Draco returned to his task like a man sentenced to death going to the gallows. Day after day, week after week, he tried to mend the stupid thing, but the Vanishing Cabinet remained resolutely beyond repair.

Spring bloomed around the Scottish Loch, and even the Whomping Willow flourished, branches bourgeoning all the way to their tips. But Draco had no interest in nature; O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s exams were but a week away, and his time to complete his assignment was drawing to a close.

He’d brought a new book with him tonight, leather-bound and so old that some pages were fraying at the edges, its ink illegible in some parts. It contained long-forgotten spells he was eager to try. Some weren’t even in English, but he’d try them anyway—that was how desperate he was. He was on attempt number four when the impossible happened.

A voice that had no business being in the room said, “Move away from that thing, Malfoy.”

Draco froze where he was, crouched by the Vanishing Cabinet—incriminating evidence in hand. He’d recognise that voice anywhere. Without needing to look over his shoulder, he knew that he’d just been caught by Gryffindor’s golden boy himself—Harry Potter.

Closing the book, he placed it on the bottom of the cabinet before standing and taking an obliging step to the left. His wand was in his trouser pocket, and he cursed himself for having put it there. Standing as he was, with Boy Wonder at his back, he couldn’t reach for it without being seen.

“Don’t move,” Potter ordered before stepping closer.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw him approach, stopping inches from the Vanishing Cabinet. “What are you even trying to do with that old thing?” he asked.

He tried not to let his fear show and fought to get some of his haughty swagger back in a vain attempt to deflect. “Not that it’s any of your business, Potter, but I’m a collector of antiquities,” he replied. “This is quite the treat; it would fetch an acceptable price at auctions once restored.”

“Right!” Potter snorted. “You’ll have me believe that’s what you’ve been doing coming here every other night for the past—how long has it been now? Six, seven months?”

Draco barely stopped himself from cursing aloud. How the hell did that prat know that? Wait—was he bluffing? Sure, Draco knew that Potter was keeping tabs on him. But the prat couldn’t possibly have known that he came to the Room of Requirement so often.

“That cabinet’s not the only interesting thing here,” Draco said, not minding if it made him sound as if he were looting the place. That was still better than Potter figuring everything out.

“Yeah, right. You could probably buy the entire school, Malfoy. Why would you need to steal anything?”

Could he? His mind couldn’t help but start running the numbers. He stopped himself with a shake of his head and focused all his attention on the task at hand. And on Potter, who had gotten way too close to the Vanishing Cabinet, even if he didn’t know yet what it was.

The annoying Gryffindor kept his wand trained on him as he took another step towards the cabinet to peer inside. Draco’s hand moved lower, and the tips of his fingers touched wood when Potter’s “Hmm” stopped him.

“The hinges are misaligned,” he said eventually. “The first four are okay, but the plate of the one on top is too far back. It’ll never close properly.”

“What are you going on about?” Draco said, forgetting everything about Potter’s wand and his need to reach for his own. His head was next to the raven-haired wizard an instant later so that he could check the hinges’ positioning for himself.

“I wonder…” Potter said thoughtfully. Then he flicked his wrist and uttered, “Reparo.”

The small hinge jumped to the side and settled into its new slot as if it had always been there, and Draco pulled back in surprise. Potter took the opportunity to reach for the door and push it close so that he could check his work for himself.

“No! Don’t close it, Potter.” Draco grabbed his hand to stop him, but it was too late. The Vanishing Cabinet’s door closed, and the whole thing shook. Magic surged from within as a halo of light seeped through the cracks around the opening.

“No, no, no,” Draco chanted as he reached forward to force the door open again. At first, it refused to give, and it was only when the Vanishing Cabinet had stopped trembling that he could pry it open again. The book wasn’t there anymore; it had crossed through to the other side. And if anyone had been present when that happened, it would be minutes until the Dark Lord was informed that the task had been completed.

“What did you do, you moron?” Draco lamented in frustration, shoving Potter backwards in a very Muggle-ish way.

They had no time. Only bloody Potter was still standing there, his wand drawn, with an expression of pure incomprehension on his face. Of all the times to be Gryffindor’s moronic hero, he’d had to pick that one.

“Get out of here, Potter,” Draco said. “They’ll be here any minute now.”

“Who will?” he asked, his wand-hand not lowering an inch. “And where did that book go?”

“Just piss off, Potter,” he tried again. “For your own good.”

“Like hell, I will. I don’t know what you’re up to, Malfoy, but that’s enough from you. I’m telling Professor Nine about this. We’ll see what she has to say about it.”

“Whatever, Potter,” Draco said, grasping at straws. “Run along. Go tell the headmaster himself for all I care—just get the hell out of here before it’s too late.”

But it was too late already. A surge of magic boomed out of the wardrobe, which flung itself closed, and Draco only had an instant to react. He reached for the other teen’s arm, sidestepping the extended wand and grabbing hold of his wrist, and he yanked as hard as he could to drag him along to the back corner of the room. Draco pushed him behind a large display case and got in after him. Sensing that Potter would protest the rough treatment quite vocally—or perhaps that he was about to hex his bollocks off—Draco silenced him by placing his palm over his mouth.

Potter’s eyes went as wide as his stupid glasses at the unexpected gesture. Draco couldn’t explain further. So, he rose his index finger to his own lips, begging him with his eyes to comply—to do as he was fucking told, for once.

“Well, well,” a voice that dripped with familiar madness said as a pair of low-heeled boots clicked on the dusty hardwood floor. “Back at last.”

“Move over, Bella,” said a gruffer voice that Draco didn’t recognise. “It’s cramped in here.” A much heavier set of feet made the floorboards creak in protest as someone else exited the Vanishing Cabinet.

Next to him, Potter’s eyes were frantic as he rose a hand up to push away Draco’s offending palm. Not wanting to risk the two of them getting into a fight, the blond relented and removed his hand while pinning down the Gryffindor with his gaze. His unspoken message was eloquent enough to be understood by a dimwitted four-year-old.

Two more people emerged from the magical cabinet—a pair of siblings Draco knew only as the Carrows—and then all four wizards left the Room of Requirement. Draco exhaled a sigh of relief, immensely glad that he was still alive enough to do so.

“What have you done?” the other asked him, pointing the wand back in his face.

“For Merlin’s sake, Potter, get off your high horse.” How things had deteriorated in so little time, Draco had no idea. His mind was running a mile a minute trying to figure out a plan.

Death Eaters had invaded the castle. And it wasn’t just anyone. They’d sent the mad witch of the west, and he’d heard rumours about the Carrows that could turn anyone’s blood cold. And whoever the fourth man had been, well—judging by Potter’s reaction, he was an equally jolly fellow, for sure.

They hadn’t seemed that bothered not to find Draco here to welcome them. But given a minute to breathe and think clearly, he was sure that he could come up with a suitable explanation as to why. And still, if the Dark Lord got what he wanted tonight, there was a chance that no one would bother to ask him about that slip. Draco could return to the plan, join up with the Death Eaters, and stand by their side as they took down the enemy. Merlin, he could even hand-deliver them the Chosen One on a silver platter. A quick Stupefy would do the trick—a simple charm, a first-year’s charm.

Only Draco found that he couldn’t—he simply could not do it. He’d never killed anyone, never even seriously hurt anyone. Oh, there had been the attempts on Dumbledore’s life last year, but he hadn’t had much success there. Aunt Bellatrix had mockingly said that it was because he didn’t have the heart for it, that he wasn’t cut from the same cloth as she was—and she’d been right. Draco was no killer. He couldn’t hand-deliver Harry Potter to the Dark Lord any more than he could stand by and do nothing as Death Eaters were let loose on a school of unsuspecting sleeping students.

“We need to warn someone,” Draco said, more to himself than Potter.            

“Aren’t those your Death Eater pals, Malfoy?” Potter sneered at him down his wand. “What are they here for, huh? What do they want?”

Merlin’s balls, could the hero of the Wizarding World be any more obtuse? “What do you think, Potter? They’re here to kill Dumbledore and you.” The Gryffindor had the decency to flinch at that last sentence. And a part of Draco enjoyed the reaction despite the seriousness of the situation. “And they’ll kill anyone who stands in their way—students and staff alike.”

“But the entire school’s asleep—they’re defenceless,” Potter countered, and he had a point there. Bellatrix Lestrange was mad enough to want to bring the whole castle down on principle alone. “We need to get help.”

Draco was ahead of him and already moving towards the Room of Requirement’s exit, Potter hot on his heels.

“Professor Nine,” he offered. “She’ll help. She’s much stronger than she looks—trust me.”

Draco shook his head. Of all the bloody moronic ideas! “Nine, that mumbling French broad? She’s all but afraid of her own shadow. No way!” he protested. But the other did have a point—they needed help. And there was only one person in this antique castle that he trusted with his life. “We’re getting my godfather.”

“Who?” Potter asked as they exited the room and started down the seventh-floor corridor.

“Snape,” he amended, remembering that only a few students in Slytherin knew about their relationship. “We’re getting Professor Snape.”

Potter froze to a stop next to him. “Wait—Snape’s your godfather?”

Of all the things to focus on right now, Draco thought. Do all Gryffindors lack a sense of self-preservation, or only Potter?

“Does it matter?” he asked. “Yes, Severus is my godfather. The man has a life outside of Hogwarts, you know. Now get over that earth-shattering revelation and get a bloody move on.”

Rushing down the Grand Staircase, they did their best not to trip over the treacherous, moving steps. They’d just passed the fourth floor when a jet of red light hit them from the side. Draco recognised the familiar effects of the Stunning Spell even as his muscles locked, and he toppled forward on the stairs due to the sheer momentum of their mad dash downward. He fell on his face, hard—and with no grace at all. Next to him, Boy Wonder had no more luck than he’d had. The Stupefy had turned him into a sack of potatoes just as surely as it had him.

“Well, well, well,” came Aunt Bellatrix’s taunting voice again. Out of the corner of his right eye, Draco blurrily saw her coming out of the fourth-floor corridor’s shadows, wand in hand. “And what have we here?”

The mad witch sauntered her way down the steps, smiling like a little girl on a sugar high. “If this isn’t my favourite nephew and—” She paused, having recognised Potter, and a Cheshire cat smile stretched her blood-red lips. “Oh, but Draco, why don’t you introduce me to your friend?” She faltered, seeming to remember something. “Only we’ve met already, haven’t we, kiddo? How’s your godfather doing these days, Potter?” she giggled. “Resting in peace, is he?”

Predictably, no reply came from the Gryffindor’s limp form, but Draco fancied he could feel the anger emanating from him just the same. Hell, maybe some of it was his own anger, too. He’d never liked his mother’s crazy sister, and he wouldn’t be caught shedding a tear if she were to tumble down the stairs all the way from the seventh floor to the dungeons. Wait until my godfather hears about this, you wench, he thought. He’ll have your skin.

And then, a shower of bright sparkles fell onto them, and Draco saw Bellatrix tense, wand in hand. She looked around to see who had cast the charm. Her eyes narrowed as her gaze fixed on the fourth-floor corridor.

The next burst of light didn’t sparkle, and it was aimed straight at the witch, who was thrown back a few paces under the impact. Draco felt the Stupefy lift, and he regained the use of his limbs at the same time as Potter. Moving up a few steps, he finally caught sight of their rescuer. It was Professor Flitwick, the tiny half-goblin Charms teacher.

“Can someone tell me what is going on?” he asked in his usual squeaky voice. He sounded breathless, too, as if he’d sprinted to get here.

“Death Eaters in the castle, sir,” Potter explained, rushing up to join him. Unsure of what to do, Draco followed. “We have to warn Professor Nine, sir—and the headmaster.”

Flitwick seemed to think it over, but Potter had reached the end of his patience. “Please, sir, it’s extremely urgent,” he said. “Can you—hmm—maybe a Patronus?”

Seeming to debate the issue a while longer, the little man finally raised his wand. His lips formed the words below his thick moustache, “Expecto Pa—”

He never had time to finish. A bright blue streak of light hit him squarely in the chest and threw him back at least twenty feet. It had come from the stairs; it had come from—

“Bella!” Draco muttered, and he could have slapped himself. He’d been so dumb. Why hadn’t they made sure she wouldn’t be a threat anymore? He spun on his heel, wand drawn, but it was too late.

The curly brunette had cast another spell, and it was coming for Potter so fast that Draco only had a split-second to react. He threw himself at the shorter teen and pushed him out of the way, taking the brunt of the attack on himself. He’d expected to be thrown backwards, same as their teacher had, but this was a different curse—an Unforgiveable Curse.

His muscles seized and froze as magic coursed through him at lightning speed, setting alight every cell in his body. Screaming in pain, he was dimly aware of Potter throwing a spell of his own, trying to attack his aunt so that she would stop hurting him. But Bellatrix merely flicked her wrist in his direction to alter the curse’s course, hitting Potter on his left side.

When Draco stopped screaming, Potter took over. When Draco got a second wind, Bellatrix altered her aim again, giggling madly as she did. Left, right, left, right—it was as if this whole thing was a game to her.

She kept it up until both teenagers passed out.