I don't own the characters, just the story. Characters belong to JKR.
"Draco?"
From his seat by the large bay window, Draco could see across the large expanse of land owned by his father. The three albino peacocks stood out in the abysmal darkness of night. He sighed, the wind pounding against the frame in a rhythmic measure.
"Draco?" The voice called out again, closer and harsher this time.
The voice unavoidable at that distance, the blonde spun. "Yes? What is it?"
His mother stood in front of him, dressed in her party clothes. "Your father wishes to speak to you before The Dark Lord arrives." He nodded and stood. "And please change out of those rags. I've laid your best suit on your bed for you." She turned swiftly and left the dimly lit room. He sighed and faced the window once again, longing for the old days. Before Harry Potter.
._.
Following behind his father, Draco entered the banquet hall, already filled with guests in dark robes. He stood behind his father as he was introduced to several newer Death Eaters, and reintroduced to ones he knew already. He never found interest in the offensive attacks the organized group performed, yet he always found himself quickly submitting to whatever The Dark Lord requested he do. He walked through the room in a dark haze, his mind thinking a million things, and none of them the gathering of the Death Eaters in his house awaiting The Dark Lord.
He glanced to his side, his eyes locking onto the window. He broke from his father's path and stood in front of the floor to ceiling glass pane. The wind had continued on its howling rampage. People ran across the window unaware of his watching and, by proxy, the house itself. What he wouldn't give to move as freely as they do…
In his daydreaming, he hadn't noticed the room grow dead silent, nor the approaching of bare feet on cold hardwood, nor the sound of his name coming from The Dark Lord's dry mouth. He did notice all those things, however, when the serpentine man placed a solid, bony and on his shoulder.
"Draco."
Slowly, the blonde turned, his dead grey eyes cast downward to the man's midsection. "My Lord." He croaked, barely breaking a whisper.
"Come." The pale Lord commanded, leading the trembling faced Draco to one of the many smaller rooms feeding off from the main hall. The room they entered had two chairs, the only furnishings facing a brightly lit fire. The Lord sat with a small sigh and gazed hatefully into the fire. "Sit." He commended, to which Draco sat with great haste.
He raised his gaze slightly, eyeing his sallow Master from the corner of his eyes. For all the things to fear of his Master, he feared the dark abyss of his eyes the most.
Voldemort turned his body to face the small man. "I have a job for you."
"M-my Lord?"
"You must kill Albus Dumbledore." He said, the airiness to his voice suggesting the task was easily manageable. Draco stared at him in complete disbelief. "Do you understand this, Draco?"
Like a guppy, he opened and closed his mouth repeatedly in hopes of something leaving it. All that managed to escape was a quiet, hastened: "Why?"
"Dumbledore has been training Harry Potter since the boy was 11 years old. I need him out of the way if I have any hopes of destroying the boy. Dumbledore remains the only person I cannot defeat, the only one in my way. It must be you."
"B-b-but," He coughed. "Why me, my Lord?"
He sighed deeply. "You are the only one close enough to him. I would have asked Severus, but that would be too obvious. This is your chance to prove yourself to me, Draco. Do NOT disappoint me." The Dark Lord stood and exited the room.
Draco sat a moment before he truly began to cry. Emotion flooded into him in waves, assaulting his psyche with all the things that would befall him if he did disappoint Voldemort, if he couldn't kill Dumbledore. He stood and moved to the dreary window. What he would give up to even be considered a regular wizard on the other side of the glass and not be a Malfoy, nor a Death Eater, nor the one who would be responsible for the murder of Albus Dumbledore.