Lost Image | dramione

20 | the quiet saturdays

God, he hated Hermione's friends. What was Weasley playing at? Imagine, the two of them dating, like they were back at school and she were anything other than muggle-born.

Really, what kind of horrible luck did he have? Why did he care about what happened to this girl, whose negative traits he could list all day? Why couldn't she have been a half-blood, at least? Maybe a little less bossy, and a little more interested in not getting herself killed!?

Honestly, he couldn't believe how quickly she had brushed aside the events of last night. Draco was still shaken, still thinking about the moment when Carrow had demanded they all remove their masks...

He was sure he was going to die, then. He tried to put up a brave front, to stall for time, but he had no way of knowing when Potter would arrive, or if he even would. It had all been blind luck at the end there.

But Hermione was invisible, so even if he had died, there was still a slim chance she could escape. Somehow, this had mildly calmed him. He didn't want to die for no reason- but if he had done one good thing with his life, then maybe it had been worth it. He had made so many mistakes in the past... he thought, for a moment, that if he died there it might make up for half of them.

Those where his thoughts when he had a dozen wands trained on him, waiting for the order to kill.

He shook his head, turning back to his paperwork. The Ministry was in an uproar, what with the latest activity last night and the new batch of Death Eaters brought in for trial, and he had been asked to work at home today, organizing bank documents that would take him about a half hour. He wasn't sure why they didn't want him to come in- perhaps there were rumors about his involvement flying about, and the Goblin Liaison Office didn't need nosy Ministry workers poking in their heads to ask their intern questions every five minutes.

Suddenly, his mother appeared, not even bothering to knock as she burst into his study.

"Draco Cygnus Malfoy!" she yelled, stomping directly up to his desk, glaring down at him. Despite himself, Draco found he had sunk down in his seat several inches.

"Er... what can I help you with, mother?"

"You little fool! How dare you!?" his mother growled, holding up a piece of parchment that was clearly a letter- Draco could not tell from whom. "How dare you risk your life after all I've done to ensure your safety, time and time again? Do you not understand, still, that your life is worth more to me than any 'side' this family chooses to stand by? You wanted to play soldier, before, and now you want to play hero, all without considering how much you would hurt me..."

To Draco's utter horror, his mother started to cry, tears leaking down as she covered her face with her hands, the letter crumpling and growing damp... he was dragged back to sixth year, when she seemed to cry all the time at the drop of a hat, every time she saw his Dark Mark.

And back then, he hadn't cared. He had thought he was so much smarter than her. He was making his father proud, building up their family name in the ranks of Voldemort.

He had been an idiot. And now, once again, he had ended up making his mother cry.

"Mother, this was different..."

"Different!?" She screeched, coming around the desk. Draco stood up, unsure of himself. "That stupid little twat got herself captured! From that moment on, she was no longer our responsibility! We gave her every protection we could offer! What more could we have possibly done? Her death would not have weighed on my conscience, that's for sure! But you... you made a personal vendetta out of it!"

"I think maybe you're being a little dramat-"

"Oh, the Ministry would have blamed us, of course. But who cares? It wasn't worth the risk to your life! You almost died, Draco! I'd sooner rot in Azkaban with your father than lose you!" She was still crying, and Draco wanted nothing more than to find out how to make her stop.