DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter.
After
Draco buried his hands in the snow.
The cold burned him as he knelt. He was shaking, but he stayed still, keeping his hands covered even as he lost feeling in his fingers.
Show me your strength.
After
He could see her long, bright hair, spread out across the dirty black stones, and it would have been a stark contrast even without the red pooling out from between the strands.
He staggered backwards, gripping the stone wall, his wand clattering to the floor, wishing he could unsee what was before him.
He could not unsee it.
He could not undo it, either.
It was done. He had done it.
Before
"You are my son," his mother said.
"I'm not a child, mother."
"You're my child!"
Not anymore, he thought, looking into her gaunt face, which was starting to resemble her sister's alarmingly. He felt so distanced from her. She was not a Death Eater, she did not know what it was like. She was on the outside.
He felt lost, torn.
He felt now as he had his entire sixth year, felt a looming horror over his shoulder. But it was infinitely worse this time.
Last year, he had only known that he must not fail.
This year, he knew that if he failed, he would be killed. The Dark Lord had said so explicitly. Draco recalled his father's drawn, pale face; looked at the tears in his mother's eyes.
"Draco," she said, reaching out to touch his shoulder.
"Don't, mother!" He slapped her hand away from him. "You can't help me."
Her face seemed to age with grief even as he looked at her, and he wanted to fall into her arms and cry and beg for her forgiveness and her protection as if he were a child again, as if she could protect him.
But she couldn't. This time he had to protect her, and if he failed she would die before eyes, right before his own life was ended.
He would do it this time. He would be stronger than he had before. He would become a true Death Eater; would become worthy of his name; would achieve a true position in the Dark Lord's circle.
Show me your strength.
After
"Well done," said the Dark Lord.
Draco was shivering. He could not meet the Dark Lord's face, not if he was killed a hundred times for it. His aunt's hand seemed to be burning his shoulder. "I knew you could do it," she whispered in his ear. "I knew it was in you!"
"Well done," said the Dark Lord again, and Draco thought he heard a malicious pleasure in his voice: a dark smile; something horrible and monstrous. "You have proved yourself, Draco."
The Dark Lord was glad; his aunt was glad; and they wanted him to be glad.
He could not find his own thoughts. He did not feel as if he was still Draco. Or if he was, then Draco was different, changed, broken.
Before
"Draco!" his father called to him.
Draco stood still, looking down into the great, cold dining room. The tables were all pushed to the side of the room; a half circle of pale-looking people in black cloaks stood, staring straight ahead of them.
In the middle of the half circle, facing all the others, He stood, stillest and palest of all.
Draco forced his feet down the stairs, walking past his father's outstretched hand, and took his place next to his aunt. After a moment, Lucius joined them.
The Dark Lord said, "Leave us, Narcissa."
Draco heard his mother's intake of breath; then he heard the sound of her footsteps moving towards the door.
The sound paused.
Draco willed them her to keep going.
The Dark Lord said, louder, "Leave us!"
The door swung shut behind Narcissa.
Draco counted the lines running across the floor. He studied the dirt on Yaxley's shoes. He looked at his aunt's hands, gaunt and sallow and adorned with a great black ring.
He looked anywhere but the Dark Lord.
"Draco."
It was a cold whisper, a death knoll.
"Look at me, Draco."
Draco lifted his eyes. His father was tense beside him, his knuckles growing white where his hands clenched each other.
The Dark Lord's head was turned in Draco's direction. His eyes were boring into Draco's.
"There is no need to be afraid," he said. "Not if you are truly one of us. Today you will show me your strength."
Before
Luna Lovegood had the eyes of a child - open and innocent.
They watched him as he stepped into the dungeon, wand in hand, facing her. She got to her feet.
"What do you want, Draco Malfoy?"
After
The silence was louder than screaming.
He pulled his hands out of the snow, staring at the blue on his fingertips.
It had happened. He had done it.
But what did it mean?
Before
"Don't move," he said, pointing his wand at her.
"I can't go anywhere," she said, calmly. "And I don't have a wand."
"Just SHUT UP!"
She was silent, but she did not even seem frightened. He, on the other hand, was trembling.
Of course, of course it was just like being on the top of the tower all over again. That was what the Dark Lord wanted. But there was no one to save him this time. There was no one to do it for him. There was just him, his wand and the girl.
After
Draco lay on his back. The swiftly falling snow covered his face.
A body? A dead girl, half muggle?
Who had done that?
He had.
He was the stronger wizard, the true wizard. Was he not? She had lost, and he had won.
Had he not?
Before
"Are you going to kill me?" she asked.
Show me your strength.
He didn't answer. She took a step forward.
"Don't move!" he shouted.
She stopped walking.
"You look frightened," she said.
"Don't talk," he hissed.
She stepped forward again. "You don't have to hurt me," she said. "I know you don't want to. I can see it in your face."
You are not a killer, Draco.
"SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" he screamed.
She reached him and stopped. She put her hand out.
He was terrified of her.
After
She was stronger.
She had shown her strength and he had been afraid. He was the stronger wizard, and she was the stronger human. She was the one who had succeeded, and he was the one that had failed, the one who had lost, the one who was broken.
Before
He pushed at her, with such a sudden movement that he struck her harder than he meant to. She went down like a leaden ball and he heard the crack her head made when it hit the floor. Her eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling above him; her mouth was open and breathless; her body was still. She was dead.
He had killed her. In fear and in panic, he had killed her. He had not killed her as a wizard; he had killed her as a cowardly boy, afraid of something that could not have hurt him.
And all that time she had never once shown fear. She had gone to her death with the utmost calm.
She was stronger.
At the End
They found Draco Malfoy's body in the snow outside of Malfoy Manor, a day after he made his first kill, a halfblood by the name of Luna Lovegood. They buried them in the same grave, the Dark Lord claiming that his weakness made him no better than her.
In death, perhaps, they were equal.
But in life, Luna's strength outmatched Draco's cowardice. He killed her because he was a coward; but he died of his own choice, from the knowledge of her strength.
Note: In canon, Luna's mother is a witch, but it is never specified if she's muggleborn or otherwise. So it is plausible for Luna to be halfblood.