Time to Kill

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Time to Kill: Chapter 13

Johnny Doggspitt

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Draco woke up on his back on a cold, stone floor. He groaned and tried to shift his arms, but found them tied under him. His eyes grew wide, and he tried to kick his legs, but they were spelled together and tethered to the ground. He opened his mouth to call for help, but his lips were paralyzed. Finally, he just closed his eyes and tried to stop the claustrophobia that was threatening to take over his mind.

He didn't know how long he lay there fighting panic before he heard a door open a few feet from his head. Expecting it to be someone to take him to see the Dark Lord, he kept his eyes shut, hoping that whomever it was would report back to Voldemort that he was still out cold and buy him some time to plan an escape.

"Don't play games with me, Draco," the Dark Lord's voice came softly from his right. "Haven't you done that enough with me?" Draco felt the lockjaw spell removed and he gasped, attempting to get the stale taste out of his mouth. Looking around, he saw Voldemort crouched next to him. The Dark Lord, rather than appearing angry, looked sad and disappointed. "I had such high hopes for you, Draco," he said, sounding even more let down than he looked. "Of all the people to betray me, you were the last one I would have expected."

Draco looked away. He couldn't imagine why he felt so bad. This was Voldemort, the man who wanted Harry dead! But he was also the Dark Lord, the man Draco had been taught to admire and revere his whole life. "I didn't mean to disappoint you, my lord," he whispered in a hoarse voice.

"Didn't mean to?" Voldemort asked dangerously. "You didn't mean to fake Harry Potter's death?"

"That was his idea," Draco interrupted.

The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow. "And I suppose you didn't mean to fall in love with him, either?"

"You...you can't help who you fall in love with, my lord."

Voldemort snorted. "Get over your silly human emotions, boy! How can you ever amount to anything with feelings like love and guilt to hold you back?"

"There are plenty of people who made something of themselves with just love!" Draco countered.

The Dark Lord looked angry for a second, then quickly switched his emotions back under control and shook his head. "When did the son of Lucius Malfoy turn into such a romantic? Your father would never make such a foolish statement."

"I'm nothing like my father," Draco said softly.

Voldemort smiled and gave a short laugh. "I think we've established that. And you don't want to be anything like Lucius, do you?" Draco looked away defiantly. "No, I didn't think so. And I suppose you were thinking of adopting the Potter name someday, also?" Draco's head snapped back to look at him. The thought had crossed his mind, several times.

"So," Voldemort continued with a deep sigh, "I suppose the pressing question here is what we should do with you."

"My lord...please," Draco interrupted. "I'm not going to beg for my life but...I do love Harry, and I have a lot to live for." He swallowed, his mouth and throat quickly drying out. "What if...what if there were some way I could keep Harry in check? He wouldn't bother you. We'll go somewhere far away...remote...you'll never hear from or about either of us again."

Voldemort looked toward the ceiling as though contemplating the offer. "Or," he said, raising a finger, "I could just kill you, and little Harry would be so distressed that he'll kill himself. Or," he said suddenly, his eyes lighting up, "I could pull your little trick. I'll make it look like you're dead, and you'll have to watch as your beloved little Potter slowly goes mad. Then I'll kill you." He looked at Draco contemplatively. "But how shall I make it so you can see the destruction of Potter?" he asked, more to himself than Draco. He squinted for a second and then waved his wand at the far wall. In a sudden burst of color, a picture appeared on the wall. It spread the entire length and height of the dungeon room. "Stand up, Draco," the Dark Lord instructed, removing the binding spells that tethered Draco to the floor.

Slowly, the boy got to his feet, sore from inactivity. He walked closer to the wall, massaging his neck. In front of him, in living color was Harry Potter, looking absolutely distressed.

"Now, how about some sound?" With a flick of Voldemort's wand, the dungeon room burst with the anxious sound of Harry's voice.

"It's been two days, Professor!" Harry was pleading to the Headmaster. "He wouldn't do this on purpose! Something happened to him! Please, send someone to look for him!"

Draco looked away as Dumbledore gave some soothing answer. He shouldn't have lost his temper! If he'd just stayed in his godfather's classroom, he and Harry would be safe. But now they were going to die, and it would all be his fault.

Voldemort slunk up behind Draco and ran a finger along Draco's neck. "Poor Draco," he whispered in the boy's ear. Draco shivered and cursed his traitorous hormones. "It will not be long. It only took him a few weeks to wish for death last time."

"He wouldn't do it this time," Draco argued ferociously. "He'll try to find me!"

Voldemort pressed his cheek against the side of Draco's head, one hand holding a small, uncorked potions bottle. "Not if he thinks you're dead," he breathed. Suddenly, he forced open the boy's mouth and poured in the contents of the bottle. He shoved Draco's mouth shut and held the boy's nose. Draco struggled, but lack of air and the acidic liquid in his mouth forced his natural instincts to kick in, and he swallowed.

Voldemort cackled and released the boy. Draco looked at him quizzically. Nothing was happening! Sure, he was feeling a little chilly, but that was understandable. He shook his head. Voldemort had finally lost whatever part of his mind he had kept. Rolling his eyes, he returned to watching the image on the wall.

Harry was apparently in front of a solid wall. There was no one in sight, but as the picture was supposed to be showing Harry, Draco assumed that the boy was under his invisibility cloak. Suddenly, a door appeared in the wall that Harry as looking at. The image followed the boy as he slipped into the room.

Harry tore off his invisibility cloak to reveal his face, staring wide-eyed directly forward. The image Draco was watching made it seem that the boy was looking him directly in the eye. Slowly, Harry walked forward, toward Draco. His brow knit, he continued to stare in front of him. "Draco?" he whispered softly.

Draco started. "Wha- Harry, can you see me?"

"Yes!" the other boy exclaimed happily. "I can't believe it! I asked the room of requirement where you were, and-"

"Harry, listen to me!" Draco interjected quickly. "Do not come looking for me! Promise me you won't-"

Suddenly, something hit him from behind, sending him sprawling across the floor. Pain blossomed from his chest to the rest of his body, coming in ever-increasing waves. He was vaguely aware of a bright-green light shooting towards him, and somewhere, Harry as shouting his name, but all he could feel was the breath escaping his lungs. He tried to breathe in again, but his lungs refused to take in air. If he had been able to, he would have screamed in pain as his heart suddenly slowed, freezing the blood in his veins. His limbs became hard with something like rigor mortis. He would have wondered what was happening if the pain wasn't pushing al thoughts out of his mind. Cruciatus felt nothing like this.

And then, his heart stopped beating all together.

"Draco!" Harry shrieked.

Voldemort waved his wand at the wall, cutting off Harry's desperate yelp. "How does it feel to be dead, Draco?" the Dark Lord asked, circling the boy. "Does it hurt? Is it peaceful?"

Draco struggled for breath. He wasn't dead! Or...was he? His heart had stopped, his lungs were still, and yet he was conscious. Was this what death was like?

"Of course, you're only dead to the outside world." He crouched next to Draco. "Perhaps you'd like to know just what I've done to you?" He paused as if waiting for an answer. "Well, I'll tell you. The potion I gave you is a new substance, invented by your godfather, in fact. It's a rather strange potion, in that it must be activated by a spell. You're still alive, but I think you've already noticed that." He picked some dirt out of his fingernail. "I can deactivate the potion whenever I feel like. Otherwise, it should last about three weeks...before it kills you."

Draco tried his hardest to move, to breathe, anything. He couldn't let this happen, not to him, and especially not to Harry. He had seen what would happen to Harry if he were gone, and he couldn't let that happen again.

Voldemort was chuckling softly to himself. "How wonderful it will be when you, the Boy Wonder, and your beloved godfather are all trophies on my wall!" he proclaimed gleefully.

Draco would have sighed and rolled his eyes if he could have. He felt like he was in some Muggle comic book. Surely Voldemort knew that as soon as the villain revealed his strategy, the hero would burst through his bonds and defeat him.

Except that wouldn't happen this time. If Draco was the hero, he couldn't break his bonds. If Harry was the hero, he thought Draco was dead, so he wouldn't think to come save him. Either way, Draco wasn't getting out of this alive.

The door to the dungeon flew open, and for a moment, Draco's heart surged. In the same second, it fell again as Lucius Malfoy strode into the room.

The Dark Lord stood. "Lucius! Come to visit your son, have you?"

The older Malfoy sniffed and adjusted his collar. "I simply came to speak with you, my lord. I have no idea what son you're talking about. Unfortunately, my wife was never able to conceive."

Voldemort snorted, a strangely human reaction. "That's not what your wife has been saying. In fact, Lucius, I'm becoming concerned about your Narcissa's loose tongue."

"My wife," Lucius sniffed uncaringly, "has fallen victim to an as-of-yet unnamed illness." He smirked. "I haven't yet decided if she'll live."

As the two men chuckled over him, Draco bristled inside. Narcissa Malfoy had been the only person in his family who had actually treated him like, well...family. Truth be told, though, he had never known anything like the common definition of family. His mother was really hardly there, and he realized now that his father had actually been nothing but a sperm donor. The thought of someone who embodied everything that family was...brought Harry immediately to his mind.

Lucius sighed disgustedly. "There is a ridiculous amount of conflicting emotions flying around this room."

"Yes, unfortunately. The potion really wasn't quite ready. It works deliciously; the only drawback is that it doesn't block the victim's emotions. It's a shame, really," he sighed. "Snape could really have had a future with me."

"Ah, yes," Lucius said suddenly. "Severus is actually the reason I wish to speak with you."

"Have you done what I asked you to do?"

Lucius hesitated. "Y...yes, milord, but you must note my extreme unwillingness."

"Duly noted," Voldemort consented. "Now, what is the matter, Lucius? I thought this assignment should be easy for you!"

"It...is not difficult, my lord," Lucius started, obviously choosing his words carefully. "It is just...stressful. And I believe that the Potter boy knows."

Voldemort was upon him in a second. "What do you mean, 'knows'?" he asked furiously, slamming the older Malfoy into a wall. "You let him discover you?"

"Not exactly, my lord," Lucius stammered. "He doesn't know who I am yet, but he will soon figure it out."

The Dark Lord smiled and released Lucius. "You are a fool, old friend. If he doesn't know, and you don't let on, how could he possibly figure it out?"

"Remus Lupin has always despised Snape, no matter what Severus' affections for him. Why should he take an interest in him now?"

"I think he'll be too overcome with sorrow over the loss of his godchild to care from now on."

"But my lord-"

"No, Lucius," Voldemort stopped him. "If you wish to argue this further, you may bring it up with me later. I have more important matters to deal with than your insecurities." He stepped to the door. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like you to move your inexistent son into the smaller cell down the hall. He won't be needing all this space."

Draco watched through his unmoving eyes, absolutely baffled. How had the conversation switched from his father's mission to Lupin and Snape being together? How did that even tie in? How did they even know, for that matter? He tried to sigh exasperatedly, but was only cruelly reminded that he couldn't. It was so hard for him to not display his usual mannerisms. He missed his eye roll, and his smirk, and everything that made him Draco.

His thoughts were stilled as Malfoy senior whipped out his wand and hovered the boy a few inches off the floor. Draco had to admit, he was scared. Terrified might actually be a better word. He was terrified that, with his eyes stuck open, he'd go mad with the boredom. He was terrified of what would happen to him after he "woke up" from this potion. But most of all, he was terrified to think of what would happen to Harry. He hoped Harry would just stay away, but of course the boy always had to be the hero, or incredibly dramatic, or both. Harry would probably throw himself off the Astronomy tower. Or worse, challenge Voldemort to a duel. There was no way either of the boys could survive this last predicament.

Draco had never really thought about dying. Not seriously, anyway. Death was what happened to old people, or people who were too stupid to survive. Even now, he couldn't comprehend the fact that he was going to die. He felt detached, like he was thinking about it hypothetically.

He'd never been a religious person, not since he was little and his grandmother had died. Religion had seemed for the weak, for those who couldn't take care of their own lives. Now, however, he wondered if perhaps he should choose a religion. But which one? Christianity? No, he'd tried that one. It hated magic and gays, and was only a bit too contradictory. Wicca? Now that was a ridiculous religion. Muggles who thought they could perform magic; a religion created entirely to annoy Christianity. Buddhism? Well, that wasn't really a religion. Perhaps he'd remain unaffiliated and just take his chances with whoever (or whatever) he met in the afterlife.

His father burst open the door to his new cell and Draco was dropped unceremoniously onto the floor. His world went dark as Lucius forced his eyelids shut and stormed out the door.

After an hour of restless worrying, Draco finally slept.