Musings on a Task

This is it. A year's worth of work will boil down to tonight's events. I've been through frustration, fear, confrontations, everything. So much is at stake: my future, my family's future, even the future of the wizarding world.

Mother told me once that she used to tuck me in every night when I was little; she would even sing to me. I don't remember that, but it surprised me. Why would she spend the time and energy doing a house-elf's work? Her closest friends from the fashionable quarter of Diagon Alley were horrified, and word got back to my father through his connections.

"Your father put a stop to it as soon as he learned about it," she said to me, in between sips of tea on a summer day. "He said that it was common, something inappropriate for the lady of a wizarding family of purest blood." She blinked, her face taut and her eyes gazing far away.

Her emotion embarrassed me. Proper witches did not display such feelings, even to their children. Unsure of what to say, I took a bite of my sandwich, the crunch of the cucumber sounding in my head. When enough time had passed, I took at look at her face. Her normal expression of confidence had not yet returned; she was pale, tense, her appearance not reflecting the great Lady that she was. Fine lines stood out on her forehead, the sides of her mouth, lines that I had never noticed before.

I looked out the nearest window, allowing my mother some time to regain her always well-kept control. I could not look at her during her moment of weakness; it was not something that any Malfoy should display. Father had drilled that into me for years.

Her hand shaking slightly, she reached for her cup. "I always knew that you were special, my son." Tea sloshed over the cup's rim, filling the saucer and staining the lace tablecloth beneath. She didn't say any more, even refused to meet my eyes. The nearest window, so convenient for covering my embarrassment, provided the same service for her. Her profile was highlighted by the bright sunlight, accentuating her gently quivering lip. The tea cup stilled her nerves as she brought it up to her lips.

We had scheduled tea for a specific reason. She was very curious to hear of my audience with the Dark Lord, but her reaction was not what I expected. He had honoured me with such a call. I was, after all, not of age and not fully qualified in the eyes of the Ministry. But He knew that I was worthy, that I was capable of serving His needs at such a young age. She should have been proud that I would take my place in that circle. Why didn't she smile at my excitement, at my privilege of being granted such a task? Instead, her face darkened, like the clouds moving in front of the sun, and she said nothing.

My mother did not have faith in me. She did not think I was capable of killing the worst Headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen.

She was not the only one who did not have faith in my abilities. Professor Snape, so smug at his appointment to the Defence Against the Dark Arts class during the Welcoming Feast, sent for me almost as soon as I had unpacked my robes from my trunk. I was expecting congratulations, words of encouragement and pride. Like my mother, he sorely disappointed me.

I had arrived at his office, just down the dungeon corridor from the common room, only to find it open. Professor Snape sat static behind his desk, fingers rubbing across his chin. Every previous visit to his office has found him cataloguing the myriad jars of potions and ingredients. A quill sat upon his desk, wrinkled evidence of some worry or stress.

"I have heard that you have more than the usual studies to attend to this school year, Draco," he said in an oily tone. I beamed and nodded, expecting words of praise and advice, perhaps even a wish of "good hunting."

"I am most concerned with the information your mother has shared," he continued, and my face grew hot with embarrassment. "She has told me of your task, and has asked, as an old friend, to help you see it through." Snape swiveled in his chair to face the row of bottles and jars to his right.

I opened my mouth to respond angrily that I didn't need any help, that I was perfectly capable of killing Dumbledore on my own, but he interrupted. "No, do not be angry with her, Draco." He turned his chair back to face me. "She is merely looking out for her son, since your father has been taken away from her."

"She would have both of us if it wasn't for Dumbledore's blasted interference," I snapped angrily. "The Dark Lord has charged me with correcting this wrong, and I will do it on my own, as I was commanded." Without waiting for a response, I stormed out of his office, slamming the door behind me and returning to the sanctity of the dormitories. Crabbe and Goyle were there, chuckling over the size of Millicent Bulstrode's breasts. If I couldn't have the quiet support of my Head of House, at least I could enjoy the dirty jokes of my housemates.

I had hoped that Professor Snape would drop the subject of assistance, but he was persistent. He would request that I stay after each Defence Against the Dark Arts class, at first requesting to have a word with me in regards to a written assignment, then to assign detention for some imagined misbehavior in his class. I refused to share my work on the Cabinet, to tell him how Crabbe and Goyle were consuming the Polyjuice Potion I brewed in the Room of Requirement's lab. He grew more desperate for information. I did not give him the satisfaction. To my disbelief, he even tried to use Legilimency against my own mind, hoping to discover my methods and plans.

At that moment, I was grateful that Aunt Bellatrix had come to stay over the summer. We had kept her hidden in one of the many secret passages that dotted Malfoy Manor. As the Ministry raids on my home ceased, she was able to spend more time in the open, roaming the grounds after sunset, spending hours in the library, researching ancient curses in the extensive Malfoy family library. Despite her reputation for madness and cruelty, I found that she had a devotion to scholarship that would rival Granger's. When she tired, she would often seek me out, hoping to instruct me in the arts of the mind, the Imperius Curse, Legilimency and Occlumency as well. Her training served me well in the control of Madam Rosmerta, as big of a failure that was, and in repelling Snape's intruding mind that afternoon.

Avoiding Professor Snape became the second most important task of my school year. I think I spent nearly as much time and energy avoiding his attempts to engage me in conversation as I did in convincing Crabbe and Goyle that they needed to continue to serve as look-outs for me while I worked in the Room of Requirement.

Pansy soon became another distraction from my task. I often muttered, "Her Highness, Princess Pansy" as she would imperiously demand more and more of my time. Our families had always expected us to marry, an arrangement between two of the richest pure-blood families in Britain, and I had never questioned my parents' judgment until this year. Innuendo and nuance are definitely not her strong points. I had hinted at my Marking over the summer, over leaving school soon to pursue other interests, but she didn't understand what it really meant. Pansy, of all people, should know that the demands of the Dark Lord come before all else.

She cornered me in the Slytherin common room on Valentine's Day, holding a small wrapped parcel. "Draaaaco!" she shrieked as I stepped from the boys' dormitories. I pointed at the small pile of books I was holding, the ones that I always carried with me for cover when I was headed to spend hours in the Room of Requirement, repairing that blasted Vanishing Cabinet. I hoped that she would get the hint, that I was off to study and didn't have time to stay and talk with her, but like usual, she wasn't quick on the uptake.

"Draco!" she repeated, this time with a bit of annoyance in her voice. "I've been trying to find you all day. Don't you want your present?" she simpered, her eyelashes fluttering in what she hoping was a charming way. I thought it looked stupid.

Did she really want me to respond honestly? I had much more important things on my mind at the time. The messages from the Dark Lord were getting more urgent, asking me why I hadn't completed my task yet, how much longer was it going to take. I don't think my mother realised what danger she was in, of the threats against her if I did not complete my assignment. Pansy didn't know what I was doing, nor did she realise the significance. I simply waved her off and quickly left the room. Her fury was nothing compared to that of the Dark Lord's. She could be placated later, He could not.

It seemed like every time I had gotten close to repairing that blasted cabinet, something would happen. Detention with Professor McGonagall, a summons from Professor Snape, yet another confrontation with that complete idiot, Potter. I knew that he was following me, trying once again to play hero and save the day so all of the wizarding world could fawn over him. He did surprise me, though, this last one. Sectumsempra. I didn't think he had it in him. He left me a lovely set of scars, although not as famous as his. If this were another year, I would have spent all of my energy on revenge. Only this time, it is unnecessary. The Dark Lord will seek revenge enough for all of us.

The Vanishing Cabinet is finally repaired. The doors are operational, the passage between Hogwarts and Knockturn Alley open. My year's work all comes to a head tonight. I know that He will be pleased with me, enough to make up for my father's shortcomings. I will bring down the one wizard standing in His way. There is no question in my mind. My mother had good reason to call me special.