After Tonight

Chapter 12: If You're Lucky, That's a Maybe

Before Draco could even explain his intentions as he entered the hole, he was shoved against a wall, the hard dirt poking into his back and he could feel a wand pressed against his throat.

"The bloody hell are you doing here?" Ron hissed, his left hand holding onto Draco's collar, the other gripping his wand.

"At ease, mate!" Theo hollered, holding his hands up in defense.

Ron whipped his head to look at him, his eyes narrow, and reluctantly let go of Draco's collar. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't hex him into next year," he murmured, his wand still raised.

Draco Held his arms up slowly, showing he had no wand in his hands and looked to Theo for help.

"He wants to join," Theo replied, staring intently at Ron. "He knows he was wrong. He knows his father is wrong. He knows that spawning is just wrong. He wants to help us."

Draco turned with confusion to look at Theo. Where had Theo been all these years as the war had raged on? As Draco and Lucius stood by Voldemort, he realized that he couldn't recall Theo or Pansy at the meetings, just Blaise. Eventually, Blaise had stopped coming as well. Draco had thought nothing of it , but now, as he stood in front of a very pissed off Ronald Weasley, he found that Theo was the one protecting him, even though they both had been in allegiance with the Dark Lord.

Or had they?

"Theo, you've been helping them?" he asked in a low gasp of astonishment.

Theo shrugged. "I've never been known for following the rules, Malfoy," he retorted, making Ron slowly lower his wand, tucking it into his belt loop.

"How do we know he's not one of them?" Ron questioned, eyeing Draco up and down. "How do we know he's not a spy?"

"Because apparently, there is a spy amongst one of us," Theo said, his eyes flicking around the room. "Our fathers have intelligence about your movement. That can only be from someone feeding them information. Who it is, we don't know, but for now the safe house is no longer safe, and we need to get you all moving."

Apparently, this was a good enough explanation for Ron and he turned to the group of people huddled behind him, barking out orders. "Right, don't drag your feet, get moving," he commanded, to which everyone began to move, murmurs fluttering throughout the group in tense, excited tones.

A woman with short hair and pale eyes walked up to Draco, grabbing him by the sleeve. "M-my daughter, s-s-she was kidnapped, by your father," she whispered, tripping over her words. "Is she, is she alive? My Maisie, is she okay?"

Draco stared at her incredulously, and he was able to see where Maisie had gotten her features from; she had her mother's eyes, but her brows were thicker, probably from her father. "She's alive," he replied stiffly, glancing at Theo, unsure of what he should do. He paled at the thought of having to go into detail, of having to tell this woman that her daughter was thinning every day, probably starving, and that she had not cried as Cho's arm was drained.

"Penelope!" screamed a brunette girl, running up beside Maisie's mother, her hands clasped. "Is she okay as well? She stopped coming to ballet and I couldn't get in contact with her mum. Is she...?"

"She's alive, yes," Draco huffed, feeling an irritation bubble in his chest. He knew that was cruel; these people were concerned, rightly so. He needed to be more patient if he wanted to prove he was a changed man. He was no longer the same person who stood still as his aunt destroyed the Great Hall; he needed to show them he could be good. "Yes," he repeated, more slowly this time, and looked at the girl who returned his answer with a smile.