Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement.
Dark Days: Draco Malfoy
October 26, 1997. Draco stared at his boots. His heart burned to turn his head to the left and regard his father, who was writhing on the floor beside him. The screams of Luscious Malfoy deteriorated into half-choked sobs, and finally into unrecognizable gibberish. Draco's cheeks were burning, and only through a force of extreme willpower did he keep the tears from spilling out. He was tempted to look up in front of him, where The Dark Lord sat on his throne, no doubt laughing quietly at the elder Malfoy. Next to him was Peter Pettigrew, employing his wand to perform the Cruciatus Curse, likely terrified out of his wits. Someday I will make you suffer for this, Wormtail, I swear it.
"Anger, young Malfoy?" The Dark Lord spoke up, startling everyone in the room. Pettigrew ceased his spell at the sound of his master's voice.
Draco knew better than to look up without being first invited. He continued to stare at the ground. "Yes, my liege," he said bitterly.
"Whatever for?" The voice was taunting, hoping to illicit a response.
"I-I dislike this, my lord," Draco managed, pushing his murderous thoughts to the back of his mind. Unlike his half-witted nemesis from school, Draco had excelled at Occlumency, almost to the point of rivaling his master.
"And why is that, you simpleton? Do you think this punishment undue? Do you dare to question the judgment of Lord Voldemort?"
Draco searched frantically for a proper answer. "Of course not, my lord."
"Face me like the proud Deatheater you aspire to be!"
Draco rose to his feet quickly and leveled his head with the throne in front of him. They were in a very large room, lit only by torches burning with green light at the perimeter. The throne was set in the middle of a large circular dais, with four stone steps all around the edge. Beside the throne was Pettigrew, trembling in fear, as was typical. In the throne was The Dark Lord himself, resplendent in green and white robes. Nagini coiled around the entirety of the throne, her head resting on top, above and to the left of their master's head.
"Continue."
"I would never question your judgment, lord."
"Then why are you angry?"
Draco nearly smiled, proud of the answer he had concocted. "It galls me to see this punishment handed out by such a poor excuse-for-a-wizard as that," he growled, turning his eyes venomously upon Pettigrew.
The Dark Lord laughed aloud. He must know it's a lie! "Tell me, little Malfoy, do you think yourself a better wizard than my cowardly assistant here?"
Draco swallowed, dread filling his heart. He was suddenly aware of the trap he had fallen into. Two choices lay before him; one lead to great personal suffering, the other to harming someone he loved greatly. But my failure won't preserve my father in the least.
"Yes, my liege, I do."
"Very well. You make take his place," The ruler cackled from his seat on the throne.
Draco took deliberate strides up the steps onto the dais, being sure not to show any sign of weakness. He stepped in front of Pettigrew and used his left arm to force the small man aside. He stood in the spot occupied previously by the animagus and turned to face his master again. "Shall I proceed?" he asked. Please don't make me do this.
"Draco…no…" Luscious Malfoy sputtered from the ground, still grimacing from the memory of pain.
"Quiet, old man," Draco growled. Please dad, just hold your tongue if you know what's good for you!
"Go ahead."
"Crucio!" Draco screamed. The rest melted into oblivion.
* * * *
October 31, 1997. Draco awoke with a start and sat up in bed, cold sweat dripping off of his face. At first, the darkness of his chamber was indistinguishable from that of the Throne Room, and it felt like a blade of ice was sticking through his chest. Beside him, the pale body of Pansy Parkinson stirred but did not wake. It was only then that he knew where he was. It was very early in the morning of Halloween Day; he was pleased to realize that he was in his own bed, and he took great gulps of the cool air around him in relief.
He had pleased the Dark Lord that day, he was pretty sure of it. His father had been less than ecstatic about the event, but in the end he had understood. In fact, his master had deemed Draco worthy of a great opportunity: he was to play the lead in a large battle that would bring great victory to the Deatheaters. It was to begin later that very day, Halloween night.
Draco got out of bed, strolling across his spacious chamber to the window. He did not bother to grab a robe to cover his nakedness, but merely shivered in the cool air. His was the only room in Slytherin Common to contain a window; giving him a bird's eye view of the Forbidden Forest, monstrous and teeming with dark life. It was, of course, enchanted; there were no real windows in the dungeons.
He knew that the other Houses at Hogwarts had group dormitories for everyone, where each student was given the same kind of bed. He was thankful indeed that the Slytherins were not such fools. There were two group dormitories, of course, holding many of their students, but the strongest and most distinguished of their House were given elegant chambers of their own. As the student head of house, Draco was given the master sweet. He had found that Pansy, like most of the girls in their house, preferred his bed to the group dormitory.
But Pansy was his favorite. Her mischievous eyes, her pale white curves, the high-pitched moan that he alone was privy to the intimate moments of the night… it was all an intoxicating drug to him, bringing a sly smile to his lips and nearly satisfying him.
Nearly. But not quite.
Draco yearned for another, and if the evening went his way he would bring her back to his bed the next night, and make her his. He would wear her down and master her, until her protests died out and she laid her beautiful red head on his chest and submitted to him.
Draco smirked at the thought, but put it aside. First, there was business to be attended to. First, there was a great battle to be fought. First, there was power to be gained.
Draco returned to his bed, and lay down on his back. Beside him, Pansy awoke and mumbled his name, almost incoherently. She rolled over and put her head on his chest, falling back asleep almost instantly.
Nearly. But not quite.
* * * *
October 26, 1997. "What do you expect to gain from this, my son?"
Draco sighed with obvious frustration, hoping that his father had heard it. He had alone in his room, packing his things for his return to Hogwarts. Earlier in the day he had traveled, via the Floo Network, back to Malfoy Manner, where the Dark Lord held the most recent meeting. He would return in just a few minutes to school, and was impatient with the untimely interruption.
Luscious Malfoy stood in the doorway, leaning against the wall. In truth, he did not look well. His face was normally pale, a hereditary trait that the Malfoys had been proud of for generations. At that moment, he looked sickly as if at any moment he might collapse. Half an hour of persuasion by the Cruciatus Curse will do that, though.
"What do you mean?" Draco hissed, glaring at his father.
"Draco, I have raised you from an early age to value power," the old man spoke with difficulty. "I have failed at… at a great many things in your education, but I have always told you to keep your eye on the prize. The Malfoy family has always been prudent in it's choices of friends, and I did not hesitate to join forces with our present Master. The Dark Lord knows that I do not love him; would not ask it of me. Would not want it from me. If he were weak, we would desert him, and he knows this as well."
"What… are you saying?" Draco could scarcely believe his ears.
"I think you have erred, my son, from the path of the Malfoys."
"Come again?" Draco asked, incredulous.
"I think you've made a mistake, my son. Remember that out allegiance to our Master lasts only as long as his usefulness to us."
"That's no allegiance at all!" Draco shouted, slamming his fist into the headboard of his bed. A sensation of pain tingled in his skin, and he realized that he was shaking with fury.
"Precisely. And as such we can proudly claim our independence. So I ask again, my son, what will you gain from this dangerous mission?"
Draco turned away from his father, turning his eyes upon the stone cauldron that lay in the corner of the room. It had been specially crafted for the attack, and with it he would bring his enemies to the ground. "I will be granted a great boon," he said simply.
"His words, or yours?"
His. "Mine," Draco growled. "Something I have wanted for some time; a tremendous opportunity."
Luscious chuckled; apparently a painful exercise as it soon gave rise to a bout of aggravated coughing. "And would this opportunity you speak of further aid your Master?"
"It might," Draco conceded. "But that is of no concern to me. I merely want the chance to…" Prove my worth? "Destroy that which is most odious to me."
"Harry Potter?"
"The same."
Luscious said nothing for a moment, but even with his back turned Draco could sense the old man shaking his head sadly. "And what will you gain by this?"
"To kill Harry Potter would be not only my greatest pleasure, but my greatest triumph. And then, perhaps, we will see who is Master and who is Servant."
"I hope, my son, that things will work out for you as you expect."
* * * *
October 31, 1997. "Glorious days have come upon us," Draco proclaimed. He stood behind the lectern in the Slytherin common room, delivering his speech to the entire house. He had installed the lectern himself, so that he might address the House at meeting times. He had assumed the leadership of the group, even more important ever since Potter and Mad-Eye Moody had assassinated Professor Snape. The present moment was to be the pinnacle of his leadership, he knew.
"For those of us who are pure of blood and strong of will, these days are filled with opportunity. Great events loom before us, merely waiting for us to find them and fill in our roles. Lead by the most powerful wizard since the one whose name we all share, we will build our bright future, starting this very day."
Draco paused, allowing the curious faces in front of him to absorb the weight of his words. The only sounds to be heard in the entire dungeon were the crackling of the flames in the fireplace. "The war has been brewing for longer than our lives, and tonight it reaches its' fruition. Tonight, our Lord will begin the final battle, and will throw off the yoke of servitude that has plagued us all our lives. Tonight, we have been given the opportunity to show whose side we are on, to prove our loyalty to our master. They have told us for years that we are too young to get involved in the war, and we have watched as our parents and brothers have gone out to prove their worth. Tonight, we will declare that we are ready, as well."
Draco scanned the faces in his audience shrewdly. It was imperative to find those who were not prepared to give their lives in service to the Dark Lord. It would be far better to discover these weak links now, rather than to have them exposed in the heat of battle.
"So I will pose to you all a simple question: are you ready to devote your life to our master?" Draco watched them in silence. Some shook their fists in vehement support; others simply nodded and tried to fit in. A few looked surprised and worried. He was concerned about these, of course; but he'd learned that the best way to inspire devotion was with fear, and he knew how to cultivate that.
"But don't bother answering it," Draco said, leaving the lectern and approaching the mass of students. A smile played across his lips as he pulled out his wand. "Instead, if you are ready to take the next step, and to give your allegiance to the Dark Lord, simply step across this line." He then pointed his wand at the ground to his left, muttering "Loyalitus!". A beam of green light followed the tip of his wand in an arc across the room, drawing a line between him and the rest of the students. As soon as he had finished the motion, tall green flames shot up eight feet in the air, so that Draco could only see the rest of the Slytherin house through them.
"Fear not!" he shouted through the fire. "Step on through to join our sides; the flames will not harm you at all." At least, not if you are true to our cause.
Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle stepped boldly through the flames, emerging on the other side unscathed and with a look of determination in their eyes. These three had, of course, been informed of the plan beforehand, but they were quickly followed by Blaise Zabini, Milicent Bulstrode and a few others who had not. Within a minute, every single Slytherin had crossed the line without incident, save only Malcolm Baddock, a timid fourth year.
Draco sneered in disgust. He'd even heard that Baddock was a half-blood. Seeing that all attention was on him, the fourth year stepped into the flames, and then screamed and stepped back, clutching tightly his burnt left hand.
Draco sighed. "Malcolm Baddock, your blood and your heart are not pure," he pronounced, drawing all attention to himself. He glanced at Goyle meaningfully. "Kill the spare."
Goyle giggled a little at the opportunity, and then turned to Malcolm. "Avada Kedavra!" he shouted, shooting green light at the unsuspecting defector. Malcolm Braddock was dead before he hit the ground. A few stifled gasps followed.
"Does anyone object to our actions here?" Draco asked, turning his gaze around the crowd, savoring the fear and obedience about him. He brought his eyes to a halt on Graham Pritchard, another of the fourth years, and a friend of Macolm's. "Graham?"
"No, sir!" Graham said immediately.
"Then you understand the necessity of what we do here? No one wants to kill, Graham," Draco evinced, enjoying himself thoroughly. Unless someone leaves me alone with old scarhead for a few minutes… "But anyone who stands apart from our Lord is our enemy, and it is our duty to stop them. Is that clear?"
All around him, he heard murmurs of assent. It was as if the gravity of the situation had finally sunk in to the Slytherins. Many students had talked of revolution, of striking against the establishment in small ways as well as large, had even spoken subtly in support of the Dark Lord. None had ever taken action in that direction, and none had ever taken a human life. Their fear was palpable; Draco could see looks of terror and concern on their faces. Are they ready? They will have to be!
"Very well, it is time for the next phase of our plan. Dispose of the body." Draco pointed his wand at the towering green flames, and muttered "Finite Incantatum", and the flames dispersed. He walked across the room to still-roaring fire, and tossed in a handful of Floo powder from the mantel. Without hesitation, he muttered "Hog's Head!" and stuck his head into the fire.
Inside the drab bar, Wormtail sat waiting with a group of sour-looking youths. Many of them were drinking from amber pint glasses and smoking muggle cigarettes. They all looked like brothers; whether short and fat or tall and lanky, or anywhere between, all of them seemed to have the same dark hair, bushy eyebrows, and brooding expressions.
"Wormtail! Are you and your troops ready?" Draco boomed, pleased with the start he gave to the timid Deatheater.
Peter Pettigrew returned a look of cool resentment. "Yes, Malfoy; we are ready. We have the supplies," he sneered. Draco guessed that he was not pleased with his assignment: to be the overseer for this particular front of the attack. In truth, the renegade Gryffindor would have been pleased to be away from the other, far more dangerous attack, but seemed aggravated at being put under the command of one so young, so new to the cause.
It would be prudent, from a leadership perspective, to be sensitive to that feeling. However, Draco had other plans. "Keep your attitude in check, turncoat," Draco hissed. "Remember which of us the Dark Lord put in charge of this mission. As I recall, you are here merely to bring our Durmstrang contingent to the scene."
Pettigrew said nothing, but trembled a little. Draco could not tell if this was from fear or anger. It did not matter much.
"Go ahead, bring the students through!" Draco bellowed, and pulled his head back into the Slytherin Common room. He turned back to his classmates, addressing their unasked questions. "My soldiers, we have guests tonight. Among them are one servant of Our Lord's, although perhaps the lowliest among them." Draco noticed with pleasure that the shunned Deatheater had stepped through the fire in time to hear that proclamation. "The rest are veterans of the type of work we will be doing tonight; we welcome the proud soldiers who overthrew their own school, Durmstrang."
The students stared with frightened curiosity at the new arrivals, which were pouring in from the fireplace quickly. Pansy Parkinson, on cue from Draco, starting applauding enthusiastically, and within a few seconds the room was abuzz with a ragged cheer.
"Very well, now that everyone is here, we can begin our plans," Draco announced, gesturing behind him. "First a head count… How many have you brought with you, Wormtail?"
"All twenty-four," came the reply.
"And there are forty-five of us already here. Er, excuse me, forty-four. Brings us to sixty-eight fierce soldiers and one mostly-worthless Deatheater," Draco said, eliciting a wicked laugh from Crabbe and Goyle. "Not as much as we had hoped for, but it will have to be enough."
There were, he knew, roughly sixty-five other students in the school, which was a rather small number. In the days of the war, many students had been pulled out of school. Dumbledore's death had brought about a rash of removals, bringing the size of the student body to an all-time low. Only Slytherin seemed immune to the problem.
"We have a force that is approximately the size of the rest of the school, and we have the advantage of surprise," he declared. "We even have a few that are loyal to our cause among them, and with their help the students should not be a problem. Our Master has seen to it that McGonagall will be occupied elsewhere, but most of the faculty will remain behind. We will make them our top priority, starting with Professor Fizzle, who should be arriving shortly."
The sound of the name brought out a few sniggers. After Snape had been slain, McGonagall had appointed a skinny, awkward wizard named Jeremiah Fizzle to fill in the duties of instructor for Defense Against the Dark Arts and Slytherin head of house. He had never earned the respect of most of his students, and seemed fearful at entering the Slytherin House.
"After these few are taken care of, most of us will proceed to Gryffindor Tower, where our battle will be won or lost," Draco went on. "The Gryffindors constitute the majority of what is known as Dumbledore's Army, a small group of students who have been religiously practicing Defense Against the Dark Arts. They will be the most prepared of all, but we will prevail for we are pure of mind, and pure of blood!"
Another cheer went up, bolstered by a heavily-chorus of approval from behind.
"There is are two students I want you to all be particularly aware of. One must die at all costs, and the other is to be spared," Draco said, making eye contact with several students. "Neville Longbottom has proven himself to be a true nuisance to the our cause, and the Dark Lord told me to ensure his death. I will give ten galleons to whoever takes him down."
"There is also a sixth-year by the name of Ginny Weasley who must survive. She is mine, my property: anyone who harms her will die by my hands," Draco went on, his voice hard. Pansy seemed ready to burst into tears, and Draco could only chuckle in response. "Are these instructions clear?"
At that moment, the door to common room swung open and Professor Fizzle swept in, wringing his hands in agitation. Draco gave a small nod to Crabbe and Goyle, who closed in behind the small wizard. In his state, the nervous teacher did not notice.
"Attention, my students!" he squeaked. "Attention, I need your attention please. Is everyone here?"
"I believe we are all already gathered," Draco breathed, trying to stifle a laugh. Malcolm's corpse was nowhere to be seen.
"Very good. It's just that… Say, who are all of these people?" he asked suddenly, indicating the corps of Durmstrang students.
"Some friends of mine, here to visit," Draco said. He could no longer contain his joy, and laughter spilled out of his mouth. "Grab him!"
Crabbe and Goyle were on him at once, twisting both of his arms behind him. The startled wizard had no chance to struggle.
"Now, what were you saying? No, let me guess. You can't tell us exactly what is going on, but we are in a state of emergency and it is imperative that we remain here in our common room until further notice. Is that right?" Draco cackled, affecting a poor impersonation of Professor Fizzle.
The captive said nothing, only stared at Draco in disbelief.
"Let me further guess that the situation you could not tell us about is an attack on the Ministry of Magic, and that Professor McGonagall has gone to fight courageously for our side," Draco sneered. "Is that right?"
"How… how did you know that?" Professor Fizzle stuttered. For a second, Draco was reminded powerfully of Professor Quirrell at his worst.
"None of your concern," Draco snarled, showing his teeth to the artificial head of their house. "Suffice it to say that we have no intention of remaining in our common room at such an opportune moment. And, also suffice it to say that you will be in no position to argue with that or anything else. Crabbe!"
Crabbe, who had been holding secure the Professor's left arm, freed up on of his hands. He reached into his robes and produced a short, wicked-looking knife, with which he raked the Professor across the throat viciously. The two thugs let the wizard go, and he fell to the ground, blood spreading into a thick pool below him.
"A muggle knife, Crabbe?" Draco exclaimed, a note of pride in his voice. "I never knew you had a sense of style! But no matter." He turned to his army, and quickly divided the Slytherins into four groups, assigning ten each to Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy. "The rest of you are in my platoon. Wormtail, you shall lead the Durmstrang contingent. We will travel in rank first to the Great Hall, where I believe most of the teachers will be congregated. Thereafter, we will divide, and most of us will proceed to Gryffindor. Wormtail, you will take your troops and lay siege to the Hufflepuff House. Does everyone understand this?"
The faces in front of him showed that they did.
Draco nodded, feeling the enthusiasm bubbling up inside of him. He motioned to Graham Pritchard, one of the members of his own group. "You. Go into my chambers and fetch the stone cauldron from in front of my bed. Bring it her immediately."
He made a surprised face but hurried to comply with orders.
Fifteen minutes later, five platoons leaked out of the dungeons and proceeded upward toward the Great Hall. Draco walked at the forefront of the phalanx, followed by his ten soldiers in single file. Immediately behind him was Graham, carrying high a streaming banner for the Slytherin house. Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle were arrayed on either side, also leading streaming lines of untested warriors. Wormtail followed from behind with the northerners in a tight knot.
No words were said; the only sound to be heard was that of their feet against the stone floor. It had started out as a timid patter as the many students attempted stealth in the dank corridors of the dungeons. As they reached higher ground, the noise grew progressively, until it was a deafening roar by the time they entered the school proper. Draco could see on their glowing faces the thrill of war, the rush of adrenaline, the unmistakable look of bloodlust. They threw caution to the wind, almost as a group, unconscious decision. Glory is at hand.
If they had expected an overwhelming force in the Great Hall, they were vastly disappointed. The Hall was still decorated from the feast earlier in the evening, but the torches that had previously illuminated the room so brilliantly had burned low, casting long shadows in the wide Hall. Draco turned his eyes up to see the enchanted ceiling. Outside, the night sky was dark and starless, but an eerie green light pulsed above. Aurora borealis, or something, no doubt.
The representatives from the faculty were two elderly witches; Professors Guntag and Finch, sitting behind the staff table and looking horrified. They were both recently appointed by McGonagall to fill vacant spots, much like Professor Fizzle. It was evident to all present that this skirmish, if one might call it that, would be over quickly. T
"HALT!" Draco called, raising his hand above his right shoulder. The troops behind him stopped in an instant. "ASSEMBLE!"
The students behind him shuffled into the preplanned formation. The quickly grouped themselves into threes; one lying on the ground, the next bent over, the last standing. Every wand was pointed at the staff table. Draco was pleased to note that none of these groups were directly behind him or anyone else; no one would die from a friendly wand.
"An impressive show of force, captain," Professor Finch said, addressing Draco. "We will submit. What do you wish us to do?"
"DIE!" Draco shouted. At this command, a volley of killing curses was unleashed, all converging on the staff table. In seconds, the dust cleared, and there was little of the far side of the room still intact, let alone the two witches who had stood there.
Draco addressed his troops. "Back in file!" he commanded, and they got to their feet and hurried to get back in their lines. "Good work. Our next challenge will not be so easy."
He turned to regard Wormtail and the Durmstrang contingent, which had not taken part in the assault. He walked over to them and had a private word with their leader. "Are you ready, turncoat?"
Wormtail glared at the barb. "Yes, we are ready."
"Then go directly to Hufflepuff house and lay siege. Have you managed to keep the password?" Draco sneered, enjoying the last moments of his command over Wormtail.
"Of course," the older man growled.
"Then go. If you can manage in your ineptitude to conquer a few scared schoolchildren with the aid of seasoned soldiers, then await us there. If I have need of you in the siege of Gryffindor tower, I will summon your aid. Otherwise, await me in Hufflepuff House," Draco ordered, staring directly into the other man's eyes.
"As I was directed by my Master," Wormtail agreed. With those parting words, the former Gryffindor lead his troops off to Hufflepuff. Draco and his forty-three soldiers watched in silence until they had left the room. Only then did he turn to Graham and ask for the cauldron.
"Right here, sir," Graham squeaked, hobbling forward and setting it before him.
Draco quickly conjured a fire beneath the empty cauldron while the rest watched him curiously.
"What's it for?" Pansy spoke up.
If he had not been so eager to unveil his plan, Draco would have been annoyed at her impudence. "For the destruction of Hogwarts," he breathed. He reached into his robes and produced a thick metal bar, approximately eight inches long and three thick. "I give you now, Severus' last gift." He dropped the bar into the cauldron with a loud metallic twang.
"What does it do?" Pansy asked, excitement evident in her voice.
"Inside that metal shell is a very old and very powerful potion. Put simply, it converts stone into itself at an exponential rate. It feeds on stone and replaces it with more potion, eating away stone while growing in mass until all its `food' is exhausted," Draco exclaimed, watching the bar eagerly in the rapidly heating cauldron.
"So… it will dissolve the cauldron?" Crabbe asked, clearly bewildered.
Draco sighed in exasperation. How would we ever conquer anyone with such soldiers? "It will take about an hour for the metal shell to melt, and then the potion inside will be unleashed. At first, yes, it will eat through the cauldron. And then it will fall onto the floor and start consuming that as well. It will spread across the floor to the walls and the supports. Within half an hour of the time that the potion is loosed, there will be no more stone within miles of this spot, and Hogwarts will be no more."
"We only have… what, an hour and a half?" Crabbe persisted.
Draco cuffed him roughly on the back of his head. "While I congratulate you on your ability to add an hour to half an hour correctly, I would like to point out that the building will collapse in on itself long before that time."
Crabbe's eyes went wide in amazement.
"Therefore, I recommend that we be out of this building within sixty-five minutes, at least if we value our lives. And I, for one, do," Draco said loudly, casting his gaze about the Slytherins convened in the Great Hall.
"Does Wormtail know about this?" Pansy asked, her voice just a little above a whisper.
Stupid girl. That's the crux of my plan. "Of course," Draco replied, his voice not wavering one bit. The Dark Lord will readily believe that all of their deaths were due to his incompetence. He'll never have cause to suspect me.
"Now, MARCH!"
The army began to move in earnest, a sense of urgency suddenly imparted to their mission. They left the cauldron burning in the middle of the floor, and began ascending stairwells on their way to Gryffindor tower. Their flight was brief; they met no students on the way, and only one adult.
Sybil Trelawney must have been wandering the halls aimlessly, useless as she would have been at patrol duty. She was clutching a ragged white shawl to her small body, shivering in the cool night air.
"Professor Trelawney! What a delight to see you; I have a surprise that I have been dying to show you!" Draco exclaimed. "Seize her!"
Crabbe and Goyle went instantly to either side of the terrified little witch, securing her arms. She did not struggle, even when Draco pulled off her glasses, and caressed her cheek softly with his fingertips. "And now, great seer," he said softly. "A fitting end for you!"
He reached into Crabbe's robes and took out the already-bloodied knife, waving it about menacingly. With a sudden motion, he then plunged the blade into her left eye, eliciting a scream from her that made his heart tremble with pleasure. He proceeded to gouge out the other eye, feeling his skin tingle as hot blood flowed down his hand. "And now a prophecy from me, just for you. You will die, on Halloween night of this year, by the hand of your student!"
"You must pause, Malfoy!" Professor Trelawney shrieked. "The future is open to me in this moment, blinded though my physical eyes might be. The night that first you take life is the very night that your life will be taken!"
"Doddering old fool!" Draco scoffed. "Do you think your useless sayings will save you from the might of the Greatest Servant of the Dark Lord? Avada Kedavra!"
Trelawney toppled to the floor, her final prophecy uttered. Draco paused a moment to consider his first killing. It was… exhilarating. But …Could her words have been true? Or just a pathetic attempt to save her own life? No time to consider that now; the wheels were already in motion.
Draco gave the signal to his troops, and bellowed "To Gryffindor tower!"