Disclaimer:
I don't own anything that's Rowlings.
A/N:
I'm quite busy changing everything, right? And I want reviews for this!
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Newfound
Faith.
Where
do I go from here?
I
am lost, in search of love
I
don't know where to go
Don't
know who I should tell
I
should tell
Someone
about the mark that burns my arm
The
mark that has been feared for years
If
I do I will be arrested
If
I don't it will kill me
I
don't know what to do
I
want someone who I can trust
My
soul is almost gone
I
am almost like him now
I
must fight it, I know
But
he is so strong and I am so small
All
I have left is a bit of myself
No
longer the boy I once was
All
I have is a little stone with my name on it
And
it's in the middle of a raging ocean
I
doubt it will survive
I
doubt I will survive
As
long as I have these thoughts I will not be lost
And
I will stand up against it
But
first I've got to tell somebody
If
I don't do it now, I will die tonight
Draco
looked lost in thoughts, no one wanted to disturb him. He'd been like this ever
since they'd gotten back from home. It was the starting of a new school year,
and every Slytherin was excited about what'd happened during the holidays. It
was now confirmed that You-Know-Who was back, and the minister of magic had
been fired. Instead, the new minister was a young man who's name was Melchior
Dawnest. No one'd ever heard about him, but there were rumors. Rumors that he
was the son of the greatest wizard of all, Dumbledore.
And Draco
thought. During the summer, he and his father had visited the ministry a lot of
times, to make sure minister Dawnest trusted them. He had made a nice
impression, with a trustable face and honest eyes. He had even asked them to
call him Melchior. So they did. Melchior was the youngest minister of magic, he
was only 31 years old and unsure about what he should do. Draco had only seen
him angry once, and was frightened about that. Melchior had looked so inhuman,
like an evil robot. His eyes didn't shine brightly anymore, they shone with a
thirst for blood. And for the only time in his life, Draco was truly scared. In
front of him stood a man, but much more than a man. A very powerful
wizard, more powerful than even his
father. Melchior hated the Dark Arts, not knowing that he had two Deatheaters
in his office at the end of the holidays. If he'd known, he would've killed
them for sure. Draco shuddered at that thought. Sure, he'd seen death, he'd
even killed himself, but to have his own life been taken away… That was not a
nice thought.
He had been
thinking about the man he'd killed a lot lately. The look on his face when he
heard the words leave his mouth. A look of fear, but also a look of triumph. Of
course, he wouldn't have looked so satisfied if he knew his killer was only 15
years old. His death weighed heavy on his conscience.
Draco had
agreed on taking the Dark Mark, sure. He hated the mudbloods and muggles. But
it all seemed so unreal now. That night. There were no stars, no moon,
everything was dark. And all those silent people around him in their black
robes and masks. He would become one of them. His father'd said that he would
become You-Know-Who's right hand. One of the most powerful men on earth. But
Draco wasn't so sure about that idea right now. The reason? One meeting. The
killings afterwards. It was so useless. A whole family was killed, and the
Deatheaters had all been bragging about who they'd killed and where. But he was
more horrified about the way they talked about their victims then about the killings.
"Where are
you going, Draco?" asked that stupid girl, Pansy. She was always hanging
around, could never leave him alone.
"I'm going
for a walk. You don't have to come with me." He knew how that must've sounded,
cruel and lifeless, but no one could come
with him. If any Slytherin would know what he was about to do, they'd kill him
for sure. Or torture him first.
He walked
out the entrance of the common room and walked towards the Great Hall. He knew
where Dumbledore's office was. He'd been there on the end of last year, when
he'd been asked if his father was a Deatheater. Of course, he'd said no. But
here he was, betraying his father and all the others.
He stood in
front of the secret entrance to Dumbledore's office. He suddenly realized he
didn't have the password.
"Mr.
Malfoy, may I ask what you are doing here in the middle of the night?"
Great.
Snape. Just the person he wanted to see. Another Deatheater. Would Dumbledore
know that?
"I wanted
to see Dumbledore, professor," he answered as polite as he could.
"You wanted
to see Dumbledore? Why?" Snape didn't trust him, that's for sure.
"I want to
tell him something."
Snape
looked at him and decided he'd let him in. "Sugar quill."
What kind
of password is that? Thought Draco. He didn't have the time to wonder about
that, because a staircase was in front of him and he needed his breath to climb
it. At last, they stood in front of a door. Snape knocked and Dumbledore
opened. He was still wearing the same robes he'd worn during dinner.
"Is there
something wrong, Severus?" asked Dumbledore worried.
"I believe
young Malfoy had something to tell you, Headmaster," said Snape.
Dumbledore
turned to him and asked what was so urgent that it couldn't wait until the next
morning.
Draco
didn't know anything to say. Here he was, about to betray everything he'd ever
believed in, a long lifetime ago. Words had flooded from his brain, he didn't
know anything to say. So he simply shove his sleeve up and showed them the bare
flesh of his left arm. On it was, as clear as when he got it, the Dark Mark. He
heard Snape gasping, but didn't pay attention to him. His whole being was
focused on the Headmaster. What was he going to do? What was he going to say?
Draco surely hoped he wouldn't be expelled.
"I can't
say this comes as a surprise," mumbled Snape.
"Draco, you
did the right thing. I have an offer for you. Join the League against
Voldemort. Save the world from darkness," said Dumbledore.
And Draco
nodded, and believed in what Dumbledore said. And he would believe in those words
his whole life, until he died in a peaceful world. But the peace wouldn't last
for long. Always there would be Dark Lords. But there would be always people
like him to, ready to betray the dreams they once believed in but changed their
minds.
