The Lamentable Thoughts of One Draco Malfoy

Draco Malfoy breathed heavily against the inside of his black mask, the heat almost suffocating him. He tried to steady his heart rate, tried to keep his cool and stand with dignity but his shaking was uncontrollable and his blood pumped thickly through his ears. He rolled his eyes limply around the cold, stone room he was standing in. There were thin streaks of blue flame in brackets attached to the rounded walls giving the room a ghostly, dim glow.

Even more eerie was the circle of robed and masked figures in which he stood imprisoned. He wondered whether they were watching him or not; he could not see their faces through the thick black disguise. Then he wondered whether one of the anonymous figures his father was, and whether he'd feel proud that his son was taking such an honour at such a young age, or whether he'd feel disgust in his son's obvious fear and anxiety. At this, Draco lifted his chin and stood a little straighter, though he still could not stop the shaking, no more could he lower his breathing.

He averted his gaze to the marble flagstone on which he stood and heard a footstep far off. It so quiet that he wondered whether he had heard it at all, and not just imagined it. He swallowed painfully, and felt ice drip into his sickly warm stomach.

Fear began to overwhelm him as he imagined what was drawing closer. His head shook violently and he felt a cold trickle of sweat run down his face and sting his eyes. He closed them and gritted his teeth and clenched his fists and tensed every muscle and fibre in his body that he still had control over, but nothing lessened the feeling of utter dread that had washed over him, loosening his senses and causing his ears to buzz. He tried desperately to remember the words that his father had told him to say, but he was no longer capable of coherent thought.

A creaking sound came from somewhere far off, footsteps, and the sound of a door closing before being bolted. He heard the swish of long robes and could imagine the tall, dark figure that was striding towards him. He wanting to lift his head, wanted to keep up the family honour but found that his neck had seized up and any tiny movement he made sent pains searing through his throat.

His brain registered that the footsteps had stopped and his eyes snapped open. He took a deep, shivering breath. "Remove his mask," a cold voice commanded. He felt the warmth leave his face and his neat, blonde hair ruffling as someone pulled down his hood. "Malfoy, Draco." came the same cold voice. Draco nodded and wrenched his head up. There stood the thing that had plagued his mind for weeks, the symbolic process that was inevitable and inescapable with him being who he is. For a moment, he felt a deep and black hatred for his father. This was his fault. His pressure and his words of honour and power were the sole reason that Draco stood where he did at this precise moment, about to receive the symbol of the end of things. The end of Draco Malfoy.

"Roll up his sleeve," came that same, unyielding voice. He felt the sharp cold of the air around him on his left forearm. The man in front of him nodded with satisfaction.

"Draco Malfoy, you have been found guilty of crimes of war and acts of treason over an extended period of time. These crimes include intentional murder, torture..." The emotionless voice became a drone in his ears as it recalled ever crime, every wrongdoing that Draco had ever committed and the words ceased to mean anything more to him. He focused his vision on a spot on the wall opposite to him, jutted out his chin and held his breath for he was now adamant that his last conscious moments he would not be seen as a scared, panicked rat... though that was exactly how he felt. He wanted to run. He wanted to flail his legs and run with the suspended power that made his legs ache, but he knew it was no good. He wanted to scream and empty his lungs of this repulsive, tainted air. He wanted to fall to his trembling knees and gasp out his final breaths in huge gulps! To release this intense pressure that had burrowed into his chest and that was now pushing outwards against his ribs in a grim attempt to escape!

But instead he stood, watching that point on the wall and feeling his eyes fill with unexplained liquid.

Then it hit him, harsh and quick like a paper cut: this was it. These were the last thoughts he would ever have, these were the last people he would ever see, these were the last emotions he would ever feel. He suddenly found himself filled with so many regrets. He felt smothered by them as they all tried to cram themselves into his head at once. His eyes began to dart from left to right as this realisation choked him and he gasped like a man emerging from water. He would never see his mother again. Never see his fathers face. He'd never see those friends that he had left behind in pursuit of power. And for what? Where did that power leave him? He'd been given that fucking mark and many scars to come with it and now where were those he had fought for? There was no one to fight for him. No one would mourn the loss of Draco Malfoy.

He gasped again as these thoughts drowned him and threatened asphyxiation. He could not believe that this was happening. It just couldn't be! These things didn't really happen, they were just there as a threat to those considered criminal by the ministry. They didn't happen to real people, with real lives and real thoughts! No one before him had stood where he was now and thought what he was thinking, and no one after him would either. He was the only one. He shook his head slowly in disbelief and his eyes widened in shock. IT WASN'T HAPPENING! He felt his breathing become unbearably heavy and suddenly it was all he could hear. He didn't care what he looked like any more. What did it matter? Who cared? Who was here for him now to witness his last moments and listen to his last words? No one was here to care for him or for him to care for in return. SO WHAT DID IT MATTER!?

"...Dementors Kiss." These two words cut through his thoughts and penetrated his skull with the power of a curse. The figures in front of him slid into focus and he slowly looked around the circle again. He wandered vaguely whether he had said those thoughts aloud. They had seemed so solid. "Do you have any last words?" Draco looked up. For the first time he looked into the grey eyes of the man that stood in front of him and saw nothing looking back. Perhaps this man, through the act of taking so many souls, had in turn lost his.

Draco swallowed heavily. He tried desperately to think of something to say, some famous last words that maybe some day people would recite in remembrance, but nothing came to mind. He opened his mouth and felt the saliva dry instantly into a sticky layer of mucus. He closed it again and shook his head. The man nodded. He then looked to his left, inclined his head, looked to his right and did the same. Two faceless figures extracted themselves from the circle and held Draco arms in leather vices.

Several of the blue-streaked torches had blown out, leaving the room in further darkness. The tallest figure hovering in front of Draco began to advance on him, its scabby claws out in front, grasping hungrily. Draco found that at this time no thoughts came into his head, no emotions riddled his body. He was vaguely aware of a pressure on his jaw and felt an immense cold that burned through his veins and froze his blood. The pressure inside his chest doubled, then doubled again and he thought that his heart would explode. His lost the feeling in his legs and arms, then the numbness crept up into his torso and encapsulated his heart. It ran through his neck and clouded his eyes so that all he could see was grey mist. And there he stood, numb in all aspects and passing from the world into another where perhaps still no one would care. His soul was draining slowly away into a creature with no need, only greed and vengeance, lust and hunger. The pressure on his jaw began to slowly eradicate and he was no longer aware of his physical being. Then went his memory, his store for emotion, his conscious thought, and the part of him that called itself 'me' disappeared entirely into nothingness. There was nothing. Just the grey mist.

Thus passed the man we once called Draco Malfoy.