A Small Matter of Blood

A Small Matter of Blood

It was a person's blood that mattered. That fact had been impressed upon him from an early age. Purity of blood was the greatest gift a father could give his son, and Draco was forever grateful.

Sitting in the worn and dusty parlor of the once forgotten mansion, Draco Malfoy had never felt so small. Men and women in black robes spoke in hushed voices, unwilling to meet his gaze. He had failed the Dark Lord, and they were no doubt discussing his fate. He was terrified.

When Lucius Malfoy had failed to obtain the prophecy, there had been only one punishment befitting his offense. His precious blood, running with the heat of youth in the veins of his son, was to be taken from him. After all, it was blood that mattered. Its ties were greater than gold, its loss able to produce more pain than the most frightening spells.

Draco's throat was dry, and there was a faint buzzing in his ears. Aunt Bellatrix wasn't there, and his father was in Azkaban; it was the plea of Severus Snape alone that would save or end him. All he could do was wait. Each moment felt like an hour; it was maddening. He focused entirely on sitting still and looking calm, when every inch of him was screaming, begging him to run.

A person's blood defined him. It was passed on through generations, each one caring for it before passing it on to the next. It was a powerful thing, a beautiful thing. In his veins flowed a history. Generation upon generation of men woven intricately, bred for greatness. Then in that golden hour, staring down his wand at the greatest wizard in history, Draco had failed each and every one of them.

The door to the rear chamber opened, and Professor Snape stood motioning for him, his face grave. Draco was shaking, the buzzing in his ears now replaced with only the pounding beat of his heart. He stood, made his way toward the room, and entered. It was lit only with a fire, the light cutting into the sinister shadow and dancing across the reptilian face of the man seated before him. Draco couldn't help the rush of air that escaped from his lungs, and the Dark Lord grinned. He felt Snape's hand on his back, pushing him forward. As he entered into the light, he froze, mesmerized by glowing eyes.

"Didn't your mother teach you that it's rude to stare?" the Dark Lord asked coldly.

Draco, shaken into the present, immediately fell to one knee, bowed his head, and said, "I am sorry, my Lord."

"Perhaps we should ask her?" Voldemort said, a small smile playing on his lips. It was possibly the most horrifying thing that Draco had ever seen. Footsteps sounded across the room. Narcissa Malfoy and Florean Fortescue appeared in the firelight, escorted by a hooded Death Eater, his wand pointed at their backs. Florean was dirty and dressed in rags; his mother wore immaculate blue taffeta, only a few strands of shining blonde hair out of place. "It has come to my attention that Dumbledore tried to convince you that you weren't a murderer. I am here to show you that you are," the Dark Lord said, training his wand on Narcissa. "Kill Mr. Fortescue or your mother will die."

He had seen enough blood. He had seen it pour from Potter, and he had seen it pour from himself. As he had fled Hogwarts, he could have sworn it coated the floor, spread out as if it were nothing. It was sticky and red and pointless. Someone's long heritage lay in a puddle on the floor, making a mess of his loafers. No, Draco never wanted to see blood again.

"Do it, boy," Voldemort said sharply. Draco saw his mother's face, her eyes wide in fear. He forced himself to raise his wand. He shouted the words, and they sounded foreign, as if someone else had spoken them. He fleetingly hoped that was the case, but the bright green light was emitting from his wand alone.

Fortescue dropped to the floor, and there was silence. Narcissa ran to Draco and embraced him tightly, but he couldn't take his eyes from the body.

Why did so many still insist that blood didn't matter? It made you. It defined you. Its loss could kill you, and it could make you a killer. Surely it was powerful enough to matter.