My foot splashed in a puddle and drenched my socks as I gave chase to the muggle man I was pursuing down this grimy, deserted street in London. I was desperate to catch this one. Desperate. I had been trying futilely for weeks. And now, finally, I was here. The right place at the right time.

"Lucius, wait!" Rabastan's footsteps rang out behind me, and contrarily I put on a burst of speed. I didn't want or need his help this time. Lestrange was good in a fight, but I wanted this one to be mine. I had never claimed one of my own, and the master was beginning to find my failure to kill a muggle without assistance amusing. I was only nineteen, and I knew how expendable I was. Yet I was hungry to prove my worth. I wanted to be like Bellatrix, Narcissa's older sister. The Dark Lord seemed to regard her as some sort of friend. He treated her with respect, perhaps even – though I would never suggest it to Rodolphus for fear of hurting his feelings immeasurably – affection? He was fond of her, at least in my opinion he seemed to be.

I wanted him to regard me as someone dependable and trustworthy. A reliable deputy. It wasn't too much to aim for. I just needed to work hard, and do some things that were... morally a grey area. Or in Narcissa's book, an area as black as night. She detested violence, although she did agree with the Dark Lord's views. Narcissa meant the world to me, but so did our cause.

"Lucius, slow down and wait for me!" Rabastan complained again. I ignored him. True, he was my closest friend, but he was always out to steal my glory. Even at school. He tried to steal Narcissa from me once when we first got together, but that didn't end too well for him. Or Narcissa's butterbeer bottle.

The muggle man stopped up ahead, finally realising that he'd ran into a dead-ended alleyway. I slowed my pace, pulling my wand from my pocket with a gleeful flourish. This was it. I was about to prove myself once and for all.

And then the muggle spoke. "P-please," he whimpered, cowering against the wall. "Please don't kill me. I'm begging you, please!"

I lowered my wand a fraction, guilt beginning to tingle at the corners of my mind.

The Dark Mark on my left arm itched; a reminder of the flag I was flying, the side I would be fighting on in the upcoming war when I was given the chance. I brought my wand up again.

The terror in the muggle's eyes was paramount. I felt wretched as I stared into his deathly white face, but I drew in a deep breath. He shook his head infinitesimally, a silent plea. My conscience burned like a poker in the centre of my chest. I wasn't cut out for this...

"Lucius, have you got him?" Rabastan bellowed, his voice not as far away now. I glanced again at the pitiful man, and then over my shoulder at Rabastan's fast approaching silhouette. If I didn't do this, I would have to explain to the master. He would laugh at me, calling me pathetic and weak, and then... My stomach lurched painfully. And then the Cruciatus curse would come. As it always did. The first time he tortured me, I cried. I was only just sixteen.

The determination flared in my mind again, and I jabbed my wand at the muggle again. He screwed his eyes up tightly, murmuring a prayer...

My free fist clenched, my heart ripping in agony. I had to do this. Be strong enough, Lucius. Be powerful enough. Be worthy.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" I screamed. A jet of bright green light erupted from my wand and hit the muggle squarely in the chest. He crumpled to the wet ground in sickening slow motion, his eyes staring at the sky, glassy and blank.

I was numb. I stared down at the body lying at my feet, took in the finality of what I had just done, and felt nothing.

No remorse.

No pain.

No exhilaration.

No achievement.

No guilt.

Nothing at all.

Sighing, I turned back towards Rabastan, who had just caught up to me. He stood clutching his knees and wheezing breathlessly.

"Why... didn't... you... wait... for... me?" he panted.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to do this solo," I apologised without feeling. I wasn't really sorry. I didn't care. I looked at the body again, praying to feel something, but my prayer was not answered. Maybe murderer's prayers are always ignored.

"Fine... let's... go... back... to... the... Dark... Lord," he spluttered, straightening up. I stowed away my wand calmly and turned my back on the dead man in the alleyway.

I kept waiting for my emotions to kick in the whole journey back to Hogsmeade.

They never did.