I'm touched so many of you are still reading this! Thank you once more for the reviews and the incoming alerts – it makes me want to write more. And thank you for the link to the beta readers – I'm looking for one now! Here's the next installment. Enjoy and as always please feel free to send me a message/comment/rant... Oh, and I forgot to post it in the beginning, but, I don't own anything in Potter Universe. That's J.K. Rowling. I'm only a fanfic writer.

LCailan

CHAPTER THREE

The cigarette that dropped from his fingers idly winked out in a hazy puff of smoke and he crushed it under one of his shiny black boots before kicking it aside and then entering the Ministry of Magic, his head held high. It was cold inside – cold and slightly damp and he took in a breath that was stale air and the scent of his cigarette. For a moment, all was silent. His pewter eyes flickered towards the middle of the room.

Magic is Might.

The statue stood in the center of the atrium, large and foreboding, casting wide shadows along the dark, polished wooden floor which it sat on.

Magic is Might.

Draco Malfoy, formerly King of Slytherin House at Hogwarts turned uncertain and faltering Death Eater Ministry official within the department of Magical Law Enforcement stood staring towards the massive statue.

The moment of silence was broken.

To his right, witches and wizards departed the Ministry for London. To his left still other witches and wizards arrived to work, moving quickly and with purpose. Some were Death Eaters, some he did not know, and still others were scared and uncertain.

Those were the impure, the muggle-born sympathizers. The forgotten. These ones often came in but never left.

Granger.

For some reason, it was those eyes that floated along his tortured conscience. And it wasn't just because he had been shocked to recognize her as one of those denizens who crawled along the London streets like stray animals. He had been used to that – but not to the fact that suddenly he knew one of them and there was a strange and unfamiliar emotion that gripped his lower belly.

I won't feel guilt! Silly little know-it-all Mudblood got what she finally deserved. Nothing. She deserves no sympathy.

The thought did nothing to settle Draco's wandering mind and troubled thoughts. Because there had been something in her eyes that afternoon – something that had not only stopped him in his tracks but shaken him to his core.

Pain. Despair. Humiliation. Helplessness.

And why should I give a bloody damn?

Pushing his undesirable thoughts aside, he took a step towards the massive stone structure that marked the center of the headquarters of Voldermort's Ministry. A ministry and regime that had changed everything about the way witches and wizards lived their lives. Nothing was the same anymore. Indeed, he wondered if anything would be the same again ever.

He stared once more at the structure wearing a look of dispassion. No more Fountain of Magical Brethren. No more unity between wizard folk and elves and centaurs and goblins – now nothing mattered but those with purest blood. These would rule all others, these would wield power over the weaker ones, the ones who knew no magic, ones who were not pure in blood and pure in character. Goblins were beneath them, mere creatures who only thought themselves intelligent. Elves, too, nothing more than creature-like slaves, though soon enough those Mudbloods would be just as low, not worthy to even wipe the boots of those of pure blood.

A sneer formed on his pale face.

This was his father's world. This was Voldermort's dream realized. This was chaos and darkness. He stared at the massive statue.

Depicted in perpetual form were those of pure blood crushing beneath their feet all those less worthy, all those different than them. At the base of the pewter structure he read the words once again.

Magic is Might.

It was true – those who were pure of blood were mightier than all others. Now, there would be no question of who ruled the wizarding world. No more muggle borns. No more silly little champions for equality. Soon there would only be a world of wizards and witches of superior birth and talent.

A perfect world. Utopia.

Shuddering, Draco turned from the ugly statue and lowered his head.

Then why am I afraid?

He did not panic, even though his first instinct was to whimper. Sometimes, even now, these moments happened – these moments of weakness. He blamed them not on himself and his uncertainty but on the fact that he had still been young when the Ministry had fallen to Voldemort. It was different now. Draco was older and wiser – he understood. Maybe.

He stalked along the polished floors of the atrium and stopped at the far side, beneath the blue ceilings. The watchwizard gave him a bleary stare.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

"Messages for me?"

His words were harsh, clipped. The older wizard searched too slowly.

"I…I don't believe so, sir."

"You don't believe so? Or you don't know?"

Bullying. It was childish and petty but it gave Draco a sense of control. And with control came domination. With control came a sense of calm. If they feared you, you controlled them.

If they feared you, they would not see your own fear.

The watchwizard, clearly frazzled, began to search through the messages at the front desk with trembling fingers and after a moment or two he looked up.

"No, nothing…sir."

Draco spun on the heels of his well made boots and then stalked off towards the lifts without another word. His hands were like ice.

Control.

The lift took him down. It was colder here. Colder the lower one went.

"Now arriving…level two…Magical Law Enforcement-"

He shoved away from the lift walking briskly down the hallway towards his own office the voice of the welcome witch fading behind him. He was alone now.

Control.

In the distance, Draco suddenly heard the muffled sounds of screams. Scream just like-

He pushed the door to his office open roughly and then slammed it shut, before sinking into his chair with a groan. There were notes strewn about on the surface of his work desk. There were notes, memos, and reminders. He ignored them all, closing his burning eyes.

I won't think of it. I won't think of home. I won't think of her.

Sometimes, maintaining control wasn't easy. Sometimes, it was downright bloody impossible.

In the adult world, Draco had found that he had no one to bully, no one to single out and hinge on to maintain his control. He knew that in this world he was no longer King. In this world he was just a minion – and only his blood status had saved him from the dreary oblivion that awaited all those others who were not so lucky.

And why shouldn't I be one of the lucky ones? I'm a Malfoy!

Here he was, sitting in his own office, with his own job, money coming in, a four bedroom home on the posh side of London, a proper wife, everything that his father had told him he would have, and more. He thought about his near perfect life simply because it kept the steadily growing panic that crept around the edges of his conscience at bay. Closer and closer it crept, and it slowly erased the control he had taught himself always to maintain.

Suddenly, however, it was no longer possible to not think of all those things he did not want to think about. And the memory of Hermione Granger's tear stained, sad eyes flooded his mind's eye.

"Bloody hell!"

He stood up, throwing himself across the room, his long fingers grabbing hold of the window sill and clamping down tight, so tight that his knuckles were as white as bone.

Stupid little bint. Filthy Mudblood. Nasty little know-it-all. He hated her for even making him feel a fraction of guilt for everything that he had done so far. She didn't know the things he had done, oh no, but still, in some way those eyes…

Those eyes had gazed into his with accusation, with blame. Eyes filled with tears so that it was as if they were swimming. Eyes that at one time had sparkled, he was sure. Not that he had ever taken the time to watch her in school. He had hated her then, stupid girl with her stupid friends. Thinking she was better than he was just because she was smart. Well, he had shown her, they had all shown her, hadn't they? In this new world, she didn't belong. She was nothing. Less than nothing. She was-

Such knowing eyes…

No. He wouldn't think of her. He wouldn't think of the fact that with that one glance she had made him lose all his well maintained control. Damn bloody bitch.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes. Stood there for a moment, just breathing in the silence.

Control.

Another breath.

Control.

Another breath and his heart began to slow.

Control.

Imperio.

Control.

Crucio.

He stared blankly out of the window at the grayness outside. How many times had those words left his lips, had his wand done such damage? Impossible to believe that he would ever have found his way here, wasn't it? Amazingly what had once been illegal, unforgivable was now a way of life.

A way of control.

Draco hung his head.

Bitterness replaced the rage and guilt. Bitterness. His father had never found him good enough. He had never been good enough. The Dark Lord had tested him and he had failed as illustrated by his inability to kill Albus Dumbledore. They had laughed at him when he had run. He remembered – Fenrir, those horrid looking twins that had taken over Hogwarts…even Snape had looked slightly disturbed at his lack of bravery.

I should have killed Dumbledore.

Had he made up for those past failings? Now that he was where he was?

Am I still that coward?

Draco hardly stopped to consider his emotions – there was no room in this new life for such things. Anger, guilt, love, resentment, all of it was rubbish. He did what he had to. He did what was expected of him. He fought for a cause his father had fought for. He did not think on the past, on the losses, on the loneliness, the horror. He did not-

There were stirrings outside, a fight between one of the ranking officials and a short little dirty wizard. There were yells. The official fell to his side. There was a flash of green.

Avada Kedavra.

It was over. The body of the little wizard lay still. He turned from the window, somehow unable to gaze on the scene any longer even though it was one he had seen over and over again. How many people now? Innumerable.

His wand lay on top of his cluttered desk and Draco stared at it without moving. That wand had caused pain and anguish. Had been used for control and manipulation. Death. A strange sick feeling washed over him, oily and thick. And then Granger's eyes. Damn it all with those stupid eyes!

As he stared a hatred seemed to form within him bubbling up from one of the darkest corners of his soul replacing the guilt and the helplessness he was feeling. It fed the growing panic and Draco began to unconsciously rub the palms of his hands along his trousers, at first slowly and then faster….faster.

I should have killed her when I had the chance. They would have thanked me, the Ministry, Voldemort, all of them. For getting rid of another piece of wizarding filth. Should have killed her. Should have… -

He couldn't breathe- suddenly- the panic choking him, making the room spin, causing him to go weak at the knees and his mind was whirling out of control so that he nearly jumped a foot when the door to his office opened.

"Sod it all!" he exclaimed flipping around abruptly, his gray eyes widening and his heart hammering wildly.

Bellatrix Lestrange stood framed by the doorway, her own dark eyes wide with curiosity.

"Are you all right nephew?"

Her tone was like ice, holding no concern whatsoever. Draco's raging heart slowed as he swallowed to speak. He nodded without speaking.

Control.

"Fine."

He stared at his aunt carefully. It was quite ironic, that this woman and her husband were now the only close family Draco had. And it was a long shot calling either of them family for there was nothing familial about them. Sadistic bitch and sadistic husband. Laughable. She was now Voldemort's right hand and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and therefore she was also Draco's boss. Aunt and boss. Woman and murderess. Evil personified in human flesh.

His eyes dropped from hers, for Bellatrix had an uncanny way of reading minds sometimes – and the last thing he wanted was for her to know that he was-

"You seem different."

Her tone held a hint of glee and her eyes brightened for a moment.

Too late, he supposed.

"Different how?"

Even his own voice sounded strange and faraway in ears that were still ringing with panic.

"I do not know. Perhaps you could tell me."

There was a smirk on her full lips when he dared to look up at her for a moment, and a twisted glimmer in her eyes. She could have been a pretty woman he supposed. A long, long time ago…before evil had destroyed her inside and out. Though Draco couldn't remember her that way.

"I told you, I am fine."

A cold silence fell upon them and finally she let out a harsh laugh.

"Very well then. Have you gotten the post about the alienages to be set up for the growing numbers of mudbloods and blood traitors that keep infesting our city?"

Draco sank down behind his desk, watching his aunt expressionlessly.

"Only just now."

His reply was punctuated by the lift of the hand held the small missive with the M. o. M. letterhead. Bellatrix sneered.

"Well then, child, have you considered where and when we ought to start searching and smoking out all that disgusting magical filth? You still manage the Hit Wizards, do you not? Or do you get paid to sit there and look only half as pretty as your father always did?"

Her blatant mockery of him made Draco see brilliant red but he remained seated. He believed her wrath was better suited at others and not himself – and suddenly-

Granger. Granger lying at Malfoy Manor with Bellatrix above her, wand pointed at her face, and Granger was screaming…screaming…

Never again did he want to hear screams like those. Never again.

I won't think of those bloody screams.

Draco tried to push those memories out of his mind desperately. He had felt so helpless in the midst of that screaming, so lost.

"I was going to get a cup of coffee and then get down to business."

He hoped his own voice did not betray him.

"The business of staring out of the window?"

Her voice held contempt and impatience and this time…this time Draco nearly did get up and smack her across the face. He almost felt the satisfactory smack and the way her face would have registered shock. It would almost have been worth the consequences.

Still, he sat.

"Do let me know when you finally start working. The sooner the better."

She left then, but the echo of her mockery remained with him. Draco felt his fingers tightening on the pen he now held and his vision blurred as he tried to read the missive that had come directly from Voldemort. Two hours later, still unable to fully concentrate, Draco stood and returned to the window. The little wizard still lay where he had fallen, like a piece of trash that no one would notice or take the time to dispose of. He turned and walked stiffly out of his office and down the empty hallway the way he had come earlier, and to the lift. The annoying welcome witch droned in his ear as he moved lower and lower, growing colder and colder so that he thought he might freeze.

The Wizengamot had begun to use dementors to control any who came down to these lowest regions of the Ministry, but since Voldemort's victory their numbers had doubled…even tripled. They lined the hallways here, floating in midair, watching him…watching him.

Two court scribes hurried past him and then he was alone.

His teeth chattered and kept his head down as he moved swiftly not having forgotten than if he drew the attention of these blasted creatures he would be in deep trouble. Draco had not yet mastered the art of the Patronus.

Bloody Patronus.

Then he heard the screams again – terror-stricken and full of pain. Helpless, hopeless screaming of those receiving the Kiss. Of those already too far gone. Of those who knew what was coming.

An Interrogator rushed past, his head held high, avoiding Draco's gaze.

He stood alone in that hallway wondering when it would all stop – if- it would stop.

Magic is Might.

He needed to remember that, to focus on that. Everything was happening for a reason. It didn't matter that sometimes the madness made no sense. The screams were too poignant, too much like hers, too much like those screams that night at the Mansion, like Granger-

Viciously, Draco reached out, yanking on the robes of a Ministry messenger, someone lower in rank than himself, someone whom he didn't know or care to know the name of.

"Get Bellatrix Lestrange. I need to speak with her."

The words were harsh.

"Tell her I want to meet with her about the mudblood alienages we discussed earlier. It's important."

He watched the wizard hurry off towards the lifts but he himself could not move quite yet. He wondered if he would always remain frozen.