Crossroads in the Dark.

by sencha

Disclaimer: The characters used in the fic below belong to J.K. Rowling, not me. No profit has been made from this story. The poem Crossroads in the Dark was not originally written to be used in this fic, and is all mine. (Not that anyone else would want itÉ)

Somewhere in the sea of faces

There must be a guiding light

Lost among the fading traces,

Lost is the way of right.

The mirror is dark, the road is murky

Fie, traveller, fie!

At the crossroads through the night sky

Only a gatekeeper surly.

And yet through the dark, the crossroads shimmer

But no one points which way.

Cross yourself with a sigh and a shiver

And pray for the light of day.

In the vast wide sea of faces

All are dead and none do lie.

Blind and deaf to the fading traces

Alone in the sea, we die.

"It's all very easy, Draco. I expected more from you." Displeasure thick and sour in his father's voice. "Take this-" a book tossed into his arms, leather binding worn and scuffed, heavy in his arms, though not heavier than his heart, "-and make good use of it."

"I have high hopes for you, boy."

The older man turned away from him to gaze at the Malfoy crest, carved magically into solid gold and hung with much pride in his study. For a moment, Draco saw his future self in the gold mirror of the crest, carved in black and gold, sculpted in his fatherÕs image.

"High hopes."

He repeated himself, while Draco stood there, clutching the ancient text that had passed through the hands of every Malfoy heir since the Malfoys had begun to document their history. Draco shuddered to think of that passage of time... before Voldemort and Grindelwald, and all the malevolent, terrifying lords before them.

And he, Draco Malfoy, was being groomed to be the next to take that irrevocable path.

Try to hold on to consciousness and the last shreds of control you have. Why didn't you ever notice how hard it was to cast the spells, fuelled by illogical hate and the obscene anticipation of pain?

It never seemed so hard before.

Day melds into night, an endless, burning exhaustion overtakes you. He is tireless, unrelenting, his wand at ready all the time. All you want is to fight him off, to strike him down and then sink into oblivion yourself. No emotion, just the need to end the unbearable weariness.

It doesn't bother you that he's your father.

It should.

Draco didn't know why his father bothered. He could hear them both, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy from two rooms away.

"Stay away from the boy, woman-"

"He's my son-"

"He's my son first, and he needs to learn the true ways. I wonÕt have him go soft-" The voice was hard, guttural now.

He knew what would come next, he'd heard this argument so many times before. That sudden change, the smooth voice, soft as butter and slick with contemptuous, chauvinistic indulgence. - "I love you, Narcissa, I only want the best for you, and Draco. You do know that itÕs the only way for him." To him, the voice was rancid, the speaker diseased. Both made him queasy, but what followed would send him to his private dressing room retching with revulsion.

"I've found one of them for us to practice on. Give him something live to focus his energies on - Merlin knows how distracted he's been." Lucius Malfoy laughed heartily, a deep, rich, nauseating laugh.

"ItÕs all theory and practice, dear. Some real flesh and blood might just be the ticket."

Shiver. Shudder. Clutch your robes around you and wipe your sweating palms against the damp wool. Try not to notice that there is blood on your fingers, smeared under your nails.

Try not to notice the fact that the blood is your own, but not only your own.

Try to ignore the screams.

Try to enjoy them.

"Depleto!" The house-elf convulsed and slumped in a heap as the curse shot from Draco's wand straight into her tiny, huddled frame. The hex, age-old, time-tested, most certainly dark and illegal, drained the energy from the miserable creature, leaving her in a deep coma.

"Very good, Draco. Very good indeed." Lucius favoured his son with a rare smile. "A little longer, and you'll be able to handle the mudblood. How does that sound to you?"

Not a question, that, but a challenge, a mocking command. Would you defy me, defy your destiny? I'll make a Malfoy of you yet, boy. Nothing to do except nod and smile and force a twinkle into his eye, create some semblance of cherubic evil.

"Yes, father. I'll be ready. Soon."

Wake up screaming. Splash your face with water, try to wash the filth from your mind. Shake with fear as you try to hide under the sheets, when you already know that the monster will always be with you, inside you.

Wonder if life was ever different.

Wonder if life will ever be different.

Wonder why you only just began to notice the difference.

"Take it with you. No one will find it-" Lucius paused to raise an elegant, arched eyebrow. "-if you're careful. Though Snape will take care of things if you should chance to slip."

"Send the mudbloods and the muggle-lovers my love."

He knew what to do, to convince his father. It was easy, in a sense, just lifting the wand and rolling out the required words. A little nudge of the will, to shock or stun, to maim... and to kill. Soon.

What was harder was living with the memory of it, forever livid, forever fresh, burned into his consciousness.

What was hardest of all, was trying to leave it all behind.

Walk quickly, walk away. Don't look back, your father's gaze will turn you to stone, will banish your mother to the darkest regions of hell, if she isn't living there already. One look will betray you, because he will read what is written there and know that the blank looks you had before were not sly prudence but helpless desperation.

And then he will kill you.

Walk into tragedy, walk into pain and deathÐ whichever path you choose will lead you into darkness. The only thing you can see are your choices, equally balanced on both sides of an impartial scale. What will it take to tip the balance?

Walk away, don't look back. Make your choice.

~fin.

Notes: Strangely enough, immediately after I uploaded this to ff.net, I noticed that the last story uploaded was almost identical to this one in theme. Odd, yes? However, the two stories are written in pretty different styles, and this was not written as a stand-alone story, but the prologue to a much longer series Ð ÔAll the White HorsesÕ. Hence it ends with indecision and a cliffhanger of sorts. The rest of DracoÕs story has already been written, but the stories of the other characters in ATWH have yet to catch up. C&C would be much appreciated, and it would really help while IÕm trying to piece the series together. =)