Apathy

Sometimes, Draco Malfoy wonders why the other Death Eaters don't say anything, why they never protest. He seriously doubts that they really enjoy what they are doing. Like him, he knows they must hate it, wish for something else. Anything else. Yet, like him, they remain silent, willing to continue as they have for so long. It makes no sense to him for them to remain silent. But, then again, he's never spoken against it either.

It's not as if he's seriously afraid or anything. Death is something that's never really mattered to him, so that can't be what's holding him back, keeping him from speaking. But, he doesn't know what else there is, what else could make him keep the silence. Not love, surely, because he knows he hates everything about the foul business, including his companions. Not loyalty. That word is unheard of in his circle of work.

He's afraid it might be the beginning of apathy, that maybe he just doesn't care enough anymore. That is his worst fear. He doesn't want to be empty as so many others he knows are. He wants there to be something left of him, but he fears it's already gone. Emptiness. He fears it.

Whenever he goes out on a new job, he tries to remind himself how wrong it is, how much it hurts, but he's starting to feel numb. Disconnected. Even afterwards, when he's covered in blood, he can't find the tears that used to come so freely. They're gone from him, torn away as so much else has been. He can't even find it in himself to miss them. Voldemort has stolen these from him, just like he's taken so much else. All ideals, hopes, dreams, and even feelings feel as if they have been stripped from him, leaving him naked and defenseless against the harshness that surrounds him. He is afraid he is becoming the perfect Death Eater, just like his father was before him.

The next night when he goes out, he closes his eyes, listening to the sounds around him. It isn't nearly silent or even very quiet. It sounds like an ordinary night, full of wild and unpredictable things. Perfect for what he plans, what he knew was coming. He takes a sip from his glass, savoring the taste as he swallows. It is bitter and harsh to his palate, but he smiles as he drinks it. While drinking the deadly brew, he doesn't feel so empty. Maybe it's because he knows it is the end, but he doesn't care. Finally, things feel right again. He leans back against a tree, the bark biting into his back. He opens his eyes one last time, looking at the clear nighttime sky. The stars twinkle in the dark background, like little rays of hope alighting within a broken soul, reminding him of the ever present possibility of escape. It's beautiful, he realizes as he begins to slip to the floor.

In the dark nighttime air, there is silence.