Too late to regret
He was lying on a small bed with his hands beneath his head, looking at his surroundings. The room was small and narrow with dark blank stone walls and a cold stone floor. The door on the far side of the room was made out of some fairly dark wood. It looked very heavy, and was decorated with many iron bolts, hinges and nails. Had it not been for the bed, he would have thought himself in a dungeon.
How had he ended up in here? Merely a week ago he had been free to roam the castle of Hogwarts as it pleased him, no one to stop him or tell him what to do. And now he lay here, feeling like some kind of prisoner. How had it come to his? All his life he had been taught that pure-bloods where better than everyone else, and that Muggles where scum who deserved to die a slow and painful death.
His family had always served the Dark Lord; his father being a loyal and trusted Death Eater, who did his best to please the Dark Lord, and planned for Draco to become one as well once his time came. But his father had failed, and was now stuck in Azkaban, being guarded by the rough and merciless sea together with Merlin knows what else; it was a comforting thought, though, that the Demontors had left the island to stand by Voldemort, and would not be mentally torturing his father. The fact that he was there was that famous, irritating Harry Potter's fault. He always had to get in the way, messing up the Dark Lord's plans, playing the Hero of the Day. Draco was sick of him.
When the Dark Lord had summoned him last summer to induct him into the Death Eater's ranks, Draco had been proud. He was good enough after all, even though his father had made a big mistake. And then he had been given his mission: to find a way to kill Dumbledore and get the other Death Eaters into the castle. Should he fail his task, both he and his family would be killed. Which meant, he had no choice whatsoever.
He had come up with a plan, and subsequently worked all year trying to mend the broken Vanishing Cabinet. There were times, though, when he did not think he would succeed, and instead resorted to sending the old headmaster all sorts of cursed objects, from a cursed necklace to poisoned mead. In the end, he had managed it, and the other Death Eaters were able to walk safely into the castle through the Cabinet; entering the one at Borgin & Burkes in Knockturn Alley, and coming out of the one he had mended. Merlin, how proud he had been! No one had thought he could actually do it, but he had. All that had been left was killing Dumbledore. But when finally faced with it, he had found he could not do it. He just stood there on top of the Tower with his wand shaking in his hand, listening to all the things the old man had to say. And who had he been kidding, really, thinking he could kill the headmaster of Hogwarts? Of course he could not.
Perhaps Dumbledore had been right, perhaps Draco was no killer. If he was, he would have killed him the minute he had disarmed him. He knew that. The mere thought of killing that man had frightened the life out of him. Dumbledore had been as powerful as the DarkLord, he knew that. After all, the Professor had been the only one his master had ever feared, and that had to count for something, whatever the reason might be. Maybe it had been the thought of what might happen to him should he kill a wizard that powerful, and what the Phoenix lot would do to him if they ever caught him. He did not know. Perhaps he really not was the killing type, just like Dumbledore had said. No, he probably was no killer.
When it had come to it, he had not been able to it. Snape had come and taken it upon himself to kill Dumbledore, and seize Draco's glory. Killed the old fellow right in front of his nose. He wondered what Snape had done that for, when all of the other Death Eaters had, despite their obvious itch to do it, had held back. What would now happen to the both of them? Would the Dark Lord just be pleased that the job was done, or would he punish them both? He hoped for the former, but expected the latter. It would be more the ways of the Dark Lord. He sighed.
Dumbledore had offered him safety, security for both him and his family, a place to hide where no one would find them. He had asked him to come over to the other side, the one he called the right side. How could the old fool ever think Draco wanted to be on the same side as Potter and Weasley, and even fight alongside these two? He must have known how much he loathed them. It would have been a punishment in itself. And besides, everyone in the Order would hate him for ever being on the Dark side in the first place. They would not treat him friendly. However, Dumbledore had said he would be taken into hiding, which could have meant he would not have had to meet either of them, or any of the members for that matter. He would not have been punished the way the Dark Lord punished, of that he was sure. He knew Dumbledore never treated anyone that way. The fury of the other members though... But nevertheless, on Dumbledore's side he would have been safe and received no punishment for the failure of his tasks.
But as it was, he was here on the dark side, waiting for the Dark Lord's retribution, no safety and hiding in sight. Whether or not he had made a terrible mistake when he turned Dumbledore's offer down remained to be seen. In the meantime, however, he would just have to make the best of his current situation. There was nothing else to do but hope that the Dark Lord would be merciful and not punish him too hard. Draco hoped with all his heart that his family would be kept alive. He could not bear the thought of his mother being killed just because her husband and son had failed the tasks given to them by the Dark Lord. No, he would just have to make the best of the situation.
Just then, he heard footsteps outside his door, and shortly after the familiar sound of the door being pushed open on its rusty, squeaky hinges. He turned around to lie on his side in a lazy, relaxed manner, although his heart was racing like the Hogwarts Express on full speed. He was nervous as to whom it might be outside his door. It opened wide, revealing a tall figure wrapped all in black. Severus Snape looked directly at Draco, gestured with one hand at the open doorway, and said in his low, slightly superior voice,
"Come, Draco. The Dark Lord wishes to speak with you."