"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" I asked, praying my patronus would last long enough for me to get out safely. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were probably waiting for me . . .
"I could ask you the same question. This is the last place you should be right now, and with those three? Are you out of your mind? And if you don't answer with the truth, I will turn you in," he warned.
"I needed something from here," I said, reaching for the doorknob.
"And what might that be?" Malfoy asked, pushing the door shut again. He looked up at the dementors which were slowly easing their way down. My patronus wasn't strong enough, and wasn't going to last.
"Uh . . . Closure?"
"Closure?" he scoffed. "From what?"
"Umbridge, the she-devil. She gave me hell. I got payback," I said, shrugging.
"You're right, she really hated you," he snickered.
"Uh, Malfoy," I said, eyeing the nearing dementors, "I hate to break it to you, but you really need to let me—and yourself—out of here. My patronus isn't strong enough, and I know you can't cast one. If you don't move, we'll both die."
He pointed a finger at me. "They never taught us how to cast a patronus. It's not my fault you were in that stupid club and I wasn't, Dumbledore's Army . . ."
I grabbed the collar of his shirt, slamming him against the doors. The wood creaked as his eyes widened, focused on me. I kept him pressed to the door, my hand flat on his chest. I could feel his heartbeat accelerate against my palm.
"Let me out of here, or I'll damn you to a fate worse than these guys will." I pointed up at the hooded creatures, my voice deathly calm.
As I removed my hand, he stepped away, and I scowled at him. As I pulled the doors open, the barrier between us and the dementors disappeared. My breath hitched in my throat as I grabbed Malfoy's hand.
"Run!" I shouted. We began racing down the hall towards the lift, running as fast as our legs could carry us. I smashed my hand against the button, willing the grilles to open quickly.
"Can't you cast it again?" Malfoy asked frantically.
"I can't, I know it won't be strong enough!"
We turned as the dark creatures flew towards us. The door to the lift opened and we stepped inside, Draco pressing the close button. As the bars moved shut, the dementors slammed against the grilles, their long, bony fingers stretching in, reaching for our souls . . .
I couldn't breathe as they began inhaling, trying to take our breaths away. My back was flat against the wall as the lift started to move. Just as I thought we were going to die, the lift shot up, separating us from the dementors.
I sucked in a deep breath, bending over, hands on my knees.
"This . . ." I gasped, "is all . . . your fault!" I punched Malfoy as hard as I could in the arm.
"Ow!" he shouted.
"Oh come on, I didn't hit you that hard!" I yelled back. "I'd take a punch any day over you almost getting us killed!"
"You're unbelievable!" he yelled back, rubbing his bruised arm.
I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. As the lift dinged and came to a stop, I stepped out, Malfoy next to me.
"Harry Potter?" a man near me whispered.
"Excuse me?" I asked, patting his shoulder. "What did you just say?"
"I saw him!" he pointed towards the atrium, where the fireplaces to enter and exit the Ministry were. "He was just there!"
"Harry Potter!" a witch exclaimed.
"Harry Potter?" The name began to spread like a wildfire amongst the wizards and witches. I stood on my tiptoes, trying to find a sign of him. I saw a white-braided man, storming towards the fireplaces.
"Yaxley," I muttered. I turned to the white-haired boy. "Give me your cloak."
"What?"
"Your cloak, Draco. Now."
"If you really think I'm going to give the cloak off my back, you're really losing your mind."
"Listen up, you useless idiot," I said through my teeth, "if Yaxley recognizes me, it's over for not only me, but you too. You know why? Because I haven't mastered Occlumency, and if the Dark Lord's going to take a peek into my mind, I'll make sure you go down with me."
Malfoy blinked twice.
"Honestly, I don't know what's gotten into you today . . ." He slipped off the cloak, handing it to me. I put it on, pulling up the hood to hide my face.
"Thank you," I said, not unkindly. "Now, if you don't mind . . ." I began to make my way towards Yaxley, pushing past witches and wizards to catch up with the death eater. This one just wouldn't give up.
Suddenly, I heard clangs. Glancing around me, I noticed bars slamming down on the fireplaces.
Oh no.
I started to run. I caught sight of a redhead, and hurried into a sprint. Behind me, a herd of Ministry guards dressed in blue were running towards them, wands at the ready.
There was one last fireplace open. As Harry grabbed Ron, Ron grabbed Hermione, Hermione looked back, holding her hand out for me, I gripped the stitch in my side and jumped towards her—
But not before Yaxley grabbed onto her cloak.
I grabbed onto Yaxley, trying to rip him off her, but it was too late. We were already moving through dimensions, locations, pain ripping through my body as we stretched and grabbed at each other. There was a yelp and a flash of purple. 12 Grimmauld Place flashed into view, and the suddenly, I was laying flat on my back in the middle of a forest.
As I rolled to my side, coughing, leaves and twigs crunched under me.
"Where are we?" I groaned, rubbing my head.
"Elvira, quick, hand me the Dittany from my purse."
"The what?" I scrunched my face.
"There's no time to talk!" Her voice shook as she frantically dabbed at Ron's arm. As I squinted, clearing my vision, I saw Ron lying on the floor, covered in crimson liquid—
Blood.
I scrambled, searching for her purse, finding it amidst a pile of leaves. Opening it, I stuck one arm inside, as far as it could go, searching for a vial. My arm hit a stack of books, toppling some over, and crashed into a lamp. My fingers brushed against a pile of clothes, and then . . .
Glass.
I grabbed the vile, pulling out my arm and holding it up.
Dittany.
Staggering towards Hermione I placed it in her hand and she pulled open the cork, pouring it over Ron's wound.
"Cast some protection enchantments," she ordered Harry and I.
I stood up, running to a nearby hill, raising my wand. Harry went to the opposite end—clearly, he was having the same problem as me. My mind was a jumbled mess, and I couldn't think of any spells.
"Protego Totalum, Salvio Hexia. Repello Muggletum. Muffliato. Keep repeating them until the protective shields are strong," Hermione called, trying to keep her voice steady. I could see the pain in her eyes, the blood on her hands as she tried to stop the bleeding. Ron groaned in pain, crying out. He'd been lynched—a chunk of his arm had landed somewhere else when Hermione was trying to get rid of Yaxley. I shuddered.
"Get a tent from my handbag," she told Harry. As weird as it may have sounded, it definitely fit—with room to spare. Harry pulled one of of her small, fist sized bag and used a few spells to set it up.
When I was done with the enchantments, I walked towards the tent, stepping inside.
The next morning, they took turns trying to destroy the locket.
"Dissendium," Harry said. The spell hit the locket, throwing it a couple feet away. Nothing.
Hermione set it on fire with an "Incendio." Nada.
"Expulso," Harry tried. Nope.
"Diffindo." I crossed my fingers as they checked it. Not even a scratch.
"Reducto!" Harry slammed it with all the spells he knew, but nothing even dented the locket. As we stood around it, staring down at the thing, all that could be heart was a strange, mechanical whirring that seemed to be drawing us closer to it.
I had a sudden urge to pick it up and put it on. Before I could reach down, Harry beat me to it. He put it around his neck, tucking it in his shirt to keep it safe.
"How could Dumbledore send you to find these horcruxes, but never told you how to destroy them?" Ron asked from a distance, clearly irritated—and I didn't think it was because of the fact that his arm was in a sling. He glanced at where the locket was tucked into Harry's shirt with loathing.
Harry stared at him for a few moments as if he wanted to say something, thought better of it, and turned and walked away.
We travelled aimlessly, pointlessly as we tried to stay undercover and try to figure out how to destroy the horcruxes. Watching them, I realized something—no matter how much I helped them, I'd always be an outsider. Never the four of us. It was always be three.
It seemed like I wasn't the only one. Ron was getting angrier and angrier as the days went by, and wearing the locket wasn't helping matters. I hadn't worn it yet—they didn't trust me enough with it.
Ron was right—it seemed as if Harry really had no goal. His priority was to destroy the locket, and we kept moving so that no one could find us.
Hermione figured out that the sword of Godric Gryffindor contained basilisk venom, which could destroy horcruxes. Unfortunately, the sword was stolen, so that information didn't help them too much.
Hermione and Harry seemed to have been spending a lot of time together, and it was triggering Ron. So much so, in fact, that when it was his turn to put on the locket, he got in a fight with Harry. A bad one.
Ron left.
He disapparated, leaving us with no clue to where he could've gone.
Hermione was obviously torn over it, and I'd hear her crying sometimes when she was alone. It was awkward. I always felt like I was intruding, even when they didn't mind. Hermione kept making it clear that she wanted me here. Harry, on the other hand . . .
I walked out of the tent towards Harry and Hermione. We were somewhere on a mountain, the cool breeze wafting through my hair. I took in a deep breath of fresh air.
And then, my arm started to burn.
I spun around, walking away from them, and stood behind the tent.
The Dark Mark.
As I pressed my hand over it, sucking in air through my teeth, the coolness of the metal ring on my finger gave ease to a small part of my skin.
Pulling down my sleeve I turned, walking back to Harry and Hermione, who were reading a book: The Tales of Beedle the Bard. On the page they were on, was a symbol drawn. A triangle, with a straight line, and a circle in the center of it all.
Tearing my eyes away from it, I looked at Harry.
"I'm leaving." The tattoo throbbed.
Hermione jumped up. "No, you're not."
I reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I promise I'll be back. I just have to go for a couple days—I'll see what information I can get on basilisk fangs, the sword, anything. It's easier for me to travel because no one knows me to be with you three—two," I corrected.
Hermione's scowled, opened her mouth to say something, but I stopped her.
"Don't say anything until you take off the locket."
She did, and suddenly, the look of rage disappeared from her eyes.
"I have nothing to say." She handed it to Harry, a bit more calm. She turned to me. "How will you find us?"
"I will. Don't worry. I'll find a way."
Harry nodded.
"Be careful."
I patted their shoulders, turned, and disapparated.
I burst into Malfoy's hideout, keeling over in pain.
"What happened?" Nott asked, jumping off the sofa. Flashes of white burst in front of my eyes.
"It's the Mark," Pansy said, standing over me with boredom in her voice. "Put her over there."
The last thing I remember was being gently lain on a sofa. After that, darkness.
⚡️⚡️⚡️
I woke up groggily with a massive headache.
"What happened?" I groaned. I looked down to see my sleeve rolled up to my shoulder, the Mark exposed. It was no longer burning; there was only a dull throbbing where the pain had once been.
"When are you leaving?" Parkinson narrowed her eyes. They had a vicious look in them, framed by thick lashes, long dark hair billowing over her shoulders. She had her arms crossed over her chest, lips pulled into a pout—a classic Pansy look.
"I just got here," I said, scowling as I sat up, pulling down my sleeve. Theo Nott leaned down, resting his elbows on the back of the sofa. "Did you guys feel it too?"
He shook his head. "He likes to mess with us."
"Mess with . . ." I sputtered.
"To remind us he's there. So we don't forget."
"What kind of a person—"
"That's the point," a cool voice drawled. "He's not a person." Malfoy stood in the kitchen, eyes narrowed as usual. "You're here again, Steele. Always finding new ways to cause trouble." He walked towards us, standing beside Parkinson. As I looked at them, standing next to each other, smirks on their faces, I realized how well-suited they were for each other.
I groaned, laying back on the sofa, covering my eyes with the inside of my good arm.
I didn't move as Nott plopped down next to my legs, causing the sofa to shake. Peeking through my arm, I saw Malfoy sat across from us on a single sofa, Parkinson sitting on the arm. I internally groaned again, covering my eyes again.
"Where's Zabini?" Parkinson asked.
"He's been MIA. I told him it was a bad idea to go back to Hogwarts," Theo replied. "It's not safe there anymore, not even for us." So, the three of them had dropped out, just like Harry, Ron, Hermione and I.
"They're keeping an eye out for new recruits," Malfoy explained. "None of the Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, or Ravenclaws are turning over. They're fighting back, which is only harmful for them." I could practically hear him roll his eyes.
"So, it's just the Slytherins, eh?" Nott sighed. "Says a lot about us."
Suddenly, I shot up, uncovering my eyes. They looked at me.
"Tracey. Tracey Davis." My heartbeat accelerated as I cursed myself for forgetting about her. "Has she . . . Did she get . . ." I swallowed thickly, unable to say the words.
"Your friend? No," Malfoy scoffed. "No, she hasn't become a death eater. Not yet, at least."
I let out a sigh of relief. She had kept true to her word.
"If you want me to keep an eye out for her, I'm sure I can figure out a way," he said, wiggling his eyebrows. "She's a pretty witch, she is."
I rolled my eyes, sitting back into the seat. She was, and Nott was quite handsome himself. I can't believe I hadn't noticed it before.
"No thanks," I frowned. "I'll find someone else to do that." I was protective of Tracey . . . she was like a little sister to me. I hated that I hadn't thought of her, how she must've been coping with the whole death-eater takeover and my absence. I wished I could be there to protect her.
"Oh, don't worry," Theodore assured me, "Slytherins are protected. They're favored by the other death eaters. As long as they don't retaliate, they'll be fine."
"I heard Amycus and Alecto Carrow's favorite punishment is the Cruciatus Curse," Parkinson smirked.
"That's . . . completely unfair," I muttered. "They're only favored because they were sorted into an 'evil' house. What, no student from any other house has the potential to 'go bad'? Look at Peter Pettigrew. Quirinus Quirrell. Gryffindor's have had the most dark wizards, second from Slytherin. Even Hufflepuff has had some, albeit the least, but still!"
"Your point?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying it's not fair that we're favored?"
"Slytherin shouldn't be favored by the dark side."
"We're all messed up in the head," Theo sighed. "Even I got the Mark. We were sorted into this house because we're cunning. Sly. Think about all the songs the hat has sang--yes, I have them memorized. Stop judging me," he said, narrowing his eyes. "'Or perhaps in Slytherin you'll make your real friends, those cunning folks use any means to achieve their ends.' Then there's 'Power-hungry Slytherin loved those of great ambition.'"
"Don't forget 'Said Slytherin, 'We'll teach just those whose ancestry's purest','" Parkinson joined in.
"'Slytherin took only pure-blood wizards of great cunning just like him'," Draco recited.
"'And at last there came a morning, when old Slytherin departed, and though the fighting then died out, he left us quite downhearted'. See?" Nott said, "Time and time again, we're shown as the bad apples of the bunch. Power-hungry. Discriminatory. We do what we can to survive. The sorting hat says cunning? Everyone really knows it means cowardly." He looked as if he tasted something sour. "And there's Gryffindor. Always the bravest. Always the fixer-uppers. And then those book-obsessed Ravenclaws, always thinking they're better than us. God, I hate them all," he groaned, hanging his head. Suddenly, he looked up. "Except Hufflepuffs, of course. We love our Hufflepuffs."
Even Pansy nodded in agreement.
"Can't we change that?" I held out my hands. "Can't we prove ourselves to be more than just . . . bad apples? We have potential. The song is right, we 'use many means to achieve our ends', but that can be a positive thing! We're ambitious and clever, we can find loopholes in any situation. Including this!" I pointed at the Mark on my arm.
"Careful. You're lucky it's just us here, or you would've been killed for that comment," Malfoy's silver eyes flashed with warning. "Listen, Steele," he said, leaning forward, "you can't just decide to change things. This is the way it has always been. We do whatever we can to survive, and if that means being the 'bad' ones, so be it."
"Look at the history," I muttered, choosing my words wisely, "this side, the side you're on? You always lose."
"You?" Parkinson sneered. "Why are you acting as if you're on a totally different side than us? Look at yourself. We're all in the same boat. You better be doing what you can to help us, because if we sink, Steele, you sink with us."
Her words rang in my head as I sat there, goosebumps forming up my arms. I shivered, mulling over their words.
A part of me didn't want to believe her. A part of me wanted to fight against them, destroy them from the inside. But what could I do now? All this time I had thought I could outsmart the Dark Lord, be the hero in this story . . . But what if I was merely a pawn?
I'd never be the hero of this story. Harry, Ron, and Hermione would. Their friends would. Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley. . . they'd go down in history.
And us?
We'd go down as the the Dark Lord's army, the defeated. The backstabbers, the murderers, the cowards who tried to take the easy way out but failed.
"Hey," Malfoy said gently, the look in his eyes matching the sudden softness of his voice. "Not yet, alright? We haven't lost just yet." I didn't know if he was talking about we as in the death eaters, or we as in us. The kids. The teenagers stuck in the middle of this war, the children who had lost their way.