Crunch. He turned to look for the source of the sound. There, on the other side of the clearing, stood a tall figure in long black robes. The face obscuring, silver mask was meant to hide the man's identity, but the long blonde locks gave it away upon sight. Everyone knew that Lucius Malfoy was the only deatheater with that particular shade and length of hair.
"Draco, come. We will be late."
He straightened his back, adjusted his mask, and walked towards his father with a confident stride. His insides screamed at him to turn back even as he reached his father. Only his logical mind was keeping him from excusing himself from the coming 'festivities.' After what had occurred with Dumbledore, his father and their master were both displeased with him, Snape had been the only one keeping him from an untimely demise.
They moved as one, pulling their wands, and firing spells as they stepped onto the battlefield. He barely noticed as his father moved further off to fight key members of the Order of the Phoenix. It was only when he heard the gasp of breath, painfully loud as non-verbal spells were being fired left and right, that he realized his father had strayed too far from the protection his own wand was giving. He watched his father's body fall as if in slow motion, the life leaving gray eyes, and hearing the slight thump as body hit frozen ground.
It is said that when somebody dies...they see their whole life flash before their eyes. Draco was not dying, but he got caught up in memories of his father all the same. Images flashed before his eyes, causing him to shut them, trying to block them out. The memories raged on until one in particular stayed in his mind.
"A Malfoy always behaves in a manner fitting to their stature."
He sniffled a bit but managed to keep from crying. "I couldn't…"
"Severus saved you from a punishment well deserved, but do not think that you can always call upon your Godfather for such rescues. To be a man is to accept responsibility for one's actions."
"Father."
He was unprepared for the weight of his father's gaze, "Yes?"
"It was far too much to ask of me."
"And who are you to say what is too much to ask and what is not?"
"I have never." He swallowed against the lump in his throat, "Killed anyone before."
"Our master thought you ready and willing. You disappointed him."
He grimaced as he realized that they were no longer talking about the Dark Lord. "I apologize."
"Don't you always…"
He frowned as his father walked away from the conversation, away from him. He knew that he had always been a source of disappointment to the man, always failing at something, but he had always thought that underneath the dissatisfaction was hidden love. Where was the love?
"I will show you. Come here."
He put a hand to his treacherous lips, which spewed his private thoughts out for the world to hear. Quickly, to hide his growing embarrassment, he obeyed his mother.
"Look out there."
The glass window before him was the entrance to another world. White filled his senses, cold encompassed him, and he could almost taste the sweet snow. It was a veritable winter wonderland.
"Mother?"
"Where are the flowers? Where are the lovely roses that bloom red?"
He hesitated before answering, "Under the snow."
"You asked where the love is… It's under the snow. Your father loves you very much."
His mother strode away in all her glory, blond tresses falling down her back, and steps as sure as her words had been. Under the snow…
The world snapped back into his focus as he fell to the ground, the mask knocked from his face, and blue light moving over his head. His savior's arm was still extended, having just shoved him to the ground, and he recognized the man's hand. Pale, deft hands with dexterous fingers made for the subtle art of potion making…his Godfather's hand.
He was pulled to his feet and pushed in the direction of the main fight. Severus Snape disappeared back into the battle, and he was left alone again. He moved with trepidation towards the only noise that could be heard, a shrill scream coming from the area where he last saw the Dark Lord.
He was tripped by one of the Weasley boys as he neared the large shield erected around his master. He fell through the shield and landed on his back, having to stifle a laugh as the disfigured Weasley slammed a hand against the rippling energy field. Weasley obviously didn't realize that anyone without a dark mark would be kept out.
"Draco, my boy, I'm surprised to see you participating in the festivities."
He turned to see Voldemort standing regally with Yew wand poised over a writhing figure on the snow. Worry crept into his tormented soul as he caught sight of the open delight on the Dark Lord's face; he had often been on the receiving end of that gleeful look during torture sessions.
He quickly got down on his knees, bowing his head to the floor in order to buy himself time as he carefully chose his words, "I would not miss this for the world."
His head hit the cold ground as a boot-clad foot came down hard on the back of it. He floundered under the pressure of the boot, stars passing before his eyes as he thrashed wildly trying to free his face from the snow.
"Enough."
"Yes, My Lord." A female's voice said.
The weight was lifted and he jerked his head back from its icy prison, feeling blood drip from his nose as he gasped in air. His aunt sneered at him from behind Voldemort, face pinched in irritation of what she saw as the Dark Lord's quick intervention, reminding him of her unwillingness to forgive failure.
It was a few seconds before he realized that there was no longer any screaming, that it had stopped shortly after he had been deprived of air by his vengeful aunt. He turned his head to the figure lying nearby. His eyes met vibrant green and he froze, unable to stop his mind from taking him through another sequence of memories until it found the right one.
He walked through the snow, letter clutched in his cold fingers. His mother had written to tell him not to come home for Christmas. Apparently, his father was furious with his lack of perfect grades, and the fact that Granger out scored him in all but Potions was not helping. He read the warning of angry silences and insignificant presents left under a long dead tree, but he still wanted to go home.
"You leaving?"
He turned to face his two companions with a sneer, "No. My father is busy taking care of important business. He wants me to stay here and keep an eye on Potter."
"We can stay."
"Don't bother."
It was the anger inside of him that forced him to walk faster, stride away from the gorillas he called friends. His pride made him walk away from the conversation, too arrogant to take back what he had said, and too far gone to turn back.
Someone ran right into him, knocking him off of his feet, and making him bite his tongue. He scrambled to his feet in an undignified way, enraged by the assault upon his person, and upset enough to pull his wand and point it at the offender.
"I'm sor--" The person straightened and stopped, "Oh, it's you…"
It took him a second to calm down enough to see who it was who bashed into him. Black, unruly hair, green eyes, and a lightning bolt scar met his gaze. He should have known, only Potter would run about as if the world was supposed to bow down before the greatness that was the Boy-Who-Lived.
He snarled slightly but lowered his wand, "Yes, it's me, you mud loving imbecile."
Potter rolled those green eyes at him, but didn't reply in any verbal way. He began to think that maybe Potter had hit that scarred head on the icy ground, because no one should look at their rival in such an involved way.
"What?" He snapped.
"Nothing…it's just, you have grey eyes."
His mouth opened a bit, skin paling, and eyes wide. "You're crazy."
"So the Daily Prophet says."
"I…I have to go."
He wasn't running away, fleeing from his enemy, because that wasn't what a Malfoy did. He was strategically retreating until such a time as he could figure out why that odd statement about his eyes had made his heart leap into his throat.
It was with great apprehension that he braved a glance back at the green-eyed boy, and he suddenly knew what it felt like to be turned into a pillar of salt for turning back when everything screamed not to.
"Take up your wand, Draco." His lord hissed, snapping his mind back to the present, and forcing him to break his gaze with Potter.
He stood up clumsily, still weak from his earlier struggle, but able to grab his forgotten wand all the same. He pointed the fourteen-inch wand at the prone figure, knowing who he was to torture, but unable to stop the familiar hatred from bubbling up. Harry Potter had cut him up, sullied the Malfoy name, and gotten his father killed. He could torture the 'savior of the wizarding world' without feeling too badly.
"Kill him."
The expression on his face must have given his shock away, because his aunt was cackling madly and the Dark Lord looked amused. Kill the boy-who-lived, but wasn't that supposed to be Voldemort. He schooled his terrified expression to one less revealing, he wasn't ready to kill yet, and could barely stomach torturing those who deserved it.
"The…the prophecy?"
He knew he was reaching, trying to buy himself time, and work up enough courage to say the two words that ended life. He hoped they couldn't see it, but knew they probably could.
"Never mind that. Do as you are told!"
Two little words, just two words, and a flash of green. He just needed to say two words. Two words and a life ended.
"I can't." Two words and his life would end.
Potter's head snapped up in surprise, mouth forming an 'oh.'
Bellatrix stopped cackling, eyes shining with mad lust. "My Lord?"
He could hear the pleading in her voice, the not so subtle 'let me maim, let me kill' that was behind every syllable. His wand fell from his fingers as she advanced upon him, but he hardly noticed anything but the solemn nod Voldemort threw in his aunt's direction. He slipped on the snow, falling onto his back, and watching in horror as Bellatrix approached with knife in hand. He knew she wouldn't play around, she would cause the utmost pain and enjoy it.
"Your aunt Bella, she likes the more hands on approach to torture…"
His father's words echoed in his mind, making his eyes dilate just as she raised the knife above her head.
"Finite Incantatem!"
The shield around them started to collapse and the ground to shake. His aunt fell and was impaled upon her own knife. He stood up when the ground wasn't shaking as badly, saw a flash of green, and watched as the Dark Lord's body fell to the ground. His eyes sought out Potter, finding the trembling boy standing above Voldemort, his dropped wand within the white knuckled hand.
"Merry Christmas, Malfoy."
It was over, he wasn't dead, he was free. No more being forced to pretend he was someone he wasn't, no more torture for mistakes, and no more crazy people telling him what to do. He chose to close the distance between them and hug the other boy, unable to stop himself from burying his face in the pale neck before him in relief.
His eyes reread the card that came with the silvery snitch, "'It matches your eyes.'"
"Merry Christmas, Potter."
fin