The Other Story

Chapter 4: The Wrong Memory

Malfoy was sitting alone in the Slytherin Common Room. Golden flames danced delicately in the fire place infront of him, illuminating the dark room.

Out of nowhere, Zabini, a fellow Slytherin, came up to him.

"Draco, Proffesor Dumbledore wants to see you in his office," he said, in a voice which seemed as if he was approaching a venomous snake.

Malfoy, however, did not move an inch.

"Uh.. from what I understood, he meant immediatly," Zabini carried on, sounding slightly nervous.

"Fine," Draco said coldly and stood up. Without thanking Zambini, he left the Slytherin Common Room. He walked up the stairs, away from the unpleasant dungeons.

After making his way amongst the many students and passage ways, he arrived at the golden yet ugly gargoyle; the entrance to the Head Master's office. Draco wondered how he could get in; he had no clue what the password may be.

Just then, the door way opened. Harry Potter appeared, coming down the steep stairs. Malfoy gave him a rotten look and the other boy returned it. Potter, however, seemed in a hurry and did not bother to say anything else to Malfoy.

Since the passage turned open, Draco used this chance to leap onto the staircase, just before the gargoyle shut again with a noisy thud. He walked up, looping with the spiral formation. With every step, he became more and more anxious. What did Dumbledore, the old oaf, want? Could he possibly suspect him for almost killing his fellow students? Or even worse, realise that Draco is trying to assasinate him? Trying to shrug off these thoughts, he pushed open the office door.

Albus Dumbledore was sitting behind his wide desk. His beautiful Pheonix was not far away, its tangerine shades gleaming off it.

The elderly Proffesor's long silver beard was resting on his lap. Through his half moon spectacles his light blue eyes were observing Malfoy, giving him an X-ray.

"Good evening, Draco," Dumbledore said, his voice sounding tired, yet somehow fully alert of every movement both of them were making.

"Good evening, Proffesor," Draco shot back in an impolite manner, the word 'professor' being spat out of his mouth like vermin. The old man ignored this and instead stared at him, taking everything in.

Ever since his first year at Hogwarts, Malfoy had always felt intimidated by Dumbledore. He could not deny his power, no matter how much the elderly fool was hated by the Dark Lord. But wasn't Voldemort himself scared of Dumbledore, because why else would he want him dead?

"Please sit down," Dumbledore said, as he interrupted Malfoy's thoughts. The Slytherin sat on to the cushioned chair, opposite the Head Master.

"Draco, is there anything you want to...tell me?" He asked, his blue twinkling eyes looking at him. There was a moment of rough silence.

"No sir," Draco lied, trying not to imply the nervousness into his voice.

Could he possibly know...? Snape hadn't told him about the Cabinets, had he? Dumbledore's stare felt as if it was turning Draco's skin into stone, it was that intense.

"All right. If you have nothing to say, then off I shall go," he said, obviously disappointed.

The Professor stood up, his injured hand looking as black and beaten up as ever as it revealed itself from underneath his embroidered sleeve.

Draco remained seated, dumbfounded. Then the door flew shut with a bang; Dumbledore had simply left! He had simply left Malfoy alone in his office!

Draco suddenly understood that this would be the perfect moment to think of new ways to sneak Dumbledore a poison. His heart was fluttering with joy. But yet, there was still some doubt in the back of his mind. Why would he leave a student alone in his personal office? Especially if that student was the son of a Death Eater?

Draco decided, with some spite, that it was too risky to snoop around his target's personal stuff.

When he stood up to leave, he caught sight of something in a dark corner of the room. It was a stone basin encarved with symbols. Curiosity over took Malfoy like a trance and he felt his body being drawn to the strange object like a magnet.

When he came closer, he understood. He was looking down at a Pensieve. Despite himself, Draco was in awe. Pensieves were incredibly rare and he had only ever heard about them.

Malfoy suddenly felt excited and a bit frightened; he wanted to see one of his memories. More specifically, the memory of when he became a Death Eater; he needed motivation to drive him further through his task.

Doing what his Father had explained to him about extracting memories, Draco drew his wand out and thought of the one memory. A long, silver trail of light got pulled out of his head. The memory, though, seemed to have a mind of its own; it was squiggling around like a worm caught in a fishing hook.

Draco carefully guided the shiny thing through the air and into the waters of the Pensieve. He dropped it in and watched his memory create faceless shapes into the cloud like substance.

Taking a deep breath, Malfoy put his face into the stone basin. He immediatly felt as if he were flying through unnatural darkness. Suddenly, Draco felt a strange sensation and realised that he had landed onto his feet.

He was expecting to be in the Malfoy Manor with the Dark Lord, but instead he found himself in a bathroom. Malfoy was confused; he did not recall being in such a place when he became a Death Eater...

Then it dawned on him, Malfoy was looking at the event which had occured about a week ago. Whilst he was standing in puddles of water, he saw his own limp, blood covered body straight ahead. Shouts of agony were bouncing around the surfaces of the tiled walls. It was strange, knowing that these were his own screams of dieing. Then, the boy's bathroom door opened. Someone came running in and it was no other than...Oh no, Malfoy thought. It was Granger, her face smeared in panic.

Draco's real self felt like throwing up. So she was the one who had saved him! That explained everything.

Malfoy watched for a while longer as Hermione kneeled next to him and as her wand gracefully moved over his wounds. She appeared to be muttering something but Draco couldn't quite catch what it was. He stayed watching his memory until Hermione had restored all the blood to his body and went sprinting into one of the cubicles as Snape and Potter waltsed into the bathroom.

Draco couldn't take it any longer. He resurfaced from the cloudy liquid of the Pensieve. He could not believe his eyes for what he had just witnessed.

Everything that happened still seemed vague, but now there was no denying it; Hermione Granger had saved his life. The one person he particularly enjoyed tormenting. Yet for some reason, she had put her personal hatred for him aside and was responsible for him still living. He had no idea how to repay her. He was greatly indebted.

How? How could someone's heart be so pure, Draco wondered. Secretly, he wished he could be more like her. No, no! What was he thinking! She is Muggle born, a Mudblood! Nothing brave about her. All Hermione is is a bag of filth! Or that was at least what Draco's father would have said. It was what Malfoy was brought up with ever since his birth, learning to hate muggles and Muggle born witches and wizards. But did he really agree with his family after all he has learnt at his time at Hogwarts?

No matter how much Malfoy made it seem as if he hated Muggleborns, he was really starting to doubt the one thing he had believed in so strongly.