Author's Note (spoiler warning!!)

The following fanfiction is set in the summer between the sixth and seventh books. However, because I love Dumbledore so much, I couldn't bear to have him die. Basically, all you need to know is that Malfoy (or Draco, as he is to be referred to in this fanfic) backed out before killing him, and Dumbledore escaped somehow (and is very much alive).

Burning hands clutched his lungs, compressing them and making it hard to breathe. Tears trickled down a pale face, dripping off a pointed chin onto wet cobblestones. He had a vague idea of where he was going, but the tears in his eyes and the grey, summer rain coupled with the darkness of the night made it hard to see. He took a right turn and ambled uncertainly onto a muddy path, with pretty bushes on each side. Brown, wrinkly gnomes jeered at the cloaked figure as he stumbled past them, eyes set on the wooden door in front of him.

What he was doing was dangerous, and he had no idea if the residents of the house he was approaching would tell him to go away, or simply avada kedavra him on the spot. But he'd have to take a chance. Anything had to be better than what he was running from.

He was within a metre of the door when he stumbled and tripped on some previously unseen stone steps. He let out an involuntary cry as he crashed to the floor, chiselled stone digging into his legs and ribs. His face landed in a plant pot, his nose colliding with the ceramic rim with a horrible crack.

His cry must have alerted someone inside to his presence, for the door creaked open and a rush of warm air came with it. Molly Weasley stood in the doorway of The Burrow, with a rather surprised expression on her face. For lying spread eagled on the floor with puffy red eyes, a bloody nose and mud on his face was Draco Malfoy.

Molly let out an astonished gasp and acted like she had discovered a rather unpleasant spider - flapping her hands and squealing,

"Arthur! Arthur! Come quickly!"

Draco heard someone swearing loudly, doors being flung open and hurried footsteps coming towards the door. After a few seconds, Arthur Weasley arrived, looking rather disgruntled and dripping wet. He was clutching a razor, had most of his face covered in shaving cream and was wearing nothing but a towel covering his lower half. He swore even louder as he realised who this visitor was. Neither of them offered him a hand to get up, so Draco carefully hoisted himself onto his feet, trying to ignore his ankle painfully screaming in protest.

"What do you want?" Molly asked, her voice shaking with fear. Her eyes were darting back and forth, evidently checking for Death Eaters. Draco hesitated before answering feebly,

"Help."

"Arthur, get the veritaserum out," Molly hurriedly reached into her bosom and produced an old, brass key. Arthur took it and dashed upstairs. Noting the disappointed look on Draco's face, she added, "I'm sorry you have to wait out here in the rain, but…" Her sentence was lost to the clatter of two tall teenage boys tumbling down the stairs, yawning and stretching their arms. Their red hair was tousled and it was evident they had just got out of bed.

"Cor, mum, is it a parcel? We've been expecting one, see…" One of them yelled from the top of the stairs.

"If it's a box that appears to be smoking from the inside, don't open it unless you fancy rebuilding-" The second of the twins, having just opened his eyes from an exaggerated yawn, saw who was at the door and drew his wand. "What the hell do you want with us, you little-"

"Language, George!" Mrs Weasley squawked from the doorway, pointing an accusing finger. "Now go back upstairs, both of you. Your father and I have got this covered. I mean it. Bed!" After casting vicious glares at Draco, Fred and George advanced back up to their bedroom.

There was a loud crack, and Mr Weasley appeared at the door, fully dressed and dry, holding a small crystal phial. He reached forward to pinch Draco's bleeding nose and force the potion down, ignoring the painful flinch. Mrs Weasley tutted.

"Honestly, Arthur." She pointed her wand at Draco. "Episkey." His nose stopped bleeding and shifted itself back into place.

"May I continue, your highness?" Arthur asked sarcastically, before forcing veritaserum down Draco's throat. Draco spluttered a little, before standing up straight.

"Tell me, is there anyone else with you?"

"No."

"Do you mean us, or anyone in this house, harm?"

"No."

"Right, then. Come in," Arthur led him to a large dining table, littered with tea cups and bits of paper. Molly pointed at a kettle and it started filling itself up with water. "Sit," Arthur ordered. Draco sat. "Explain yourself."

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by loud swearing coming from upstairs. Fred and George had obviously spread the news of their new arrival, for there were yells of, "Harry, no!" The sound of a minor explosion accompanied this, and all fell silent. This was nothing new in the Burrow, and neither adults batted an eyelid. Draco sighed and continued.

"I- um…" He faltered.

"Go on," Molly cooed in a motherly fashion, forgetting who she was talking to. Three steaming mugs of tea drifted over to the table and each adopted a drinker.

"The Dark Lord…" He began, ignoring his tea. "He said… he said he'd kill me if I d-didn't… take care…of Dumbledore…" He disguised a sob behind a coughing fit. "I- I didn't know what to do, because f-father would probably disown me for being such a wuss, and mother… well, I don't know what mother would do, but-"

"You want protection from the Order?" Mr Weasley asked.

"Yes," The word almost choked him. Draco looked at a little painting of an old man wearing a green muggle suit. The man stood up and promptly walked out of his frame.

"Right. We'll send an owl to Dumbledore right away," Molly said, sipping her tea. "Of course, there's no guarantee you'll get it, but until he replies- oh!" A polite knock on the door interrupted them, and Arthur rose to answer it. Draco looked at the painting again, in time to see the little man returning to his armchair with a smug look on his face. Arthur returned with a wet looking Dumbledore by his side. Molly looked momentarily stunned.

"Good evening Molly, Mr Malfoy" The old wizard greeted the two politely, as if one of them hadn't tried to kill him days before. His blue eyes twinkled in Draco's direction in a way that made the boy go red and look down. "I trust we can put our little… escapade, one might say, behind us?"

"I- uh…" Draco was lost for words. How could he simply forget that he had tried to take this old fool's life? More importantly, how could Dumbledore offer to help him afterwards?

Dumbledore dismissed his attempts to speak with a dramatic wave of his hand. "I always knew you were a good one really, Mr Malfoy. But we have more pressing matters to discuss than the past. Molly, if the order was to protect Mr Malfoy from Voldemort, would you be willing to allow him to stay in your home?"

Molly hesitated before answering, "Yes, I suppose so, although it'll be a bit of a squeeze."

"Right!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together enthusiastically. "That's that, then. Now, if you don't mind, I was in the middle of watching a few muggles trying to make fire with two sticks. Funny what they sometimes get up to, isn't it?"

After smiling at the three, the wizard promptly disapparated back to some field in the middle of nowhere.

The following morning, Draco awoke to the sound of a door being violently thrown open, and the sight of several teenagers bursting into the room and gathering around his bed. Molly had given him Charlie's room, because he wasn't around to inhabit it. Harry, followed quickly by Ron, Fred, and George, were all still in they pyjamas, so they had probably only just woken up and considered him their first priority. Harry thrust his wand under Draco's chin and slowly pushed his head up, exposing his throat. Ron looked shocked.

"What are you doing here?" Harry demanded in a low voice. "Shouldn't you be off somewhere, insulting people?"

Draco's sleepy eyes filled with hatred as he eyed the wand suspiciously.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?" Harry traced a horizontal line across Draco's pale neck with the tip of his wand. "Just one spell, that's all it would take."

"Seventeen yet, Potter?" Draco sneered and stifled a yawn. Harry simply glared harder. "Didn't think so. The Ministry will track you down in seconds."

"Since when has that bothered me? I've been there before."

"Not with a murder on your hands." Draco replied so quietly, it was almost a whisper. Harry didn't remove his wand.

"You still haven't answered my question." He pointed out.

"I don't have to. It's not your house."

"But it's ours," George pointed out, gesturing at Fred and Ron. "So tell us. What are you doing here? And you'd better be telling the truth," Ron punctuated the threat with a shower of red sparks, eager to show off the fact that he could now perform magic legally at home.

"As of last night, I am receiving protection from the Order," Draco declared proudly, disarming Harry with a flick of his wrist.

"Oi! Give him that back!" Hermione barked as she pranced into the room.

"Or what, mudblood?" Draco teased, shaking his chin-length, layered white blond hair. A flash of white light blasted through the air, lightly singeing the wall, mere centimetres from his head.

"Or that," Ginny Weasley stood in the doorway, pointing her wand at Draco. "So what are you doing in my house, besides ogling me?" She added, noticing that he was indeed staring at her purple satin nightgown.

"You wish," He retorted, quickly turning his attention to Harry by throwing his wand across the room. "Fetch."

"He says the Order's protecting him –though it won't be for long if he keeps calling Hermione that. But from what?" Fred caught Harry's wand and chucked it back to its rightful owner.

"The Dark Lord, what else?" said Draco.

"But… why? Aren't you-" Hermione looked puzzled.

"I don't see why I should be telling you all this. It's none of your business, really." Another flash of light singed the wall on the other side of his head.

"Continue," Ginny ordered as if the spell had occurred by accident.

"No." A lock of Draco's hair ripped itself out of his head, floated in front of his eyes and burnt itself to a cinder.

"Continue," Hermione ordered this time.

"My hair, mudblood! What did you do that for?!" Draco cried in anguish, mourning over the loss of some shiny hair. Hermione and Ginny exchanged amused glances.

"Let's see… we've done head hair, where else can we go?" Ginny smiled.

"Alright! I'll tell you!" Draco shrieked, involuntarily wincing. "The Dark Lord is after me because I didn't finish off Dumbledore. If he finds me, he'll kill me, understand? Happy now?"

"Almost," Hermione paused for a second. "Now, apologise."

"What? To who?" This was obviously unexpected.

"Harry, for obvious reasons. And Ron, while you're at it."

"Hermione, too, for calling her… names." Ron chipped in.

"And to us, for generally being an arse." Fred gestured to himself and George, who nodded.

"Me too!" Ginny chimed. Then added sheepishly, "I felt left out."

Draco looked around the room at the six pairs of eyes looking at him expectantly, and realised there wasn't a way to talk himself out of this one.

"Alright." He held his hands up in resignation. "I'm sorry, all of you. Can I go now?" None of them seemed moved by this display, but shrugged at each other and left the room.