Bound
By Angel Of Music

Chapter Nine: Death on a Silver Platter

"Hello, Draco." Came a cold voice from above him. He pulled open his crusty eyes and focused his vision upon the auburn-haired girl leaning over his bed. He slowly sat up and cleared his throat.

"Blaise- Blaise, what are you doing here?"

"Don't think I haven't noticed. Don't think WE haven't noticed."

"Who? And what?" He questioned, massaging his arm. It looked as good as new now, and he wondered deeply why he was back in his own room, as opposed to the hospital wing. Last he remembered, Hermione was saying something to him. But it had turned dreary, and he must have feinted. Blaise shook her head and rubbed her forehead.

"Everyone in Slytherin is talking about Hermione Granger."

"Granger?" Draco whispered fiercely, turning to her as he spoke.

"Yes. They've seen you hanging about with her, conversing with her more than natural, for God's sake, Draco, she had your cloak. I'd recognize it any day." She parted her lips as if meaning to say more, but exclaimed nothing.

"Blaise, it's beyond anything either of us can imagine. Everything is normal." She was not convinced; she pivoted her face from his shrewdly and bit her lower lip.

"I suppose you can explain this, then?" She said hotly, thrusting a thick book at him. "Granger waddled up to me this morning, touched her ghastly mudblood hand to my shoulder, told me that it wasn't worth being angry with you, and demanded I show you this. Take it, please. I don't want to be holding anything that was once hers, anyway." Draco lethargically took the book from her and read the glossy title.

'Debt by Death.'

"I-" He paused, then threw the book upon his bedside table. "There are some things even I don't know, Blaise." He barked quickly, narrowing his eyes. "Mark my words, I detest Granger now just the same as I have always, you have my word. Talk travels, no doubt. In a few days people will have rumors that say all sorts of nonsense about me, you know it. I know it." He nodded his head, raising his eyebrows and exhaling all at once.

"How would Granger know that I was angry with you, Malfoy?" Blaise said, her words spilling from her lips as if she'd been wanting to ask this the whole time. "That is, if you say you hate her."

"Well- I do...But you know- sometimes-" He turned from her and drummed his fingers upon his knees. "Last night, I had a detention with Granger. Some conversation was tossed about, that's all."

"Conversation." She huffed, scoffing. "I was angry with you before, you know, and I still am. Don't act as if nothing occurred between us." She bowed her head. Remembering something suddenly, Draco wrenched himself from the bed and stood up. His body feeling heavier then ever, he called,

"Blaise, I've just realized something. I really have to go!" With this, he flung the door open and dashed out of sight, still leaving Blaise open-mouthed and wide-eyed.
* * *
"It's really very simple, Ron." Hermione exhaled, annoyed. "You tap your wand THREE times upon the table, shout the charm, and then it will dance. Here, look." She whacked the long cedar wand against the desk before them, and yelled out a quick charm. The surface began to sway, then picked up speed before jiggling quite visibly across the room. "You then tap twice again, and it will stop."

"I don't see the point of doing this." Said Ron shrewdly. "When will this ever be useful?" Hermione frowned, rapping her wand against the table and pushing it back into place.

"Well take for example what you father does. He might need something like this." Ron raised his eyebrows as if to say that she was mad. Just then, a swift knock came upon the door. Tiny little Professor Flitwick dawdled over to it and swung it open.

"Why Mr. Malfoy." He gargled. "What a...pleasant surprise. What is it that you need? You know, Slytherin's don't have charms until two-"

"I need to borrow Granger for a moment."

"That's Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy." Flitwick corrected. "And what business do you have here? Who sent you?"

"Professor- McGonagall. Yes."

"Very well, Mr. Malfoy." Hermione stood, looking concerned, and stepped outside of the classroom. Draco quickly shut the door and gazed at Hermione.

"You saw it, didn't you?"

"Never mind that." Hermione began hotly. "Why did McGonagall send you?"

"She- didn't." He paused. "But you did see it."

"See what?" She answered, cross. "I don't understand what you're talking about."

"You saw that cursed mark on my arm. That mark my father forced me to put there. That one that's going to decide who I am and who I become- now you know what I'm talking about, correct?" Hermione could not look him in the eyes.

"Yes, I do. You know, I wasn't very surprised. After the way you've treated me all these years, it was barely a shock to me. If only you hadn't...spoken to me this year. If only you hadn't taught me things-"

"What things?" He cut her off. He grabbed her forearm violently.

"Let go of me." She defended, pushing him away.

"What things?" He repeated, softer this time.

"I don't know, really. I suppose that I never actually knew who I was until last night. Just before that goblin attacked you, when you just stared- I found myself. It was like a lost treasure, or something. But you must know. You've probably done that to a million people. Like...Blaise, for example."

"What did she say to you?" He asked fiercely.

"Nothing." She answered quickly, not meeting his gaze. "I assume she gave you the book?"

"Yes. She did. She wasn't happy that she ran into you."

"Did she- did she tell you anything else?"

"Not really, why?"

"If you wondered why you didn't end up in the hospital wing last night, maybe it was because...I cared for you."

"What?"

"I didn't want Madame Pomfrey to see that- that thing on your arm. So I took you back to the Gryffindor common room, grabbed one of my books on magical ailments, and fixed your arm myself. I saw Blaise down at breakfast this morning, and since you were hidden in my four-poster with the curtains drawn, you weren't in a very safe place. I informed her of your injury, and asked her to please take you back to your dorm. She did so. Mind you, she wasn't willing, but she did so." Mouth slightly ajar, Draco stared.

"You did that all so I wouldn't get caught?" He muttered, asphyxiating a look of sheer respect. He didn't want her to know that he found what she had done admirable.

"I did, yes."

"Even though my father and others like have killed your kind by the dozens?"

"Put it that way, Malfoy, and you'll make me regret it."

"You don't know how much bribery you've just given me."

"I can't believe you can think of bribery when I've done everything in my power to keep you from being...killed, arrested, hated, expelled...you're still the despicable Malfoy I once and always will know."

"Calm down, Granger, I was kidding." She loosened up a bit, but still looked angry. He paused, looking serious, and whispered. "Thanks." He looked up at her, smiling slightly, and took her hand. She pulled it back, releasing herself, and said softly,

"And I don't know why I did any of it. I should be rejoicing for your expulsion, as well as the rest of the school. My friends, Harry, Ron, we should all be throwing confetti in our common room. But we're not. Everyone is oblivious. Except me." She turned her head slowly away. "And you know, I should have just let it all occur. But I can't. I mean, should I stop now, or should I go on helping you? Its not like you've done anything for me...ever...but I just can't let you leave me." She stopped abruptly, trying to correct herself. "I mean- I just can't let you leave. After all, you are a death eater. I should be furious. I should be turning you in to McGonagall as we speak. And why aren't I?" He attempted to continue, but could find no words.

"Why aren't you?" Questioned Malfoy slowly, not taking his eyes from hers. But before she could answer, the door burst open. Flitwick stood before them, his stubby arms upon his hips, tapping his foot.

"I think you've taken quite long enough." He demanded, pointing toward Hermione's seat. "Please come back inside now." Hermione nodded and entered the classroom, trying hard not to watch Draco's expression as she dawdled sadly back to her seat.
* * *
Draco,

I will not deny that there is tension between us. Yes, it is true that in anger I threw you from your broom, that I let you plummet until you hit the cold floor of the forest, that I allowed you no mercy. But the same treatment will always be in order for you if you cannot comply with my directions. You see Draco, you are a death eater now, and you must agree with everything Voldemort says. You must dangle upon his words like vines to brick. Understand that without your cooperation, there will be much pain. My anger the other night was only a simple taste, hear me boy? I see that tomorrow night will be difficult for you, and that our pleasures are not shared, but once you get a taste of death, you'll want more, I can assure you. Don't allow petty differences and moralities get in your way of greatness. You could be great, you know. It's all in your mind, everything you need. You just need to know how to access it, and Draco, that's what being a death eater is all about.

-Lucius.

Draco took a deep, heartfelt breath and placed the letter silently upon his bedside table, blanketing 'Debt by Death.' Tomorrow night would decide his fate, for the following evening was to be the day that he was to kill that poor family. There was nothing about this that he could fine comfort in; he did not wish to kill any one, nor did he wish to betray his father. He rubbed his eyes and lied down slowly upon his bed.

About his neck, he fiddled with a stout, silver chain. Upon it, two snakes entwined about an emerald stone danced coldly down his chest, delicate upon his flesh. It shone in the light from the window, painting his fingers silver as he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. It was elegant, yet manly; something he'd had since before his memory could take him. He often pondered its origins, and the thoughts comforted him. Had it been given to him by some peculiar Gypsy from Ireland, slipped upon his neck by an Icelandic Queen, or simply handed to him by his parents as a child? It was the only thing about him that was alien to himself, and the mystery intrigued him. It was a symbol that had bound him to Slytherin, much as the dagger had with Hermione. It had always given him a feeling of being different, and that was something he cherished.

But then he remembered Hermione. The way her cheeks had blanched when she had seen him, the way she shuttered when she exclaimed that she had helped him; he found it hard to breath when she came to his mind. For she had helped him, and Draco had a feeling that this was not the end.

He recalled her words; 'its not like you've done anything for me...ever...but I just can't let you leave me.' And so it was true. After all she had done for him, he'd done nothing to make it up to her that was worth anything. He'd been weak when she needed him to be strong, and he would not stand for being weak. It was time he took action, if not for himself, for her. Even for Blaise.

He pulled a piece of parchment from within his robes and scribbled,

Father,

I cannot be your slave forever. You've been less that hospitable to me for many of my years, and when you ask me to do something that is against my will, I will not tolerate it. I will not kill people who might as well be innocent. My friend's parents were killed because of people like you, and I simply will not stand this injustice. Do not contact me any more here. Please, father, if there is anything you do for me that is mildly kind, let this be it. Do this for me father, just leave me alone.

-Draco.
* * *
"Draco, wake yourself up. I cannot stand for this ignorance." Came a harsh whisper. Draco opened his eyes and found himself staring into the cold gray eyes of his father.

"What are you doing here?" He retorted, his voice trembling audibly. "I told you, I am not going to agree with-"

"Draco, I don't care. Stand up before I take some action." He sat up slowly, drawing the rope to his night robes about him more tightly, his vision blurry.

"No."

"You mustn't force this option upon me, boy. I do not like what you are doing."

"And what am I doing?" He had torn the blankets from himself, exposing his pale skin to the fresh evening's air. It was dark in the dormitory, and moonlight shone softly in from the window next to Draco's four poster. "How did you get in, anyway?" He said quietly, rubbing his eyes.

"You don't know much, do you?" Lucius admonished, a little more loudly then Draco thought was necessary, let alone intelligent. "We own a phoenix, boy, and they can pretty much take you wherever you please. Just because you can't see him, doesn't mean he's not there. In fact, he's waiting outside for us. And if you do not come, Draco, both he and I will get...ancy." With this, he let out a soft cackle, and drew out his wand from beneath his thick cloak.

"Imperio" He demanded poignantly, sticking his wand at his son. Draco twitched, then stood, hearing a small voice in his mind that commanded "get up." As he did so, he growled at his father and managed to snarl,

"You'll never get away with this, Lucius." And with this, he could see no more. His vision became unclear and things grew dark as his knees trembled and gave out, bringing Draco into a deep feint.
* * *
"You seem to be doing more sleeping than humanly necessary. Would you do me a favor and wake up?" Draco immediately awoke, brushing the damp locks of hair from his forehead, which had been plastered there by his own perspiration. He hadn't realized where he was yet as his crusty eyes blinked desperately to open, and his breathing became stifled and tense. "We are here. At the house of the Fredcooks, and you will get off of that phoenix now and draw out your wand. Obeying, he stood and pulled his wand from his pocket, trying desperately to say 'no.' He scowled at his father, attempting to break the horribly strong curse that had been forced upon him, and found he could not. "Now come here, son, and listen to my instructions. You will unlock the door- I take it you know the charm?- and sneak inside. I've seen to it that they are all asleep, dozing peacefully in their pitiful beds- I get so excited when this occurs- I haven't killed in some time." Lucius fervently looked around as if being watched, then turned back to his son.

But Draco was not looking at his father, but at the house, in a way such that he seemed almost anxious to get inside. "That's my boy." Muttered Lucius, smirking in a way that could have frightened small children. Instead of an assertive response as Lucius had hoped, Draco swiveled towards his father and mumbled,

"You're sick, and if you think I will fall for this awful trick of yours, you're horribly wrong."

"Am I, Draco? Tell me-" but he cut himself off, and thrusted his wand at his son. "I know I've cast the cruciatus curse on you before. Don't force me to do it again."

"I'm not forcing you to do anything, you pathetic excuse for a father." This struck Lucius where one should not?

"Pathetic excuse for a- and have you ever considered that you aren't nearly the perfect son, either?" Spat his father, saliva flying from his lips as he spoke.

"I've considered it." Draco nodded, climbing back onto the phoenix. But before he could ride off, a small voice in his mind said,

"Draco, you can't leave. You must stay here and kill the Fredcooks. You know you want to kill them. It's been what you've always wanted, and you can't turn back now. Look at the mark upon your arm. Can't you see it? It will always be there. You cannot rid yourself of it; you are bound to it." Draco gasped and fell from the bird, landing shakily upon his feet.

"I am not bound." He sputtered at his father. But Lucius was grinning uncontrollably now, and the gleam in his eye worried his son more than anything he'd ever seen in his father. He was not afraid of the cruciatus curse, but of his father. "I- I don't care what your stupid Imperius curse does to me- I do not. But I will never kill that family. Not one of them, not any of them. Understand me, father."

"Draco, I want you to unlock the door and quietly go inside." As Lucius began to speak, all Draco could say was,

"No, no, no, no-" Again and again. He repeated it even as his father continued.

"I want you to go upstairs and go into their daughter's room. I want you to kill her, Draco, with any curse you can. I understand if you cannot use Avara Kedavra; I know you are not yet strong enough. Remember Draco, unlock the door, go upstairs-"

"No, no, no..." Black wind began to swirl around the scene, making it morbid and cold. Draco could not find anymore words, yet he could not stop himself, although he tried with all his strength. He made his way towards the door, breathing heavily, attempting to fight off the curse.

"That's it, boy, you've got it..."

"I'll never forgive you for this, father." And with this, he pointed his wand at the scarlet door and whispered, "Alohomora."

The house was dark and warm. But the cold from the evening's air wound around Draco, making him shiver. He shut the door in fear of being caught, and crept slowly up the stairs. He could not believe what he was doing. Though it was homely and warm, he grew frigid. He was frightened; frightened of what would become of him for the first time in his life, although he hated admitting this to himself. Of all the people he had contact with, he was the hardest to confront. Sure, there had been times when he was unsure, a bit uneasy even, but he had never been downright scared. And this new emotion found him and latched onto him, as if now it were here, it would never leave. Draco could not remember how any other emotion felt but fear; fear for his life, fear for what he'd do- and there was no stopping it. He was incapable of halting this horrible occurrence.

He came to a dusty platform, where turned from a hall on either side. He chose the right one out of instinct, and silently stepped into the room nearest him with its door ajar.

A small child slept soundlessly, it's chest rising and falling as it breathed, in a tiny pink bed that Draco swore was only large enough for a doll. The girl's hair was silvery blonde, much like his, and he shuttered as he saw his face upon the girl. What if it were him being killed? He drew out his wand without will. The little girl still slept on, oblivious to what was about to occur.

Using logic that he hardly knew he had, Draco figured he'd use the cruciatus curse. Such a small child would not be able to survive the pain, and it was clean as a summer's breeze. Hesitantly, he brought his wand to her chest and whispered, "Crucio."

A scream. A tangle of falling silver-blonde hair. A child falling to the ground, dying.

Confused by his array of dreams, Draco Malfoy, perspirated and trembling, flung his eyes open and woke with a start.
* * *