Chapter Two - THE STRUGGLE WITHIN
"This is ridiculous, Draco," he muttered to himself. He had been brought up on values and convictions that included the Dark Arts; Voldemort's leadership was all that had mattered in the Malfoy family. Draco himself had always believed that it was the only true thing to do - follow the Dark Lord. But now he was beginning to doubt.
More memories stirred in him; memories that came unbidden, memories he'd rather forget. But he couldn't do anything against them.
He remembered the day Potter had seen him crying in the bathroom; the day when he had almost died from a curse Potter had cast upon him. This memory was familiar; Malfoy had conjured it up on purpose a few times in order to fuel his hate against Harry Potter. But it no longer worked - now, whenever Draco remembered that day, the clearest picture in his mind was Harry's face as he realized that the unknown curse he had employed against Draco was a truly dangerous one and might even kill him. Shock and horror had reflected in Harry's face, and while Draco in his place would probably have turned on his heel and run away, Harry had rushed to Draco's side, dropped to his knees beside him, all the while muttering, "No... no..."; he hadn't even hesitated to touch Draco. Then Snape had come and Draco had blacked out. But the last thing he remembered was Harry Potter kneeling beside him, his hands on his shoulders, and his face showing not the slightest trace of hate or anger - only shock, horror, self-reproach and sympathy.
And this was possibly the hardest thing about the whole situation: to know that the people Draco had detested were actually capable of feeling sympathy for him, no matter how miserable Draco had made life for them. Harry Potter had tried to help him, and Dumbledore had been ready to forgive him. Although Draco had worked against them, he had caught a glimpse of how it would have been like, had he been on their side. And what really disturbed him now was the fact that that insight had not been unpleasant.
"No," Draco murmured to himself. He was not going to cave in. He was better than the rest; he was no blood traitor. Now his mother was dead and gone, and his father was in Azkaban. His next of kin was now his aunt Bellatrix, and she was one of the Dark Lord's dearest Death Eaters - at least she used to be. He could just remain with her and prove true to his heritage. She would make sure he didn't falter in his belief in the Dark Lord's cause.
But is it the right cause? whispered a voice inside his mind. Do you really want to stay faithful to the man who had your own mother killed just because you didn't carry out a task he didn't believe you could complete in the first place? You have family outside the Dark Lord's range, too. Your aunt Andromeda, your cousin Nymphadora...
Draco sneered. Andromeda and her daughter Nymphadora, better known as Tonks, were blood traitors; and besides, he barely knew them. Neither side of the family had much interest in staying in touch. His mother would turn in her grave if she knew what he was considering here.
Draco was shaken by the dueling forces inside him. He felt that he would have to make a decision soon. The Dark Lord would know if he was in doubt. He either had to quash that doubt, or give in to it. The problem was that his mind told him he should stay, whereas his heart contradicted.
I don't have a heart, Draco thought desperately. I'm cold, merciless and evil. I could kill without hesitation.
You wish, Draco, something else answered. Dumbledore put it best: you are not a killer. The Dark Lord wanted you to try, but he knew all along you wouldn't make it. Still he punished you. You can't possibly believe that this punishment was justified...
It was! Draco screamed secretly, desperately. I failed. He had set me a task and I failed to complete it.
But he didn't really believe what he was thinking. He remembered the short dialogue between his mother and the Dark Lord he had overheard. Narcissa had been pleading for her life, and in the course of it she had said, "Why do you take my life for something my son did? Why me?"
Voldemort had laughed and replied, "This is no punishment for you, Narcissa. When you're dead, you will no longer care. It's your son who will suffer. And I'm taking your life because Lucius is in Azkaban, and I cannot get to him. Besides, I appreciate Draco trying his best to perform the task. There's no need to take all his family away from him."
Narcissa, close to tears, had not replied for a while. Then she had said, "So Draco's reward for having tried his best is that you take only one parent away from him. But what will my son do without me? I'm his mother!"
"I never had a mother," Voldemort had answered curtly, "and look what I've become: I am the most powerful wizard in the world, now that Dumbledore is dead. Your dear son will cope. Don't fret, Narcissa; sacrifices must be made, and this will be yours. It's for our cause."
"Depriving a boy of his mother - what good can that possibly bring our cause?" Narcissa had muttered.
After a short silence, Voldemort had said, very coldly, "Do you question my motives, Narcissa? Do you doubt your master?"
Draco had not heard more, but on the next day his mother had been killed.
What kind of master is that? the inner voice asked. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life in the wake of this wizard who can hardly be called a man at all? What matters more to you, family tradition or your own convictions? Are you really, completely sure that you want this wizard to rule the world?
"I don't know," Draco sobbed. All of a sudden, he cracked. His heart felt as if it was about to burst.
I don't want to follow my mother's murderer, he thought desperately, but I've got nowhere else to turn. I can't just change sides. He'll find me; he'll kill me. I know how he treats traitors. My life won't be worth anything if I leave his side. I haven't got a choice... unless...
Draco straightened; a hard, blazing look in his eyes. There was a way he could escape. He could go on to a place where nothing could harm him anymore.
