Before murder
Salazar's look was one of pure excitement. Since Draco could remember, Salazars picture hung on the wall beside his working space. According to Draco's feelings, Slytherin inspired, encouraged, angered or simply not interested. Today though, Salazar looked encouraging, excited and slightly doubting, as if he felt Dracos uneasiness. Then, maybe he did.
Draco felt time running through his fingers. He still hadn't succeeded. He had never really tried.
But if he blew it now, he would be horribly punished. On the other hand, the question was if the reward for success would not be equally terrible.
Subconscious, he reached for his left arm and didn't care for the bottle that he swished from the table. It held Felix Felicis - well, it had - but now, what good could luck give him. To do what he planned, you didn't need luck, just desperation and the ability not to think.
As he was well desperate but could not yet refrain from thinking, he reread the charm again and again. As his eyes started watering, an owl howled quietly and once again he was reminded of the time. He stuffed his wand in his pocket and got up so fast, his chair toppled over. He didn't care. The owl looked at him and he wished for its wings. Flying, no matter up - or downward, didn't seem like a bad way now. Leaving everything behind, being no wizard, pureblood or not, stopping existing. Two steps to the window. One grip to open it. Only the desk in between. And fly.
Salazar vigorously shook his head. Dracos thoughts tumbled round like everyday since he had gotten the task. Some would call it typically Slytherin, others might consider death fright or cold feet but he would never be able to tell what it was that kept his feet rooted to the floor.
The spiral of his thoughts whirled again: He couldn't just leave, the Dark Lord would held his parents responsible. And however, it was not like Dumbledore was young or anything. He, Draco still had a life to live, what did it matter if the old fool died some years earlier. But he also knew they lied, when they told him, everything was going to be fine once he did it. He tried to tell himself he had no choice. It was easy, casting a spell on a . And maybe he wasn't going to be the one who had to do it. It was just a spell. It was easy.
It was now high time to go. As usual, he turned to the picture. Salazar seemed quite pleased with him, a smirk was curling his lips. It turned wider as Draco got everything ready. Draco took a step to the door, turned, smashed his hand right through the picture and left; as Salazar Slytherins painted smirk faded into blank pure white.