Steel

Steel Chapter One: Prologue

Art thou a rock, O wretch, or steel to slay?

-Medea

I don't kill people.

Perhaps its just another inhibition to do away with. Perhaps not. There's really no way of telling. It's possible I've just never been able to well up so much interest in any one person to care enough to end their life...I'd much rather avoid them altogether.

Still, that doesn't change the way others will see me, especially now. There are few people who would've given an unequivocal 'yes' if asked 'Do you think Draco Malfoy would kill someone?', Weasley being one of them. I don't even think stupid, noble Potter would. Something about seeing the good in people and all that. Still, I don't think anyone in the whole bloody school, hell, the whole Wizarding world, would've foreseen this. Who am I kidding? Of course they didn't foresee it, or they surely would have prevented it...

I, Draco Malfoy, am in possession of a gun. I took it from my father's study over Christmas holiday. He used to use it for hunting, being the sporting gent that he is. Now he's too busy slaughtering people to bother much with animals anymore. He won't even miss it. It was just perched ever so casually and accessibly on his shelf, how could I resist?

With said gun I, Draco Malfoy, have just shot my old friend and dormmate, Blaise Zabini, squarely between the eyes. Revolting really, but I had to. I had to do it for her.

I don't kill people. I don't, but I just did. I dragged Blaise's body into the broom closet in the Dark Arts corridor, but it will only be a matter of time before he is found. As disgusting as it sounds, I don't feel sorry. He got what he deserved. He got a fate I look forward to meting out to many more like him.

Harry read the last line in the entry over again.

He got a fate I look forward to meting out to many more like him.

He scratched his head thoughtfully, then tucked the journal away in his briefcase. It was too much to relive all at once.

Rising from a bench outside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Harry disposed of the remainder of his lunch in a nearby bin and headed inside. He wasn't sure exactly why he had been put on this case. For starters, he wasn't objective. Surely he would have never served as a character witness for Draco Malfoy to begin with, but to be leading his defense team? According to Dumbledore, this journal was supposed to be the evidence in Draco's favor. Using it, Harry was supposed to prove Malfoy innocent. Such a ruling would release him from St. Mungo’s after six long years, the majority of which had been spent in solitary confinement. To Harry, Malfoy seemed anything but innocent, and thus far the journal was confirming that. From where he now stood, it looked as though Malfoy had ruthlessly shot eight people, killing three of them, and held all of Hogwarts hostage for a girl.

"That was an asinine idea, Malfoy," Harry thought, flashing his ID card to the nearly comatose security guard at the door.

Harry had been there when it happened. His practically useless left arm stood as a tribute to the final bullet in that gun. Malfoy had shot him, and he was being chosen to lead the defense team. Whether this was ironic or merely stupid Harry was unsure.

Pushing open the door to his office, Harry resolved to read the journal that night. It would be a much easier task with several drinks in his system.