Hello, everyone! I am so thrilled to be publishing a story after 12 years without putting anything out there. About four years ago, I began lurking back in the fanfiction world and have fallen back in love with the incredibly talented writers & artists that make up the Harry Potter fandom.

The story you are about to read has been brewing in my head for nearly a year, and I am notorious for not finishing what I start, so I promised myself I wouldn't publish anything until I had 10 chapters written. Today, I finished writing the 10th chapter! I hope to write and stay ahead to make sure you get to see the end of this beautiful plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone. I'll be updating about once a week.

I hope you come to love this Dramione story as much as I love writing it.

Well..here it goes...enjoy!

The deed was done…sort of.

Albus Dumbledore was dead. But not at his hands, as it was supposed to have happened. No, he had been a coward right to the end and hadn't been able to kill his headmaster. Severus had stepped in and done the deed for him and he knew he was in deep shit now. The moment they returned to the Dark Lord, he would be dead for sure. Another Malfoy failure. Another disappointment. Draco shuddered at the thought of what awaited him back at Malfoy Manor. But whatever it was that awaited him, it was better than what would happen to him if he remained behind.

Draco followed behind his fellow Death Eaters, the top of the astronomy tower illuminated by the eerie glow of the Dark Mark, which hung in the air as a reminder of the evil that had just transpired moments ago. No, not evil. Necessary. The old coot had to go.

And now he had.

Draco stayed on the heels of the others as they wound their way down the staircases and through empty corridors. He heard echoes of shouting in the surrounding area, but he was so focused on getting out with the others to the apparition point that he couldn't pinpoint where they were coming from.

A shrill cry behind him sounded and with a jolt, he realized that someone – no, scratch that – two people were on their tail. Their footsteps drew nearer and Draco sped up, his sense of urgency renewed.

He was right on the heels of Severus when his plans got derailed. It happened so quickly that Draco didn't have time to process it all. One second he was right behind Severus, his sole focus on getting the hell out of Hogwarts.

A cry of, "Locomotor Mortis!" sounded from behind him in an older woman's voice.

The next second he fell flat on his face, his legs suddenly incapable of movement. The wind was completely knocked out of him and he wheezed. Feeling his lungs squeeze tight, Draco knew he only had seconds to act. Taking the deepest breath he could manage, he filled his lungs to their greatest extent and screamed, trying to draw the attention of one of his fellows. Someone. Anyone.

Only Severus looked back. For the briefest moment, Draco saw the strangest glint in his eyes. What was that? It almost looked like relief. It couldn't be. But as quickly as that look came, Snape whipped back around and continued sprinting toward the grounds. Just like that, he was alone. Wasn't he just thinking that remaining behind at Hogwarts would be worse than returning to the Dark Lord a failure? His heart dropping to his feet, Draco continued to thrash against his captor. A flash of robes swooped past, trainers coming dangerously close to Draco's face.

Potter. He was going to get himself killed.

Without warning, Draco found himself pulled to his feet, his legs – and now his arms as well – locked together. Standing in front of him was none other than Professor McGonagall, her face distorted with rage. Her eyes were wide and blazing, her mouth so thin it was almost invisible. She swiped his wand from his hands.

Normally, Draco would have had some sort of insult prepared to spit in her face. He had spent years with his tongue full of venom. But as he stared into her terrible face, no words came. It seemed she couldn't bring herself to speak, either, because with the silent swish of her wand, Draco was levitated a couple inches off the ground and led down the corridor. A couple other people sped past them in the same direction that Potter had just run. They were never going to catch up in time. Only Potter stood a chance of even coming close, but even that was unlikely. It seems McGonagall had given up the chase to tend to him.

As they walked – well, she walked, he floated – Draco took note of the evidence of battle all around him. Rubble littered the floors and…was that a bloody handprint on the wall? Draco's stomach lurched.

This sharp metallic smell of blood infiltrated Draco's nostrils as they continued toward the seventh floor corridor. With a gasp, Draco realized where they were headed: Dumbledore's Office. He struggled against the curse, giving a strangled cry that echoed through the hall.

"Stop that at once, Mr. Malfoy, or I shall have to gag you as well," McGonagall hissed in a tone he had never quite heard from her before. Draco immediately fell silent. McGonagall spat out a password in front of stone gargoyles and the two ascended a moving spiral staircase in continued silence.

The headmaster's office was revealed to them at the top, unfolding like a pop-up book from Draco's childhood. The whirring and clicking of various instruments filled the air, and Draco felt the bile rise in his throat. This was the office of someone living. Of someone who, in the face of his own death, had offered nothing but kind words to him.

He was going to be sick. McGonagall lowered Draco into a chair on the near side of the desk. For a brief moment, the enchantment restricting his movement was lifted. Draco did not possess the strength to try and run. Instead, he crumpled forward and vomited at his own feet. Sick and spit dripped from his mouth as he groaned and sat back up, collapsing into the back of the chair. McGonagall whispered, "Incarcerous," and a quick "Scourgify." The vomit vanished from the floor, but the foul taste remained in Draco's mouth. He longed for a handkerchief and glass of water, but knew McGonagall wasn't about to offer him either.

Frankly, a voice at the back of his head nagged, you don't deserve them.

Draco hung his head.

He heard McGonagall taking deep breaths. She was likely steadying herself on Dumbledore's chair, willing herself to sit down and speak. When he looked up again, he found McGonagall occupying Dumbledore's old seat. She seemed somehow small in it. Small gashes covered her face, leaving a trail of dried blood. Her eyes were narrowed, staring right through him.

"Mr. Malfoy. Do you have an explanation for tonight?"

Draco took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Professor?"

"You heard me, Mr. Malfoy." Her gaze continued to pierce him, just as his eyes had. Those damned blue eyes, so full of disappointment. So disappointed in him, yet ready to forgive. Disappointment he was used to. But forgiveness? Despite all he had done? All the horrible things he had done…

Draco had stared death in the face for the first time tonight, and it had shaken him right to the very core of his being.

"Draco, you are not a killer."

Back in the present, McGonagall continued to search him with her eyes from Dumbledore's chair.

Something snapped in that moment and Draco felt a hard lump rise in his throat, his eyes burning and his face flushed. A fierce sob came bursting forth, and Draco felt hot tears coat his cheeks, dripping down his nose and chin. He cried for his parents, who would surely face punishment in the wake of his failure. He cried for his own cowardice. He cried for those kind blue eyes, now empty somewhere on the Hogwarts grounds.

Through his blurry vision, Draco could make out McGonagall's shocked expression. Surely, she had not expected this. Neither had he, really. He had to pull himself together. Taking a shuddering breath to steady himself, Draco hiccupped and prepared to say the words he swore he never would. It was time.

"I…I'm so s-s-sorry, Pr-professor," he whispered. He really wished he could wipe his face, but his arms were firmly chained to the chair.

McGonagall leaned back in the chair, her face in her hands. She was clearly deciding how to respond.

"I'm afraid," she began, voice shaking, "that a simple apology can't possibly make up for the gravity of your actions." McGonagall looked up again and leaned forward. "Why, Mr. Malfoy? Why this sudden act of remorse?"

"It's not an act," Draco pleaded, sniffing as his tears cleared up. He had to tell the truth. No more deceit. No more agony. His soul couldn't take it any longer. "I started this evening with every intention of murdering Professor Dumbledore on the Dark Lord's orders. I even had him cornered on top of the astronomy tower. But when it came down to it, I just, I just –"

Tears were filing his vision once again. He gulped, trying to find his voice, but he found that he couldn't speak any more.

"You just couldn't kill him?" McGonagall offered, a soft edge to her stiffness creeping in.

Draco nodded weakly.

"What changed, Mr. Malfoy? You must have been determined to get that far without Professor Dumbledore stopping you."

Draco was surprised when a laugh came bubbling up. It tasted bitter. "He knew! The old fool knew right from the very start, but he let me continue my task. Who knows why. And when it came down to it, right when I had him cornered, he didn't fight." Draco turned his red-rimmed expression to look McGonagall right in the eye. "He offered me and my family protection. And if the others hadn't shown up – if Severus hadn't killed him-"

"Severus?" McGonagall jumped to her feet. "You mean to tell me that Severus Snape is the one responsible for-for –" She spluttered, reaching for words to express the unthinkable.

Draco nodded again.

McGonagall sank back down, hand over her heart. "What you mean to say is that if Professor Snape had not performed your task for you, you may not have been able to do it yourself?"

A third nod.

"I see. You realize what a difficult position you have put me in, Mr. Malfoy. I wish to believe you, I really do. Like Professor Dumbledore, I, too believe that you have never been destined for deeds as disgusting as murder." Draco winced at the word, remembering Dumbledore's feeble body as it fell backward.

McGonagall reached into a desk drawer and drew out a vial of clear liquid. Draco didn't have to be told twice what that was. It certainly wasn't water.

"Veritaserum. You are of age, are you not, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes," Draco straightened himself as much as he could. Veritaserum could prove to his teacher that he was telling the truth – that he was genuine. That he was terrified and wanted out. That he didn't care how.

"Very well. I will give you a dose and ask you some questions. You will not remember my questions, but the effects of the potion will wear off in an hour. If your answers are satisfactory, we will discuss arrangements. If not, well..." McGonagall sighed and got to her feet, "well, we will cross that bridge when we get to it."

McGonagall moved around the desk, uncorked the vial with a pop, and tipped Draco's head back. As the liquid coated his throat, Draco's mind went blissfully blank for the first time, and he allowed the void to cover him completely.

When Draco came to, the first thing he noticed was the absence of chains. The second thing he noticed was that he was no longer sitting in Dumbledore's study. Instead, he was sitting on a chair in a small, stone chamber surrounded only by a writing desk bathed in moonlight from a small window high above his head.

Draco stood and made his way to the desk, stretching. On its surface sat a singular piece of parchment with two words written on it.

Wait here.

He must have passed muster, or he would still be bound. Breathing a small sigh of relief, Draco pressed his ear to the wooden door, hoping to hear something. McGonagall must have silenced the room, because nothing reached his ears.

Slumping back into the hard, wooden chair, Draco put his head between his knees. What would his father think, him giving into the likes of McGonagall? Nothing good, certainly. He would have scoffed at the notion and then shown Draco the very meaning of disappointment once they were alone.

"This," Draco spoke aloud, "really would be the biggest disappointment yet, wouldn't it, father?" Shaking his head in disbelief, he scoffed. Rubbing his eyes, he realized his face was wet again. Damn crying. He hadn't cried so much since he was a kid – his father had made sure of that. His father had never approved of crying. Or any strong show of emotion, really.

His mother, though…

At the thought of his mother, his lungs suddenly emptied of oxygen. His heart began to beat rapidly in his throat. Draco clawed at the air, his head lightheaded. His mother. His poor mother…what would become of her? What had he done? What the hell had he done? His mother had gone to such lengths to protect him, and yet he had sealed her fate with his cowardice tonight.

Draco began to rock back and forth, his breath coming in sharp gasps that never seemed to adequately fill his lungs. He began to sob in earnest once more, big fat tears rolling down his face.

"Mother!" he wailed. "What have I done? What have I done?"

It was in this state that McGonagall found him, curled up pathetically in the chair, gasping and crying.

She conjured a bed and led him to it, helping him under the covers as he continued to hyperventilate. She then did something that Malfoy would have never predicted.

She placed her hands on either side of his face and met his eyes.

"Breathe, Draco. It's going to be all right." Her voice was the softest he had ever heard from her. He had always viewed the matron of Gryffindor with disgust and frankly, a little fear. She was a fierce protector of her students, that he knew. But he never knew that that protection could extend to him.

"Just breathe." Draco felt his lungs fill with air and his heart rate lower. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal and his thoughts stopped racing. He blinked.

"Thank you," he mumbled as McGonagall let go of his face and settled on the chair. Draco wiped his face on his sleeve.

"The veritaserum served you well, Mr. Malfoy. I will work to fulfill Professor Dumbledore's offer. I will find protection for you."

"And my mother?" Draco croaked.

McGonagall sighed. "Yes. Should the opportunity arise, we shall offer it to her as well."

Draco leaned against his pillow and closed his eyes for a moment.

"What would have happened to you, Mr. Malfoy, should I have not brought you here tonight?"

He turned his head to face her, not lifting his head from the pillow.

"I don't know, Professor. That's something I was trying not to think about."

"I see." She sighed again.

"All I know," Draco offered, "is that I feel tired."

McGonagall nodded. "Very well. Sleep here, Mr. Malfoy. I shall come to fetch you in a few days' time. In the meanwhile, I shall arrange for food to be brought to you regularly. I ask that you do not try to leave this room. Your wand is in my possession, and I daresay you will not attempt to retrieve it. Am I clear?"

Draco turned away from McGonagall. "Yes," he mumbled into his pillow.

"Get some rest, Mr. Malfoy. The days ahead will be long for all of us."

He heard retreating footsteps, the creak of the door, and the click of its lock. Willing himself to continue breathing slowly and deeply, Draco drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Three days passed before Draco saw McGonagall again. As promised, a house elf delivered a tray of food three times a day. Draco kept himself occupied by counting the stones in the chamber and by tracing the path of the square of light from the window across the wall.

He did not cry again. He promised himself that there was no longer any room to cry.

That part was easy. What was not easy was keeping his thoughts from straying to his mother. But he somehow managed. He would have to from now on.

And so the three days passed in a bit of a blur. By the end of the second day, Draco began to grow anxious for news and for any sort of human contact. Being left alone to his thoughts was getting nauseating. He spent most of his days pacing or lying in bed, trying to pass the time by falling in and out of bouts of fitful sleep.

When McGonagall stood in the doorway on the evening of the third day and beckoned him into the study once again, Draco stumbled out of his little room. He blinked at the bright lights as his eyes adjusted. Upon entering the circular room once more, the first thing he noticed was the portrait of the old headmaster that now hung on the wall, its occupant dozing. His stomach twisted.

"Draco, you are not a killer."

Taking a deep breath, Draco walked back to the chair he had occupied three days previously.

"So, what now?" he asked.

"Professor Dumbledore has been laid to rest and the rest of the students are preparing to return back to King's Cross tomorrow."

"The rest of the students, professor? Not me?"

"No, Mr. Malfoy. Your safety would be in considerable jeopardy should you board the Hogwarts Express. I have discussed this with a select few individuals whom I trust completely, and we have all agreed to give you sanctuary."

Draco looked at his feet and mumbled a soft, "thank you."

"That being said, Mr. Malfoy, we are not quite ready for that placement." Draco raised his head, his eyebrows cocked.

"If you're not ready, then where am I to go now?"

"I have made temporary arrangements for you, Mr. Malfoy. You shall-"

There was a knock.

McGonagall stood and Draco whipped his head around to face the door to the study.

"Ah, yes. That will be her now. That is, to say, your temporary guardian of sorts."

Draco craned his neck to see who this guardian would be.

He was met with brown eyes and bushy hair.

"Absolutely not."

Please review and let me know what you think!

xoxo

BiscuitsForPotter