in the end ~ d. malfoy

Chapter Forty-Six

July 2016

THEY SAY THAT HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS, but Draco feels the exact opposite.

Home is somewhere you're supposed to be safe. To be cared for, to let your guard down under the safety of four walls. A place to lay down your roots, recharge and relax. Where memories of family picnics and milestones echo gallantly through the halls, musical laughter echoing from the living room.

Malfoy Manor is none of those things.

Home, to him, is cold and dark. A place that swallows you up into it's deadly bowels, forever trapped within those four walls. A gilded cage laden with false material comforts designed to lull you into a false sense of safety. Because Malfoy Manor isn't home. It never has been. It's more of a fancy prison, draped in velvet armchairs and sparkling chandeliers to disguise the bloodshed that stains their hardwood floors, the bones of innocents holding up the foundation. It's where the worst of Draco's memories have taken place, defiance beaten out of him and obedience drilled in.

And now, it's housing one of the most dangerous dark wizards to ever walk the earth.

Some small, naive part of him thought that there would be no consequences for his father's mistake. That the Dark Lord would see no reason to punish them as it had already been done. Lucius Malfoy is rotting his life away in Azkaban, his family and status eternally ripped from him. Without him, the three of them have fallen into the seventh circle of hell, no longer the most pristine, glittering gems of pureblood society to ever exist. Their reputation has been blackened forever — as well as their lives.

But apparently, that wasn't enough for the noseless bastard. No, not even close.

Albus Dumbledore is a threat to everything the Dark Lord has ever envisioned. Powerful, charismatic, and a fierce advocate for the rights of muggleborns, his promises hold more sway in the Wizarding World than ever before. And with the public being aware of his return, it's only a matter of time before the old codger rallies an army of his own — and burns theirs to the ground.

Albus Dumbledore must die — and Draco Malfoy has to be the one to do it.

The plan is one insurmountably beyond his abilities — fix the broken vanishing cabinet from Borgin and Burkes, and let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts to finish the job. Narcissa's protests had echoed throughout the dining room: 'He's just a boy!', 'Please, spare us!', 'How can you expect him to rip his soul apart?'. But a red light from the Dark Lord's wand had silenced the doubts in his mind, his mother's screams of agony drowning out everything else.

Once upon a time, he actually wanted this. His ten-year-old self idolized the greatness that being on the dark side would bring, the power it would grant them. Purifying magic for those who deserve it, ridding their world of the pests that were muggles. It all sounded so noble, restoring an order that had been disrupted years ago. Instead, as Draco lies on his emerald sheets, the stars glittering outside his bay window, he feels nothing but a vile, sickening sensation in his gut, lungs slowly atrophying in his ribcage.

He should be proud of himself, Draco thinks, quietly. Being personally chosen to serve the Dark Lord is an honor, a stepping stone to being one of his right-hand men. It's what his father would've wanted, the very choice that could save their entire lives from being flushed down the drain. But all Draco can think about are the consequences of his possible (who's he kidding, inevitable) failure to complete his task, his chest squeezing and muscles tightening at the threats that had effortlessly echoed from the pale man's mouth.

'You'd do best to follow my command, dear boy, ' The Dark Lord had trailed a sharp nail menacingly along his jaw, the stinging sensation struggling to keep Draco from flinching away in fear. His twisted, wax-like features had swirled into a sinister smile, sharp teeth bared in a taunt and making all signs of struggle disappear from the young Slytherin's body, 'After all, the fate of your loved ones depends on how well you perform. You wouldn't want your lover to have her heart ripped out before she can write her N.E.W.T.s, would you?'