The last hour of Draco Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy paced the small room. Twelve feet by eighteen feet. A bed; a trunk; a wooden stool; a wooden tray to eat from; a sink and a toilet; a short set of bookshelves with three dozen books.
Draco stopped pacing, closing his eyes. He would have prayed, had he believed in anyone or anything capable of helping him. Draco sighed.
Draco paced around the small cell yet again. There was no window. One twelve foot side of the cell was open, but incredibly well-warded. Light came in, but no sound, no smell. The corridor was wide, and unless Draco was watching carefully, there were no shadows or changes in the light which gave any clue that anyone might be passing by.
Some times, Draco spent hours, sitting on the bed or on the stool, hoping to see someone walk past.
It was rare to see anyone.
The light in the corridor stayed low twenty-four hours a day, everyday, and the air was always the same warm temperature. Draco could command the ambient light to lower or brighten. He could sleep whenever he wanted, and however long he wanted to. A small bland meal appeared every so often -- a cup of light soup, a small salad, a small loaf of bread, some meat or eggs. It was not much, but Draco had little to expend energy on.
Except pacing his cell, which he continued to do.
He could do no magic. Granted, he was never very adapt at wandless magic, but it was as if he had no magic at all. That was, to say the least, disconcerting. Draco suspected that it was something in the food, most likely the soup. In this, he was not really correct.
It was in the water and the bread, too.
Draco stopped pacing and threw himself on the small bed. His right arm blocked off the light. "Lights off!" Draco called, and the light from the ceiling disappeared, leaving only the light from the corridor.
'How did things go so wrong?' Draco asked himself, not for the first time. How had his father been misled by the Dark Lord so many years before? How had Potter defeated the Dark Lord? Draco had quickly come to both fear and despise the Dark Lord, but Draco had never really had doubts that the Master would triumph over Harry Bloody Potter.
And yet he had seen Potter strike the Dark Lord down. Draco had stopped his torture of that Mud-blood horror Granger, his jaw dropping from the very shock. Then undescribable pain from the Dark Mark on his arm had ripped through his system, and the next thing he had known he was in this cell. How long he had been here, he had no idea. He had slept over sixty times, but he had no idea how reliable a guide that was.
So, where had things gone wrong? At what point could Draco have saved himself? In the back of his mind, Draco saw himself being nice to Potter in the train on that first ride to Hogwarts, but he pushed that away. Sucking up to Potter would have been next to impossible. With the Weasel sitting next to Potter, though, it was of course totally impossible.
Draco sighed again.
He had known some of the few people he had seen moving in the corridor. There would be a Death Eater being dragged down the corridor by one or two wizards. The Death Eater would be screaming, although Draco had no idea what his associates had been screaming about.
Protesting their innocence, no doubt. Draco would loudly proclaim his possession by unknown Death Eaters. He was sure his mother, not to mention family associates, were bribing everyone who needed to be bribed to assure his eventual freedom.
Draco smirked, wondering if he could successfully bring a lawsuit against Granger. She had kicked him while he was 'possessed', after all. Perhaps he should practice a limp?
Suddenly Draco felt a breeze, and a voice asked, "Having a nice nap, Ferret-boy?"
"Fuck off, Weasel."
"Now, now -- temper, temper," Ron Weasley admonished.
"I've been wanting company for sometime, but I had hoped it would have a brain," Draco said with a sneer. "Obviously, my wishes have not been fulfilled."
"Can I get you anything special to eat, Malfoy?" Ron asked.
Draco frowned, and then sat up. "I know you're scum, Weasley, but I figured, being a good friend of Harry Bloody Potter, you'd have a better job than jailer."
"Oh, I do," Ron assured him. "So, nothing to eat?"
Draco frowned. "The only thing I want is a trial!"
"Oh, you had your trial some six weeks ago, Malfoy," Ron assured him.
Draco leapt from the bed, screaming, "WHAT?"
Ron pulled his wand and warned Malfoy back.
Draco was tempted, but backed down. "What do you mean I had my trial?" he snarled instead.
"I mean just that," Ron said. "You were convicted on all counts."
"Let's see, in order I believe they were the murder. . . ."
"I never killed anyone! And anyway, I was under the Imperius!"
"You didn't have the Dark Mark placed on you in early July, 1996?" Ron asked, his eyebrows up in faux amazement.
"Well. . . ." Draco could hardly deny that.
"And everyone had to make a kill to be given the Dark Mark," Ron pointed out. "You in fact killed a Muggle girl, age nine, one Mary Sue Smith of Coventry."
"And I suppose you didn't construct a portal to allow Death Eaters into Hogwarts in June, 1997? And I suppose you didn't participate in the attack on the Burrow in mid-August?" Ron was now shouting. "And I suppose you didn't rape my sister and put her eyes out with the end of your wand? And I suppose you didn't participate in the gang-rape of Luna Lovegood a week later, and you weren't the one who severed her wand hand? And you weren't in on the attack on the Hogwarts Express, where twelve students were killed and twenty-seven maimed or seriously injured? And you weren't in the attack on Hogsmeade in October? And you. . . ."
"I was under the Imperius, you idiot!"
"So, you acknowledge you did these things, but claim you were under the Imperius?"
"Yes! the light finally breaks! If anyone had asked before this, you would know that!"
Ron shrugged. "You were questioned, Malfoy," he retorted.
"What? when?" Draco demanded.
"Oh, about thirty hours after you were captured," Ron answered. "We borrowed a new truth potion from the North Americans. You don't remember being questioned, but you tell the whole truth while under its influence, and you can even tell us if you were possessed or under the Imperius." Ron scowled and sent ropes which tied Draco's arms to his body. "You did all those things and more, you disgusting little shite! By all accounts, you did the most rapes of any of the Death Eaters since you left Hogwarts!" Then Ron smiled. "And now it's time to pay."
"Pay? Pay what?" Draco demanded.
"You refused any last meal. . . ."
". . . . and showed no remorse for your crimes."
"I was under the Imperius! Why would I have any remorse?" Draco demanded.
Ron rolled his eyes at that. "Anyway, come on, Malfoy. It's time." Ron stepped over and made a grab for Draco's shoulder. Draco fell on his backside. Ron reached down and dragged Draco to his feet, and half-holding him up and half-dragging him, Ron helped Draco exit his cell and go out into the corridor, screaming. Draco went past cells with reflective glass, so he could not see who, if anyone was inside.
All they saw was a screaming Draco Malfoy, who had soiled himself, being dragged down the corridor.
In a short time, Draco was dragged into a large open room, like a small stone amphitheater. At the center was stone arch, with an old torn curtain hanging from it. Although they were indoors, the curtain waved slightly, as if there was a breeze.
Draco recognized it from stories other Death Eaters told. Draco looked around, desperately looked around, hoping someone would save him. All he saw was a slim veiled figure in black standing near the curtain.
"Help me!" Draco screamed, begging, trying to dig in his heels. Ron stopped dragging him a few feet shy of the Arch and looked at the figure.
The figure's left hand came up and dropped the veil. "Why?" Luna Lovegood asked.
Draco's eyes went wide, and he saw that indeed the woman was lacking her right forearm and hand.
"Any last words, Malfoy?" Ron asked.
"You'll pay for this," Draco snarled. "I don't know how, but you will."
"Maybe I will, someday," Ron agreed. With that, he pushed Draco through the Veil.
"Have any of them sincerely expressed regret?" Luna asked.
"No," Ron said. "They were all pretty much like Malfoy."
"If any had, they would have been spared," Luna said regretfully.
"Well, they would have been spared execution," Ron pointed out. "They'd still be in jail for the rest of their lives."
"True," Luna said. "That is one reason why they are kept in solitary, after all. So they might think upon their crimes, and truly express any regret when their time comes."
Ron shrugged again. "That's the idea. It might work for common criminals, even murderers, but not this bunch." He looked at Luna. "Why did you come?"
"So that you and I might assure Ginny and Hermione that he is indeed gone. Perhaps our nightmares, and Harry's, will start going away."
"Then we must make certain no similar nightmare arises in the future."
The pair walked out of the Room together, to go and take comfort with their friends.