A/N: I don't own the Harry Potter universe. I don't own any universe at all.

Thanks to likeabear, a great writer on top of being my beloved cousin, for betaing for me.

Chapter 1: In Which Punishment is Doled:

Draco Malfoy stood at the top of the Astronomy Tower, staring at one of the most powerful wizards of his time. He had spent months of fear, hardship, and desperation preparing for this one moment, and he was certain that he was finally ready to exterminate the wizened old coot. Try as he might, however, he couldn't seem to force his wand arm to move an inch in Dumbledore's direction, and he couldn't quite recall the words that he had to say.

Dumbledore simply met his gaze with a pitying expression. It was infuriating! If he could just move his wand and say the incantation, truly meaning it, everything would turn out as planned. And if he was sure of anything, it was that he meant it. The old man was not only insane, but was also only prolonging the inevitable end to the struggle at hand: Voldemort's victory. As Draco saw it, he was really doing the wizarding world a favor; the bloody process of war would be expedited by Dumbledore's death.

As for his own benefit, Draco knew that he would finally prove himself to the Dark Lord by his actions tonight. He would be allowed to return to his ancestral home and take his rightful place beside his father.

Father. A jolt of fear shot through him that made his breath catch. As he stared into the deep blue eyes that remained so bright, even in the face of death, he wondered what his father would do to him if his wand arm didn't unfreeze sometime soon. He imagined Lucius' face, contorted in rage, begging Voldemort for the opportunity to torture his own son. He saw Lucius, in the practiced and controlled manner of one accustomed to such things, beating the fruit of his own flesh until the floor became stained red with his own pure blood.

Draco would writhe before it was over, voice hoarse from issuing bloodcurdling screams that were punctuated only by the need to draw breath, and his father would stare coldly down at him with a look of satisfaction on his face.

The screaming, Draco thought, Gods, the screaming…. And he realized that, should he fail, he would never have to hear that awful wailing emanating from his parents' dungeon again. For he could not hope to survive the night with his own life if he failed to extinguish Dumbledore's.

Gods, he was going to wet himself… and he only had a few moments before his aunt and other Death Eaters of the more sordid variety arrived, drawn by pure bloodlust and the promise that they would witness the Light's only hope fall, crumpled and lifeless, to the ground.

As Draco stood at the top of the tower, wind whipping through his robes and his face—ever the traitor—betraying his anguish, he never even noticed the arrival of Severus Snape. Draco remained frozen, gaze locked with his headmaster's, as the moments stretched on. He saw the old twinkle in Dumbledore's eye and knew that the bastard was rejoicing in his failure. Draco desperately tried to seize the moment of pure rage that followed, his wand shaking with the effort. If Dumbledore could find cause for fucking twinkle at Draco's imminent death, surely Draco could muster up two simple words and truly intend murder when he uttered them.

It became clear, however, that he could not. The moment passed and the rage dampened to a dull throbbing, leaving behind only wild fear and a tiny spark of regret for every moment in his life that had led him to this one. He was to kill or be killed, and the truly unjust reality was that somehow, the same moments that had led him here had never made him capable of murder.

Numbly, Draco registered Snape's presence and knew that his life was over. A Death Eater had seen his cowardice and would attest to his inability to carry out the only mission the Dark Lord would ever give him. Turning back to Dumbledore, he saw that the old man's gaze had fallen upon the potions master as well. Dumbledore's face became pleading.

"Severus, please…" he implored.

He appeared to be begging with his entire countenance for a man who was actually capable of committing murder to spare his wrinkled life. Draco pitied his own weakness, then, for he had never seen that particular expression on his headmaster's face before; Dumbledore must have known all along that the young Slytherin prince would fail.

Draco needed to look away from the evidence of his cowardice, so he turned to Snape. He found himself unable, try as he might, to tear his eyes from the potions master's face. As he watched, Severus stood quite still, chest expanding with the breath that would end Dumbledore's life, and a single tear trickling down his cheek.

"Avada Kedavra," Draco watched him say, and Dumbledore's body fell to the ground with a thump. Draco did not spare a glance for the fallen headmaster. Instead he watched, transfixed, as the single tear fled Snape's jawline to seep into the tower's stone floor.

Snape dragged Draco to the edge of Hogwarts' grounds, never speaking a word, and apparated them both to Malfoy Manor. Draco landed on his knees with his face in his hands, knowing that he was about to die but not wanting to witness the disappointment and rage in his father's face at his impotence.

He felt Severus pull him up by the elbow and drag him from the apparation foyer to the dining hall, where Voldemort held court and where his parents were undoubtedly waiting for him among the other Death Eaters. He daren't even look at Snape's face, for his former teacher must soon reveal what had happened that night, and the prospect was terrifying. He heard the loud crack of apparition and dully registered that his aunt Bella and company were also returning.

"SNAPE killed DUMBLEDORE! SNAPE killed DUMBLEDORE!" Bellatrix sang, and Draco heard rather than saw her dancing through the corridors toward their destination.

Shit. FUCK! THIS IS IT! Apparently, there would be no question and answer period to prolong his life. His eyes darted around the room, still around floor level, until they stopped at a pair of shiny black dragon-hide shoes standing directly in front of him. His whole body was shaking, sweat dripping from his face, as he looked up into the eyes of death itself.

"Draccooo" Voldemort said, almost at a whisper, "you have failed me…"

Draco decided at that moment to at least show his father that he could die with dignity. He willed his shaking body to still and his eyes to show no fear as he awaited sentencing, never breaking eye contact with his master. Distantly, he could hear his aunt Bella still humming the tune of "Snape killed Dumbledore" to herself, cackling intermittently.

"Luciussss…"

Draco awaited his father's reply, not daring to break eye contact with the Dark Lord. "Yes, m-my lord?" His father sounded… frightened. Voldemort was known for sparing no family member in the punishment for one's bad deed.

"Luciusss, do you remember my instructions for Draco's punishment, should he fail?"

"My lord, do you mean for –"

"ANSWER ME, LUCIUSS! Do you remember? What did I say wasss to be done with him?"

"He was to be tortured, my lord, and k-killed."

Draco's heart plummeted and all the despair he had left to feel hit him head-on. This was it. His own father had confirmed that Draco Malfoy's life was about to end, and he had the depressing thought that he would never get the opportunity to do anything useful with it. He was actually about to die because he had failed to finally take action.

Ironic, he thought, though it was hard to know the true meaning of "irony" these days, and he wasn't sure if he'd gotten it right.

"As promised, then, dear Luciusss, you will be the one to do it. I know how much you will enjoy ridding yourself of your failure of an heir…. but pleassse, don't take all night. I expect you to be available to me by dawn."

"Yes, my lord."

Was that relief he heard in his father's tone? Draco wasn't quite so sure that the Dark Lord would absolve Lucius from his own punishment for the night.

"Oh, and one more request, Luciusss..."

Draco's heart skipped a beat from its place on the floor. The Dark Lord had some rather inventive forms of torture that he liked performed on his victims, forms he had been known to "request."

"Take him to the dungeonssss. We have guests."

The Malfoy men descended the dungeon stairs silently, the latter walking, wand at his back, in front of the former.

"Muffliato," Lucius whispered hoarsely.

Draco had made it to the center of the cavernous room and halted his steps. He did not turn to face his father.

"Draco…"

Still, Draco kept his back to the man who had begged the chance to be his executioner. He did not trust himself to communicate at all, resolving to face the end of his life as the strong, adult man he might have someday grown into. They stood there silently for a few moments, Draco concentrating on breathing and reminding himself that at least he'd be wishing for death by the time his father was forced, by the dawn, to give it to him.

And my last experience in this world will be my father, grudgingly granting me my dying wish, he mused. Perfectly fucking typical.

"Crucio!"

Draco knew no more for several hours, though later he would remember screaming to rival any he had ever heard in his life. He would remember reneging on the promise to himself that he would face death with dignity. He would remember pleading with Lucius to stop, to take pity on him, Lucius' own son, and end his miserable life just a few hours early. He would remember watching intently as his own hot tears were absorbed by the dungeon's stone floor.

Poetic justice, he had thought to himself. He had stopped making sense hours before.

After some time, Lucius muttered a spell that Draco did not recognize.

"Exacto ocularis," Lucius said, and such great pain exploded in Draco's head that he was blinded, and he thought it would never end.

Grabbing his head roughly, Lucius poured something incredibly foul down his son's throat.

Coward, Draco thought, poisoning me instead of facing and cursing me as I failed with Dumbledore. Fucking… poetic injustice. It made him bloody mad to die by poison after all that. Fucking waste. What was wasted, he wasn't sure, but being angry about it comforted him.

Then, everything went dark.