Moira

Chapter 1: Extremes

"He harms himself who harms another, and the evil plan is most harmful to the planner."

Hesiod's Works and Days

Due to process of elimination, he was the only one besides his aunt that accompanied the Dark Lord into that place. It was an honor above honors yet he felt ill. His father would have been ashamed.

Draco hated himself for feeling...afraid. He was a Slytherin and used to living in extremes. He lived around and about control. It made him, control did. The moment he was born, he only served one and that was his father. Everyone else was immaterial; they were nobodies. That's the Malfoy creed: never bow to anyone else.

It always provoked Lucius Malfoy when his son would question his obedience to the Dark Lord. One night, Draco had the worst dose of Cruciatus that he would never forget. But before he lay on the floor, nerves burning, he felt something else burn into his mind. His father's look...a brief flicker of resentment at him...the miniature of him who was not bound...The next week Draco was inducted into the Death Eaters by his father as the master was...His fifth year was when he was burned quite literally.

When he was with his master, he was not in control, he was a puppet. He was accompanying something, not somebody, something that was a shadow of death. He felt his master inside his head.

The first year of being a Death Eater was...it wasn't what he had expected. He knew he would be a servant, he didn't know he would be a slave. The Dark Lord knew. His master knew what he was; it was autophobia, the fear of one's self yet he had chosen that route. He could never think too freely; if the wrong thought was to dash across his mind, showing itself in a fleeting light...

At nights, he would not sleep. It was worthless to. Most of his housemates roamed aimlessly at night or sat up with dark eyes turned towards the events of the day and what could have been. Practically no one slept but operated towards their own goals. For most, it was a time for freedom. Not for him...he also felt that current in his brain, in his soul, branching further out, trying to find him, his one lord. Draco was part of something else, a deep flow of thought and power, the metal, spiked rope that hissed through his veins, painful but deserved. Pain made him stronger, made him important. It made him worthy where others would fall to their knees. He was many, and in time, he learned to worship it. If he were to break apart now, to journey from the current, his life line would collapse. He would be alone, and he would collapse.

He had no regrets. He adapted. It was better to serve under one being than under many who were lower. He wasn't serving a human after all. He was serving an idea...of dark, delicious power. He was dealing out death and judgment to those who polluted this world. Potter was weak when he was strong. Draco became an equal to his father.

The Dark Lord had chosen him and his aunt to accompany...no, follow him there...in that unknown place far from the light of the earth. It was hidden, and it was vast. It was golden in that room with dark shades from sacrifices earlier in unnamable times...bloody beauty. Those were the times when people knew necessity; he laughed and then sputtered to a stop when the room...grew into something else.

His heart skipped and he was suddenly afraid. Too much...vastness and too much coldness...the stains on the floor were suddenly too much to endure and the tell-tale stones weighed too much on his shoulders. He felt apart for once; he felt like he was supposed to be somewhere else. This was not meant for someone like himself. So he hovered by the chamber opening, watching his lord and his mistress journey onward to the writing on the wall. His solitude was eating him alive, but he could not move forward. He bit his lip hard.

Dark flames illuminated the shadows in the corners and the writing withered, alive and poisonous. The two of them stood, her farther behind, and that hissing filled the room. His lord was one and blessed with the language of snakes, unheard by few. He knew many things. Then it stopped abruptly, and Draco floundered for his lord was angry. It bit and burned like a flame inside, and the metal rope pulled hard and his equals felt it too. Somewhere he was sure even the Boy-Who-Lived trembled.

Then the rope relaxed, and Draco blinked, the tightening on his heart still tugging menacingly.

To live you must die...

A single thought flowed through his understanding yet he didn't understand.

"W-what it is, my lord?" His aunt was the only one to ask. The anger was ebbing to a memory now, and in its place, the dark flower of triumph bloomed. This was the last step to godhood. It was a dead-end except for that one detail from the past. His immortality was meant to be.

His lord turned to him and burnt him in his gaze.

"Come, Malfoy." Coldness with a double edge of success...it was his master, and he could do nothing else but enter the vast room and allow it to do...nothing.

As he walked forward, head bowed, he was angry that he had been so foolish. His heart pounded in terror for he wondered what his lord wanted.

He kneeled and his aunt followed suit. He glanced up quickly at the hooded figure then studied the floor again. The stains flickered in mourning.

"To achieve my goal of immortality, I must first die...in a form...and return. I must defeat the reaches of death."

His aunt stifled a gasp of surprise. Draco gripped his hands because he fought back the heavy feeling of satisfaction and the slight grin that was spreading over his down-turned face. Draco Malfoy, even though he was no longer an individual, still did not fancy seeing other's successes. It struck him as a tad bit funny that, after all that effort, his lord had missed his goal of godhood by one step and a fatal one at that. Because Draco knew that that prerequisite was impossible.

He stopped grinning when he felt something curl in his head, and suddenly his left arm erupted into flames.

"AAAHHHHHHH!" His screams echoed through the ancient air as he fell backwards in the pain that torn through the thread of his being. That curled-thing began to spread.

His aunt didn't move in surprise this time as one might expect. This was quite a common occurrence especially in the case of the youngest Malfoy. She remained still as the stone around them and as unforgiving, letting her nephew's shrieks flow around her. She allowed a small smile to pierce her facade. The other movement danced in her eyes as she reveled in the growing volume of energy.

Finally the flames ebbed as the pain left a cold mark; Draco lay on his back, the cold from the un-trodden floor seeping though his cloak, gazing at the ornate ceiling depicting grizzly scenes of carnage. He believed that at sometime, someone else had felt more pain than him and that knowledge made him feel better.

His lord continued to speak.

"Yet it will be know that I, Lord Voldemort, can cross all limitations. Malfoy, I require my old school things...I have use for a certain memory in my past."

His aunt appeared puzzled then her confusion cleared. Again she smiled, and her eyes lit up. This process would be quite interesting indeed.

Malfoy still didn't understand as he continued to focus on the images above, mouthing some blather in his daze of pounding numbness.

His lord stepped over him and did something that Draco always considered very...Muggle. Draco felt the pressure of a boot on his right hand and the pain drug him thrashing into present. He gritted his teeth and looked helplessly at his lord. He knew not to scream although his eyes watered.

"Malfoy, somewhere in that empty head of yours, I trust you have the capacity to understand the consequences of failure," his lord commented, casually. "I will utterly destroy you."

"I-I under-un-understand, my l-lord," the pale boy hissed out with sweat beading his forehead. "I-I will no-not fail."

The boot was removed, and as ashamed as he felt, Draco cradled his broken hand instantly. He couldn't help it. His aunt with her face scrunched up in disgust shook her head in disappointment, seeming sorrowful at her relation to the weakling on the floor.

Looking at the pair of them, watching him predatorily, Draco knew that he couldn't fail.

~~~

She awoke with soil between her fingers and the smell of grass. The sun was caressing her gently. She awoke in a place far from where she was, full of trees and stones.

There was the song of birds in the great oaks lining the house. The feeling of disorientation grew as she cried out and cupped her mouth in her hands. She didn't remember...she was in London. Now she was in front of the grandest home she had ever laid eyes on. It was an ancient mansion, formed by the architect to remind those passing by of a miniature castle. The light followed the progresses of the ivy creeping forward to peer in the windows. For all the life and buzzing of the outside, inside the home was foreboding as the windows glared out at her reproachfully. She wiped the dirt off her face.

She brushed off her uniform which she had tried to keep tidy and immediately noticed something different about herself. Her head felt full for some reason. Shakily, she opened the surprisingly small gate and gazed hopefully down the road. The wind lifted her hair into her eyes, and she did battle with the rushing tendrils to watch for traveler venturing past here. Her head throbbed because of the immense heat. She wiped her glasses nervously and continued to watch. No one came. She wondered briefly if she had not 'passed away'...for what other reason could there be?

Then the songs of activity stopped.

The darkness from the house reached past its borders and touched her. The wind grew harsh and the sun hid behind a cloud. Could she be in a comma? Time stopped, and nothing dared to move...except the front door opened boldly, beckoning her inside.

She felt the world closing in and grasped her father's watch tightly. If she didn't go in, she would be stuck in nothing. So she went up the immaculate, white steps through the door.

It was silent inside. She felt much too filthy to walk on the spotless floors that gleamed in terror of the little girl. The grand, scarlet rugs seemed quite formidable. The portraits of men and women with their noses pointed upwards didn't help much either. The silence roared at her. She was about to abandon the inhospitable environment when she heard a thud.

"H-hello?" she squeaked. "Somebody? Can you help me?"

Emboldened by a sign of life, she took off her sooty shoes and left them by the door. She tiptoed cautiously forward in order not to slip on the marble.

"I-I seem to be lost. I..." she trailed off brokenly, looking at the trail behind her. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she didn't bother to wipe them away.

"I don't know how I got here. Please, you have to he-help me," she sobbed at the haughty portraits that didn't bother to answer her. She stood with her head bowed, focusing on the feeling on her long hair on her shoulders and trying to breathe.

Then a step reverberated around the hall.

She lifted her head quickly and tried to not look as small as she felt. A shadow appeared on the opposite side of the wall. She could tell it was a male and that he was tall but other than that nothing. He seemed to be resting against the wall as the form was in a very slumping posture.

She stepped lightly around the stairs in order to come behind the figure because for some reason, she felt it was...dangerous to show herself. Swiftly, she peered around the banister and glimpsed a boy with very dark hair, so dark light gleamed off it. He was strangely adorned in a long, black jacket of some sort which seemed very strange since it was so very hot outside. She briefly glanced down in disapproval at his shoes which were very dirty indeed. She wondered at the substance on the shoes that seemed a strangely familiar red.

Disappointed that she couldn't see his face and eager to obtain some form of help, she leaned forward...to see a wrinkled, diamond-littered hand lying prone around the edge of the door where the boy had emerged from.

She stopped in shock. She couldn't see the rest of the person but the lifeless that seeped through the home was clue enough. Then he saw her.

"Muggle!" The voice was poison.

Then she woke up to a real nightmare.

~~~

Malfoy climbed slowly upward from the ruins, grasping his leg in pain. Rumpled and distressed, he looked in a very helpless air. He kneeled down, suddenly feeling sick. He wasn't sick from his injuries...he was sick with fear. Shivering, he grasped his head in an attempt to get up.

He couldn't use any magic...or else Dumbledore and Potter would know where he was. His last encounter with the Order of the Phoenix was one struck his heart quick. Granger...almost killed him. A filthly Mudblood almost killed him. The force of her Expelliarmus threw him so far he couldn't move when he landed. It seemed all her resentment against what he stood for had re-leashed itself in that one defensive curse.

He hit his fist against the jagged ground in rage, enjoying the self-inflicted pain. He had failed again! Always failing! It seemed his back burned and recoiled in memory of his shame.

Breathing heavily, he smiled at the glass embedded in his fists. It never ends. But it does mean that he's alive...for now. Fears shook his mind and vibrated loud and clear to the one person that needed not to know...Another's suspicion tingled at the back of his consciousness, and he struggled to block it. He had to still have time. He had had two hours. Surely, one more hour wouldn't hurt.

The smell of despair and decay reached his nose, and he covered his mouth in disgust. This just kept getting better and better. The steady hum of Muggle weapons in the distance struck a new chord in him. He gaped in astonishment of what he was faced with. His system stopped, and in that brief interlude, he heard an explosion of a tank not too far away.

He laughed at the irony. He couldn't reform his barrier! Not now...

Draco Malfoy held his hands to the sky, grinning despite the panic that ripped through his heart and pounded behind his eyes. He was as vulnerable as a Muggle.

He grinned as ash fell into his up-turned hands and rubbed it between his fingers to see if it wasn't all a bad dream. As the ash burned into his cuts, he knew he was wide awake and wondered what Potter would think if the Bastard-Who-Lived knew where he was right now. Potter would probably laugh at this disaster.

Malfoy rubbed his hands against his face, covering himself in dirt, blood, bits of glass, and grief. Then he continued on his way.

~~~

An explosion pulled her from that haunted home full of poison.

Sleepily blinking through the dust and rubble, she realized that she had never left the war-torn city. For a moment, she thought it'd be best to stay put and rest. The housemother would be back. The old woman would have noticed her absence from the group by now.

Her hand stung like a thousand ants were biting it. She lifted her head to stare, growing feeble at the source of pain. Her hand was bleeding. Sighing in acceptance, she moved her sore body and examined her palm. In a very stoic manner, she ignored the sounds of battle. She would move...eventually. She just didn't know what to do quite yet.

Blood was everywhere, and she was angry. It was just minor cuts. She didn't feel too bad. She moved her hand and rubbed up against something cold and scratchy. Jerking her hand back quickly, she was hit with the image of a poisonous snake lying in wait under the rubble.

It was a book. A very small, minute, delicate looking book worn by time...

Something was bothering her immensely, and with a start, she realized what it was. Her stupid superficial cuts had left blood everywhere. Yet there was no blood on the book at all. A whistling sound cut through her thoughts and rubble and smoke danced across the sky. She huddled down in the hole, whimpering and clutching the book to her like a shield or a close friend.

She needed to leave now.

So she struggled wearily to her feet and tugged upwards until she was on level ground. She needed to go somewhere...she needed...

There was nowhere to go. Buildings were toppled and life was upside down. She needed to go...

She turned this way and that, biting her lip and whimpering. Running her un-injured hand though her dirty blonde hair, she was struck with an inspiration. The Underground...

She ran blindly, ignoring the stinging in her knees and the burning, scratchy feeling in her throat. Leaning her head back, she ran while watching for threats from the sky. She breathed hard and through her tears and twisting feeling in her side. She focused on the sound of her feet hitting what was left of the ground.

She ran through the soot, haze, and malicious debris, just disappearing from sight when the strange and hateful man from earlier appeared limping around the corner...

As she ran, she held the book closely, not noticing that it seemed to be flowing through time. The pages grew crisper and the spine firmer. She didn't notice. She just felt comforted by its presence as she fled from the madness outside. She didn't notice the madness that simmered in her very hands. How could she? She was very young after all...and only a Muggle.