A/N: For Monthly Challenge #1, a one-shot from the POV of someone not in the Order of the Phoenix during HBP, from Ravensgryff of Gryffindor.

*Disclaimer: These characters all belong to J.K. Rowling

It was almost time. If only he’d had someone to share this with for the past months, someone who could understand the horrible position he’d been placed in. But, there was no one. He had no siblings and his mother was worried enough. His father was locked away in Azkaban, and of absolutely no use to Draco. If anything it was his father’s fault he was in this mess.

Crabbe and Goyle were fools, and had never really been friends by any real definition of the word. Really they were more like sheep, and only followed orders because of who Draco’s father was. Where had they been when they weren’t keeping lookout for him? Then, there was the so-called girlfriend, Pansy; but she was no help either. She spent most of her time posing with him, loving the idea of being seen with one of the richest boys in the school and constantly dropping hints for gifts she wanted. No, Draco had no real friends, unless you counted the dead girl in the girls’ toilet on the second floor. He felt pretty pathetic.

Perhaps this loneliness, which in itself was nothing new, but much more pronounced given the current situation, was the real reason behind his hatred of Potter and his friends. Potter always managed to find trouble, but there was always someone to help him through it – even to the point of giving their lives for him. How many times had Granger and Weasley been in the hospital wing because of him? Hell, Weasley came this close to death at Draco’s hands just this year, a fact that Draco didn’t feel all that badly about. Yet, they kept coming back for more. Draco had never inspired such loyalty, and it gnawed at his insides daily.

At first, the task he’d been given made him feel important and special. He felt proud to be given a mission of this magnitude at such a young age. He thought it would be a chance to prove his cleverness and bravery, gaining him the acceptance of his father and the Dark Lord himself. He could be the family savior. But his plans hadn’t been as easy to carry out as he thought. Things had kept going wrong. First, the cabinet took much longer to fix than anyone anticipated. Then, that Bell girl got her hands on the necklace instead of the intended victim. Draco felt badly about her; she had never done anything wrong to him. Then, that stupid Weasley drank the poisoned mead. Who could have known that Slughorn would pilfer it for himself, and then give it to a student? The pressure had continued to build and the gravity of the situation started to sink in. He had no good options. He was damned and alone no matter what he did.

His visit from Fenrir Greyback had crystallized that point.

“The Dark Lord says you’re taking too long, Draco,� growled the half-man, half-wolf, standing before him, drool leaking from the corners of his mouth.

“It will be soon, I swear. The cabinet is fixed; we just have to get Dumbledore into a trap. It will be done!� Draco shouted from the back room of Borgin and Burkes, a tremor in his voice. The werewolf was far too close for comfort.

“Well, you seem to need some extra encouragement to stay the course…� Fenrir roughly grabbed Draco, pulled his robes away from his shoulder and sank his teeth brutally into the boy. Draco howled in pain, but there was no one to hear him.

“Now you’ll be one of mine,� sneered the foul-smelling creature as he licked blood from the corner of his mouth. Then he shoved Draco backward and left him alone in the shop. Draco, panting, with tears sliding down his pale face, couldn’t even go to Madame Pomfrey, and would have to figure out some way to bandage the wound himself.

Now here Draco was, facing his prey at last. With all the months of planning finally coming to fruition, why did he feel so small, terrified and weak? He tried to convince himself that Dumbledore was the weak one. How frail he looked, worse than Draco had ever seen him. Yet, Draco’s hand, the one that held his wand, shook, and Dumbledore, wandless, was calm as still water. The Dark Lord, who wanted the deed done, was nowhere to be found.

So, where was the real weakness? Did it lie in his father, who created this situation in an attempt to gain some residual benefit from keeping the Dark Lord in power? Was the weakness in the Death Eaters, mere pawns in Lord Voldemort's schemes? They all boasted of power and of the glory of the Dark Lord, but they had no real power of their own.

What was worse, they were all, each of them, alone. Could one Death Eater honestly rely on one another? Did the Dark Lord trust any of them not to betray him at the first sign of disadvantage? Only a very few remained faithful when he’d been brought low the last time. Draco was painfully aware that his father was not one of those few. They weren’t friends or a family, just a group of frightened, lonely and greedy individuals who used fear to make themselves seem more formidable.

None of them would ever dare to face Dumbledore alone, certainly not if he held a wand. Even Lord Voldemort, presumably so strong, had to rely on a sixteen-year-old boy to defeat Dumbledore for him. Some would call this tactic smart; let the pawns take the fall. Others would call Voldemort a coward who hid behind even weaker cowards. This is what Draco had been reared to follow and worship.

He didn’t want it anymore, any of it. He didn’t want to harm innocent people, even the ones he didn’t really like. He didn’t want to become a killer. Then again, he didn’t want to die either. Most of all, he didn’t want to be alone.

He stood before Dumbledore, listening to him making surreal small talk; stalling for time. He knew what he had to do, but the two words that would end this nightmare would not come. By millimeters, his wand hand steadily drooped. He’d have to take the consequences. Dumbledore had offered to shelter him, and the notion seemed impossible, but that small glimmer of hope stayed Draco’s action for another moment. Was it a sincere offer, or was Dumbledore feinting on the hope that he’d be rescued? Draco believed the former. Could it be done? Did Dumbledore really have the power to save him and his mother?

The words of the Killing Curse hung over Draco like a raincloud, waiting to shower him with its cleansing fluid if he remained silent, or rage against him with a storm of self-loathing if he spoke them. His mouth felt like cotton and his palms felt moist. Everything slowed to near inertia and he could hear nothing but the sound of his own breath and the rapid pulsation of his own blood through his veins. Do something, Draco. Just do…something.

But, then it was too late. The Death Eaters came. Perhaps there was a chance he could still do something right. Maybe there was a chance to make a connection, no matter how brief. He could stand with Dumbledore, join the good side, and be part of something real. At least he could keep his soul intact and not take part in the evil that surrounded him. He felt afraid. Would they torture him and his mother, or would their end be a merciful one? Silent, he stood paralyzed.

And then, as if he’d gotten an answer to some unspoken prayer, the decision was wrested from his hands and the deed done. Maybe he had something like a friend after all. Maybe.