"Come to the good side, Draco"

Dear Father,

I have gone and am probably never to return. I am sorry that I have shamed you. I could not live up to your expectations. When it came time to complete the task placed in front of me by the Dark Lord, I could not find it in myself to do it. Killing is not as easy as it looks. My options were either to die or to flee. I chose to flee.

I was offered help and I accepted it. I did not dare stick around, so with the assistance of some, my death was staged. I knew that it would not come as a sock to anyone that I had died attempting to murder Albus Dumbledore, one of most powerful wizards in the whole world.

I feared that when the Dark Lord heard tell that I could not fulfill his mission he would harm mother or you. This was utterly unbearable. To flee was my only option. Please understand, father. I did not mean to be a disgrace to the family name.

Tell mother I love her and I shall miss her and that I am sorry.

Your son,

Draco

Lucius Malfoy crumpled the letter in his hand. His son was, in his eyes, the worst kind of traitor there ever was and deserved to feel the wrath of the Dark Lord, Voldemort. Fleeing in the face of danger—pitiful, Lucius thought. Any servant to the Dark Lord would have been honored to carry out his mission. Greatly rewarded are those who accomplish the work of their master.

"Lucius," called a woman with sleek blonde hair. "What's that you have?"

"Just trash, Narcissia," he drawled.

His wife had been grieving the death of her son since the attack at Hogwarts. Lucius did not know if he would tell her that he was alive. He was much to bitter to bring it up now.

Narcissa fixed tea for her husband and herself and took a seat across from him. "Lucius," she said placing her hands on his, "I'm worried about you." She had been concerned about him since his return home from Azkaban. He had acted indifferent toward Draco's death. Lucius had become very moody: angry one moment, the next cool and calm. Never happy, though. He had never been a particularly happy person. Aside from his attitude, she feared he would be persecuted by the Dark Lord. He did not seem to worry much about this either.

"Oh, stop it Narcissa—you're being ridiculous," he snapped back at her.

"You're in danger!" Her eyes were welling up with tears. Her husband just watched her expressionless.

"Please understand," she sobbed, "I don't want to loose you, too."

"For God's sake, Narcissa," he said softly and then retreated up the stairs.

Narcissa sat, her face buried in her hands, sobbing. Why? She wondered. Why did it have to be Draco? Her Draco. How she missed him and Lucius did not even seem to care. Perhaps he had seen their son's death as a weakness. He had never tolerated weakness. Or perhaps he was still under the effects of the dementors at Azkaban. He had been there only weeks ago.

There was something else bother her about Draco's death. It was that no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that he was gone forever, she couldn't make herself believe it. She just didn't feel as if he were dead. Though she knew it was impossible, something in her made her believe that he was alive somewhere. This thought was killing her more than the death itself.

Draco, however, was not the only one killed that night. It had been printed all over the Daily Prophet. A couple of students had died as well as the Professor, Severus Snape.

Snape had promised not to let Draco die—that if Draco somehow could not fulfill his mission, Snape would finish it for him. He had taken the Unbreakable Vow. Now they were dead. Both of them. It had been nothing more than a waste. Dumbledore was still alive, the Dark Lord was angry and people had died.