A tall, dark witch in dirt-streaked brown robes dodged fallen masonry and shattered glass as she picked her way carefully across the paved flagstones of Hogwarts Entrance Hall. Pausing for a moment on her way to the staff room, her glittering dark eyes fell on a sombre trio lingering outside the Great Hall, and for one instant she fought the desire to hex them on the spot, or at least to pass them by with nothing more than a disdainful glare that would show her utter contempt of all they represented. Yet …
Her gaze fell on the woman's arm as it curled protectively around her trembling son. The witch sighed. Despicable as they were, she could not ignore that one small gesture of humanity.
Reaching a decision, she diverted from her path until she stood before them.
'Mr and Mrs Malfoy, please go inside and take a seat. Kingsley won't be free for a while yet. I've sent instructions for sandwiches and tea to be served while everyone -' Professor Sinistra's face twisted into a grim little half-smile '- while everyone recovers from their exertions. Go on. Draco must surely be hungry, even if you are not.'
Having done what little she was prepared to do to ease their discomfort, the Astronomy professor left them standing in the hallway, her brown robes swirling around her ankles as she turned away and marched through the labouring crowd towards the ruined staff room.
Draco watched her leave then eyed the great doors with dread: he and his parents currently stood at an angle to them, so that none yet beyond knew they were there, and he much preferred to keep it that way.
Truth be told, he would rather starve than ever have to enter the Great Hall again. He didn't want to walk past the corpses of those he had helped to betray as they were ferried up to the Hospital Wing. He couldn't bear to hear the gut-twisting cries of those who followed in the wake of lost children, parents, lovers and friends, and know that his own arrogance had helped to fuel their grief. And he especially didn't want to feel the heat of accusing eyes on his back as he slid onto a seat and partook of the light meal now being served to the victors of the battle.
'What are they doing here? What are they doing here?'
The hubbub of activity around them ceased as dozens of people followed the accusatory finger Dennis Creevey now pointed at the Malfoy clan; he had spotted them as he followed the floating body of his older brother out the doors of the Great Hall and across to the main staircase. A wave of cold, dark shame gripped the Slytherin student when hostile glares found the objects of the child's torment. He could sense his father stiffening behind him, though - for once - Lucius Malfoy did not waste any effort in his own defence.
What was the point? Everyone knew they were guilty.
His mother gripped Draco's shoulder tightly; her eyes following Dennis as McGonagall began to steer the hysterical youth gently but firmly away from them. She took a faltering step towards the boy and, for a moment, Draco thought she meant to do the unimaginable and apologise to a Mudblood. But the moment passed. Narcissa Malfoy must have thought the better of it because she pulled her well-shod foot back and resumed her vigil by his side.
Belligerent eyes lingered on the disgraced family for many long seconds before people finally resumed their duties clearing the Entrance Hall of bodies and debris from the recent battle. Draco shifted uncomfortably, aware that he and his parents were standing stupidly in the way.
'Can't we go home, darling?' asked Narcissa of her husband suddenly, breaking their mutual silence. Lucius shook his dishevelled blond head.
'Not yet. Shacklebolt won't let us leave without a debriefing.'
His father's voice rang strange in Draco's ears. It was Lucius Malfoy, yet it was not. He tried to pinpoint what the difference was until it hit him: his father's voice was flat, empty. It held no hint of the pride and arrogance he was famed for, and none of the warmth he reserved only for his family. Draco threw a glance behind his back, then wished he hadn't: his father stared straight ahead at the door to the Great Hall, his aristocratic features schooled into a mask of indifference. It may have been enough to fool those outside the family, but Draco recognised the deadened look in his eyes for what it was: defeat.
His father was broken.
And so was he.
What was left to them now? They had placed their hope for a better world in a madman: a madman who had masterfully used their money and prejudice for his own gain, though it had done none of them much good in the end. The Dark Lord was dead, and though they lived, they were ruined. Malfoy Manor was little more than a mausoleum; a stark reminder of their own bad choices and of the humiliation they had endured at the hands of people they had once counted as friends and allies. All the Galleons in Britain would never restore their reputation. And the once proud name of Malfoy was now little more than a mark of shame that his future children would have to bear like a scarlet letter for as long as they lived.
He had damned them before they were even born …
The sound of footsteps roused him from his maudlin reflections.
'What? You're still standing here?'
It was Professor Sinistra: she had returned from the staff room with a rather dazed-looking Professor Trelawney in tow. The Divination teacher clutched one of the smaller crystal balls that had survived its flight from the upper balconies, and was now stroking it absently.
Sinistra gave the Malfoys a searching glance. 'Those sandwiches won't eat themselves,' she said brusquely, not quite managing to conceal her contempt.
Her tone made Draco flinch. She arched a brow expectantly and the Malfoys exchanged a glance before following her into the Great Hall. Draco steeled himself for the ordeal ahead.
It was time to start facing the proverbial music …