"Wishing I could fly away
Don't know where I'm going
Wishing I could hide
Oh God this is some shape I'm in"
--Jackson Browne, "Sleep's Dark and Silent Gate"

It had been hanging over everyone's heads. As Harry Potter's seventh year ticked inexorably away, so did the chance for Voldemort to make a strike at The Boy Who Lived while he was still at school.

And now the moment was here. Death Eaters were in the corridors of Hogwarts.

He'd known they were coming, his father had told him. He just hadn't expected it to be so... real.

In an accident of timing that he was certain had caused the fates to choke with laugher, Draco had opened a door and found himself standing equal distance between the approaching Death Eaters and their enemies.

He knew what he was expected to do, he had no doubt of that. Draco's obligation to his family - to his blood - had been clearly explained along with the brutal facts of what would happen to anyone considered an enemy. Lucius had then made it very clear that he wouldn't step in to save him if he made the wrong choice. So, when the time came, Draco was to follow the Dark Lord. End of subject.

It wasn't as if Draco had a problem with Voldemort's advocacy of racial superiority. Actually, he quite agreed with it. He'd been taught from birth that purebloods were better than mudbloods and he believed it with all of his being. Flaunting his status was one of the sweeter amusements of his school years and he took particular delight in goading that know-it-all Granger.

The problem was that Draco wasn't stupid.

He couldn't quite disregard the one fact that the Death Eaters seemed so determined to ignore whilst they were grubbing about on their knees and slavering over the hem of his robes. Tom Riddle was not a pureblood. Oh, he could call himself Lord Voldemort all he wanted, but that wasn't the truth, was it? The truth was that Tom Riddle was only a pretentious half blood and that was as damning in Draco's eyes as if both his parents had been Muggle.

Draco watched the robed and masked Death Eaters as they drew closer. The reptilian Voldemort led the way but it was easy enough to pick out Lucius. His long blond hair gave him away instantly. Cold gray eyes glittered behind his mask and he shot Draco a pointed look before turning his attention back to the defiant Resistance.

Draco glanced over and saw Dumbledore standing shoulder to shoulder with Potter. The old man's eyes were grim and Draco shuddered at the power suddenly rolling off of him in waves. Professor Snape was not, as expected, crossing over to Voldemort. As Draco watched, his Head of House stepped next to Dumbledore and held his wand at the ready, dark eyes scanning the Death Eaters rapidly.

Albus Dumbledore could trace his lineage back to Nimue. Severus Snape came from an ancient family as old as the Malfoys. True, they'd never had money, but their bloodline was impeccable.

How had it come to this? Pureblood standing against pureblood and all for the sake of an upstart half blood that had given himself airs above his station.

As the first curses flew through the air, pandemonium broke out and Draco knew that he'd run out of time. His fingers tightened on his wand and he made his choice, throwing himself into the fray.

It wasn't as if he expected to survive this anyway.