When The Smoke Clears

Crossroads

The snake hissed in irritation, its sinuous body sliding silently over the wooden floor. Seventeen-year-old Draco Malfoy desperately wanted to move away from the beast - he'd seen its fangs sink into too many necks to count and had no desire to be its next victim. But a slit-eyed wizard stood nearby, and Draco could show no fear in front of him. The boy's knees shook slightly, but his face remained inscrutable.

Before him, a Mudblood cowered.

Her pale, freckled face was cast towards the floor, stringy black hair hiding her eyes. A year ago, Draco would have jeered and spat at anyone with her tainted blood. But now, pity overshadowed the revulsion. He could no longer believe that Mudbloods were less than human. How could he, when the fear in their faces was the same in his heart? Not for the first time, Draco felt grateful towards Snape, who, despite being a slippery, indifferent man, had taught his protégé enough Occlumency to shield his mind from even the most accomplished Legilimens.

"Please..." The girl whimpered. She couldn't have been more than fifteen. "Please..." She begged for her life, her freedom, and her family, in one breath. But Draco knew she couldn't have any of those things. It was far too late for her. For anybody.

Draco raised his wand. "Crucio." The Mudblood's body spasmed, and she let loose a chilling scream. Draco closed his eyes but showed no other outer reaction. The curse did not last long, and only a few moments later, the girl stopped screaming. Her breath came in ragged pants as she curled upon the floor.

"Losing your nerve, are you?" The Dark Lord's high voice echoed through the large living room.

"No, my Lord."

"I should hope not. Then perhaps," And it was then the wizard stepped from the flickering shadows into the firelight, "You are eager to kill?"

Draco hesitated. "Yes, my Lord."

A sharp agony suddenly bloomed across Draco's ribs, and he gasped, bending over slightly. But he tried to regain his composure, molding his face back into an emotionless mask. The cut was not deep. He had suffered worse.

"Do not lie to me, Draco," The Dark Lord hissed. The boy's name sounded vicious on his tongue. "But it is no matter. The Killing Curse is not a spell to be performed by the weak...you understand this, yes?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"You were not eager to kill Dumbledore, after all. But let us assume you harbored too much affection for your old school and its headmaster, to be able to strike him then."

Draco closed his eyes again, knowing the Dark Lord was wrong on one count. He cared nothing for Dumbledore. But Hogwarts, the halls filled with sunshine, the bright Quidditch pitch, the smell of potions, the scratching of quills...Crabbe and Goyle, those useless but entertaining oafs he'd grown to genuinely like...Even Harry Potter, the ever-insufferable golden boy, the dependable and worthy rival, who surely continued his heroics even when all hope was lost...

"But I am right in saying that you no longer harbor affection for Hogwarts."

It wasn't a question, but Draco answered anyway, lying through his teeth and making his mind blank. "I do not, my Lord."

"It does not matter this time," The Dark Lord continued, "For the wench that lies before you is a nobody. Do not hesitate, Draco."

Two simple words and it would all be over. Draco pointed his wand at the Mudblood, who let out a strangled cry and began muttering a sort of prayer under her breath. Foolish girl. No one could help her now. Draco's right hand trembled slightly; he forced himself to keep it steady. He knew the Dark Lord would punish him and his family dearly if he failed.