Of Choices and Regrets

Eons past as Draco screamed, twisting and contorting his body in pain from Lord Voldemort's crucio curse. He tried to escape from the hot knifes plunging into him and the terrible burning that followed the stabs. It was the first time he had felt the curse and certainly the first time he had felt such sting. For that reason, it was a hundred times worse both mentally and physically.

Lord Voldemort callously looked down at the thrashing form at his feet. He felt no pity, no sympathy, and clearly no qualms about the pain he was causing. Instead, he found pleasure in the power and music from the shrieks. After a moment, which felt so much longer, he lifted the curse.

Draco's body lay on the hard ground still flinching and quivering, still feeling the lingering pain. Draco struggled to find his breath. He wanted to vomit but knew he couldn't. He struggled to bury his true feelings and compose himself. Slow seconds turned into enduring minutes as he rearranged himself into something acceptable.

Finally, he pressed his cold, sweaty hands into the dirt and lifted his mud-streaked head off the ground. Rounding his shoulders and biting his tongue to hold back the pain, he jerkily stood up. Facing the Dark Lord, he slowly bowed. Gasping from his aching muscles, he kept his eyes downcast as he walked back in front of Voldemort, waiting for his command.

The Dark Lord sat on his thrown, waiting for the words that were not forthcoming. He had expected pleas of mercy, or exclamations of loyalty, not this stony silence. Squinting at Draco, he thought over his fate.

"Why, young Malfoy, should I let you live?" Voldemort hissed. "What would you offer me?"

Draco hesitated, frantically thinking, then swallowed hard and replied in the same even, unemotional tone he had heard Snape use before him. "My life is in your hands. I cannot stop you if you think I am useless, and I would not try even if I could. Say the word, and I am dead.

"But I think I have more to offer you in life than I would in death. In death, you might gain control over my parents, but they have already willingly given you their lives. You could make me an example for other people who dare to fail you, but there are better people for that job, and most people wouldn't care enough to be effected by my untimely demise.

"In life, I can offer you anything you require. I can spy for you, I can get you information, and I can get you people. Many young people from Hogwarts would follow me to you if I asked them to, so that you can replenish the Death Eaters and breed a new generation. I can also get you older people that are more experienced. It is a simple matter of gaining their confidence after carefully persuading them with money, titles, and favors. My family name is still relatively good in society, and we have money and connections. Also, I offer you my mind when it comes to planning. I can organize any fight, implantation, or kidnap.

"Let me prove myself in the ways I can. I failed you when I was unable to kill, but I found a way to get the others in so that the murder would still happen. Let me play to my strengths, not my weaknesses. If you let me live, I can offer you a lot more for a longer period of time than if you kill me." And with that Draco bowed low to the Lord, and prayed that he had made his case.

Voldemort mulled Draco's words over and made up his mind.

"You deserve to die, boy," he hissed with venom. "But I will let you live. You will not fail me again. Be grateful; you are very lucky. Most would die for that blunder, yet you made a point in saying that you would serve me better alive.

"But remember that I expect all my orders to be carried out. Playing to your strengths or not, your job is to obey, not to delegate."

Voldemort laughed, sending shivers down Draco's back. "But you are very naïve. Do you expect me to give you a new job so soon after you mistake? Do you think I will give you an important job when you have yet to prove yourself worthy? I may use you later, but for now you will stay with your mother. Do not leave the manor without my permission, boy, or I will give you what you deserve."

Draco bowed again. A pause stretched where no one moved or said anything. Not sure what he was supposed to do, Draco began to back out of the Dark Lord's presence. Voldemort's face clouded and distorted in rage, and he narrowed his eyes in disgust.

"I didn't dismiss you," he said threateningly. Draco froze in horror, but it was too late. The damage was done.

"Crucio!"

The next day started out like any other day. Draco rose early, kept away from his mother, and passed the time away by reading some spell book or another.

Finished with the book, Draco turned to go return it to the library and get some lunch. Suddenly there was a sound that jarred him, and crashed through his mind, uncomfortably vibrating in his ears. The sound was so foreign that it took a minute to place what it was. It was the doorbell.

Since that horrid night, there had been only one visitor to the Malfoy Manor. It had been Snape, coming on orders of Lord Voldemort. He had come long enough to make sure they were safe and that Draco was still there, then after a few rushed words with his mother in one of the drawing rooms, Snape disappeared from their lives like everyone else. Draco hadn't realized that he was so used to the quiet until the doorbell had interrupted the silence.

After almost two months without contact to the outside world, Draco found himself running down the halls and stairways to see the person who had now come like a little child runs down to find presents under the tree on Christmas. While he had always prided himself at being independent, Draco now found himself longing for human contact. He needed someone to show him that life did go on, that things were happening, that he wasn't adrift on an empty ocean but rather hidden behind a screen on the edge of an enormous party.

But when he saw who had come, he stopped dead in his tracks on the landing of the grand staircase. Below him, his mother was pleasantly greeting Fenrir Greyback. Greyback had dark, bulky robes on and held a package in one grotesque fist. His face had a permanent sneer on it and he only grunted at Narcissa Malfoy.

"Why don't we go into the drawing room, Fenrir," Narcissa said. "Do you want anything to drink?" As courteous as she was trying to be, she still looked timid and scared. Her eyes darted around like a mouse looks for an escape from a cat. In return, Fenrir Greyback didn't pay any attention to her.

"Where is the boy?" he growled.

"Umm... up...up there," she sputtered pointing to Draco. Not wanting to have the werewolf think he was scared, or had been spying, Draco tried to look confident as he slowly walked down the rest of the way to the entrance hall. He walked around Fenir so that he protectively stood slightly in front of his mother.

Keeping the uncertainty and fear out of his voice, Draco smoothly inquired, "Were you looking for me?"

Greyback sized Draco up with narrow eyes before disdainfully replying. "You are needed."

Draco's brow gracefully furrowed and he tilted his head as if to question Greyback, but he didn't say anything.

He continued evenly, "The Dark Lord has given me the assignment to attack Diagon Alley. He has graciously let me pick the people I want to join me, but he has requested that you be involve to ... test you again. Do you understand?"

"Fully." Draco was having trouble breathing again, and blood rushed to his head. He felt himself go cold at Greyback's words, yet nothing he said or did betrayed his true thoughts to Fenrir.

After a moment of glaring at Draco, Fenrir Greyback said, "I will treat you as anyone else. Don't cross me, or you will feel the consequences. Follow all orders to the letter, or you will be punished. We will see if you make a ... competent ... Death Eater.

"We go in eight days. I will arrange it so that the Order of the Phoenix is trapped. They are weak and leaderless. We shall finally see how much they relied on that fool, Dumbledore. They haven't fought us since his death, probably because they are afraid we will kill them all. We will surely find them incompetent and chaotic. We will be meeting here before we go at one o'clock. Do you understand?" Draco nodded pensively.

Fenrir threw the package on the cold floor at Draco's feet. "Your mask and robe," he said gruffly as a way of curtailing the Malfoy's questions.

Greyback was about to turn to leave when Draco stopped him.

"Who is the Order's leader now?"

Greyback stood still, looking at the polished marble floor as if he could see the answer there. His profile was to Draco, so he was able to see the emotions playing on his face. After a second of stony silence, Fenir face slowly arranged itself into a menacing scowl before he answered. Still facing the floor, he pronounced one word after swishing it around in his mouth like a sour wine.

"Potter."

The word was said with disapproval, with disgust, with admiration, and with loath. It was said as a taunt, as an insult, as a fact. Through it Fenrir transferred his disbelief, his hurt, his pain, his hatred. Yet there was also a quality of respect, of humor, of understanding. Using that one simple word, he was able to convey all his thoughts on the matter.

Fenrir Greyback quickly turned and strode out of the manor leaving Draco and his mother to their own thoughts.

Narcissa shakily made her way to a bench beside Draco. Although it was only a few steps away, she felt so weak that she almost didn't make it before collapsing like a beaten old woman. Her limbs lay limp by her sides, her head rested against the wall, and her eyes closed as if to hide the pain and suffering.

Draco stood still, staring at the same spot on the floor that has so held Fenrir Greyback's eyes. He felt like he was floating in a sea of unrest, his head was light and he couldn't feel his limbs. Images flooded his brain, so that he couldn't see the blurred ground in front of him. If he had thought he was dead before, he was now being led to hell to be damned.

They would expect him to fight, maybe even kill. They would see that he couldn't do it, and he would be led for judgment. Lord Voldemort had already warned him about failing again. If he failed this test someone would have to die.

Draco sunk to the ground. He hadn't sat on the smooth marble since he was a small child. The warm, hard stone was strangely comforting. It was as if he had been transferred back to a time when he was still innocent and his biggest worry was getting in trouble with his father. Yet now, instead of pouting about his punishment or his latest disappointment, he was in shock over how he was going to die, and what he was being asked to do. He knew that the doorbell would shake his life up, but he hadn't thought that it would be like this. He hadn't thought that his entire life would end up like this.

His mother sobbed softly beside him. He didn't look up, or try to comfort her. Draco couldn't console anyone when he was the one who desperately needed to be reassured himself. Afternoon slipped into night as the Malfoys sat in the entrance hall, lost in their own thoughts.