Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Author's Note: Written for the Hunger Games Competition II over on the HPFC forum. I used the emotion prompt, the dialogue prompt, the character prompt, the pairing prompt, and the genre prompt.
"You must be wondering why I called you here today," Mr. Riddle said from behind his desk. He was an imposing man: over six feet tall, with a wiry, lean build and a permanently-emotionless expression. Draco didn't want to get on his bad side. He nodded in response to Riddle's question, trying not to let his nervousness show. "Usually," Riddle continued, "I don't like to put my faith in someone so young and untrained, but I am growing desperate. Albus Dumbledore must be disposed of, and I was hoping that a new, fresh look on the challenge would do the trick. Many before you have failed."
Draco couldn't stop a gasp from escaping him, and he fought to keep his voice even as he spoke. "You want me to kill Albus Dumbledore?" Dumbledore was a well-respected police commissioner - the sort of man that a criminal like Riddle despised. It was no secret that Riddle and his network of criminals wanted Dumbledore dead, just as it was no secret that they had tried and failed to kill him on multiple occasions. Every killer that Riddle had sent had either ended up imprisoned or dead - and those assassins were older and far more experienced. Draco could feel his heart beating faster. "With all due respect, sir, I don't think I'm capable."
Riddle's face twisted into a cold smile. "You misunderstand me, Malfoy. This is not a request. I'm not politely asking you for your services. I'm ordering you to kill Albus Dumbledore."
Draco didn't respond right away; his heart was still pounding, and he almost felt dizzy. He was a bloody assassin - he was used to killing - but most of his targets had been easy. There was a big difference between his previous victims and Dumbledore. They weren't even in the same league.
"These are your parents," Riddle said, sliding a photograph across the table. "Are they not?"
Draco glanced at the picture and nodded. It was a candid shot, obviously taken from at least twenty yards away, but he would recognize his parents anyway. In the picture, they were leaving their house. Bloody hell. "You have somebody following my parents?"
"Insurance, Malfoy. If you don't do what I'm asking, well, your parents won't even be recognizable by the time I'm done with them. Am I perfectly clear?"
Draco nodded. "How long do I have?"
"Six months," Riddle said. "No more, no less." He waved his hand toward the door, and Draco scurried out.
Six months to kill a man who's probably thrown a thousand murderers in jail.
What did I get myself into?
Draco could hear Charlie's annoyed shouts as soon as he stepped into the front room.
"Bloody hell, you great beast, I'm not trying to kill you!"
Draco frowned slightly, hurrying into the room that he had come to think of as Charlie's zoo. Charlie worked as an exotic veterinary specialist, dealing with the sort of animals that didn't fall under the realm of 'normal household pets': farm animals, zoo animals, reptiles, and probably more. He also had a tendency to take home any strays that could conceivably fit in the house. Currently, Charlie's zoo housed four snakes and an iguana. The iguana was crawling on the floor, trying to get away from Charlie.
"Everything all right?" Draco asked, leaning against the doorframe.
"Perfectly fine," Charlie said, managing to wrangle the iguana - which was nearly a meter long, if not more - back into its large cage. He dusted his hands off and led Draco into the kitchen. "You want something to drink?"
"I'll take the whole damn bottle," Draco said. Charlie turned to stare at him.
"Now it's my turn to ask," Charlie said. "Everything all right?"
Draco shrugged. Part of him was dying to talk about his situation with somebody, but an even greater part of him was telling him no. Charlie knew a little about Draco's lifestyle - namely, that it wasn't legal - but he didn't know the full story, and Draco didn't exactly like the idea of giving him the details. After all, how could it even be explained? Oh, by the way, you've been sleeping with an assassin for the past year and a half. I've killed a few dozen people. You mind?
Yeah. That wouldn't go over very well.
"You can trust me," Charlie said, sliding him a beer. "No judgement, remember?"
Draco took a long swig of his beer. Charlie had always said that he wouldn't judge Draco for the things he did - that he realized Draco had fallen in with the wrong crowd at a very early age, and getting out of that life was easier said than done. Sure, Charlie was open-minded, but that didn't necessarily apply to murder.
"How was your day?" Draco asked instead, avoiding the topic of his life. It was so much easier to focus on Charlie's life - mundane in comparison, full of weird animal diseases and owners with their heads up their arses. Silly, harmless shit. "You visit your parents like you wanted to?"
Charlie nodded. "Yeah. They're doing well. Percy's got a promotion - he's working with the Prime Minister now, can you believe it?" He shook his head. "Don't know how I'm related to that kid sometimes."
His tone was full of exasperated fondness, but it didn't serve to make Draco feel any better - in fact, the mention of Percy only made things worse. Imagine what Percy Weasley, high-ranking government official at twenty-odd years old, would have to say about the fact that his brother was living and sleeping with a murderer. "Bloody hell," Draco managed to say. "Impressive."
Charlie chattered on about his family, and all the updates on his siblings that his parents had given him, and Draco let himself get lost in the meaningless words.
"Three months," Riddle said coolly. Draco tried very hard not to look at the knife sitting in the middle of Riddle's desk; he wondered if Riddle had put it there to get him on edge. "It's been three months, and every hair on Dumbledore's head remains completely unharmed." He picked up the knife, twirling it between his fingers. "Do I need to give you a bit of a reminder of what will happen to your parents if you fail?"
Draco had a very strong urge to back away from Riddle and that knife. He knew exactly what Riddle was capable of - he'd heard stories from other people in Riddle's network - and he didn't want to test the man. "N-no, sir," Draco stammered. "I've been observing Dumbledore and learning his routines, and I think I've picked up all but one number of the code that he uses to arm and disable his home security system. It shouldn't be long now."
"I would hope not," Riddle said.
"Charlie," Draco said, "I'm going to be working tonight. I don't know what time I'll be back."
Charlie glanced at the clock. It was past ten at night, but Draco left at all hours of the night and day, and he always had. Leaving this late wasn't anything new. Charlie merely nodded, glancing up from the program he was watching on telly. "Right," he said. "Love you."
"Whatever happens..." Draco felt a lump in his throat, and he turned away, not able to make eye contact with Charlie. He didn't want to cry - didn't want to be seen as weak. He was a bloody assassin, for God's sake - he should have been stronger with this. But every cell in his body was protesting, every thought in his brain screaming at him that this mission was impossible, that he couldn't do it, that he was just a kid compared to the other people who had tried. "Whatever happens," he said again, his voice low, "remember that I love you."
Charlie turned away from the program, shutting it off with a flick of the remote control. "What the hell?" he said. "Draco, what are you doing tonight? What's going on?"
Draco wordlessly shook his head. He couldn't tell Charlie. Maybe - if by some miracle he succeeded tonight - then just maybe he would come clean. But not before. If he died - or if he was caught and thrown in jail - then he didn't want to go to that fate with Charlie thinking of him poorly.
"You can tell me," Charlie pressed.
"I...I can't," Draco said. "I just..." He shook his head again and pulled Charlie to him, pulling him into a kiss. It was slow and loving, gentle and sweet, and Draco poured as much of himself as he could into that kiss, trying to show how much he cared. He couldn't verbalize all his feelings the way he wanted to, but he hoped that Charlie knew the extent of his affection.
"Don't you do anything stupid," Charlie said. Draco could hear the fury in his voice, but it was a passionate fury, a fury derived from love. He was honestly worried for Draco, and it was such an odd feeling - something that Draco wasn't used to, and he sighed.
"I can't promise anything," he said, hand on the doorknob. "But I do love you. I hope that's enough."
He slipped out the door, his whole body shaking as he got into his car. For a moment he stayed there, not pulling away from the house, reliving the memory of that kiss. And as he finally left, heading toward his fate - whether it was death or imprisonment or, by some miracle, success - he thought about Charlie, and Charlie only. He had almost two years of happy memories with him, and he hoped that those memories would never leave, never fade, regardless of what happened next.