Author's note: The story presents an alternative to "Deathly Hallows". It is, however, compatible to the first six books.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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He woke in a cave. Lying very still on what appeared to be a camp bed, staring at a ceiling of rock face, he tried to recollect what had happened.
He'd run. Faster and harder than ever before in his life, unseeing, his lungs burning, and his right side aching almost beyond endurance. He'd run for his life.
But there was no point to it: His life was over.
He had trembled like a wet beagle. His hand had shaken so violently he couldn't have aimed at a grown Hebridean Black. In the end, Snape had accomplished in a second what he'd been unable to do in several long minutes. A heartbeat later, Snape had made him run. Yet, what for? He'd failed, and the Dark Lord did not tolerate failure. Nor those who failed.
Moving a little, he discovered that he was unbound, which seemed a bit odd. His wand was gone, however.
There was a gap in his memory. He remembered running, but not how or where the flight ended. Now he was, seemingly, in a dimly lit cell.
Strange smells drifted towards him. Turning his head to see where they came from, he realised that the room was considerably bigger than expected. A small fire was burning several feet away. Next to it, a dark figure crouched on the tiled floor stirring gently the contents of a gleaming cauldron.
He jumped to his feet.
"Where are we?" he demanded. The unwonted hoarse sound of his voice startled him.
"In a cave," replied the figure without bothering to turn around.
"Where is my wand?"
Snape pointed wordlessly.
Draco came closer and gave a gasp of horror. His wand was broken into three pieces, each of which was carefully singed on both ends. There was no hope whatsoever of mending it.
"Why?" he yelled.
"Why? You are a danger to yourself, my dear boy. And your mother wants you to live."
"Who cares what my mother wants?" he screamed, fury momentarily overcoming his fear.
"I do. I promised her."
"You... you stole my chance to restore honour to my family's name," Draco spluttered. "You beat me to it... You marred everything I was striving for-"
"You were not going to kill him," Snape said, rising from his work.
"Of course, I was!"
"Your lying is even worse than your killing," Snape said with the faintest curl of his lip. A gash stretched across his face from the left temple to the chin. His coat was torn and bloodstained.
Draco stared at his former teacher, his cheeks burning with anger and shame and humiliation. With an effort, he tried to close his mind although it was probably too late. Snape was an accomplished Legilimens.
"Will you tell the Dark Lord?" he asked anxiously.
"I shall report to him within the next hour."
"What will you say?"
"I am convinced that, notwithstanding what vows I may have made, I am under no obligation to discuss my strategy with you."
"Fine. I'm going, then," Draco snapped. He wasn't in the mood for subtle rhetoric.
"You can't."
"You're not telling me what I can and what I cannot!" he shouted.
"I repeat: you cannot leave this cave unless I let you."
"You're keeping me prisoner?" Draco asked in a strangled voice. Every syllable betrayed his lack of composure now.
"If you choose to see it this way, I won't argue the point. However, this accommodation is certainly by far more comfortable than – even without the Dementors – Azkaban."
Draco shuddered.
"Three attempted murders should earn you a prolonged stay there, provided Scrimgeor gets his paws on you. Though he won't. You can't be found here except by-" Snape broke off, thinking.
"Except by the Dark Lord," Draco finished the sentence. Fear was clutching at his heart. He was going to die, probably soon. All he could hope was that it would be quick and painless.
"No, your mother wants you sound and save," Snape said. "I am bound by my vow to comply with her wish."
"You are going to p-plead with the Dark Lord to s-spare me?" Draco stammered incredulously.
"Certainly not. I won't risk my reputation on behalf of an ambitious but inept teenager. The Dark Lord does not forgive."
The words went through Draco like icy daggers.
"Entrusting an utterly inexperienced novice with a task of this magnitude was a very clear statement indeed. Did you not realise what was expected of you? The son pays, if necessary with his life, for the offences of the father. These are the rules."
Draco couldn't help trembling again. Kill Dumbledore or die trying, aunt Bellatrix had urged him. All his hard work, all his efforts to repair the old vanishing cabinet, his resolve to restore some honour to the name of his family by serving the Dark Lord had been in vain... He'd never been meant to succeed...
"Your best option would have been to accept Dumbledore's offer," Snape continued and, unbidden, the headmaster's strained face sprang to Draco's memory. It is my mercy and not yours, that matters now. Realising Snape's stare on him, he desperately tried to close his mind.
"I do not need Legilimency," Snape told him coldly. "It is enough to know Dumbledore. Or, more accurately, to have known him. He did have the power to protect both you and your mother."
The last remark sent Draco's heart racing.
"My mother-"
"There is nothing I can do for your mother anymore," Snape cut across him. "She should have thought sooner about whom she married or how she raised her offspring."
"He'll kill her," Draco whispered.
"Possibly. Maybe someone was sufficiently quick to warn her. Whether she can run fast enough and far enough is another question."
No, she couldn't, Draco thought sadly. Nobody could hide from the Dark Lord's wrath. And it was his fault alone. He'd messed up, even worse than his father had done before. He had stood there, wand raised – and had done nothing. But it had felt so wrong... It should have been easy to kill this frail old wizard, shouldn't it? I am more defenceless than you can have dreamed of finding me, and still you have not acted. What was heroic about killing an unarmed man? Where was the glory? If Dumbledore had put up some fight, well, perhaps he could have persuaded himself that it was self-defence... a handy lie to soothe the whimpering weakling inside his chest...
"There is no necessity to blame yourself for your mother's lack of courage," Snape stated. For the first time, a tiny hint of warmth coloured his voice. It vanished as he continued: "You were underage. When Narcissa gave her consent for you to join the Death Eaters, she was not only aware of the perils in general. She did know that the only atonement the Dark Lord would accept was a human sacrifice."
"She cried. I... I thought she was weak and pathetic."
"You did?"
Yes, he had, Draco thought ashamed. To him the task had looked easy. Figuring out a plan to kill the unsuspecting old fool of a headmaster and follow through with it hadn't seemed a big deal. To realise how much he'd been mistaken was devastating.
"You are save here for the time being," Snape said turning back to his potion. "The dwelling is protected by the most efficient spell."
"I've got a Secret Keeper here?" Draco asked bewildered. "Who?"
"Albus Dumbledore. And he is, as you will realise, not likely to tell anyone."
He could not make sense of this. "How come you know, then?" he asked at last.
"He trusted me."
"Ah," Draco muttered under his breath. "Look where it got him..."
"He got what he deserved," Snape answered softly.
Draco made no reply. In silence, he watched the man fill burgundy gel in little phials and seal them.
How could anybody kill in such cold blood? Snape was a deeper mystery to him than ever before. What the man intended to do with him, he could only guess. Apparently, he was his prisoner. However, the room didn't correspond with Draco's mental picture of a jail. It was too large and too comfy.
On the far side of the fire there was a large basin, surrounded by a variety of potted plants. The wall behind was smooth and light blue. Light was actually emanating from there. The array gave the impression of an afternoon sky looked at through an open window. Draco looked round. To the right, there was a stove, a battered cupboard laden with pots and pans, a table, and two extraordinarily mismatched chairs. On the left hand side there was an alcove hewn into the rock, at least it looked man-made rather than natural. The camp bed fitted in too exactly. Next to the alcove, books were stacked like firewood. There had to be approximately one thousand of them since the pile was as long and wide as the bed and more than six feet high. Another alcove with a heavy curtain followed. And, most intriguing, a narrow door was set in the otherwise bare rock of the wall opposite the basin.
"That will do," Snape announced suddenly. He put the fire out with a barely visible flick of his wand and turned off the magic smoke neutraliser, which hung suspended from the ceiling. "You will discover that you cannot leave this place. Therefore, you won't be able to obey any call by the Dark Lord." He thrust a cardboard box full of little red phials into Draco's hands. "In such situations, which will occur without doubt, you should apply this ointment to your Dark Mark. It will reduce the pain to a sufferable measure."
"You're going?"
"Certainly," Snape said and left. He didn't use the door but marched straight through the rock beside it.
Draco didn't try the enchanted barrier. He put down the cardboard box gingerly, staggered across the room to the bed and slumped on it. His whole body shook with fear and apprehension. Random images popped into his mind – wild, chaotic, unbidden. The fight at the bottom of the stairs, Longbottom hexing him, Dumbledore's smiling blue eyes, Fenrir Greyback, Dumbledore's incredible pluck in the face of impending death, Snape, the escape, Dumbledore offering him help, Dumbledore, Dumbledore, and Dumbledore again.
Good evening, Draco... A very clever plan and, as you say, right under my nose. We all like appreciation for our own hard work... Let us discuss your options, Draco. I appreciate the difficulty of your position. I can help you... Draco, you are not a killer. Let us have no more pretence about that.
"We can hide you more completely, Draco, than you can possibly imagine."
Draco gasped with horror. He could have sworn that he'd just heard Dumbledore's actual voice.
How could somebody be dead already and still winning a battle?