Draco Malfoy sat on the black leather sofa, with a burning fireplace on the wall across from him, while he twirled his wand between his slender fingers. The task placed before him is one of life and death, honor and power verses rejection and weakness. Without the completion of this task, his parents and himself would lose their lives. They are relying on him. What imbeciles they are for rely on their useless, cowardly son. Nothing he had ever set out to do would have been accomplished without his father's massive bank account. Though he would never admit that to the outside would, everybody knew it to be factual. Even Saint Potter and his sidekicks knew. He found it to be completely and utterly repulsive The urge to puke up the breakfast he had barely touched overwhelmed him.
Tossing his wand on the couch, he stood up and ran to the closest restroom. He landed on his knees before the toilet and regurgitated every food and drink item that entered his body since he woke up that morning. The puke burnt his throat and tongue, and the taste only made him want to throw up again. He choked, cried, threw up, and spit up for several minutes before he saw the tall blonde figure of his mother running toward him from the corner of his eye.
Narcissa bent down beside him, a wet dishrag in hand, and began to wipe off his face. The wetness cooled down his skin immensely, but the burning of this throat remained.
"Water." he said in a harsh whisper, with tears streaming down his face.
"Water!" Narcissa yelled.
She held him close to her, brushing his hair with her perfectly manicured fingers. The tears falling from his eyes stained her light blue blouse, and Draco felt ashamed. A real man never cries. A real man never cries in fear, pain, or loss. His father had told him that many years ago when Draco was nothing more than a young boy, barely capable of walking.
A little House Elf appeared before them. Draco lent away from his mother and took the glass of water offered to him. He drank quickly, making his stomach rouse and spin again, but making the burning in his throat fade away.
Taking several deep breathes, Draco looked up at his mother, who also had tears falling from her eyes. He couldn't bare to look into her eyes.
"I am sorry, Mother."
His hands were in fists on either side of him. The feeling of the tears drying on his face only added to the powerlessness and shame he felt.
"Why would you say such things, Draco?" she asked him.
"Because, I am weak." he admitted.
"I have cried so many nights since the Dark Lord gave you this task. Despite what your father says, everybody is allowed to cry from whatever may bring tears to their eyes. Don't be sorry for something like this. I am your mother. It is my job to protect and watch over you."
She placed one of her small, warm hands over one of his cold yet clammy hands.
"Not this time. This time, it is my job to protect and watch over you."
Draco stood up and offered his hand to his mother.
"You are braver than you give yourself credit for, son."
She brushed his bangs from his eyes once, allowing her hand to linger just briefly on Draco's face, before turning around and walking away.
"You should hurry up and get ready. The train will be leaving before too long."
Draco watched her retreat from him, and all he wanted was to double back over and puke up the nonexistent contents of his now empty stomach. Standing still, he took several deep breathes and yelled for the House Elves to bring down his briefcase and a change of clothes. He has to do this. No moment of weakness can help him. Weakness will not save his mother, his father, and himself from the Dark Lord's wrath. Nothing can save him from the Dark Lord's wrath except himself.