Title: Paradoxically.
Author: StarshakesxX.
Extended Summary: Seven years after Hogwarts, the war is still on. Harry has yet to defeat Lord Voldemort, and the man (if that's even what you can call it) in question is no where to be found. The only sign that Voldemort is still alive is the hundreds of people he sends Death Eaters to kill off everyday. While Harry is working on his plans for the day that everyone is depending on him for, Ron and Hermione are doing their own share of work to rid the Wizarding World of evil; Ron is pursuing his career as an Auror in order to prepare himself for the war and to help Harry in the Final Battle (having finished his Auror training three years prior), and Hermione is continuing her career as a Prosecutor, arresting Death Eaters day by day. However, the one thing that has been on everyone's mind is, "Where is Voldemort's most trusted minion?" Why hasn't he showed his face since the day of Dumbledore's death? Where in the world is Draco Malfoy?
Rating: T. Rated for language and mature themes (character deaths, romance, etc).
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of JK Rowling. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter 1: Bittersweet…or Maybe Just Bitter.
Part 1: In Control.
It was now seven years since Draco Malfoy stood on the astronomy tower at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and failed to kill his Headmaster; seven years since Draco Malfoy had been dragged by the hands his potions master, Severus Snape, to the Dark Lord.
At first, the Dark Lord had been quite angry. He began his punishment with giving Draco the Cruciatus Curse. Draco accepted it like the boy he was, whimpering in pain as the unbearable stings from the curse shook him to the core. After, the Dark Lord decided to be unnaturally forgiving. However, the forgiveness would only occur if Draco chose one of his master's two options: be killed…or aid the Dark side in defeating the Light, one by one.
Draco, being the kind of child having grown up in a Dark world surrounding him, believed that the worst thing in life was death. Anything is better than being killed, he had thought. He long ago made the decision that he wanted to be in order of his life; he would not allow some 'Lord' to kill him off when he could always be in control of what path he would take to guide his life in the direction he wanted it to go in. He agreed to the Dark Lord's wishes and from that point on, assisted Lord Voldemort in forming plans to destroy the Light side.
As years went by, the young Malfoy slowly earned the top spot in Voldemort's army. He eventually outranked his own father; the person who had nearly gotten Draco killed in the first place. After all, it was his father's fault that he was given the assignment to kill off the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Voldemort had decided to punish Lucius through his one and only son, giving Draco the most difficult job given to a teenaged boy on the Dark side to accomplish.
His father was not happy with this new ranking at all. He would not stand by and allow his own offspring to surpass him in Voldemort's army. Lucius grew more and more bitter, and ultimately, he could not take the situation any longer and tried to extinguish his troubles with the most predictable, cliché way possible; in other words, he got smashed. Lucius Malfoy drowned all his sorrows with a bottle of liquor, and then returned home to an angry and worried Narcissa at 5 o'clock in the morning.
Draco was not home at the time. Truthfully, he did not remember anything about the whereabouts of himself that morning. The only thing that he could recall about that day was coming home to a lifeless Narcissa Malfoy.
He knew his father was the cause of what he had stumbled upon. All fingers pointed at the eldest Malfoy when Draco asked his fellow Death Eaters about if they had any ideas to who had killed his mother. Nothing could contradict what he had begun to accept.
It was all relative, Draco had thought. All of the events as of then were destined to have led to a tragedy such as this. Every little detail; Draco surpassing his father in Voldemort's rankings, his father growing more and more bitter, Narcissa trying to talk to Lucius and not receiving a response in return. His mother was caught in the middle of a resentful feud between him and his father. He should have seen it coming.
Draco could not think straight. The one person who had brought the only joy, as minimal as it was, to his life...was dead. Draco Malfoy, for the first time in his life, broke down into tears in the dark hollowness of his own bedroom.
He could no longer cope. A week after the incident, he confronted his father. Lucius was, of course, happy to admit that he killed his own wife. Her life meant nothing to him, and after all, killing someone so close to him was his sick and twisted way of showing that he was finally in control of his life once again.
Draco had never killed a person in the, so-far, twenty-two years of his life. He did not know what it felt like to be 'in control', in the sense that Lucius was speaking of.
There was one scene of Draco's life that he would forever remember. There was no way to forget the painful words and actions that had taken place at that moment.
Lucius and Draco stared at each other in silence. They were both completely still, not moving a millimetre of their bodies. Neither wanted to speak to the other, but Draco knew that this had to happen. It was the sort of obligation you made for yourself when your mother died in the hands of their own husband.
Draco opened his mouth and forced it to stay open. "Did you kill her?" he questioned, finally working up the courage to let the words slip through his pale lips.
The two men both knew who 'her' was. There was no need to specify details such as that in such a hefty question.
Lucius smirked. "Of course I killed her, Draco. Who else would have? It was coming, and we both know it," he spat angrily.
After that moment, Draco could not control himself. He stood there, in front of his own father, the person who killed his mother, his mother, the only person he loved in his lifetime, and shakily brought himself to take a deep breath. Deep breaths, deep breaths. The air came out of Draco's mouth in uneven and loud forms, and Draco fists began to clench. He flexed his long fingers and then brought them into fists again and then Draco felt his right hand reach for his wand and then before he knew it—
"Avada Kedavra."
Part 2: The First Time.
The guilt and horror of the events would forever haunt Draco for the rest of his life, and he was sure that would not change, even after the day he died.
Draco was sickened. Before that, he had never killed anyone, and now he was a murderer. He was even more sickened that the first person was his own father; his own flesh and blood; the person who had helped give him life. It was quite funny how Lucius had given Draco life, yet in return, Draco had ended his.
Following the day of his father's death, Draco was asked to present himself in front of the Dark Lord. It was too soon, he had thought, but he had been expecting it, of course. Voldemort knew that this was the first time that Draco had murdered someone, and of course he had only asked Draco so that he could praise him on his first success.
Draco knelt before Voldemort, dreading the words that were sure to come through the half blood's lips. He had predicted what was to occur next; he had imagined the next scene, word for word.
"Draco Malfoy," Voldemort hissed. "I will not waste time telling you 'how proud I am', of you. You are a servant of mine and it should be expected of you that you aid me in killing off the Light."
Draco was not surprised. The Dark Lord was not someone who, after he found out that his most loyal follower killed someone for the first time, began skipping around the room giddily, smiling, making jokes, and handing lollypops to young Muggle children.
"Instead, I would like to let you in on my next plans," Voldemort stated, in that horrifying voice he had. "I am appointing some of my finer men to go on missions by themselves." Draco's eyes widened; the Dark Lord never allowed any of his servants to go alone. He naturally did not trust them to do it themselves; first of all, they might get killed without someone to have their back. Second, they may chicken out. With someone accompanying them, if either wanted out soon, the other would call them out on it. It was the way every mission went. Why would Voldemort want to change that, if it was working perfectly fine before?
"You see, I trust few of my followers. You are one of the few that have that honour. I need some assistance in murdering…those particularly close to Harry Potter." Draco stiffened. Although he was expecting this, in some way, it didn't change how he felt about it. He was not comfortable with killing everything in his way.
After killing his father, Draco came to some sort of terms with himself. When he had murdered for the first time of his life, he could feel his heart drop to the pit of his stomach, his body slowly filling with dread. The silence that was heard after his father dropped to the floor, his body now a lifeless crumple of limbs, was the loudest sound of all. He could hear it screaming in his ears, yelling at him to move, get out, and do something, but he couldn't bring himself from the position he was two minutes prior. Draco came to the conclusion that he did not like that feeling at all, and decided that he would not do anything to make himself feel even remotely close to what he had felt. That feeling did not go away. It was sitting on Draco's shoulders, weighing him down. Of course Draco deserved this, he killed his own father!
"I am ordering you to kill Potter's close friend, Luna Lovegood."
And those were the words that brought Draco to where he stood today.
Draco Malfoy, son and murderer of deceased Lucius Malfoy, was standing smack dab in the middle of the Lovegood's property. He wished that the situation was different; murder was not his forte.
By this time, it was dark out. The sky was its darkest shade of blue tonight; an almost-black. He had always liked the shade of 'almost-black-but-more-of-a-deep-blue'. Now, though, he wasn't so sure. He felt as in the sky was awaiting his first move, ready to suck him in as if it were a black hole.
Draco Malfoy was a patient man, but he had no patience with himself at the moment. What was he waiting for? The night would end the only way it could possibly end; the fairy princess dead and him off on more missions to kill more of Potter's goons.
And so, Draco stepped forward. The first step was always supposed to be the hardest, but Draco had always felt like the steps after the first was much, more difficult. Getting started was one thing; finishing what he was started was another.
But he could wait no longer. Might as well get this over with, Draco thought. And he took the next thirty three steps (and one stumble) towards Luna Lovegood's small townhouse. Quickly going through his mind, he remembered the spell to remove all spells from an object (or in this case, a house). "Mesquitha," Draco whispered. Soon the air around the house seemed a lot lighter, and he decided to walk in the front door, thinking it would be pointless as the same thing would happen, essentially.
The interior of the house was decorated, knowing Luna, eccentrically. As soon as he walked in the door, all he saw were paintings. Bright, bold coloured painting covers all of the walls of Luna's flat.
While he found the odd paintings slightly disturbing, he was not surprised at all. Luna had a reputation at Hogwarts to be extremely…well, loony. Bonkers, mental, crazed, you name it, it was Luna.
He walked past three rooms, all decorated with peculiar shaped furniture and odd paintings, towards the kitchen. The light was on, and he suspected that she was in there. Before fully entering the room, Draco checked to see if he had his wand ready in a place easy to grab i he needed it, and pushed all thoughts and regrets aside, and opened the door.
Inside the lit kitchen sat Luna Lovegood, drinking from a small china teacup, with a surprised look on her face. Or maybe that isn't a look, because she used to look like that nonstop at Hogwarts, Draco thought. It was true; Luna seemed to have a permanently surprised look on her face.
"Ah, hello Draco, I've been expecting you," she said cheerfully.
Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise, but it was gone in a second and replaced with a scowl. "Really, now?" he drawled.
"No, I've just always wanted to say that," she stated, dreamy look still on her face.
Draco did not reply. He decided to ignore the idiocy that was Luna Lovegood, and just straight out k-kill her. He needed to detach his emotions from this act, and feel indifferent when doing this. That was the only way he could possibly go through with this.
"Look, Loony, shut up," Draco muttered in a harsh, firm tone. "I'm here for a reason which we both know of. Let's just get this out of the way; accept what is to come."
Luna looked even more surprised than she had before, but for what, he didn't know.
"You're going to die. I'm going to kill you. And we're going to be happy with it," he stated bluntly.
Luna looked at him with that wistful look on her face, her white blonde hair unruly, her eyes alight. "It seems as if to me that you're only trying to convince yourself."
He did not want to react. His face was stony and his eyes dark, grey, empty. He would not let this imbecile get the better of him. He refused to. But even after he tried to convince himself that that would be the best thing to do, the idiot named Lovegood opened her big mouth and had to provoke him.
"I think that all you need is a little hug, and then this will all get better," she said dreamily.
He couldn't take it any longer. "Just shut the hell up!" He roared angrily; you could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. "Shut up! Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! I don't need a fricking hug!"
His roaring was enough to scare the Ravenclaw. Luna could see through his eyes. He was upset. Something has caused a chain reaction to his anger, and he did not want to do this. He didn't want to kill her. At all.
So she attempted to calm him down. "It doesn't have to be this way," she said softly. "You don't have to kill me. You really don't."
Draco didn't know why he did it, but he let his guard down for the first time in his life. He supposed he did it because she would be dead by the end of this entire thing; she wouldn't be able to tell anyone that he, Draco Malfoy, had a vulnerable side.
"I don't have a choice." He hissed quietly. He took his arm; the arm which had the death sentence burned into it. The one which held his not-so-secret; his left. Slowly, he raised the sleeve of his left arm, inch by inch, revealing the mark which was branded into his skin. He closed his eyes, reminiscing of the horror and pain he had felt when the Dark Lord had given it to him. He could still fee; it; the feeling of seven knives being sharpened and then stabbed into his spleen, being taken out again and then the process being repeated. Then his blood dripping out, and being lit with fire. The burn, the pain, the suffering…he could feel it like it had happened just two seconds ago. His skin was still raw around the mark. It was indescribable; an excruciating amount worse than when he had been put under the Cruciatus curse many times before, and more.
Luna pursed her lips, stifling a gasp, her eyes going soft. She knew pain when she could see it. She knew that he had the mark…but that didn't stop her from being just a tad bit more terrified of him than she was before.
The movement was tiny, but it was still evident. Luna took the tiniest step in the direction of Draco, her face tentative. She wanted to console him; even he deserved comfort sometimes.
Draco misinterpreted this, though, and whipped out his wand from his robes. "Don't move," he hissed, eyes blazing, but also saddened.
His hands quivering, he pointed the wand towards her face, and lifted his pointed chin, gaining assurance. He took an unsteady gulp of air, and felt his eyes burning; it was his father all over again. He looked Luna in the eyes, and repeated what he said before, but no sound came out of his mouth; don't move. Luna, alarmed out of her wits, did not stir, and acknowledged what was to occur. She stood in front of her soon to be murderer and thanked Merlin for the life that she had.
Draco gulped, swallowing the thick lump in his throat, and took his wand; hands still shaking, eyes still dark and grey, but not so empty anymore. It had to happen. And so, he did it. He looked away from her, and then glanced back at her. The last thing she saw in his eyes was the clear coat of water covering them. She didn't know what to think, he didn't know why he did it, but he looked away from her, wand still pointing firmly at her, and whispered harshly, "…Follow me."