A/N So, I wrote this little piece to clear my mind from Gray, the main piece I'm working on now. I hope you like it! Oh yes, and 'sententia' means 'a thought' in Latin.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Just the bit where… Well, you'll see ;-))

Chapter 1: Sententia... Éist le mo chroí
Go brónach a choích
Tá mé cailte gan tú
's do bhean cheile
An grá mór I do shaoil
Threoraí sí me.
Bígí liomsa i gconaí
Lá's oích. Ag coaineadh ar an uaigneas mór
Na deora, go brónach
Na gcodladh ins an uaigh ghlas chiúin
Faoi shuimhneas, go domhain -- Smaointe, Enya

I watch my feel shuffle. They are taking me somewhere; I don't know where. I find myself by the lake. There are people around me. I glare at them darkly, wishing for them to leave and they go scuttling. I smirk and look back to the lake; the water is dark and dreary under the grey English sky.

Please, please, I think to myself, Don't let Dumbledore get that bottle of champagne. I hate him. I hate Dumbledore. But I don't want to be the one to kill him. I would rather have someone else do it. Someone who'd get pleasure from it.

I was ecstatic when the Dark Lord gave me the task… But now… Now I don't know – No! I do know; I will succeed in killing him! I must.

I pull my knees up to my chest and stare at the grass, its blades bowing to the lake. I can't believe what this has come to. What have I become? Who is this person who curses people to poison champagne? How can he try to kill people? I've lost myself. I don't know who I am. Ever since I was a small child, I'd always imagined joining the Death Eaters, killing Muggles and mudbloods, savoring each kill. Making the world a better place. But how can I do that if I can't even kill an old man who's half mad?

I hear a faint laugh and I raise my head. Who could be laughing now? The Dark Lord is back, people have gotten hurt at Hogwarts, how could anyone laugh? I remember something. Oh yes. Greyback. How thick is he? How can he think I'd let him near Hogwarts? I wouldn't even wish Potter the bite. Possibly the mudblood…

The mudblood. That was who had laughed. I see her toss her hair over her shoulder, talking with Pot-head and King Weasel. Know-it-all filthy mudblood. How can she – pardon me, it – live with itself? I wonder who she stole her magic from. Poor wizard, left without any magic. I hear a small whisper in my mind; Do you really believe they steal magic? it asks quietly. Of course! I answer, How else would they get magic? Where did that come from? Am I questioning the Dark Lord's teachings? No, of course not. It's just that this task seems impossible and I was facing a moment of weakness. In addition to this, I'm hungry. I drag myself up and head towards the castle, holding my head up proudly. I am, after all, a Malfoy.

The Great Hall is packed with people, waiting for lunch to be served. I seat myself at the Slytherin table next to Crabbe and Goyle.

"Draco," they greet me.

"Hello," I reply regally. As usual, they serve me just as Crabbes and Goyles have served Malfoys for centuries. "Thank you," I say as soon as my plate is full. I don't like this. Their serving me is repulsive, like slaves. I don't mind when the person serving me is a lower creature, a House Elf for instance, but it seems cruel for humans to have to do things like this. This is, after all, the third millennium. I wouldn't mind if a mudblood had to serve me; they are just as good as animals in any case. I see Pansy approaching.

"Hello darling," she drawls, her hands lingering on my chest. I take her hands in mine and look at her face. She's beautiful. Her hair, brown and thin, lands on my face while she kisses me. It's a slow kiss. Although, we both know that the only reason we're dating is because my father would like me to get married to her. It's rather disturbing to think that Pansy will be my children's mother.

"Hey love," I whisper back, cradling her cheek with my hand. I wonder what it would be like to actually fall in love. To not have an arranged marriage from the moment you were born, but to actually be able to fall in love with someone, and not have to act.

I'm torn away from my thoughts when Pansy sits uncomfortably close to me. Goyle has moved away from me to give her room. He looks away as he should when she is around me.

Lunch passes quickly with Pansy murmuring her words of 'love' to me. You don't love me, I don't love you. Nor do I lust for you, I think loudly, wishing she could hear my words. The kissing doesn't bother me as much as her words of love do. They're things like 'Draco, you're so dashing today dearest,' and 'Love is blind, but it need not be.' Can't she even speak without using clichés? This does not take away from her beauty, but I'm not completely sure as to whether or not she can think straight…

Defense Against the Dark Arts is next. Perfect, Snape. I can have some time to plan in case the champagne fails. The classroom is full by the time I get there but Snape pays me no attention. I can almost hear the class's protests, begging Snape to give me detention.

My seat is close to the door. I sit down and take out a spare bit of parchment, a quill and pot of black ink. I dip the quill in ink but can think of nothing to write. What is there to write? I can hardly title it Ways to Kill Dumbledore, now can I? I doodle idly on the page, wondering what to do. There's no point in paying attention to what Snape's saying; I already know all of it. See mudblood, people can be equally clever without looking like sodding beavers when they raise their hands!

I keep doodling until class is finished. I look down to find that I've drawn a rather realistic looking lynx. I quickly crumple the paper into a ball and stick it in my pocket. I decide to skip class as I've gotten nowhere with my plans. I smirk, thinking about the hell people who have room mates must face each day. My room is dark and silent as I settle down on my bed, the shadows seem to elongate as I do so, as if foreshadowing my doom. I glare at them, and then berate myself for being so paranoid.

I sit in the silence for more than an hour, thinking. What can I do? That bottle of champagne is my last hope. The necklace hadn't worked, and although I had laughed about for several minutes after the half-blood had gotten hurt, it hurt the wrong person. I wonder if Dumbledore has the faintest idea that I'm trying to kill him… Probably not, moronic old bleeder.

Dinner comes too quickly. I walk down to the Great Hall and sit, stone faced, at the Slytherin table. Pansy, as usual, greets me with a kiss and sit beside me again. She keeps murmuring, but I wish she would shut up. I need silence to think. I think I may need to visit Knockturn Alley again… I've run out of cursed objects.

I eat quickly and head back upstairs to do a bit of homework. Normally I wouldn't bother, father's money keeps the professors of my back, but tonight I don't want to think. Don't want to realize what I've become. Don't want to breathe.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It's morning. I get out of bed and bathe quickly. I dress in the usual white dress shirt, black trousers and green tie and throw my robes over them. Another tedious day of classes has arrived.

Breakfast passes quickly. I have Defense Against the Dark Arts again. I arrive to class late, as usual, and plan a bit more. I really have nothing to do; the champagne is supposed to reach Dumbledore tonight, so all I have to do is wait. Perfect.

I lounge around in my room until lunch; I decide, if the champagne works, there's no point in going to classes if Dumbledore's going to die today. I shiver when I think about what could happen if the champagne doesn't work… He'll kill me this time, I'm sure. I hold my head in my hands and slouch in a chair. I can't do this. I must accept it; I don't want Dumbledore to die! At least, not by my hand. I jump out of the chair and head outside. I need a walk.

It's pleasant today, warm. By all means it should be cold. After all, this is the day hell freezes over, right? This is the day Dumbledore's going to die… I hope. Don't I? Hell and damnation, this is aggravating!

Suddenly, I spot someone coming towards me. She looks angry. It's the mudblood! What's she doing walking towards someone like me? She knows I think she and her entire race should be wiped out…

"Malfoy, you arrogant bastard!" she screams, approaching me.

"Yes?" I ask politely, not bothering to get up from my sitting position.

"Don't speak! Don't even breathe. Have you any idea what you've just done?" she asks me in a deadly tone of voice.

"I have a feeling I'm about to find out," I say dryly, shuddering at the fact that I'm talking to he-- it.

"I know your secret Malfoy. I know what the Dark Lord has asked you to do," she says, still whispering. I go cold. Is it possible that she knows? No, how would she know?

"I have no idea what you're talking about mudblood," I snap. I smirk with pleasure when she flinches at the word. After all, it's what she is. It's not as if I can change that.

"You have been assigned to kill Dumbledore." I freeze. How does she know? No don't. Don't let her know that she's gotten to you.

"I wish," I say, glaring at her coldly.

"Don't lie, you idiotic excuse for a human. I know that Voldemort ordered you to. Guess why," she asks, although the question is more like a statement.

"Pray tell," I say, giving her a patronizing look. She glares back into my eyes. Even her eyes look like mud!

"As we speak, Ron is in the hospital wing being treated for poisoning. Do you know how he got poisoned? By a bottle of champagne that was to be delivered to Dumbledore. Don't deny it Malfoy, it was you." I am silent.

"You. Are. Mad." I say, enunciating every word clearly. "If I was out to kill Dumbledore, I wouldn't need to use a sodding bottle of champagne to do it!"

"Right. Remember this Malfoy," she says, spitting my name. "Be glad Ron's not dead, for if he was, I'd kill you right now." She takes a step closer to me and puts her face directly in front of mine. I resist the temptation to wince and instead, I squint my eyes at her threateningly. "You're life will be hell from now on. I don't have to do anything; I trust Voldemort can think up of a reasonable punishment for you. The Crutiatius Curse at least. I hope you enjoy it. Ah yes, and think of me when you're at death's door and are begging to be killed," she breathes, whipping her face back to its original position. I continue glaring at her, waiting for her to break eye contact. I know it's juvenile, but psychologically speaking, it gives me the upper hand. She finally looks away and turns on her heel, heading back into the castle.

How long can I keep this a secret? The Dark Lord will soon find out that I've failed him again and then… Damn that mudblood! I feel no remorse for almost killing a Weasley, they all deserve to die anyways. All of them. Blood traitors, mudbloods and Muggles alike. I go back to my room and commence plotting again.

Aoibhneas a bhí
Ach d'ímigh sin
Sé lean tú
Do fhear cheile
An grá mór i do shaoil
Threoraí sé mé
Bígí liomsa i gconaí
Lá's oích. Ag coaineadh ar an uaigneas mór
Na deora, go brónach
Na gcodladh ins an uaigh ghlas chiúin
Faoi shuimhneas, go domhain

-- Smaointe, Enya

A/N So, did you like it? Hate it? Let me know! Should I continue this as a story, or is it good just as a one-shot? Note that if I do continue it, I won't get to it for a while as I'm currently working on Gray. Please review! Smaointe does not belong to me. It belongs exclusively to Enya. ~ the shattered star