Death Is A Dish Best Served Cold

Authors Note: Please, understand that while I take the privilege of borrowing from J.K Rowling, that I am not getting anything monetary out of this. I do it for the sake of pleasure.

Summary: Potter was too weak to do what was necessary to win, but Draco was willing to sacrifice anything to vanquish his enemy. He didn't do it for the side of the light though, he did it for power. Having taken over Hogwarts, and forced Muddbloods into a life of slavery; what happens when a member of the golden trio shows back up in his life. "I thought I'd killed you." "You did."

"The healthy man does not torture others. Generally it is the tortured who turn into torturers."
-Carl Jung

Malfoy POV

They thought him evil, but what was so great about being good? Why was standing in the light better than being hidden in shadows? When it came to war, perfectly executing an ambush gave you the upper hand. You couldn't be seen. No one ever saw them coming. They knew how to seek out weaknesses and expose them. They fought with blood on their hands, and no fear in their hearts. They showed no mercy, and left no survivors.

He trusted no one, and was willing to sacrifice everyone.

The war fought between Potter and the Dark Lord lasted years and took many lives. Lives that he did not miss. Potter lost, in the long run. He wasn't willing to let people die. He protected others; he wouldn't sacrifice them for 'the greater good'. Potter was weak. He refused to let his friends go. When faced with the decision, he chose his own death over that of the Weasley girl. He gave up fighting, to save one life. Unfortunately, that life had not lasted. The Death Eaters did not see his sacrifice as noble. Voldemort killed him, and they raped the girl. She died less than a week later.

Being placed second was never something that Malfoy deemed appropriate. Draco had to be number one. In school; he had perfect grades, was head boy, and was friends with only the best blood. At home, he was the man of the house. His father had raised him to be strong, to have no emotion, to be worthy of his tittle; and he was. Draco was more of a man than his father. The Dark Lord had forced him to make a choice, and he had. He had chosen his father's death in order to raise himself hirer in the ranks. Lucius had begged his son for life, pleaded with him for mercy. Lucius had been week. In the end, even he was willing to grovel at the feet of another man. Draco was not his father.

Being second hand to Voldemort had its perks, but it wasn't enough. Draco didn't like taking orders. He didn't like feeling as though he was beneath someone, especially not a half-bread. Blood was everything. It showed who you are, and predicted your enemies; before you were even born. Blood defined your life; and if yours was pure, it gave you power.

"Sir, your dinner is served." Stupid Muddblood, they always seemed to interrupt his thoughts.

"As it should be, the time is right." He had strict orders that dinner would be served at 5:30. Not a minute early, not a second late. "Are you trying to say that I'm too stupid to come down for dinner?" He hadn't turned around, still staring out of the window.

The sky wasn't what you would have expected. It wasn't raining, there weren't dark clouds forming in the sky. The grass wasn't dyeing and the trees hadn't lost their foliage. His yard was immaculate. Perfectly cut, and tastefully landscaped. Acres of cleared lawn surrounded his century old home, and beyond that was a dense forest full of magical creatures.

Draco inhabited Hogwarts; he had made it his home. The castle did not know good from bad, right from wrong. In fact, the castle did not know much of anything. When it had locked Umbridge out of the Head Master's office, it hadn't done it out of kindness. It wasn't mourning the loss of Dumbledore. The magic that lived in its walls was simply fulfilling a duty, and its duty was now to Draco. It did as he commanded, it followed his rules.

It had taken him years, months of study. Finding the perfect way, and planning the perfect act. He had finally succeeded. The Dark Lord had been slain. Not expecting the claws to rake at his back, his follower had struck him with several curses before he had even turned around. Draco had been poisoning him for months, and he was too weak to fight. A duel to the death, and the younger man had one. That was another thing Potter had never been willing to do, strike when his enemies back was turned.

"N-no sir." Slowly, Draco turned. Cold eyes finding the small girl standing in the doorway. She was short, and dressed in plain robes. There was nothing elegant about her, but Draco wouldn't have his slaves walking around with dirty bodies and nasty cloths. He had more elegance than the Dark Lord before him, and couldn't stand the smell.

"Then, why do you feel the need to interrupt me?" He advanced on her until he was towering over her, staring down his nose and into the top of her head. Making eye contact with a superior was a guaranteed death wish. Muddbloods didn't deserve to know the thoughts that raced across other's faces.

"I-I just th-thought…"

"Thought, did you." He let out a low chuckle that made the girls shoulders shake. "Muddbloods do not think."

"N-no sir. I m-mean, y-yes sir." She was barely whispering, but he could taste the panic rolling off her in waves. Unable to string a sentence together without stuttering.

"Tell me then, what possessed you?" Though he got little enjoyment out of life, watching the nervous twitches of others was one of the few things that got his blood flowing. He loved to watch the expression on their face, knowing that he held their life in his hand.

"I-I just. I d-don't kn…" She trailed off with a slight shriek as he wrapped his long pale fingers around her throat. Pushing her up against the wall he heard as her head hit the beam. He tightened his grip.

Inches away from her face, he watched the emotion in her eye. Fear. Desperation for her life, she didn't want to die. He relished in the fact that she was terrified of him. Looking deeper, he noticed, for a split second, anger flashed across her features. He felt the tenseing of her muscles, the way her knees seemed to lock up and grow stronger. It was gone before he could see it clearly, vanishing without a trace. Her shoulders fell flat, and her knees went back to being barely able to hold herself up. He knew that when he took his hand away from her, she would fall.

That look, those eyes; he knew. Her hair had grown far worse than before. The curls even more unmanageable now that he'd had her wand broken. Bending closer, he breathed in, taking in her sent. Yes, it was her. He would never have even recognized her had she not regressed, for a deadly second, into uncontrollable anger towards him. The look in those eyes was the same as the girl he had tormented for seven years of life.

In front of him, and cowering in fear, stood Hermione Granger. He tightened his grip even harder.

Her face, which had at first sight been deathly pale, began to turn from shades of red to purple. Chocking for breath she reached up to claw at his hand, scratching at his knuckles. He felt her short nails dig into his flesh and rip small scratches into his skin. He squeezed harder. He had meant to only scare her, which he was always very successful in doing to any Muddblood, but her defiance made him angry. How dare she think that she had the right to push his hands away from her throat. If he wished to kill her, then he would.

He recognized the look in her eye. He had seen it on others faces many times before. It was life, or rather, the escape of. Her eyes began to lose focus, to see into something he was not privy to. Her hands retreated back to her sides, all fight having gone out of her. He released his hold, her breath sucking in as soon as he no longer held her wind pipe closed. She crumpled to the ground.

"Get up." He knew she couldn't, but wanted to watch her try.

She struggled for a minute, almost making it once, before her knees gave way and she fell on all fours before her.

"Disobedient, are you. I said get up." Roughly, he kicked her. His boot making contact with her left shoulder. He felt the crunch of bone.

Whimpering, she raised herself to her feet. He knew that it was pure fear that gave her the motivation.

"I thought I'd killed you."

He would have missed it had he not been listening, she was still chocking in air. "You did."

"Get out of my sight."

She fled the room. Head down and clutching her shoulder, she made no attempt to look behind her as she left.

Draco casually walked after her; but whereas she turned right to return to the slave chambers, he turned left. All that excitement had brought his appetite back.

I spent so much time… Writing this, for you.
So how about you spend some time… Please, just review.