward, gently waving his hand as a dismissal to all observers. He then placed his arm over Arius' shoulder and began to lead the man into the darkness and away from the crowd.
Draco waited only a moment before taking off after them, careful to stay in the shadows and remain light on his feet. He felt obligated to do so. To make sure that she was alive, especially now that he learned they had been attacked. And her father? Why the hell was he involved in this story at all.
With a soft grunt of surprise, Draco felt himself pulled from the shadows and he glared up at Snape, his wand held dangerously close to the boy's throat. He could tell that the man was angry but he didn't care. He was angry, with every right to be at that.
"Perhaps you could divulge into why you're sneaking about in the dark, Mister Malfoy," Snape drawled, his voice low enough as to not be heard by anyone else who might have been awake at the ungodly hour.
"What happened to her—"
"Miss Romanov is alive, though with the seemingly growing stupidity of her actions, I cannot be assured of how much longer that may last," the man interrupted, his wand still held at Draco's throat and his hand still gripping the boy's collar. "You two seem to share that very stupidity—"
