This is my response to day 11 of Siriusly Smart's iPod challenge.

OoOoO

"I'm being tortured by the future,

Of things that are yet to be.

I'm being haunted by a vision;

It's like morning never comes."

-Full Blown Rose, 'Somebody Help Me'

It was all too much for him. He, sixteen year old Draco Malfoy, had been tasked with killing one of the most legendary wizards who had ever lived. When he had first seen the way this news had distressed his mother, reducing the dignified Narcissa Malfoy to silent tears, Draco had played up the arrogance he had inherited from his father and spent his summer swaggering around his home as though nothing were amiss. He had ignored the nagging what if that had slowly but surely grown ever since he had been given his mission.

What if?

He had arrived at Hogwarts, bragging to the others who had not been chosen.

What if he couldn't?

One evening at dinner the piercing blue eyes of the headmaster, behind which unimaginable reserves of power lay dormant, met his for the briefest of moments, and Draco realised exactly what he had to do. The revelation that he would have to beat insurmountable odds crystallised in that moment. Worse still, he would have to take a human life.

What if he couldn't do it – failed the Dark Lord?

Draco felt as though his world had been inverted. Everything had changed, become a gross parody of the life he was supposed to live. Pansy's raucous laughter, Blaise's superficial chatter and Goyle's guffawing filled his head. They didn't understand – naive and foolish, as he had been – what was at stake in this war. He stood and left the Hall, ignoring the curious glances cast his way and taking care not to look in Potter's direction.

Potter was the enemy.

Draco didn't know if he wanted the Chosen One to live or die – the boy who had spurned him, the young man who could change it all.

Dumbledore was the enemy.

The Headmaster knew all that went on in the school, but when had he ever offered to help anyone other than his golden Gryffindors? If he had saved Draco, Severus, and perhaps even Tom, then perhaps things would have been different.

The Dark Lord was... not an ally.

Everything his father had built and taught him was based around one truth; the purity of blood. They may be inferior, but Draco had no stomach for death. It was no longer a vague thought. It was cold and absolute.

Where did that leave Draco?

Terrified of all that was around him, Draco stood on the astronomy tower and clutched his wand. There was fresh air all around him, yet the knot of pure panic in his throat did not allow him to breath. Dumbledore lay in a crumpled heap, weak and frail, his eyes dim.

Good or bad? The two had collided, and no longer was there light or darkness.

Draco was submerged in shades of grey.

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