He'd naively supposed he would be in charge, as he had always been, and it would stay that way. That he would the orders and others would carry them out. That he would never have to get his hands dirty, metaphorically and physically; but now he fells drenched in blood and he's in to deep, to far because this is what he'd wanted.
Only he hadn't wanted the screams, he hadn't wanted to be constantly fearing for his life, he hadn't wanted to get the blood on his hands, the blood he gazes at in disgust while the others laugh and drink it in like an elixir only he knows is a poisoned chalice.
Because everyone kills in the Death Eaters, it is a rite of passage, a membership of the club, unless your name is Draco Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy belongs on the side lines of life, taunting and testing but never engaging or getting too close.
For when it comes to the deed Draco Malfoy can to often be found wanting.
So now he hurries down a murky London street intent on meeting his contact from the otherside and planning out his barging – secrets, those he knows, or a life time away from the blood.
A hand reaches out from the shadows of one ally and Draco does not even scream because this he has been expecting. They know, they always know and even the fact he is his fathers son will not be enough to save him now.
He is going to die and his own side is going to kill him, and the bastards will enjoy it.
"Malfoy." Hisses a voice in his ear, filled with the venom of scarcely concealed disgust.
"Potter?"
…
Later, much later when Potter has checked him over, confiscated his wand and charmed him so he cannot be fallowed, they end up sitting in an all night take-away. A horridly cheery muggle place that Draco is not dressed for, and Potter is sipping over-priced orange juice while Draco himself makes do with tasteless tea in a paper cup.
"Cards on the table, Potter." Draco says after another disgusting sip. "I'm willing to tell you everything I know if you promise to protect me."
Potter snorts into his juice.
"You! I know about you, you're just a baby Death Eater. You don't know anything important." He stands up and makes for the door, Draco knocks over the cup of tea in his haste to grab Potter's arm because he knows this is his last chance – convince Potter or die.
"Please." He says, not caring that he's pleading with soding Harry Potter. "I'll help you, I will."
Potter shrugs off his hands as easily as he would apparently shrug off Draco's death.
" I don't need your help." He says and disappears through the door. Draco refuses the replacement cup of coffee from the bemused Muggle owner and fallows Potter outside onto the cold street.
"I'd help you, anything…anything." He presses, hoping Potter gets what he's trying to say because even though he may not like blood, Draco Malfoy is not above blackmail.
Potter turns and he looks horrified.
"I'm that desperate." Draco says.
"Poor thing." Potter murmurs sarcastically as he hurries backwards and bundles Draco into a side street.
At first Draco thinks Potter is going to take him up on his hinted offer and he places as kiss, sloppy and frightened, on Potter's jaw and then thinks better of it and bites him.
Because if the price of living is shagging Potter it isn't too bad, he's done worse to stay alive.
"Bloody Git." Potter says, pushing him away and he taps the wall and leads Draco to a place where he isn't trusted but he's safe.
A place where there is no blood anymore.