CURSED: FROM THE BEGINNING [D.M]

-(50) all cowards do

DRACO holds Pansy's hands as they wait for the Dark Lord's arrival. He caresses them, attempting to calm her down, but he can only feel her grow more and more nervous as the minutes pass.

But can she really be blamed here?

It is only with his Occlumency skills that even Draco could keep his composure. How else could he witness the initiation of his dearest friend as a death eater, he himself being the sole cause of it? He made the choice that put Pansy here, scared out of her mind in her silver gown, tears threatening to burst out of her eyes at any given moment.

She doesn't know, of course. She doesn't know it's because of him. He doesn't know what he'll do if she ever finds out about it.

Pansy's mother sits on the couch in the parlor of the Parkinson manor, her face buried in her hands. Her father awaits Voldemort at the entrance, hardly any emotions visible on his face. There's a stillness to the air and it's getting harder and harder to breathe with each passing moment. Draco can't even bring himself to look in the eyes of a single person in there, raw guilt threatening to eat through his walls.

And just for a split second, he contemplates taking Pansy away from there. Away from the pain and suffering she is about to walk into. He thinks about hiding her and her family someplace they could never be found, someplace they'd be safe, someplace they'd be far away from the ugly clutches of Voldemort.

But it's too late now because at that every instant, Pansy's father walks in with the very same Voldemort, his black coat trailing behind him, his wand raised, a wicked smile on his face. His snake eyes land first on Draco causing him to bow. They then travel to Pansy, taking in the sight of her from head to toe. "Pansy Parkinson", he tastes her name on his tongue. He flicks it around, probably sizing up her potential at first glance. He doesn't look too impressed.

"Yes, my lord", Pansy releases a shaky breath and bows herself, the tremor inside her pounding in Draco's ears somehow.

"You do understand what glory you're walking into? How many others would kill to have your position- the same position I gave Bellatrix, my most loyal servant, the best of my dear death eaters. You declare, in front of your father, your mother and your friend, your complete allegiance to me and my cause?"

Tears glimmer in Pansy's downcast eyes and the walls of Draco's heart stretch out, pain seeping through the magic.

No. No. This can't happen. He can't let this-

"Yes, my lord", he hears Pansy mumble.

No-

"Very well then, come with me."

_

Pansy's scream resonates through the whole manor. Her pain reverberates in every last bone of Draco's body. He chokes on his own breath wishing he was deaf- or better, dead. His knuckles are white and his jaw is taut, his teeth paining from holding in his rage and cries.

He looks at Mrs. Parkinson and sees tears streaming down her face. If her husband wasn't holding her up, she'd be a pool of tears on the floor, crying in silence. And Mr. Parkinson, he's stone cold but not in a good way, but in a way that it seems like you're looking at a corpse.

Draco can't take this. He wants to walk in that room and grab her by the wrist and walk out the door of this manor, never to return. But the repercussions of these actions- it'll be something no one would be willing to face. So all he can do is stand there, hoping she doesn't completely and utterly hate him when she knows he did this to her.

But it's either Pansy or Zilliah.

Not Zilliah.

Never Zilliah.

But how could he even have the heart to put his childhood friend through this? The one who has always been there by his side from day one- the one who has always seen right through him and helped him- the one who would give her life if it was to save him.

When did he become such a cold monster at heart?

Zilliah would kill him if she knew. She cannot know. Neither can Pansy.

They cannot- that's crucial.

The scream stops. The air stills around the house again. The door opens and Pansy's parents rush into the room. But Draco can't bring himself to move. He can't see the consequences of his own actions. Not with his naked eye. Not when it's his best friend in there. He can't. His legs are rooted to the floor. He can't and he won't move.

Voldemort walks upto him and it takes everything in Draco to not deliver a punch to that malicious face right then and there. Oh, how badly he would enjoy that!

"She's weak", he hisses. "She better not disappoint me. Or you'll face the consequences of it, I warn you."

There are a million words that Draco wants to speak right now. But he bites his tongue, a little too hard, and forces a bow as Voldemort walks out of the house.

Voldemorts death- that'll be the most satisfying moment of Draco's life. He's extremely sure of it.

Pansy appears at the hallway, clinging onto her parents, exhausted, tormented and bleeding. Draco's eyes drop to her forearm and he takes in the Dark Mark etched onto her skin- tainted, forever.

Forget about Zilliah or Pansy killing him. He might just kill himself after seeing that.

Pansy's eyes are burning into Draco, seeking comfort. But he can't even look at her directly. He can't even look at her without every nerve in him wanting to burn himself alive.

"Draco", her weak voice calls, a soft and strained mumble that digs a hole through his heart and his soul and everything else in him.

A tear evades his masks and runs down his cheek.

Pansy shuffles on her feet and breaks free of her parents' grips, attempting to walk. But with two steps, she falls straight to the floor. Yet, she doesn't stop there or get up. She crawls.

She crawls to Draco and clings onto his legs like she's begging for mercy- like she wants him to tell her that it's all a bad dream- that none of it is real. But he can't. He can't because it is real. And he wishes he could just obliterate himself into a thousand pieces right then and there.

"Draco", her voice is that of a dying child. "Draco, please tell me it won't always be like this. Please."

Another tear cascades down his face.

He cannot do this. He can no longer keep his walls up.

So he does what all cowards do.

He runs.