you know i don't own it other wise i would be to busy lying in a pile of money through it over myself laughing merrily...ahh..to be rowling...
The Flame
His father was gone, he had to be the man of the house now. They were here. All of them here. In his house. It kept everything not to shake when Greyback looked his way.
His mother spoke politely to Bellatrix. The slight quiver of her bottom lips remain unnoticed by all but Draco. His father is gone, his world has fallen apart at his feet. Everything he had believed in, called into question and as he sits silently by the fire, he thinks maybe, he may of made a huge mistake. That just maybe he had jumped on the wrong side of the fence.
He turns away from the Lord's followers and stares blankly into the fire. The flames dance, twirl and flutter, full of the life they steal to survive. It was his life, these flickering flames stole. His and his mothers. He couldn't help but notice, how frail, how fragile, how pale she had become. She was dying without her husband by her side. Draco her own son, was letting her, fade away. He was barely holding on any better. His reflection scared him almost as much as Fenrir's teeth did. His skin seemed to stick to his bones so tightly that he could hardly see himself scattered on the surface. His eyes looked how he felt, disparate.
Someone called to him, but he ignored it. It was either Travers or Knott, they both held a similar pitch. Each as annoying as the other.
Draco shivered, as the air changed in the room. The room fell silent, uncomfortable so. There was only one thing, one person that could make Bellatrix quite.
He didn't dare turn his head an inch, he couldn't let his eyes meet, Draco didn't want him seeing in his head. He heard the footstep draw closer, step by step he grow closer.
Draco could fell his breath at the back of his neck now.
"I need you to do something for me." The dark Lord whispered in his ear, sending chills down his spine.
"What?" He whispered. He didn't dare speak another word, if his voice lifted any higher it would have quivered and broke. He could risk that, he couldn't let him know he was scared, that he was weak, he vulnerable.
"I want you to kill Dumbledore." Voldemort didn't need to add the threat, his tone, his very presence was enough. Draco knew, his life and his mothers would ride on the outcome of this. If Albus didn't fall then they would. Draco felt like dry retching at the very thought he was contemplating, how could he honestly be considering killing another human being? How did this become his options? So save his own skin, to save his mothers, and his fathers reputation he would have to take a life. He gulped struggling with his mixed emotions.
"Yes my Lord." he turned away from Voldemort. He waved his wand over the flames putting them out. It was his turn to burn.