Happy St. Patrick's Day :)


Truth and Deceit"You have absolutely no idea what you've gotten yourself into."

"…Failure to obey orders…"

The nasally words danced a jig in his mind, flitting around like possessed butterflies, evading all attempts at being comprehended.

"…Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange…"

The name was familiar, somehow. He knew the face it belonged to, knew it was somewhere nearby, somewhere in the rings of blurry, masked figures around him, but he couldn't match the two.

And why in Merlin's name are they chanting?

They had been for a while, almost overpowering the droning voice that made the words dance, but not quite. The meaningless litany beat into his skull like a drum, and he wanted to scream at them to stop.

"…Punishment for cowardice, brandingThe accused, Draco Malfoy, will stand…"

That's my name… Distantly, he heard the hiss and crackle of fire. It sounded just like those old Muggle things – radios, was it? – when they weren't tuned correctly. Two pairs of rough hands wrenched his arms up until he was swaying on his feet. His right leg was sore and he felt like retching.

"…You may begin…"

One figure stepped out of the closest rings of skull masks. There was a revolting malice about the swirling black cloak...about the cruel, twisted sneer…

His shirt was ripped off his back. A great dirty thing in his mouth muffled all sound, all protests…his mind told him to run, to get away, but the greater his effort, the tighter those hands gripped him…one of them turned him around, and he felt a wave of heat wash over his back…

It felt good, chasing away the chill,

But then it was too close

Much too close

Laughter echoed in the night air

The gag was ripped from his mouth

And then the white-hot brand met tender, pale flesh, and Draco Malfoy screamed.


Dreams roiled in his mind, breeding and seething and living by their own laws.

An old man stood before him, his long silver beard reaching down past his waist. Brilliantly blue eyes twinkled at him, promising warmth and kindness, joy and protection. He reached out a hand, but it was swatted away. A wand was pointed at his heart, but his smile never wavered. A flash of green light, and he was suddenly falling backward, toppling over the side of an impossibly high tower, still smiling…

A woman was on her knees, hands clasped, begging, pleading to the hooded figure towering over her, repeating one word over and over – "Draco…Draco…Draco…"

A girl lay in the blood-soaked dirt amidst rubble and debris, her shirt torn open and her head bleeding, sightless eyes staring up at a fogged sky…

A man was pinned to the wall of a blood-smeared house, his blond hair tangled and matted in front of burning eyes, condemning eyes…

A red-haired woman attempted to shield her sleeping infant from a hooded figure who gave a cold, high-pitched laugh. A man was sprawled on the ground behind them. "Please no, take me, kill me instead! Have mercy…have mercy…"

The visions clouded, but just before it disappeared, he saw a boy on the ground, staring up at the sky with cloudy green eyes.


Draco was first aware of the creaking: back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. The persistent sound made him open his eyes, to stare at a black ceiling. A sheet the color of dried blood was draped over him, concealing the fact that he was naked down to the waist.

His back throbbed with an unholy pain, as well as his leg.

Where am I?

The room's walls were the same color as his sheets. A dresser made of polished wood stood to his right. There was a dark fireplace directly before him, its marble mantelpiece bare. To his left there was a low table with a mirror in a gilded frame. A desk had been pushed next to it, in front of which sat a sallow-faced man in a damask chair.

Snape.

He had his eyes closed and his breathing was deep and regular. Draco assumed he had fallen asleep. His throbbing back was making it hard to concentrate, and when he tried to sit up a terrible pain lanced up his spine and he fell back with a gasp.

Snape stirred and opened his fathomless eyes.

"Awake, are you?" he asked. His voice was low and raspy, as if he hadn't used it in a long time. The creaking continued in the background as he stood up and walked toward the bed. "How do you feel?"

"Horrible," Draco mumbled, closing his eyes. "What…happened? I…I can't remember…anything."

"You were unconscious," Snape said shortly. There was a low buzzing in Draco's head to go along with the creaking that made it hard to hear.

"How…long?"

"Two days."

Two days! "Where…"

"I can't tell you our exact location; all I can say is that we are far from Hogwarts."

He flinched. Hogwarts. The old man – Dumbledore. Falling, falling… "Dumbledore," he whispered.

There was no answer. Draco no longer had the strength to open his eyes. Finally, Snape said, "He's dead."

He flinched again, and he felt his chest constrict. Falling…

"I haven't got any options!"

"I can help you, Draco."

"No, you can't. Nobody can. He told me to do it or he'll kill me."

"Come over to the right side. We can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine. Come over to the right side…you are not a killer."

"I didn't…" he murmured. "I didn't…" He hadn't done it. Hadn't killed him. But he was dead. Who killed him?

Snape.

"Severus… Severus…please…"

"Avada Kedrava!"

The old man had pleaded, but Snape had always been on the Dark Lord's side. Always.

Stupid old fool.

"You," he said. "You killed…him…"

Again, the silence.

"I didn't…do it…"

He hadn't killed. But then – he had not fulfilled his duty. He had not obeyed his orders.

"Father…Mother…"

"They're still alive." Snape's voice drifted to him as if from a very great distance.

Still alive.

"He told me to do it or he'll kill me."

"I wasn't…he didn't…?"

He forced his eyes open to see Snape looking down at him, the expressionless eyes holding the slightest hint of pity. He approached him and grasped him under the arms, helping him to sit up. Draco grimaced against the pain, biting his lip to keep from crying out. With Snape's help, he was able to stand.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror. Dull gray eyes stared back.

Snape turned him around, so that his bare back was facing the mirror. "He did," he said.

Draco craned his head to look at the reflection. His eyes widened in horror and shock as he found the source of his pain.

A half-healed scar stretched diagonally across the flesh of his back, which was raw-red and scabbing over, right along the lines where a word had been branded:

Coward.

Draco turned and retched, and the world went black.


"It's time. Let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

Draco shot Snape an irritated look, but the older man seemed disinclined to elaborate.

"What are you waiting for? We'll be late."

Draco heaved a sigh and donned the long black cloak Snape had given to him a few days ago, pulling the deep hood up and over his face. His back had completely healed, but he took pains not to look at it.

"Hurry," Snape said, giving the room a cursory look before pulling the door open. Draco hurried to follow him as he strode swiftly down the dim corridor. He heard the door close by itself behind them.

Several other hooded figures joined them, emerging from behind doors identical to his. It was silent save for the whisper of robes, and Draco dared not make a sound as he stayed on Snape's heels.

The Death Eaters in their voluminous cloaks seemed to glide down the vast marble staircase at the end of the corridor and across the flagstone floor toward the entrance doors. Draco followed in awed silence, taking in the somberly furnished entrance hall. Unlike Hogwarts, there were no suits of armor or paintings, but there were candles gleaming here and there, hazily illuminating the colossal fireplace to the right and an enormous opening to the left, which was covered by a vast black curtain.

As the Death Eaters approached the lofty, polished entrance doors, they opened of their own accord. Draco stepped out into the balmy night and was confronted by an expansive field of tall, waving grass. The cloaked figures waded out into the field and formed a tight circle. Draco stood sandwiched between Snape and a small, wiry man whose whistling breath could be heard through his hood. One of the Death Eaters produced what looked to be an empty bottle of pop from the depths of his cloak and held it out. The others reached forward to place their hands on it, and Draco realized it was a Portkey. He hurriedly stretched out a hand and managed to get a finger on it just as he felt the familiar tug behind his navel.

They were spinning in a fluttering black whirlwind, colors flashing before his eyes, the wind whistling in his ears. His feet slammed into the ground with a force that made him gasp, but he managed to stay on his feet. The Portkey clunked to the ground several feet away from him.

Draco blinked and gazed out at his surroundings as his fellow Death Eaters shuffled about him, evidently preparing for something. They were standing on a high grassy hill, overlooking a small village. Smoke rose from a dozen chimneys in thick columns up to the inky black sky while lights from the windows burned brightly.

Suddenly, a shower of red sparks shot up from the outskirts of the village, dotting the sky like bloody stars. It seemed to be a signal, because the Death Eaters began dashing down the hill. Draco ran alongside Snape, their robes fluttering around their ankles.

"Why aren't we Apparating?" Draco asked.

"It's warded," Snape said curtly. "Take out your wand."

Wordlessly, Draco did as he was told. As they neared the village, he could see a group of Death Eaters hiding outside, surrounding the entire place. A sudden chill ran through him and he tried to slow down, but Snape grabbed his arm and pulled him on. The Death Eaters, as if on cue, rose up as one and rushed into the village, shouting and yelling. One raised his wand and a dark, thick fog engulfed them all, so that Draco could see only several feet in front of him.

He suddenly wanted nothing more than to turn back, to run away; he was beginning to think that he should have followed the old man's advice, should never have joined.

There were screams filling the air now, accompanied by the tinkle of glass breaking and the thump of doors flying open. The acrid smell of smoke made Draco's nose sting. Abruptly he stopped running, trying to deny what he already knew was true. Snape whirled around and grabbed the front of his cloak.

"You will come, and you will do what I tell you," he hissed, his black eyes as fathomless as ever.

"I won't," Draco said, hoping he sounded more forceful than he felt. I should have known, I should have known! "I can't."

"You can and you will," Snape snarled. He jerked Draco around and pushed him forward. The screams were louder, the pain and fear laden in them clearly discernable. The source of the bright lights and smoke became evident – many of the small houses were steadily going up in flames.

Several feet away, a tall, brawny man came crashing out of his house with a deafening roar, brandishing his wand in one hand and what looked like a club in the other. He blasted the nearest Death Eater with a powerful jet of red light and swung his club at another. Both fell, screeching in pain. Snape darted forward to join the ring of Death Eaters closing in on him, while Draco took the chance to escape –

– Straight into chaos.

People were stumbling around, wands flashing, jets of light tearing through the thickening fog. A beam of silver light missed him by inches and blasted through the wall of the house behind him, leaving a gaping hole behind. A man staggered out as Draco watched, one side of his head dripping blood. He looked up and charged the first cloaked figure he saw – Draco.

All rational thought fled his mind and he was left with one, raw instinct: survive. He barely managed to scramble out of the way as the man tore past, lunging at the air. Before the man could turn back, Draco raised his wand and stuttered the first spell that came to mind.

"S-Sectumsempra!"

Blood spurted from the man's chest, some of it spattering on Draco's cloak. He fell over with a thump, one hand clutching the gaping wound.

The noise seemed to dim as Draco stared down at the dead man in shock. He's dead. I killed him. He's dead.

And life went crashing on as someone stumbled against him. Hands grabbed at his cloak as the figure struggled to stay upright, and his hood slid off. Draco found himself staring into the fear-stricken eyes of a young girl. She couldn't have been much older than Draco himself, and she was bleeding profusely from several deep gashes in her arm.

"Help," the girl gasped, obviously not realizing who Draco was. "Help – no, we've got to get out of here, we've – c'mon – got to tell someone – "

And then there was a Death Eater before him, skull mask leering down at the girl. She didn't even have the chance to scream as a flash of green light hit her chest. Her fingers let go of Draco's cloak as she toppled backward, her mouth open in disbelief.

"Put your hood up," the Death Eater growled before disappearing back into the smoke.

Trembling, Draco looked back down at the dead girl lying beside him – the dead girl who had been so urgent, so alive just a moment ago; he caught just a glimpse of the terror-stricken face before the haze swirled over it.

"Draco!"

Draco whirled around at the familiar voice. Snape was running toward him, black cloak billowing around him. His gaunt, sallow face was spattered with blood.

"Draco, where – " Snape's words stopped short when he saw the dead girl; he looked down at her, then back up at him with a strange expression.

"I-I didn't," Draco stammered. "I didn't!"

Snape suddenly jerked him back and slashed his wand in the air to cut down the man that had been rushing towards them, carrying a burning torch. He fell heavily, his head smashing against the cobblestones. Blood pooled around his brown hair, spreading and seeping into the cracks in the stone.

"Now is not the time to talk," Snape hissed, spitting blood out of his mouth. "Stay with me."

They dove back into the fray once more, but the fighting had already begun to die down. There was less shouting, less spells crackling in the air. The fog slowly started to lift, but Draco wished it wouldn't. Without it, he could clearly see the dark red stains on the ground, could smell the pungent odors of blood and sweat and smoke. Bodies sprawled everywhere, lying in their own gore, sightless eyes staring up at the black sky. Men, women, children, old folk; no one had been spared.

Just like the dream…

Snape led him past it all without a word. Without flinching, without a blink of an eye. And seeing him like that – so indifferent to the carnage, the destruction – made Draco finally realize that Snape really had killed Dumbledore. Compared to this, the old man must have been easy.

Above them, another shower of red sparks soared into the sky. Snape stopped abruptly, as did the other Death Eaters around them. They all looked up and raised their wands, as did Draco, at the sparks now suspended overhead. He added his voice to the concurrent cry that came after –

"Morsmordre!"

There was a great rushing sound, as if all the air in the world was being sucked out of the earth. Draco's arm shook as an enormous green specter burst from the tip of his wand to join others in the muddy sky. Before his awed eyes, the amorphous light writhed and coiled until a massive skull shone like a second, mutative moon in its place. The trademark snake slithered out of the gaping mouth, and Draco couldn't suppress a shudder as he watched it.

He glanced at his silent companion, who stood immobile, head thrown back in the direction of the gleaming symbol.

"The Dark Lord has arrived," Snape whispered. "Follow me." With a swirl of the cloak, he resumed his steady pace toward Merlin-knew-where. Draco hurried after him, the whispering rustle of robes and cloaks around him indicating that others were doing the same.

They amassed in what seemed to be the village square, standing around a large bronze statue of a phoenix. Snape dragged Draco through the crowd until they stood at the very front. The white hand on his shoulder seemed to burn through his cloak and scald his skin. He couldn't see what everyone was waiting for.

And then a swift wave of coldness rushed over him and the gathered Death Eaters, pushing some to their knees. Whimpers and groans were iterated all around him as he struggled to stay upright, gasping for breath. It could only mean one thing –

Dementors.

Sure enough, he could see their horrifying forms suddenly materialize before him, standing in a circle around the phoenix statue.

The cold, the fear –

Cold, so cold –

Go away –

God, please – leave me alone!

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, scrabbling at his chest as if to pull the coldness, the darkness out with his bare hands. The grip on his shoulder was painful, digging into his flesh –

"Draco!"

His mother's voice, calling to him, begging, pleading –

Twinkling blue eyes, gazing benignly from behind half-moon spectacles, so understanding –

"Draco!"

A man standing over a woman who was huddled over in pain, beating her with a stick, cutting into her bare back –

A blonde-haired little boy, crying in the corner, shying away from a towering man who stood above him, shouting curses and oaths –

"Draco!"

The fierce hiss in his ear, the warm breath, jerked his mind out of fantasy and back to reality. He was on his knees – when had he fallen to his knees? – gasping and shuddering, cold sweat saturating his body.

"Get up!" a voice from his right hissed again, urgently, and Draco recognized it as Snape's. Draco dazedly obeyed, remnants and shreds of the images still plaguing his mind.

The dank cold was still there, churning around him but no longer able to penetrate, as if magic had been cast around them. Something was pressed into his hand; he grasped it, his fingers' wary touch immediately identifying it as chocolate.

"Eat, quickly," the voice whispered.

Draco nodded, shoving the piece into his mouth and chewing mechanically. Instant warmth pervaded his body, chasing the chill away. But not the fear, the apprehension.

Another black form was appearing, this one right in front of the statue. Tall, haunting, chilling; it silently studied its surroundings. Horror and panic scrabbled around in Draco's mind, disorienting his thoughts, as the hooded face turned upon him. One shrouded arm lifted, revealing a pallid, long-fingered hand. Slowly, carefully, that hand drew back the hood.

It was as if some invisible forced clamped down hard on Draco's neck and shoved him down to his knees. Trembling uncontrollably, he knelt on the stony ground, unable to notice the pain of the rocks digging into his legs. He did not dare look up, but felt the burning, scarlet eyes on him anyway; him alone.

Yet when that high-pitched, hissing voice spoke, it was to everyone. Though uttered barely above a whisper, the words seemed to resonate in the night, in the mind, like the reverberations of a gong.

"Good evening, my Death eaters."

The murmured replies buzzed in Draco's ears as he muffled his whimper of fear as best as he could in the folds of his cloak.

Lord Voldemort had arrived.


Up Next: Hermione proves that the powers of persuasion are – well, powerful.

In the, er...jolly spirit of the Irish...please review? ;)