Feeling Strangely Fine

Feeling Strangely Fine

Draco whimpered softly under his breath as he held his legs tightly to his body. Curled up into a tight ball on the floor and covered by his thick cloak, he could still feel the chilled mist clinging to his deepest thoughts. Finger-like tendrils of the fog wound their way around him, keeping him locked in their web of lies and deceit. The wind whispered and taunted him for his weaknesses, while cautioning him about times to come, where only sorrow and misery lay waiting.

Only now did he realise how men could fall, and fall hard. It was something he had always thought happened to other people. Malfoys never fell; they always remained aloof and on-high. All apart from him. He had failed, because of a few of small, human weaknesses.

Pain

Fear

Remorse

Guilt

Those were the things that had caused all these problems; these small feelings that Draco had been trained to not feel, to scorn others for feeling. But he had felt them even when he was being prepared. He had felt them lurking deep within his heart. But he had ignored them. His mentor's efforts to subdue these feelings had only forced them under a tougher shell. There they had sat stewing, for months, until they burst out in a flash. All because of one person. Draco cursed the old buffoon. What right did he have to make Draco feel like this. 'Freedom,' a small voice in his head told him, 'and a choice of what your future could have contained. You can't call yourself a killer. You now know what it looks like to see death come crashing down upon someone.'

He stared at his hands, faintly visible in the dark gloom. These hands had nearly taken someone's life. He could see the old Headmaster's face in his mind, the look in his eyes as the green light had hit him in the chest, the slow way he had fallen backwards off the tower. Draco could imagine the old man's body slowly falling through the air as his soul left him and floated upwards. Draco wondered if one could feel anything when that light hit. Had Dumbledore been feeling anything as one of his own employees pointed his wand at him and muttered those terrible words?

Dumbledore's own last words ran around Draco's head in a breathy mantra. 'Severus...' The name of a killer. 'Severus...please...' A cold sweat suddenly appeared on Draco's brow and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

The door swung open and Draco slowly raised himself off the floor. His head was pounding and his fingers shaking, although he tried to hide it by clenching them together like a vice.

'The Dark Lord will see you now,' said a voice from the shadows. Draco didn't even try to ponder whom the voice belonged to; that would only lead to more pain, and he thought his heart couldn't keep up with all of this feeling. 'Hurry now, we wouldn't want the Dark Lord to get impatient, would we?' snickered the faceless Death Eater.

Wearily, he stumbled over to the cell door and passed by the guard who humourlessly laughed again and put out a foot, tripping Draco to the floor. He groaned and slowly found a small bit of strength to push himself onto his hands and knees, then to his feet, as the Death Eaters standing above him guffawed.

Once he was stably on his feet, large calloused hands grabbed him on both sides and frog-marched him down the murky corridor. After being held at wand-point at places where the corridor was too narrow to walk even two-abreast, they arrived on the ground floor of the Death Eaters Headquarters. Draco expected them to lead him to the main room where Voldemort normally sat, lording over them all on a throne, but instead he was led upstairs where there were lodgings for all the Death Eaters that had dropped out of society in order to join their Lord's cause.

As they climbed up the stairs, the sound of faint screaming met Draco's ears. It sounded like a small girl. 'What sick perverts they are,' thought Draco, as the other side of his head said, 'But you were part of them once, weren't you? You followed them mindlessly and didn't question any remark or order unless it defiled the 'holy' name of The Dark Lord. That is until you started feeling.'

It was true. Only a couple of months back (although it felt like an eternity ago), Draco had been given his mission and had taken it with no worries or doubts, apart from wondering how the hell he supposed to complete the task. But then, slowly, unbidden thoughts of how he would fail had come rising to greet him. They had filled him up, worn him out, and broken his shell. Or nearly broken the shell. If only the stupid fool had not started talking to him, and feeling sorry for him then Draco would have been fine. And he wouldn't have started feeling this deep, dark coldness that had taken out his heart. Draco wouldn't have been here, marching up filth-trodden steps with a child's screams penetrating his skull.

Down a corridor that grew more ghastly with each step, the girl's pain-filled sobs and moans filled the narrow space as she begged for mercy. Another rising scream told Draco her pleas had been ignored. One of the Death Eaters released Draco's arm and knocked loudly on a door.

'You have the boy?' Voldemort hissed from inside the room.

'Yes, Master.'

'Bring him in.' The command rang through the corridor.

And for the first time in his life, Draco felt fear such that he could not move. His feet seemed stuck to the floorboards. The cloak of darkness that had at first filled his heart had reached out and touched all of him. But one of the cloaked men swiftly moved him, with a blow to the small of the back. He fell forward into the Dark Lord's room, was harshly pulled to his feet and then pushed toward the giant bed that was the only item of furniture in the room.

Voldemort lay naked upon the bed. A small ginger-haired girl, who bore a slight resemblance to the youngest Weasley, lay smothered underneath him. Draco swiftly turned to one side and vomited. The smell of sex, blood and sweat combined with the screams and grunts coming from the bed and the sight of the Dark Lord's mottled skin had been too much for him. The Death Eaters laughed. Draco slumped, and would have ended up on the floor again if the tight hand on his forearm had not jerked him upwards.

Voldemort had turned his head around at the sound of Draco retching and in his face all Draco could see was...nothing. Draco knew now what became of a man who managed to rid himself of all emotions and feelings.

'You were always weak, Malfoy. And that is your downfall.

'Avada Kedavra.'

The world suddenly slowed down for Draco as the flash of green, flickering light crept towards him. A feeling of serenity fell over him. Suddenly it was if all his troubles had drifted away on a gentle breeze. He thought of Dumbledore. Had the old man felt like this as the light came streaming towards him? He suddenly knew that Dumbledore didn't blame him for his death. And it left him feeling...strangely fine.

fin