Summary: "You're not a killer." Draco's internal struggle to discover himself and where his loyalties lie which may turn the tables around in the war. D/G
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter. Let's just say this is the last one of these I'm doing because you all know by now I'm not talented or committed enough to write books.
A/N: I had this chapter ready for a while, but I was just waiting for reviews. Thanks a lot for all the reviews! It was more than I expected because I hadn't updated in so long. Thanks a lot. I'm sorry if this story feels rushed. I like to jump into things...
Chapter Three
Dreams
"Potter's coming," he muttered to the redhead.
Moonlight fell through the windows, falling on her pale, stricken face. His grip tightened around his wand; the tip was digging into the back of her muddy robes. Footsteps echoed through the room, the thin walls revealing that someone was running up the staircase.
"Are you going to kill me?" she whispered.
"I-I have no choice!" he said hysterically. "He'll kill my parents! He'll kill me!" The footsteps grew louder; the door slammed open, creaking on its rusty hinges. The wizard averted his emerald eyes on them, horror written across his face. The moonlight glinted off his round spectacles.
He had to do it; he had to. His heart thumped in his chest. A shrill laughter echoed in his ears. "Avada Kedavra!" he screamed. A bright green flash illuminated her freckled face, her eyes staring up at him in surprise, lifeless and dull. She collapsed on the floor, her scarlet hair spreading from underneath her head. Another green flash filled his eyes. He watched in horror as Potter crumbled, his face frozen in the same look of horror and disgust. He fell beside her, his glasses falling off his face and cracking. The shrill laughter continued, louder and louder.
"I've got a surprise for you, Draco." The red eyes stared at him hungrily. His pale fingers dragged two people into the room, their faces pale and frightened.
"Mother! Father!" Draco cried.
"Avada Kedavra!"
"NO!" He was blinded; he groped through the bright green light. He fell onto the dusty floor. The light faded away. His parents' faces stared blankly from underneath him. He screamed and climbed off their corpses. Ginny's hair was everywhere, spreading like blood across the floor, covering the pale faces on the floor. He stumbled backward into the wall, staring at Voldemort in horror. He merely smiled at Draco, a twisted, wild smile. A snake slithered out of his mouth. His pale, bony face turned black and sunken, like a skull. The Dark Mark floated toward him as cruel, shrill laughter rang throughout the room. A sharp pain flooded through his left arm, flames licking, searing his skin--he screamed.
Draco gasped in pain, his eyes snapping open. The cold, dreary morning greeted him through the window. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, mingled with the cold sweat dripping down his forehead. He gripped his left arm tightly, rolling up the sleeves. The black skull leered at him nastily. He wiped away the tears and sweat toughly with the back of his hand, his breathing shallow and shaky. He stared up at the sloping ceiling, staring at the shadows cast on its smooth surface. The shrill laughter still rang in his ears. He felt sick at the thought of the blood ebbing across the dusty floorboards. He leaned over the bed, retching on the floor. Shaking considerably, he wiped his mouth and waved his wand over the floor. "Scourgify," he muttered.
He swung his legs over the edge of his bed, tucking his wand into his pajama pants. He threw on a white shirt over his bare torso, the floor creaking beneath his footsteps. He opened the door and walked down the narrow staircase. As he descended, he saw Peter Pettigrew standing the bottom, stroking his silver hand, looking rather irritated. His small, watery eyes stared at him baldly; Draco tilted his head in acknowledgement as he passed. Wormtail nodded curtly and scurried up the stairs to his bedroom.
Draco walked through the secret door into the sitting room. "Ah, Draco," Snape said from the threadbare sofa. Lucius stared at his son silently. He suddenly understood why Peter had looked rather annoyed; Snape had dismissed him from the conversation. "I must congratulate you on your capture of Ginny Weasley."
"Thanks," Draco muttered.
"Wormtail, always spying on guests," Snape sneered, pointing his wand at the secret door. It banged open, revealing the small man. "Make yourself useful and fetch Draco some breakfast."
"I'm not your servant!" Peter squeaked irritably.
"Oh?" Snape said raising a brow. "Must I remind you for the hundredth and consecutive time that the Dark Lord--"
"--fine!" Peter said angrily, storming through another secret door. Draco could hear plates clinking violently behind the shelves of the leather-bound books. He emerged from the secret door quickly, thrusting a plate of eggs and kippers into his hand before retreating back to his bedroom.
"We were just talking about Potter," Snape sneered. "We expect he'll try to find Weasley and will try to save her. He won't give up the Horcrux that easily."
"Yes, and you'll be the one to destroy Weasley as soon as he finds her," Lucius said smirking. "Finally, that girl will be rid of. I tried to rid of her five years ago." He curled his lip.
Draco stared impassively at his father, holding the plate in his hand. "Are you not hungry, Draco?" Snape asked.
"Not at the moment, Professor," he said. His stomach was churning at the thought of the plan. His wand hand shook violently; he stuffed it into his pajama pocket.
"I am no longer your Potions Master, Draco," Snape said amused.
"It's a habit, sorry, sir," Draco said politely. He walked to the rickety table and placed the plate on its scuffed surface. "I should check on Weasley," he said quickly.
"Yes and I suppose you should give her something to eat, too," Lucius sighed. "The Dark Lord wants her alive, though I, myself, wouldn't mind if she happened to…pass away."
Draco forced a laugh as he picked up the plate again. He crossed the room and went back through the secret door. He walked up the narrow staircase, raising a brow at Peter who was standing at the top, obviously straining to listen in on the conversation. He walked toward Weasley's room, tapping the lock with his wand. It clicked, and the door swung open with a loud creak.
She was poised on the edge of the bed, the clean blanket draped around her shoulders. She turned her head, her brown eyes surveying him. Her red hair glowed in the sunlight.
"Food," Draco grunted gruffly, crossing the room in two steps and handing her the plate roughly. She glanced up at him.
"Thanks," she said looking down at the plate on her lap. "Bad dreams last night?" "What makes you think that?" he snapped at her, stopping the astonishment from creeping onto his face.
"The walls are thin," she said wryly. "I didn't sleep that much last night either. I could hear you muttering and saying things."
"Like what?" Draco challenged, making his voice as level as possible.
"No…don't…Mother…Father. Kill…something about no choice?" Weasley said screwing up her face in concentration. The color drained from his face.
"Don't wrinkle your face like that," Draco sneered. "It makes you look like a grindylow."
She ignored him. "Why don't you have a choice?" she prompted. "About what?"
"Don't tell lies. Hasn't your mother told you that? But of course, you're Weasleys, which means you have the manners of a ghoul." Draco felt his heart jump wildly in his chest.
"Is Voldemort going to kill you…if you don't do what he asked you to? To kill me?" she continued, her eyes staring at him. He was unnerved.
"Why would I worry about that? I don't care whether or not you die. It makes no difference to me," Draco drawled.
"You can't kill anyone," she said confidently.
"And how do you know?" Draco snapped. She was beginning to irritate him. "I've killed plenty." What a lie. "I've watched people beg for their lives…" He forced a smile on his face, but he felt sick.
"I suppose so," she said skeptically.
"You don't know anything, Weasel," he snarled.
"How was it, watching Dumbledore die?" she asked suddenly.
Draco furrowed his brows. "What?" he said irritably.
"Was it satisfying?" Weasley asked. "Watching him die on that tower?"
"Yes," Draco said curling his lip, imitating his father. "Seeing that Muggle-loving old fool die was the best day of my life." Every word he heard uttered from his mouth made his stomach churn. Something burned in his eyes. "It was unfortunate that Snape stole my victory."
"Were you glad Snape stepped in?" she asked. "Because if you wanted to kill Dumbledore, you would've done it when you first cornered him, right?"
"He was stealing my glory," Draco said coldly.
"What did Dumbledore say to you?" Weasley questioned nosily.
"Why do you want to know?" Draco snapped. "Stop asking stupid questions. I don't have time for this." He wanted to bolt from the room; the memory of that night was flooding back through him. Dread and guilt seeped through his body.
"You seem to have a lot of time on your hands, judging on how many questions you've answered," Weasley said smartly.
"Why don't you spend time eating that food instead of running your mouth?"
"What did Dumbledore say to you?" she asked stubbornly.
"Nothing!" Draco yelled, his voice quivering slightly. He cleared his throat. "The old man was raving!"
"He…he asked me to join his…your side instead." Draco snorted, although it wasn't funny at all. He could almost imagine himself walking across the tower toward Dumbledore.
"He…" Draco's voice cracked. Through laughs, he said almost hysterically, "he…said I wasn't a killer! Isn't that funny? He didn't think I deserved to be a Death Eater." He raised his left arm and shoved the Mark in her face.
"But the Dark Lord did! He gave me the Mark! The Dark Mark, Weasel," he snarled.
She looked rather shocked and disgusted as she stared at the black skull. She shivered involuntarily.
"Get it out of my face, please," she said slowly.
"Afraid, Weasel?" he sneered.
"Are you?" she countered, raising her eyes to stare at him defiantly.
Slightly unsettled, he lowered his arm. "Why would I?" he asked loftily. "It's on my arm."
"You don't seem so brave at night," Weasley sneered.
Draco was suddenly under the impression that he was staring at a female, redhead version of himself. "I think you're raving like Dumbledore," he snapped.
"You were saying our names," Weasley continued slowly. "Mine and Harry's. I couldn't hear much because you were muttering. So what happened in the dream?" She leaned forward awkwardly, carefully steadying the plate on her lap.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco said scornfully, his face paling slightly.
"Do you think Dumbledore was right?" she asked suddenly.
Draco was getting more infuriated by the second. "About what?" he snapped peevishly.
"That you're not a killer," Weasley said obviously.
"He was stalling for time before he died," he said coldly, his eyes narrowing. Anger bubbled through him. Weasley was driving him over the edge.
"But do you think he was right?" she prompted.
"Stop talking about things you don't know about," Draco snarled.
"Well, I know that you've been having bad dreams," she said smartly, her brown eyes staring at him intensely.
Draco's temper flared. "Why the hell do you want to know what the damn dream is?" he yelled angrily, his grey eyes flashing. "Why do you ask so many damn questions?" He paced the room, fuming, his body shaking with uncontrollable fury.
She was silent. "I've been dreaming about what I have to do! What he's making me do," Draco continued, lowering his voice to a incensed hiss. Several emotions were running through him; his mind and mouth had temporarily disconnected. "He'll kill my parents! He'll kill me. I have to do it…" He was now pacing the room, all the worries and anxieties he kept bottled inside him spilling because he was too full, too overflowed with them--
"I keep seeing blood and…hair. Your hair turns into blood every time. It covers Potter's face…He gets my parents! He kills them!" he gasped wildly, a burning sensation in his eyes. "In this room." He paused, shuddering at the sight of the dusty floorboards beneath him. The same floor that he saw every night, covered with blood and dead bodies.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. Her face was white. Pity was shining in her wide, brown eyes.
Draco snapped his head up, staring at her horrified. Everything he had said and done in that moment began slapping him across the face. He searched her eyes, staring at the evident pity in them.
Anger filled him once again. "Don't," he snarled, walking toward the door and slamming it shut.
As he stood in the empty corridor, his heavy breathing calmed. He wondered why he hadn't walked out before when Weasley had started asking him questions about the dreams. He was weak and foolish. He could almost see the disappointment in Lucius's cold, grey eyes.
Draco felt something cold run down his face. He lifted his hand; his fingertips brushed against his skin. He stared down at his wet fingers and tasted the salty tears on them.
He couldn't erase the image of Weasley's round, brown eyes, staring at him with utmost pity and then slowly becoming blank and dead.
