Fractured AIAOY 6

Chapter 4

"Get up."  Narcissa commanded from Draco's doorway.  "It's time.  I suggest you not 'wonder' anything today--it will not bode well for you."

Draco abandoned his feigned sleep and somehow managed to sit up in bed; a miracle considering his heart was so heavy he wasn't sure he'd be able to lift himself.  He sat on the edge of his bed in the privacy he had after his mother left.

Draco's birthday had been weeks before, but the Dark Lord had been called away on urgent business.  Today was his return, today was Draco's initiation.

A dark suit had been set out for him by the maid, a suit that Draco pulled on with abandon exactly as a man sentenced to death would have recognised.  Draco's life was ending, this was it.  For all that damned Hufflepuff boy had spoke about choice--for Rebecca's insistence that nothing was inherently evil--this was his end.

"I could refuse."  Draco thought, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror.  He looked jagged: dark circles under his eyes, hollowed cheeks.  "I could say no.  He'll kill me, but I wouldn't be one of them."  Rage flashed through Draco and he threw his mirror to the side, letting it shatter on the floor.  He couldn't stand to see himself shrouded in dark like the rest of them just as he couldn't stand to know that he wouldn't refuse.

As terrified he was of life among monsters, he was more afraid of death.  Draco hated his cowardice, but not enough to make himself choose differently.

Draco jerked to a stop at the door, raising a shaky hand to the chain he had permanently disillusioned around his throat.  Only he could see it, only he knew it existed--the kindest action anyone had done for him in his entire memory.

The chain snapped as he pulled the necklace off, the charm of his dog falling to the floor where Draco let it.  It was the first time since he had gotten it that he took it off, and he didn't look at it as he stepped out of the room.  The Draco that loved had to be left behind if the Draco that had the mark was to survive.

Descending the stairs to where the Dark Lord waited, Draco wondered if he had let his soul fall to the ground with his necklace.

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"You will."

"You will."

"You will."

Rebecca shot up in bed, her eyes wide.  Ginny didn't wake at the disturbance, long adjusted to the nightly occurrence.  Nearly every night since she had first dreamed of the clearing, Rebecca returned.  Some nights the dark, dreaded rot seemed to hover at the edges; looming but never actually entering.  Watching but not making itself known beyond the prickling at Rebecca's neck and the feeling of being seen.

For the most part, however, Rebecca wandered about the tall grass.  Some nights the tree's eyes were open and Rebecca avoided the prying gaze.  Other nights the tree was just a tree and Rebecca found herself sitting on its many twisting roots to while away the time until she woke.  

More often than not, no matter how well Rebecca stayed out of the tree's sight when the eyes were open, the tree sorted through her mind, her feelings, her thoughts, her self.  Looking.  Judging.  Discerning.

Rebecca slipped out of bed and made her way downstairs before dawn despite the fact that she couldn't even go to the shop to distract herself.  The kettle was hot quickly and she took her steaming tea out to the table in the garden--into the cool morning as soon as she was able to escape the house.  As the fog over the hills disappeared under the rising sun, she didn't feel as if her own fog were lifting.  If anything, she felt as if she were suffocating.