A/N- I'm not sure if the lack of reviews for the last chapter was because it was so rubbish, or because I'd left the story to gather dust for way too long. But please please review!
In this chapter Draco does some thinking, and you're about to get some answers, although right now they'll probably just create more questions so for that I apologise.
I do not own any characters, places, spells etc... they belong to JKR!
After a while the smell of clean, fresh air began to tempt Draco into consciousness. The sky could have been red, purple or blue and it irked him that he didn't have a clue which was closer to the truth. As one would expect, his first thought was his surroundings.
It felt like he was floating in a lake yet he didn't feel wet. He remained lying on his back, practically weightless, watching the blurred shapes of clouds and birds pass over. Lightly, his hair blew around his face, partly covering his eyes, acting like light curtains to the show. The mood took him back to an earlier time when the most fearsome thing in his life were the goblins hiding under his bed.
He was eight years old and it was summer. His family were on vacation and while his mother and father nestled close under a tree, surrounded by the breathtaking view of the Cymoedd De Cymru or South Wales Valleys. Draco drifted down the border of the lake, smiling as ripples of water began concentric journeys every time he moved his arms or legs. His mother called over, telling him they would be going in for supper soon. With the sun still casting warmth and not a cloud in the sky even though it was a few minutes short of eight o'clock, it was one of the best summers of Draco's childhood. Now it had been swept away with the rest of his life and existed as nothing more than a memory. If it could take him back to that day and make it last forever, he'd trade all the magic and money his family owned. It seemed the more danger that surrounded him the more he began to rely on the things that money and power alone couldn't afford: comfort, safety, happiness...
These days, happy thoughts came few and far between. A fairly hard thing for an eighteen year old boy to accept, but it wasn't as though his circumstances left him with any other choice. No longer could he have anything other than the Dark Lord's wishes as his precedence. Happiness isn't easily forgotten though, and there were times when Draco felt it's longing warmth pull at his heart. He was grateful for the life he had in a way because he wasn't stupid enough to think there was nobody worse off than him. There were thousands of people that would have been happy to trade with him. For one thing, he still had family. And for that, grateful didn't even come close to the word he wanted. But gratitude wasn't the same as happiness and Draco knew that more than most.
'You, boy, come forward.' The cold voice said. It was only after a subtle shove from his uncle Rodolphus that Draco even registered it was he the Dark Lord was addressing.
It was like stepping up to face death. In a way, he was.
'Draco your father used to speak highly of you. In failing to retrieve my prophesy and being sent to Azkaban, he has left an unique opportunity for you . You want to prove yourself to me and I have just the thing for it.'
Draco had felt faint prior to a wave of relief passing over him. Following that had come a sense of fear. But he made sure his face stayed unreadable, it was one of the few traits of his father he had been lucky to inherit.
Voldemort went on to tell of the awful mission Draco was to be handed. He felt like they were playing quidditch, and instead of facing an indomitable opponent himself, Lucius had faked an injury to get out the easy way, leaving Draco alone.
Lucius had never learnt to be a good sport, always a cheat. Draco respected his father more than most people did, but on some accounts he found his emotions towards him bordered on hatred.
Without a doubt that day had sealed his future. Not the day he received the mark but the day he figuratively turned his back on good forever. For how, if he succeeded in murdering Albus Dumbledore, was Draco expected to believe there was still good left in the world? He'd never been one to believe in the imaginary.
A second memory snuck out with this one. One that regardless of weeks trying to ignore it, Draco found it to be all he could think about.
The day Lord Voldemort ordered him to murder Pansy Parkinson.
Luna walked leisurely, regardless of the fact she probably should make haste lest they be seen. But the sky looked lovely and she had missed it so much. It was impossible to resist taking some time to gaze up at it.
Faint birds flew on their collective journey, all heading the same direction, a few flying faster and a few falling behind a little. It didn't really make much difference though, they all had the same direction and eventually they would all arrive at the same place. It made Luna smile.
At first, Draco had been adamant he would not do it. He had even surprised himself with the bravery that burst out of him, as he held Voldemort's watchful look.
He'd known Pansy almost his entire life, and for that moment he could only stammer and ask, 'Why?' It just made no sense.
Pansy, while not a death eater, knew and was friends with many of them. If it weren't for the fact she'd never been particularly gifted with her magic then she might have made a useful death eater one day. Secretly though, Draco was always glad she'd never headed in that direction completely. Pansy was a friend, and nothing more, but she was a good friend and one he cared about very much.
He was the only one who ever really saw that side of her, the friendly, caring side that would have shocked the girls at Hogwarts to their knickers, maybe even a few of the Slytherins. It made him sad to think like that, that he had been the only one, as though she were already gone.
Besides the Dark Lord had said it was not imperative for him to do it straight away. And for weeks after he gave the order, Voldemort refused to give any reason to justify what he was asking of Draco.
He spoke only to his family about it, in other words his Mother.
Luna Lovegood didn't actually have a clue how much relied on her staying locked up at the manor. It was as simple as could be really; the minute Pansy had to leave her post as a spy, Draco would run out of time. He had no intention of killing his best friend, and Narcissa hadn't even needed him to tell her that, she just understood. He was glad his father was locked up, for it was hard to see Lucius tolerating a failure on Draco's part: Lucius had always been such a hypocrite.
But it would have been more than a moment of weakness as well for not only did Draco not want to kill anyone, he couldn't. Dumbledore had proved to him months ago that was the case. He simply didn't have the heart to take a life; no matter how cruel he could be Draco would never cross that line. He just wouldn't.
No one seemed to have the answer he needed. 'Why Pansy?', he'd asked, over and over. Sometimes it was to himself, sometimes to his mother. He thought about it then. Retracing the train of thought he'd been enduringly following ever since that day with Voldemort.
Draco only noticed his whole left side was throbbing with pain when he reached his hand to his head, feeling an odd urge to rub his temple: The unmistakable sign of a headache coming on quickly. Rolling over to find out what was going on, Draco felt himself losing balance...
OOOOFFT
His body collided with the ground, hard, knocking the wind out of him as he landed flat on his back. He was aware that he must have been quite high in the air.
He noticed the strange outline of someone bending down over him, eclipsing the sun's rays as they move closer to his face.
'Draco?' the voice whispered nervously.
'Whoa, what's going on? I can't see anything!' he cried, trying to sit up but he found a hand cautiously push him back down again.
'Can you hear me? How are you feeling?'
The question took a long moment to register. 'Like I've just fell off a broom from twenty feet up,' He answered, but finding that it came out as a sort of gargled moan he just replied, 'not brilliant.'
He had no inclination of whether he were dreaming or not, so he was just going to go with it. What was the last thing he remembered? He'd been somewhere warm, that much was certain.
'Don't try to get up you might have a concussion, just keep your head resting.' they said, trying to sound calm.
'What the hell happened to me?' As he rolled his head over, all he could register around him were different hues of colours, and fuzzy shapes. The only reason he knew a wizard was talking to him was because he recognised their shape funnily enough, and felt the tip of a wand brushing against his side every so often.
They were armed.
Things were gradually forming something of what they were supposed to look like; he could tell they were on a field, for from the direction he looked in all he saw was a long, stretching, layer of green. Either that or they were swimming in Bulgeye potion. He hoped the former were true.
Memory was greeting him like a wary friend, taking it's time, not wanting to overwhelm him, and it was starting to get annoying. He remembered an oddly shaped house, in which all there was were stairs. Lots of them, climbing towards the roof as though reaching for sunlight; circling around themselves, coiling and uncoiling like snakes.
With Draco's head turned, he was unable to see Luna smile a little with relief. While she decided what was best to do next, Luna settled with trying to keep him talking, so he might not have time to remember what she'd done while it was still fresh in his mind.
'How's your head? I'm not so good with healing spells so it probably won't be perfect.' She kept smiling; this could work out a lot better than she thought. All she needed was for him to prove her right, that his injuries weren't major at all. She was beginning to feel a pre-relief tingle. He would be ok.
'It's not too bad, feels like it's getting a little better by the minute actually.'
Now she could focus on herself. She only needed to send her patronus off to headquarters.
She would need to be careful though for Snape's words were still playing about in her mind and while she found it somehow extreme to say Harry would kill a death eater, there was no guarantee saying he'd let them off easy.
'Stay there,' she whispered to Draco as she prepared to say the words.
Not wanting to make it easy for him, his brain was lethargically dwindling somewhere between useless and indifference. He pushed harder; feeling strongly that time was rushing past and that he needed to be quick.
'Home, Voldemort, a room, an order (there are always orders these days)...'
Above him he could hear someone trying to conjure a patronus.
Who had he been with? Lovegood. A strange fear welling up inside him ready to burst caused Draco to suddenly snap up. Everything lurching right back to him in one go: the elastic band had been stretched to breaking point and it snapped back with power.
'Luna!' he roared, scrambling to his feet; his hand outstretched, ready to snatch what he could now see was his own wand from her fingers. 'Don't!'
In that instant he saw everything that could happen, everything that would happen if it worked the next time.
He got to his feet in an instant, aiming to get the wand which she pulled out of his hand's reach. Angry now, he pushed Luna to the ground, wrestling with her for a moment and eventually using his arm to pin her down whilst he made a grab for the wand she was flailing about in the air. He didn't even think and neither did he try to stop his hand as it flew through the air, hitting her with such force on the cheek that she sank to the floor, her hand against the dark red bruise as it instantly appeared. He grabbed the wand as she let it fall to the floor, forgotten in the momentary shock he'd caused her.
Draco didn't know what to say, he'd never hit a girl like that in his life, and the play fights with Pansy never reached the stage of bruising one another.
He bent down to grab her arm to aparate back to the Manor (at this point he didn't know what he'd tell Voldemort).
But she visibly flinched at his movement and timidly moved away from him.
Unintentional though it was he had frightened her.
Not knowing what to say, he crouched down and sank to his knees a little distance in front of her. She watched him carefully.
Perhaps it was time to tell her. After that, it was the least he could do.
