It was getting colder. Draco could now see his breath, and his t-shirt tied around his waist was not much to keep him warm. The dew was turning to frost. It was unnatural and strange. It was summer! Why was it so cold? Draco went back to the door and vainly tried to open it again. He pounded and started yelling, desperate for someone to open the door.

No one came.

An idea slowly started forming in Draco's mind, and he really didn't like it. He walked over to the body. Most of the clothes were free of blood. he grimaced as he turned it over. The face was a bloody, twisted mess. He gaze traveled down to the pants. They would be much too big in the waist, and too short in length, but Draco was getting desperate. They were half off the body already, so Draco grabbed the hem near the ankles and began to pull. He ended up only dragging the body closer to him. Swallowing hard and steeling himself, he reached up slowly to the top of the pants and pulled them off.

He had to stop several times and hold in his gagging. Finally the pants were off the body. he untied his shirt from around his waist and slipped it on. The he held his breath as he slid into the pants. As he predicted they were too big, and also too short. He felt dirty wearing them. He next looked over the tower edge. He needed to find a way down.

He looked back at the body. Wand! He thought, mentally slapping himself. But searching for a wand would mean touching the body again. Draco didn't think he could do it. He turned his attention back to the edge and peered over, his palms pressing into the stones. They were fairly uneven stones. Perhaps he could climb down? Draco laughed at the aburdity of the idea. And then he reconsidered. He felt like he needed to get out of this place now, or something terrible was going to happen. The overwhelming desire to get out as soon as possible overcame him, and he swung his leg over the edge.

Fortunately for him, the castle had plenty of parapets and arcading so he had places to hold on to and rest when needed. He still couldn't believe he was climbing down the tallest tower in Hogwarts. The wind was battering him, and several times he thought he would lose his grip.

It seemed like hours before he reached the ground. The sun was just rising. He thought he would be exhausted, drained, but for some reason, he had a restless energy coursing within him. It was as if there was something he needed to do, but could not remember what it was. He started making his way around the grounds so he could get back into the castle. When he was on the western side, he stopped abruptly. He had thought he was free when he left that body on the tower. But he wasn't. His father was still out there, and so was the executioner. And Voldemort. They did this to him, and they needed to pay. So with no preparation, no wand, and no shoes, he made for the edge of Hogwarts grounds.

Draco was in a zone. He had a goal, a purpose, and he was going to see it through. With the return of his memory, he could think more clearly than ever before. He needed to get to the manor. It was a bit of a walk to Hogsmeade, but he could use a fireplace once he got there; he couldn't risk going back to Hogwarts and having someone stop him. He had no idea what happened to his wand, but that thought was furthest from Draco's mind at the moment. He had something he needed to do.

The sun rose higher in the sky. It was fully risen by the time he reached Hogsmeade. Some shops were beginning to open; the town was beginning to stire. A few people saw him. No one offered help, and most turned quickly pretending they did not actually see him. Draco smirked. He found their reactions to be highly amusing.

He could remember a place that had public floo. He made his way there now, no caring that his eyes were giving off a feverish and uncanny gleam in the new sun. The place was closed, but that was not about to stop Draco. Over the past year he had started to get a knack for wandless magic, and in his anger and determination, opening a lock was no problem. Except the got carried away and nearly blew the entire front of the store off. He stepped through and made his way to the fireplace, using his mind to start a fire as he walked towards it. Grabbing a handful of floo powerder as he walked, he threw it into the fireplace, walked in, and shouted "Malfoy Manor" all without breaking stride. He kept in mind a certain room, knowing it was the only one he could travel too. Not many knew about it.

He stumbled out of the drawing room fireplace, finally remembering that someone might be there. He hadn't thought about that before he left. He was extrememly lucky today, as the room was empty. It was still early in the day, and the drawing room was for afternoon entertaining. He doubted his parents did much formal entertaining anymore. He dusted himself off then listened. He crept towards the door. The house was still, yet a menacing presense could be felt eminating from deep within.

Draco silently opened the door and peered into the hallway. It was dark. He stepped out, fear beginning to course through his veins. He contemplated going back, but then remembered he had no more floo powder. He trapped himself here, so he had to finish what he started, in order to stay alive.

Before he could do what he came to do, he needed a wand. He should have no problem finding one in the manor. His mother rarely if ever used hers. And he knew where she kept it. Retrieving the wand was no problem, and now he had a job to do.

He buried his fear deep within himself, to the very core of his being. He surrounded his fear with anger, and hate, and made his way down to the dungeons. As he drew closer to them, the menacing presence he felt could now be heard. Screams of pain reverberated through his skull, mixing with memories of his own screams. Screams that were eventually torn from his body.

He enveloped himself in hatred now, and he could barely feel his fear. He crept down, having no difficulty staying in the shadows. He could now hear muffled voices, all male. Not what he was looking for, not yet at least. The executioner was going first.

It was strange, the weeks of being unable to speak seemed to have made him so quiet. His bare feet made no noise as went. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he quieted that too. His breathing was steady, slow. His anger and hatred were not the raging white hot heat of revenge, but rather ice cold and calculating. He was going to kill his tormentors.

He passed cell after cell. It seems the Death Eaters had recovered after the raid that rescued him. No one noticed him. He was a phantom. Perhaps the temperature dropped a few degrees in his wake, but who would notice that when the torture of muggles was making the blood boil in anticipation.

If it was possible, it grew darker. He was reaching the end. She was there, her room in the blackest section of the manor, her sleep serenaded by screams. Was she there now? Yes. Draco could feel her, feel her emptiness. She was void, void of humanity, of a soul. And Draco would put her out of her misery.

The door was unlocked. Of course. Who does she need to fear? Her room was just as dark and spare as the rest of the dungeon. She slept on a thin pallet on the floor. She was on her back. Her breathing was even and still. Draco stood and watched her breath. In. Out. In. Out. Then he caught it. The small hitch. The breath caught in her throat. In. Out. In. Out. She was only in a pretense of sleep. She knew someone was within her chambers.

Draco eased the door shut behind him and whispered a silencing spell. It wouldn't do to have company at the moment.

"Lumos," he whispered. He wanted to be able to see her when she died.

She finally opened her eyes and slowly sat up. His wand was trained on her now. She looked almost ghostly in the harsh light. Her wand was already in her hand. She slept with it clutched to her. She stood now. Draco almost wished he had killed her in her sleep. But he knew it wouldn't have been as satisfying as her consciously knowing her life was ending.

They stared at one another, each willing to let the other make the first move. And then it started.

"Everte Statum"

Draco was flown backwards, and had there been more space would have done a rather spectacular backflip. As it was, he flung into the wall and nearly landed on his head.

He quickly rose and fired of a spell of his own. The limited space made it nearly impossible to dodge any curse or spell. Shielding was of utmost importance. Not much time had passed, but both oponents were taking a mutual breather. It was nice to see she actually breathed air.

Draco began to finally think how he would kill her. Could he use the Killing Curse? Probably. He wanted her dead, and he wanted her to suffer. But the Killing Curse was too quick.

They began again. But Draco's mind wasn't entirely on the task before him. How would he kill her? The light jet of a missed curse reflected off something in the opposite corner. A knife. It would be rather fitting. After all, she used muggle torture on him, why should he refrain from killing her with a muggle device? Now the only problem was getting the knife, and stabbing her without her killing him first. A plan began to stir within his mind. Faint memories of a spell only whispered about. A spell considered to be folly to cast and pointless in its creation. A spell to block magic. It was ironic that a spell would stop more spells, but it could be effective in a situation where the opponent spellcaster was simply too powerful.

It didn't have an incantation. Instead, the power was focused through the will and need of the caster. It also did not need a wand. Which was good as Draco had just lost his. She grinned as she kicked his mother's wand away from him. The hate was still pulsing through Draco's veins, but he only allowed his inner core of fear to show. She advanced, savoring her perceived victory. It gave Draco the time to concentrate his thoughts. She raised her wand.

"Avada Kedevra!"

Nothing happened. It worked. But it also meant his silencing spell was gone. No matter, he would simply have to be quick. But the executioner was not beaten yet. She tossed her wand to the side, and advanced upon him. Draco let his cold fury build inside him. He would fight with anger and hatred, and he would kill her. Instead of cowering in the corner, waiting for her to approach, Draco threw himself at her, knocking her to the ground. He straddled her and began punching as hard as he could. Unfortunately, she knew how to get herself out of these situations, and threw him off of her. Right into the corner. He landed on his hands and knees, head bowed, as if in defeat already.

His hand reached for the knife, slowly, so she wouldn't see him grabbing it. He was too slow. She grabbed him by his hair and dragged him to his feet. He elbowed her in the stomach. Her grip only tightened. His hair was coming out, ripped from his scalp. Draco was twisting and squirming, trying to land a hit anywhere on her body, but she was too strong. She began to move her hands down to his neck, and that is when he seized the opportunity. He grabbed her wrist and twisted down, his anger making him stronger. The sound of bone snapping echoed throughout the tiny chamber. A blow to her jaw knocked her off her feet. Draco lunged at the knife. It was old and rusty, still bearing the stains of old blood that had not yet flaked off. He hoped it was sharp enough.

He had barely grabbed the knife when she lunged at him. He turned just then, thrusting the knife out and up. It caught her in the middle of her chest, just missing her heart. She staggered back, gripping the hilt. The expression on her face did not change. She did not show pain or shock.

Draco had chosen the muggle way to kill her so he could see the life slowly leaving her. He hoped it took a long time. Her eyes where open, occasionally blinking. He wanted her to keep them open, so he could watch the fade, watcht the life go. She fell back, crashing into the wall before sliding down it. She pulled the knife out, and the dark stain of blood was barely noticable on her black robes. Draco released his spell containing magic, and bent down to pick his own wand up.

"Lumos."

Now he could really see her eyes. He watched, sitting down on the floor across from her. Minutes passed before Draco realized she was already dead. Her eyes were the same. They were the same in death as they had been in life. If Draco had not been sitting, he would have fallen to the floor. She was already dead before he killed her, he realized. Not literally, but she was so twisted and broken, that humanity left her. Was she this way by choice? by birth? Or was she the way she was because of what was done to her. What sort of training did it take to become an executioner?

What had been done to her?

Draco looked around her small room. It contained only her sleeping pallet. It was a far cry from the luxurious manor. Draco's anger left him, and he began to weep. And for the first time in weeks, it wasn't for himself. It was for the twisted shell of a human being that died before him.