This is a drabble, I think. Please don't hesitate to correct me if I'm wrong. Anyway, whatever it is I enjoyed writing it and I think it's quite good. It's set about a day after Draco fails to kill Dumbledore, so is HBP compliant.
A single butterfly fluttered through the still night air, flittering up, up and then down to rest on a mossy slab of stone. The butterfly's vibrant, brightly coloured wings trembled delicately, and its antennae quivered. It raised its wings, as if to take off again, when- splat. A pale hand pressed down firmly over the small creature, and a pair of lips curved in a cruel smile.
"Draco." The Dark Lord's voice was barely audible, yet Draco could hear it loud and clear.
"My Lord." He remained in a bowed pose, not daring to raise his eyes.
"You have failed me. You have failed all of us." The Dark Lord said quietly. An uneasy murmur ran around the hushed circle, and a few people shifted slightly. "Explain." He watched Draco through unrelenting, pitiless eyes.
"I- I- I could not do it, my Lord. I tried the first time, but a girl from Gryffindor got in the way and was cursed instead. The second time, that stupid old man, Slughorn, kept the drink for himself, and the Weasley boy got poisoned. I really did try, my Lord. I-"
"Enough." Voldemort hissed, and Draco fell silent. "What about upon the Astronomy Tower? You had the perfect opportunity to kill Dumbledore, yet Severus had to do it for you, and expose you both! We have lost two valuable spying positions!"
"My Lord, I am truly sorry. I beg you to forgive me-" Every member of the circle flinched at Draco's unwise words, and he faltered.
"Lord Voldemort does not forgive, Draco. Not so soon. You must pay the price for what you have done - or rather, for what you have not done. Crucio!" Voldemort pointed his wand directly at Draco, who collapsed to the floor. Intense pain was bursting through his body, ripping and tearing. He could not think, he could not breathe, all he knew was that he must not scream. He must not show weakness. Colours of his life flashed before his eyes: red, yellow, green, pink, blue, white, black, all blazing in quick succession.
Red. Red for anger. He'd been angry so many times. Angry when, at the age of 9, his father wouldn't buy him a racing broom. Angry when Potter had rejected his offer of friendship on the Hogwarts Express. Furious when Granger had slapped him around the face for laughing at Hagrid and his stupid Hippogriff, and livid when Moody had turned him into a ferret. Angry when Weasley had recovered from the poison in the drink, and enraged when Potter beat him at Quidditch - again.
Yellow was for happiness. He hadn't been truly happy for a long time. Quidditch had made him happy. Soaring through the air on his Nimbus 2001, feeling the cold rush of wind like a slap in the face. Jubilation at catching the Snitch, feeling it held tightly in his hand and struggling to escape. But then Potter always beat him, that infuriating self-satisfied expression on his face.
Green stood for jealousy. Jealousy of Potter, always winning everything. Always on top. Potter always came out alright, like a rubber ball; no matter how hard it was squashed, it always bounced up again. Jealousy of Granger, always beating him in every class. Jealousy of Weasley, for having so many siblings. Draco had always been alone, no-one to turn to for support. Even jealousy of Crabbe and Goyle - they had nothing to worry about, no morals. All they had to do was to perfect a trollish chuckle and a mean look.
Pink signified friendship. His only true friend was Blaise, a loyal ally in troubled times. Blaise could be trusted. Whereas Potter, Weasley and Granger were ever popular, Gryffindor royalty. Crabbe and Goyle were just cronies, only used for protection. As for Pansy… no. He wasn't going to remember Pansy.
Blue was for sadness, disappointment, defeat. Oh yes, he knew it well. Defeat when it seemed that Dumbledore was invincible, disappointment when Granger had been Unpetrified and when Potter had come through and won the Triwizard Tournament. Sadness when Pansy- no! Disappointment when Rita Skeeter had mysteriously vanished, leaving no means of contact.
White was a blank mask. No emotion, no feelings. He used that a lot as a defence against Hogwarts, against Potter. He could block out any thoughts, and assume an icy air of cold indifference.
And black… black was death. Dumbledore had died, but not at his hand. At Snape's. Snape was there in the circle, looking troubled, watching Draco writhe on the ground. Next to him was a familiar face… his father. He was using the same trick as Draco used; a blank face to conceal true feelings. But Lucius's eyes betrayed his anguish and pain as he watched his only son being tortured.
Maybe, if Draco was lucky, death would bless him and end this torment now. Now, before he succumbed to the clutches of insanity. But it wasn't Lord Death who bestowed the kindness. It was Lord Voldemort. As suddenly as the pain had started, it stopped. Draco lay breathing shallowly on the ground, silently dragging air into his tortured lungs.
"Get up." said a cold voice. Draco hurried to obey, using his hands as leverage. "You will not fail me again, Draco." The Dark Lord stated mercilessly. "It is just lucky," He continued, raising his voice, "That Severus was there, and was able to kill Dumbledore when you were pitifully weak!"
"Yes, my Lord." Draco said, and with that he surrendered completely. It was over. No more mixed feelings of alliance, no more confusion. No more colour, only a monotone world. A shadow of what it could be. The kaleidoscope of life was broken, smashed along with his hopes and dreams. Now it was just black and white. No shades of grey. And he was not Draco Malfoy any more, not a person with feelings or thoughts. Just a Death Eater with no identity, nameless and faceless. He was gone.
Well? Good? Bad? So bad you want to crawl into a hole and die? I just want to know what you think! The little blue button is calling you...
-Featherz