Of Choices and Regrets

The Death-

Draco Malfoy snuck out of his dormitory late at night. His hastily thrown on cloak billowed out as he crept down the dark hallways to a familiar blank patch of wall. On one side of the corridor was an enormous tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by trolls while trying to teach them ballet. Passing back and forth, a door appeared to his right. After making sure the coast was clear, Draco entered. The room was stuffed with everything imaginable: books, furniture, bottles, weapons, hats, toys, cages, and paper littered the huge room. He picked his way carefully over to a broken cabinet. After scribbling the code and pushing it in, he waited for the others to come.

After what seemed like a lifetime, the death eaters arrived. First Amycus and his twin sister Alecto came through the Vanishing Cabinet, then five others, then, finally, Fenrir Greyback. Draco was shocked; the werewolf shouldn't be there! But he quickly regained his composure, and took on his normal smug look.

"I am going to check the hallway, then we'll move to the tower," he told them. He cracked the door opened and saw a flash of red hair. He quickly took out some Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and threw it in their direction before giving the Okay.

As if in a daze, he followed the others to the tower, and watched them start the fight with the Order members. He quietly slipped past and slinked up the staircase to the ramparts. Draco had been planning this moment for over a year, and now that it was here, he only wished to be done with it. He threw open the door, and, exactly as he had planned, there was Dumbledore.

He quickly disarmed him. This was easy, an old man just waiting to be killed. Draco allowed a smile to tug at the corner of his mouth, but he wasn't going to relax yet. Dumbledore hadn't even seen it coming. But there was a second broom. He hadn't planned for that.

"Good evening, Draco." What was this? He was going to kill him, yet Dumbledore said that? Draco continued like nothing was said. He was in control.

Then it happened: "Draco, Draco, you are not a killer." In that simple statement, Dumbledore confirmed all of his fears. He wasn't cut out for this job; he wasn't going to be able to do his task; he had failed his mother and father; he couldn't be a death eater. Dumbledore kept talking, and, for some reason, Draco kept responding.

The conversation turned unexpectedly then. "So let us discuss your options, Draco."

"My options! I'm standing here with my wand - I'm about to kill you!"

"My dear boy, let us have no more pretense about that. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat of ways and means." Dumbledore said calmly.

"I haven't got options! I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!" Suddenly, the blood left his face.

As Dumbledore talked, Draco only half listened. He would be the reason his family would be killed; yet he couldn't bring himself to do the one thing that could save them. He would be a killer either way, and no one could help him, no one could save him.

"...I can help you, Draco."

No, no one can; no one can stop the murder.

"He cannot kill you if you are already dead. Come over to the right side, Draco, and we can hide you more completely that you can imagine. What is more, I can send members of the order to you mother tonight to hide her likewise. Nobody would be surprised that you died in your attempt to kill me - forgive me, but Lord Voldemort probably expects it. Nor would the death eaters be surprised that we had captured and killed your mother - it is what they would do themselves, after all. Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban.... When the time comes, we can protect him too. Come over to the right side, Draco... you are not a killer...."

I am not a killer, Draco thought. Come over to the right side.... He lowered his wand, little by little... They can protect my family and me...

Four death eaters, black robes billowing out behind them in their hast, thundered up the stairs and burst through the door. Still in a daze, Draco groggily, yet fearfully, looked on as they scornfully mocked the old headmaster. There was a chance... he could still be protected.... Then Snape burst in, eyes wildly sweeping the scene. Gliding over to the pleading Dumbledore, he summoned all his hatred and pointed his wand at Dumbledore.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Draco woke up in a cold sweat. The fresco above his luxurious bed was the first thing his eyes saw, as they did everyday. Ever since that night, he woke up this way. It was almost July, yet he shivered under the covers. Lord Voldemort had been mad, but hadn't killed his family. He had been so close to freedom, to life without constant killing and fear. But Dumbledore was dead, no one else had heard the offer, and the order wouldn't even think twice before killing him if he tried to contact them, much less let him go back to school. His life was over, and he had to accept that.

He got out of bed and prepared for the boring day ahead. No one was allowed into the house except his mother, and he wasn't allowed to go out. Not that there was any place he wanted to go to, or any person he wanted to see.

He slowly walked around the house, calling the house elf every now and then. It was his only entertainment. He made is way to his parents bedroom. Draco looked through their things for something, anything, of interest, carefully replacing everything he touched. Such spying was good practice, he thought, it would be better than an assassin. Before he was finished, he heard a door slam. His mother was home.

"Draco! Draco, where are - oh, there you are!"

"Hello, mother."

"Have you had a nice day? I have had a fine one! If you could do a favor for me..." It was the same as every day. She would come home, feign interest in him, and then send him away on some task that the house elf could have easily done. He wouldn't see her again until dinner, and then she would disappear when the dishes did.

Draco sighed. Why did he love her so, yet she seemed to care so little for him? He went away, thinking about his life. Money certainly wasn't everything. He almost wished he were a Weasley.

The next night was the same, as was the day. This continued like clockwork for the next week. Then Draco remembered the job he had begun. He sauntered into his parents' bedroom. His mother wouldn't be home for at least four more hours. He looked through the dresser, the bookcase, and, finally, the closet. He found old boxes of pictures, letters and trinkets.

In one labeled "Memories" he found a picture of three young girls. The youngest, he knew, was his mother Narcissa and the next was his Aunt Bellatrix. The third and oldest, he guessed, must be his Aunt Andromeda. She had been disowned when she had married that muggle... Tronk, or Tanks, or maybe it was Tonks. Yeah, it was Tonks. Whatever happened to them? But before he could delve deeper into the box, he heard the slamming door and knew what would happen next.

"Draco! Draco! I'm home!" his mother yelled, like she did every day. He quickly replaced everything and snuck out of her room into the adjacent one before she came upstairs.

He slid back into his room later that night after the mindless task she had given him and the silent dinner that followed. Draco sunk into a chair and buried his head in his hands. He had no life in him; he was simply going through the motions. He couldn't do anything he wanted to do. School was now out of his reach, he was under house arrest, and freedom had always been impossible for him. Control of his life was given to the Dark Lord without his consent; his mind, his last sanctuary, was forced open to his cold master.

What had he done? Trying to protect his parents he himself had fallen. Potter made it look so easy, yet he didn't have the lingering consequences Draco was forced to bare. Telling himself that he should be stronger than this, Draco climbed into bed for another restless night.