Draco Malfoy was terrified. He had never been so scared in all his life. He had almost failed. No, he had failed. He had been so sure of himself, so proud, so caught up in his sense of self-importance and cleverness that he hadn't stopped to think why no-one had accomplished it before. Why no one had managed to kill him before. He hadn't managed it, he hadn't completed his mission. Voldemort would be furious.
He stole a glance at the man standing beside him, who's lank, greasy curtains of hair swung into his face as his head fell forwards, eyes tracing the swirls in the patterns on the wooden floor beneath their feet, sallow face pulled into a mask of cool indifference; hands clasped tightly behind his back Draco looked down at his own hands, pale and spidery, trembling with adrenaline, shock and fear. His robes stained with blood and splashed with mud from their mad flight out of that damned castle.
They were standing in a hallway, poorly lit by a handful of candles held in tarnished candleholders in the walls, twisted into the shape of snakes. Cobwebs coated everything in the cold, dingy manor house. Snape had apparated both of them into the gardens that sprawled out beneath this derelict place, where they had been seen into this hall, while a message of what had occurred was sent straight to the Dark Lord.
A door opened in front of them and a man swathed in death eater robes stood back to let them in. Draco glimpsed his face in a small grimy mirror as they passed it, eyes wide with horror, all-too-pale skin stretched across gaunt cheekbones, white-blond hair wildly out of place. He could not go in front of the Dark Lord like this. Passing a hand through his white-blonde locks to tame them he re-arranged his features into a neutral expression; even if his shaking gave him away, he was determined his face would not.
Suddenly, Snape stopped, and Draco copied him, standing with his head bent, his eyes averted, hands clasped neatly behind his back. His heart pounded in his heart and blood rushed through his ears so deafening that if a herd of centaurs stampeded through the room, he wouldn't have heard it.
Then, that voice that Draco feared, that cold, inhuman, emotionless rasp. That dreaded hiss that could command both his fear and respect, horrify and impress him.
"So, it is done."
Snape replied, keeping his head down, his eyes trained on the floor, his voice even and emotionless. "Yes my Lord, it is done."
Draco could feel the Dark Lord's attention shift to him, and his heart pounded faster as he came closer, stealthily circling around him to whisper near his ear.
"But Young Master Malfoy, you did not do as I asked. You didn't complete your mission. You have failed me. I am terribly disappointed." The cold, empty tone sent shivers down his spine, his heart thundering so fast he thought he would faint. This was it, the end. Voldemort moved away to stand in front of him, facing him, watching his thin pale figure as it stood motionless in the room, so full of tension the air thrummed with it.
"However," he continued, "you found a way to get my death eaters into the castle, a deed I thought near impossible, you got them there and you got Dumbledore on the astronomy tower alone. The deed is done. He is gone. I'm afraid I shall still have to punish you though, you failed me, and failure must be avoided at all costs. Crucio."
Pain erupted all over his body so powerful; it burned like white fire, speeding along his veins, screaming into his heart and lungs. Pain so intense it numbed his brain and made his eyes roll back into his head his back arching and limbs thrashing. And then it was over. His limbs trembled now not in fear, but in the aftershock, he came to kneel before the feet of his master, head touching the cold, hard, wood of the floor.
"That will be all, I expect better from you in the future Draco. Do not disappoint me again, you know the penalty."
Draco could have wept with relief, his parents were fine, he was alive. Slowly he inched forwards on the floor and kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robe murmuring "Thank you lord, thank you."
Voldemort walked away, to confront Snape, and Draco stayed on the floor where he was, not yet trusting his legs to hold him if he stood up. He could hear the high, cold voice of his master, and Snape's even, indifferent voice replying, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. Eventually he heard Snape fall to the floor and kiss the hem of his master's robe.
"You may both leave, I shall call on you when I need your assistance." Voldemort's dismissal rang in the cold bare room. Slowly they stood up, Draco's legs still trembling from the Cruciatus curse, and backed out of the room. Back along the corridor, down a flight of stairs, into a room, towards a fireplace. They flooed to Malfoy Manor and as Draco landed he looked up into the familiar parlour, with the fire burning in the grate, the warmth that flooded his body, drowned his senses with a comfort and strength he had never felt.
He heard a sob and turned towards the side. On a pale cream sofa sat his mother, her pale hair and pale skin soft in the firelight, her eyes shimmering with barely concealed emotion, lips drawn with worry. She stood up and walked over to him. As she stood before him, there was a moment's hesitation as she looked at him and took in his dishevelled appearance before wrapping her thin arms around him and holding him to her tightly. For the first time since starting school, he held her back; and they just stood like that for what could have been hours, no words needing to be spoken, no tears shed, no shared glances, just them and the moment and the strength they gave each other.