Ramalama (Bang Bang)

Songfic: Ramalama (Bang Bang) by Roisin Murphy. Follows the end of HBP.

Ramalama (Bang Bang)

It was dark and ominous. The clouds hid the large full moon in such a manner to suggest that its purity needed to be blanketed from the horrors that would take place that night. The ground was covered in mist and fog, which begged the question, how were there so many clouds in the sky? Everything about the weather screamed pathetic fallacy and presented clear cut omens of the future.

Draco shivered involuntarily as he stood, shrouded in his black cloak, his face completely obscured, behind the two massive forms of Crabbe and Goyle Sr. They were paying no attention to him. He wasn’t the important one at the moment and ignoring him was one of the ways that the Death-Eaters made it clear to him that he could no longer benefit from their protection or support.

They paid no mind to him at all… and while it would have seemed like the perfect moment to run, he dared not move. The snake that Voldemort kept so close was slithering threateningly behind him. This was another mark of his fall from grace.

He had made a fatal mistake and had failed his mission. Nothing could save him now. He’d allowed the only man who was willing to give him a chance and offer him sanctuary to be killed… in fact he was instrumental in the execution of the man’s death… and no one else ever gave a damn to help him. Not even the precious Saint Potter.

That much was made clear by the Sectumsempra incident, from which Draco still had scars. He shuddered again at the memory of the feeling that coursed through him when Potter’s magic had sliced through him.

He had been so happy, so relieved at that moment. He truly believed that in that moment Potter might actually have saved him. He almost smiled when he crumbled to the ground like a ruined monument and felt each and every drop of blood leave him. He would die then. He believed it. He hoped for it. If he had died he wouldn’t have to kill Dumbledore… he wouldn’t have had to let the Death-Eaters into Hogwarts… he wouldn’t have had to betray the school, Dumbledore, his friends… his hopes and dreams… he wouldn’t have had to betray Potter like that.

He never thought that… he would say those words. No, he never thought that he would be telling himself he preferred to die rather than betray Potter. But things change and no one can fight that. No one can fight the insanity that stems from fear.

That’s what he believed drove him through his entire sixth year: Insanity.

What else could explain it?

He had been acting on the impulse to make his father proud, to take his place as Lord Malfoy and make the world a “better place” by eradicating all the mudbloods. He wanted pureblood supremacy and to be recognized as a powerful wizard. He wanted to succeed and be known… forever be known.

Or at least, that’s what Lucius had always taught him to want. He taught him to see the world in the warped manner that he did. He taught Draco to hate those from different backgrounds and made him believe that a simple matter of blood heritage actually defined who you are.

Who anyone is.

And, in retrospect, all that had been the true madness.

He’d been driven mad as a child and lived out his entire life to date as a bloody psychopath.

Sixth year had made him realize just how foolish he had been… seeing Voldemort in his true colours. He saw more objectively than he ever had after his father was imprisoned. He met the Dark Lord and saw the cruelty and madness in his eyes. He saw the desires and the lust for power, but more importantly, he saw the utter lack of maturity.

In those moments, when Voldemort had claimed him as his follower, using tricks and threats, Draco realized that the “great and terrifying Dark Lord” was nothing more than a scorned child with a vengeance.

And it was in that moment that something in Draco had awoken…something deep inside of him was no longer sleeping or blinded by biased teachings. But he wouldn’t listen to it. He ignored it and pushed it aside, covering it with whatever emotion or thought was most convenient.

--Could a body close the mind out?
Stitch a seam across the eye?—

It was mostly through that need to desperately stay in denial and ignore the truth that Draco became more and more vicious. He vaguely remembered spotting Potter’s trainers when he infiltrated the Slytherin’s compartment in the train on the way to Hogwarts at the beginning of sixth year. He remembered, with a sickening lurch in his stomach, that he had bound Potter on the ground and stomped on his nose.

The cold and dead words that he had spoken that day, and every day since, echoed painfully in his mind. He had never meant to be that violent… never really wanted to be physically aggressive. He almost wished he could apologize to Potter for all that… for the physical attack… and even some other things… but mostly the attack. His talents lied mainly in emotional and psychological torture. Physical torment was barbaric and far below a Malfoy.

--If you can be good, you’ll live forever--

At least he had thought so, before he realized exactly what Death-Eaters did to each other… and what Voldemort did to traitors.

He began to shudder uncontrollably beneath the heavy black cloak. In the circle of Death-Eaters, was lying the barely conscious figure of his mother. She was bleeding profusely and her breathing had slowed so much that her chest hardly heaved at all under the labour of breath. Her beautiful blonde locks were now roan red and dripping.

Lucius Malfoy had been broken out of prison expressly for the purpose of torture.

But he was not to be the one tortured. Oh no, Voldemort was not that kind.

He was forced to torture his wife for his son’s mistakes.

Draco swallowed hard as he watched his father cast yet another curse on his broken wife. She shrieked out into the night but no echoes were heard. They were far from any civilization and Voldemort had placed many wards and protective spells around the area to defend himself.

He was a frightened child playing war games. In the most literal way.

Draco’s throat closed up and he heaved heavy, ragged breaths for a few moments as realization dawned. He watched Voldemort lift the body of his fallen mother into the air. The blood dripped from her now crimson tresses and she remained completely limp.

--If you’re bad, you’ll die when you die—

Death… Draco had never really considered it, had he? Not for real.

He had wanted to die so badly that day that Potter had cursed him… he had almost decided to be eternally grateful to Potter for doing it… but now that he thought of Death, even after all that had been said and done, it was terrifying.

He did not want to die.

He wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t old enough to die.

He hadn’t experienced anything yet… hardly anything. Nothing worthwhile.

He needed to live… he…

Draco lifted his arm, as though in slow motion, and the black material fell away to reveal his pale white arm. His eyes traced the outlines of the hideous black tattoo that was burned into his skin forever. The Mark. The proof that he was tainted forever… that he was beyond help… beyond redemption.

--Hearing only one true note,
On the one and only sound…--

But was he really beyond redemption? Was it really that bad?

He heard the sickening crack of bone as Voldemort broke his mother’s body in the air and it vanished. She would never have the honour of a filled grave or eternal rest… all because of his fear… his rebellion… his mistakes.

His sudden awakening.

He nearly gasped at the sound and then looked up to see that Voldemort had called in several Death-Eaters to do as they wished with Lucius… to abuse him for his failure and show him that one failure might be forgiven, but two was far past unacceptable.

Fool me once, and all that.

And Draco’s heart sped. It raced, in fact, and beat so hard against his ribcage that he was afraid the sound resounded throughout the clearing. As he watched the once proud and arrogant Lucius Malfoy, his father, his benefactor, brought to his knees and physically abused for his incompetence, something not unfamiliar rose in Draco.

It was something that he knew well but only from months of trying desperately to suppress it.

This anger, this rage and urge to retaliate suddenly erupted from that tiny locked box in the depths of Draco’s soul and threatened to overcome him entirely. It threatened to give him away as being the rebel that he truly was.

He watched as the people, who had once obeyed every order Lucius had set them without a second thought or protest, beat him and broke him on the ground. And Draco clenched his jaw.

--Unzip my body,
Take my heart out,
‘Cause I need a beat to give this tune.—

He understood it now. He understood himself better than he ever had. Draco had been trying so hard for his entire life to play the part of a follower –following orders and listening, accepting everything he was ever told without a doubt or moment’s consideration. He had never bothered to think objectively before and now he knew that he was never meant to be this kind of follower. He was infinitely good at pretending, but this was something that was out of his range of capabilities.

He was meant to lead and be independent and self-sufficient. He was never meant to bend and mould himself to the preconceived image other’s had for him. He would be his own man and make his own decisions.

He would make the right decision, for once.

--Taking a picture of,
Taking a picture of,
Taking a picture of…--

A smirk drew itself on his pale features for the first time in months. Draco felt better. He felt more alive. He let anger and rage course through him and slowly tried to adjust his breathing enough so that no one would be the wiser.

And he watched, in silence, as they tortured his father further. He watched and waited and tried to think carefully.

He knew what he had to do now… he needed to get away and to save himself. He needed help.

For the first time in his life, Draco was fully ready to admit that he needed help.

But who would help him, now? Who could?

His thoughts immediately jumped to the one and only Harry Potter. But that was a fool’s ideal. He would never be able to get Potter to accept him and offer him help. He would never trust Draco further than he could throw him and Potter had always hated him.

Ever since the first time they had met… Draco could tell that. He thought perhaps Potter had just been standoffish but after the incident on the train, he knew better. Harry Potter had simply hated him.

With no good reason, mind you.

At least not to Draco.

Yet still, Potter hated Draco. Loathed him. With every fiber of his being and now that Draco had been one of the main causes of Dumbledore’s death, Potter would likely hate him even more. In fact, Draco mused at the idea that Potter might even wish him dead.

It wasn’t a pleasant thought, in itself, but it made Potter seem less saintly and anything that could manage that was good enough for him.

--Oh the body swayed to music,
Oh the lightning glance…--

Draco lost himself for a few moments at the memories that he had of Potter… all through Hogwarts… six years of his life he’d spent obsessing over the damn Golden boy. Six years of his life, Potter had stolen from him… with his snappy retorts and his unstoppable need to save the world at every turn.

Save everyone, anyway, except Draco. Potter had always been a bit too busy for that.

But still… the way Potter had followed him throughout sixth year, the way he was always behind him, always looking, always staring. He felt those green eyes on him time and time again and had to force himself not to smirk or to do anything terribly obvious. He had to fight hard not to let show some of the exquisite glee that manifested inside of him every time he thought of Potter’s interest in him rivaling his own interest in Potter.

Perhaps it wasn’t so unbelievable for Potter to give Draco a chance… After all, he hadn’t actually meant to kill him that day in the bathroom… and Draco had attacked him first.

Or tried to.

And Potter seemed so desperate to have him… to catch him.

--If I would give it all and all,
Maybe you would hear me
Ask for half a chance…--

Perhaps Draco would have to let Potter catch him. Perhaps if he did give it all… everything he had, everything he knew… if he gave up his pride and his reputation and his family… perhaps Potter would be willing to listen.

He could offer some kind of information as to Voldemort’s whereabouts. He could try to give him any knowledge he had… he could bargain.

Draco was great at bargaining. Wonderful, in fact. But Potter was notoriously dense. And stubborn. Absolutely mind-numbingly stubborn.

His breathing hitched and he pictured the whole scene in his mind’s eye. He would show up at some random door and beg Potter (who would conveniently live there) to forgive him and protect him. He would offer him all the information he had and plead with him, completely abandoning his arrogance in favour of survival and Potter would give him a strange look, cock his eyebrow and place his hands on his hips. Then he would say something painfully clever like : “Why should I trust you?” And Draco would be unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes and sneering a retort.

And then Draco would be arrested and sent to Azkaban just because he was incapable of having a civilized conversation with the Chosen One.

Yes, yes, that sounds spiffing. Let’s get right on that. I bet they already have my cell in Azkaban picked out and decorated with a welcome banner, he thought to himself. I bet there’s a “Lucius” carefully crossed out as well, and replaced with a rapidly scrawled “Draco”.

--Hearing only one root note,
Planted firmly in the ground…--

Draco came back to himself and remembered that he was filled with both rage and fear. He remembered that he was watching his father be tortured and punished for his mistakes and that his own turn was next. He remembered that it was not the time to be laughing, however humourlessly, to himself.

This was dangerous and this was horrifying. This needed to be dealt with first.

--Undo my heart, unzip my body and
Lend to my ear a clear and a deafening sound.--

And as he saw Lucius raised into the air and stretched by invisible cords, imitating the effects of the Rack, Malfoy Sr. shrieked out louder than he’d ever heard him before. The high-pitched noise struck a chord in Draco’s chest and his pupils contracted.

He didn’t care what the consequences were. He needed to get out of here and find Potter…

He needed to try.

--Unzip my heart.—

Draco watched in muted horror. His father’s body was literally being torn limb from limb as the Death-Eaters watched silently. None of them had any emotions anymore. They were soulless creatures and Draco shook his head, knowing that he could never be like them. He was never meant to be a Death-Eater. Not like this.

He was not his father, no matter how alike they looked, no matter how similar they sounded.

He was not Lucius Malfoy. He was only himself and he would be true to that from now own.

His hand slipped into Goyle’s pocket, carefully and stealthily, as the great oaf of a man shifted uncomfortable at the sight before them. He was so huge that no movement could have alerted him. Draco removed his own wand and pulled it back beneath the folds of his cloak, cautiously making sure that Nagini saw nothing.

He paused, stared at his father’s form in the air and found that he had nothing else to do. He was stuck. And so soon. He cursed himself, wishing that he had thought this out better, but there was nothing for it.

What was he to do now that he had his wand and yet was still prevented from escaping?

--And if I need a rhythm,
It’ll be to my heart I listen,
If it don’t get me too far wrong…--

He steadied himself and tried not to let his anxiety show. He thought quickly and the only thing that came to help him plan his actions out was something altogether disconcerting.

What would Potter do?

He wondered that vaguely and then the ideas started flooding in. It figured that to escape his current situation the best idea he could come up with was to act like a Gryffindor…

In all fairness, he was surrounded by a number of Slytherins (discounting the rat man that Voldemort kept close) who could never fully understand the motives of a Gryffindor if their lives depended on it… the whole plan did, indeed, have the element of surprise.

He supposed that was the best he had so far.

--And if I,
And if I,
And if I need a rhythm,
It’s gonna be to my heart I listen,
If it don’t take me too far gone…--

They had finally dropped Lucius to the ground and the circle of Death-Eaters was closing in to get in their final blows before he perished. Draco smirked darkly, taking little pleasure in the fact that his father’s suffering would serve for his escape… perhaps his freedom.

It was a disgusting concept, in reality, but Draco could only justify it with the knowledge that if his father (or anyone else in the circle, actually) had been given the same chance, they would not have hesitated to take it.

So he did.

--Everybody smile please,
No body pay no mind to me,
Finger in position on the switch,
A little flash photography…--

As the circle closed in and Draco heard the dull hiss of the poisonous snake behind him he let his survival instincts take over and did what he needed to.

In a flash of light he cast a wordless curse –one that was all-too familiar to him –at the snake, without turning around. She instantly split down the centre and the bottoms of Draco’s robes were splattered with blood.

He had just used Sectumsempra to kill the snake…. He’d just killed Nagini…

His heart beat faster and faster and he realized that Voldemort had screamed. But he couldn’t understand why.

--Taking a picture of you,
Taking a picture of…--

Draco’s breath caught in his chest as he saw the Dark Lord’s head begin to turn away from his crowd of followers. With lightning speed Draco cast an Imperius curse on one of the further Death-Eaters and that man suddenly began to throw curses and hexes around him.

And there was chaos and Voldemort turned his attention back to the crowd, fighting off the onslaught of curses.

Draco did not waste a moment.

--Taking a picture of me,
Taking a picture of…--

He ran.

Without so much as a word or a glance, Draco bolted into the trees and sought hard for the edge of the anti-Apparition barrier that Voldemort had set on his grounds. His feet soared over the ground as he moved gracelessly through the wood and as far away from the clearing as possible.

He didn’t know when the barrier would come, but by the burning curses that whizzed past him he knew that stopping to take a breath was not an option.

And so he ran harder and further, wishing that he knew a better way to do this.

But it was too late now. He was dead if he stopped.

--Ramalama bang bang,
Flash bang, Big bang,
Bing Bong, Ding dong,
Dum dum d’dum dum—

Draco’s heart was pounding hard against his chest as he heard the incomprehensible screeches behind him and could sense them slowly gaining on him.

He could think of nothing except getting to Potter. He had no idea where the git was, or what would happen, or where he would Apparate once he got beyond the barrier, but that didn’t matter. He needed to find Harry Potter.

And for once, Draco would not fail. He would not allow himself to.

He was not about to die.

--With a hammer, bang bang,
Flash bang, Press gang,
Bing bong, ding dong,
Dum dum d’dum dum—

Suddenly there were soaring shadows around him as he ran and weaved through the trees. Death-Eaters were soaring in and around him, trying to stop him but he would not be stopped. Draco let the anger and rage and rebellion erupt from him and take over, turning him into an untamed Dragon on a rampage.

He shot curse after curse at the shadows that came close and dispersed the group attack that they had attempted to mount on him. They had made one horrible mistake.

The Death-Eaters had underestimated him because of his inability to kill Dumbledore.

That was a matter of conscience and morals. This was a matter of survival.

He had no qualms whatsoever in the thought of killing a Death-Eater. Especially after they had murdered his parents in front of him.

He had no time for the stinging pain of that idea, mind you. He was still not safe.

--With a st’stammer bang bang
Crash bang,
Big bang
Boing Doing
Boing Doing
Dum dum d’dum dum—

He nearly tripped over a tree root and stumbled forward into an open area, on a deserted street. The shadows had fallen behind and for the moment that he was standing there, he realized that he could hear the distant hum of those muggle vehicles that plague the streets of London.

He was beyond the wards.

He glanced back and saw that the Death-Eaters and their leader were approaching fast. Voldemort held his wand up above his head and was about to curse him, but Draco wasn’t about to die now.

His eyes flashed with fear, momentarily, before the adrenaline took over once more and he Apparated.

He Apparated to the only place he could think of.

With a crack and a pop and an unpleasant feeling, Draco found himself standing in an alleyway in Hogsmeade.

He was breathing hard and glancing around himself, paranoid and anxious. As he stepped forward towards the actual road, he came face to face with his own image, widely displayed in the windows and on the streetlamps with a bold “WANTED” sign above his head.

His heart stopped briefly and he wanted to collapse.

This put a terrible damper on his plans, but he didn’t have time to weigh out his options (disregarding the fact that he didn’t actually have any). He heard a rustling behind him and snapping twigs. Angry voices soon followed and Draco felt his blood turn to ice.

He bolted again and ran into the first establishment that he saw was open. A dirty looking pub called the “Hog’s Head” that he’d never actually been inside.

The owner (or so it seemed) was an old man with an unruly grey beard and even more unruly grey hair. His entire appearance broadcasted the oddness of his person but Draco couldn’t take a moment to sneer. He didn’t have that many luxuries anymore.

“What in the name of Merlin–” the man began with a strangely familiar timbre to his voice, but Draco cut him off. He had to.

--With a st’stammer,
With a st’stammer
With a st’stammer
Bang Bang—

“P-please!” he choked out, wondering where his voice had gone and where all that rage had disappeared to. Now that he was back in real wizarding society, away from the Death-Eaters and Voldemort, he became painfully aware of the fact that he was wanted and a criminal. That he was rubbish to these people and they would likely rather kill him or hand him over to Voldemort than run the risk of being associated to him. “I need help, please! They’re going to kill me!”

The man stared at him in confusion as Draco pushed further into the pub and away from the door, glancing at it as though he thought it might attack him. He was suddenly very, very scared. There was nothing else left in him besides fear now that he had used up his stores of anger and vengeance.

He stumbled a bit and had to grip onto a chair as he felt his knees go weak. The adrenaline had forced him to use too much of his energy and now he was completely burnt out. Draco’s heart raced faster as he realized that he’d allowed himself to become too vulnerable in too much of an unsafe place.

--Crash bang,
Big Bang,
Bing Bang,
Crash bang--

“You’re that boy they’re after, aren’t you?” he asked very abruptly, his old eyes widening as he realized that Draco was the boy displayed in the wanted posters.

Draco’s heart stopped and his eyes welled up with bitter tears, somehow wishing right now that he had stayed with Voldemort and let himself be killed. At least then he wouldn’t have to deal with all the slander to his name that was likely to follow his seeking help.

“Y-yes…” he admitted, feeling weaker and weaker with every passing moment. Then he did something abrupt and desperate and probably very foolish. “I am a Death-Eater, alright?!” he cried out, the tears streaking down his pale cheeks. He held out his arm as far as he could without falling and showed the man his Mark. “I was forced into it! I don’t want this… they killed my parents and they want to kill me and… Please, I need help… I need help…”

His voice became meek and all his resolve was lost. If he couldn’t get this one man to feel any sympathy for him at all, then how was he supposed to crack Potter’s hard and stubborn shell?

The boy was a bleeding heart surrounded by a reinforced fortress of incredulous defenses. At least when it came to Draco Malfoy.

--And if I,
And if I need a rhythm,
Gonna be to my heart I listen—

The man considered Draco for a few moments before walking towards him, his hands outstretched. Draco winced and prepared for a blow or an attack but was met with strong arms, raising him to his feet again. He gasped audibly at the suddenly unexpected gesture and looked at the pub-owner with wide eyes.

“Let’s get you up to Hogwarts,” he said calmly. “They’ll be able to help you more than I can.”

All he could do was offer a weak nod, ignoring the fact that the people who were still at Hogwarts probably all blamed him for Dumbledore’s death. They probably all loathed him as much as Potter now…

He tried not to think about how that wouldn’t help him… about how that would make things worse. He tried not to think about how this man might be leading him to his doom, whether he knew it or not.

He tried not to think at all.

He let the man cloak him fully and half-carry him as they trudged through the dark streets of Hogsmeade towards Hogwarts castle.

What month was it? How much time had passed since he’d run from Hogwarts that night that Snape had killed Dumbledore because of him and the whole world came crashing down?

He couldn’t figure it out, no matter how hard he tried.

Draco’s eyes followed the roads that led towards the school and very specific memories flooded his mind, bringing an onslaught of nostalgia.

He thought of the time that he had run back to find Professor Snape and inform him that he’d seen Potter’s head near the Shrieking Shack. He remembered venturing into the Forbidden Forest with Potter for detention in first year. He remembered that that had been the first and last time Potter had offered him any sort of protection at all.

He remembered trying to coerce Potter into looking for Sirius Black on his own in third year. He remembered the Quidditch games. He remembered Care of Magical Creatures… and somehow every single memory involved Potter in some way.

And that’s when Draco came to realize that, no matter how much he wanted to deny it (and, oh, he would), Potter was an important and rather massive part of his life. He always would be.

There was no getting around it. Draco had felt a great loss in the idea that he would never see the bloody Gryffindor git again… ever.

--And if I,
And if I need a rhythm,
Gonna be to my heart I listen—

Before he knew it, the man had lead Draco up to the castle doors and the great oak entrance way opened up to him. His breath caught in his chest again as the stern face of Professor McGonagall appeared in front of him and sized him up for a moment.

His face was slick with tears and his eyes were wrought with fear. He thought he saw her lips quiver momentarily, but she showed no actual sign of affection.

“Come with me, Mr. Malfoy,” she told him with an even voice. “Thank you, Aberforth. You can return to the Hog’s Head now.”

She took his arm and led him slowly through the halls and up the staircases while the man (apparently named Aberforth) left back to his pub. He tried to fight back the shudders and the horrible sensation of longing that he felt for the walls of this school.

Draco wanted back in. He wanted so badly to go back. He wanted…. No he needed it.

He needed Hogwarts.

Again, before he knew it he was inside the Headmaster’s office (which now belonged to McGonagall, he imagined) and she sat the boy down before her. Handing him a cup of hot tea, she clasped her hands and watched her former student over them as she leaned on her desk.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she began, her voice icy and cutting through him like shards. “I’m sure you are well aware of the crimes you have committed and the horrors that you have caused within these walls.” Draco winced and felt more and more energy leave him. He held the cup shakily and did his best not to drop anything. He simply couldn’t help but replay all the events of the night in his head and nearly fainted from the realization of everything he’d done. He’d signed his own death warrant. “It has always been the practice of Headmasters and mistresses of this school to offer second chances when they are sought out, however,” she added with a bit more care. “So when you are ready, I would like you to tell me everything.”

--And if I,
And if I need a rhythm,
Gonna be to my heart I listen--

And before he could stop himself, he did. Draco spluttered out everything from the first time he’d met Voldemort and he had threatened Draco into taking the Mark, to the last moments of the night, meeting this Aberforth man and desperately seeking his help.

Draco told her of how Snape had him Apparate to his house after the attack at school and met him there, taking him immediately to another location for protection. The Slytherin told her of how he had him wait there for days while he tried to sort things out with the Dark Lord and plead with him to have mercy on him. In his Snape-ish ways of course. Draco told her of how Voldemort had demanded that he meet him tonight for his punishment.

He told her about his punishment. That he had to watch his mother tortured and killed by his father and then how he had to watch him be murdered and destroyed by his peers.

And finally, Draco was supposed to endure torture until the very last fiber of his mind unraveled and he was lost in madness.

Unless, of course, Snape’s pleading had worked, in which case Voldemort would simply have killed him.

That’s mercy, right?

Right.

He rambled on and on and as he did he felt his strength come and go as the tears poured down his pale face and he unconsciously scraped at the black mark that marred his arm and soul.

“Minerva,” a calm and warm voice came from behind the trembling boy. Draco gasped and froze, knowing that voice any day. He spun around and saw Dumbledore’s portrait behind him, gazing intently over his painted half-moon spectacles with a smile.

“Albus,” she began, clearly sounding as though she was about to argue the comment she must have known was coming.

“You must take him, Minerva,” he said determinately and leaving no room for objection.

“This is the boy responsible for your death,” McGonagall argued still and he felt his heart sink.

“He is responsible for allowing entrance to Voldemort’s followers,” Dumbledore countered. “Not for my death. He clearly did not kill me and he would not have. He has already paid dearly for his mistakes and I will not allow any more innocent blood to be spilled when we have the chance to stop it.”

Draco’s heart lifted very slightly but not enough to make up for the overwhelming despair that was swirling in like black clouds around him. His muscles seemed to have forsaken him, judging that he was safe enough now to be left alone. But he wasn’t.

He was far from safe.

He shuddered again, for the millionth time that night, and waited for the blow to fall.

“Albus,” McGonagall began again.

“You know that this is what you must do, Minerva,” Dumbledore replied quietly. “He will understand. I trust Draco, Minerva. And so will he.”

She said not a word but Draco couldn’t help but wonder who the ‘he’ was that Dumbledore referred to. Surely this wasn’t the great Harry Potter? Potter had never been very understanding in regards to Draco and he highly doubted that he was about to start now.

“Very well,” she admitted, seeming rather anxious. “Come with me, Mr. Malfoy.”

She lifted her wand and sent out a silvery form into the air to rush out the window and disappear into the distance. It looked like a vaguely familiar spell to Draco but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He was still too frightened and weak.

McGonagall came over to him and took him by the arm, helping to support him as they moved and brought him out to the edge of the grounds. How they got there so quickly was beyond him, but they were suddenly at the gates and the old professor was holding him by the arms, without a word or a sound.

Draco gasped as he felt the familiar tugs of side-along Apparition overwhelm him and the world spun to make way for a new image and a new setting. He blinked and breathed heavily a few times, trying to get a hold of his surroundings and figure out where he was.

Before he managed to get his footing back, McGonagall had ushered him up to a doorway (as they seemed to be in some kind of residential area) and the old wooden door creaked open. His vision was fogged and blurry and he couldn’t see very clearly.

Still there was no mistaking the vision in the doorway.

Harry Potter opened the door to this old looking house and his bright green eyes landed immediately on Draco with a look that the blond had never seen before. He seemed stern and controlled but there was still compassion in his eyes.

“Malfoy,” Potter said quietly, his eyes never leaving Draco’s silver ones. Draco felt his heart stop and his muscles threaten to give way completely. Something about the expression in Potter’s eyes was just too strong. Something about the tone of his voice and the layers of tacit emotions that were running rampant beneath the one word made Draco completely lose control. He didn’t know what else to do…

--And if I,
And if I,
Need a rhythm,
Need a rhythm,
Need a rhythm,
And if I,
And if I need a rhythm…--

So he let got of McGonagall and launched himself at Potter, throwing his arms around the dark haired Gryffindor and sobbing into his neck. He stood there for a long time, refusing to relent his grasp on the boy he held and crying even harder. There was nothing stopping him anymore.

Nothing at all.

And finally, he felt the soft weight of Potter’s arms curling around him to return the hug. Draco felt his consciousness at its peak and blackness slowly swirled around him.

“Thank you…”

---END---

A/N: Ok so my first songfic and I just had to use Ramalama (Bang Bang) by Roisin Murphy because… it’s just too fitting. Well to me anyway. I love it. And this idea just popped into my head at work and I needed to post it before DH just… because hahaha.

No explicit slash, but there is a follow-up to this and it will indeed have lots of slash. Yeah. I dunno. Ah well.

I hope you liked it! I know it’s long but well… I put lots of effort into it! I started writing in first person halfway through because I’m so used to writing Draco from Memoirs of a Serpent’s Son and so that was rather annoying when I had to go back and change it all, lol.

Ah well, random explanation of the events after Dumbledore’s death. Yes, Draco did kill Nagini and unintentionally destroyed the Horcrux. Yeah.

And… yeah. I dunno. Just hope you liked it! Reviews merit my undying love and any e-gift that you could ever want! Hahah I know it’s not real but it’s still meaningful!