“Malfoy!”
Draco Malfoy, a pale-skinned, blond-haired eighteen-year-old, scurried after Lord Voldemort. “Yes, my Lord?”
Voldemort turned, his black cloak billowing around him ominously. Malfoy did his best to repress a shudder. Even though he’d quickly risen to be Voldemort’s most devoted servant, the Dark Lord’s red, cat-like eyes and flat nose still unnerved him. But his advanced Occlumency protected him, so he remained safe.
The truth was, Malfoy loathed himself for committing so many evil deeds. Murders, thefts, kidnappings - he didn’t like it, but it was too late now. He’d made his choice. There was no turning back. And although he wished with all his heart, there was nothing he could do now.
Voldemort stared coldly at Malfoy. “I’m sick and tired of Potter and his interfering little friends ruining my plans. So tonight will be the end. I’m going to kill him.”
Malfoy’s heart leapt. “I wish you the best of luck, sir!”
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” replied Voldemort carelessly, pocketing his wand. “I have nothing to fear. Potter’s but a boy, and I am the greatest sorcerer ever to live. This shall be child’s play.” He began striding across the room, and then stopped halfway to the door. Voldemort spun on his heel and looked back at Malfoy. “Well? Come on! We haven’t got all night.”
Malfoy hastily grabbed his wand, fastened his cloak, and hurried after his master.
“Well, then, let’s go,” said Voldemort, beckoning imperiously to Malfoy. Malfoy quickly started forward, his heart thumping. He was going to help finish off that miserable Potter. Suddenly, all his evil deeds seemed small, insignificant. He was on the winning side - the Dark side. And he wouldn’t ever change. Why should he? Malfoy shook back his left sleeve and stroked the inky black Dark Mark proudly. No, he thought. I won’t change. I’m exactly where I want to be.
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Malfoy and Voldemort stepped out into the salty ocean air. Malfoy breathed in deeply, feeling happy and content. Voldemort looked pleased as well. His expression wasn’t as intense as usual, and the tips of his mouth were almost tipping upwards. What was that called again? Malfoy whispered the word softly. It sounded foreign, unused - smile.
“So, where is Potter, sir?” asked Malfoy, beginning to get a little confused as to why they were standing out in the open sea air.
“In that infernal school. That wretch McGonagall gave him a job teaching.” Voldemort cursed under his breath. “It’s ridiculous. He’s a boy, only eighteen, just a year out of school!”
“I quite agree,” piped up Malfoy.
“Of course you do,” snapped Voldemort. Malfoy quickly lowered his head, abashed.
“He’s teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts,” growled Voldemort, glancing around. “Exactly the job I applied for, so many years ago…” Voldemort tried to mask his bitterness with icy indifference, but Malfoy detected the indignation, still fresh after all those years.
“So…” said Malfoy, trying to figure out how he could ask when they were leaving without sounding impatient.
“Quiet,” hissed Voldmort. “We’re leaving now. Apparate to that Forest, since we can’t get inside the grounds, and keep your wand out.”
Malfoy nodded dutifully and then watched as Voldemort vanished. Then he promptly left, not wanting to keep him waiting.
Malfoy found himself in the middle of a thornbush. He swore under his breath and then climbed to his feet, picking stickers out of his arms and legs. His fingers curled around his wand, ready to pull it out at any second. He’d been in the forest before-he knew what lurked inside.
“Malfoy!”
“My Lord?”
“Don’t be a fool! Come on.”
“Lumos!” Malfoy’s wand tip ignited, sending rays of light outward. “Where are you?”
“Right here, you moron,” snapped Voldemort, his face appearing out of the darkness, a pale beacon. “Now let’s go. It’s night; I want to catch Potter by surprise.”
“Right, sir.” The pair of them fought through bramble, hanging branches, and any assortment of other plants until finally Malfoy glimpsed the familiar Hogwarts grounds: the vicious Whomping Willow, the glassy black lake, and the Quidditch pitch. Malfoy’s gaze slowly went up to the magnificent castle, bringing back floods of memories. But he forced them back down and followed Voldemort onto the moonlit grass.
They passed that bumbling oaf Hagrid’s hut; he was growing his gigantic pumpkins as usual. Malfoy ignored the Herbology greenhouses, the huge pine trees, and the towers and turrets of the castle.
Voldemort walked confidently up to the castle’s heavy oak doors and performed a complicated wave with his wand. The lock simply melted away. Voldemort reached out with his long, spidery fingers and pushed it open gently. It swung back, revealing a dark hallway. Malfoy, his heart pounding with anticipation, stole inside after Voldemort and looked around.
The castle hadn’t changed, with its drafty hallways, gloomy paintings, and desolate suits of armor. As they passed the concealed doorway to the Slytherin common room, Malfoy smiled. He’d always liked that place.
“Come along.” Voldemort’s voice echoed in the high-ceilinged corridor, and Malfoy sped up, eager to get to the core of their mission. Suddenly, Voldemort stopped. Malfoy almost toppled into him, but he dug his toes into the cold floor just in time. “He’s in here.” Voldemort pointed to a door. “Go in first, so you can catch him off guard.”
Malfoy took a deep breath to calm his suddenly dizzying nerves. Then he stepped through the door, his hand around his wand.
Potter looked exactly the same. His black hair was as messy as ever, his eyes as green as ever, and he was still short and skinny. At least now his glasses weren’t taped together. He was sitting at a desk, surrounded by piles of paper, and it looked like he was grading homework assignments. Sitting next to him, smiling, was Ginny Weasley, the blood traitor.
“So, Potter. You’re still here in this rathole.”
Potter and Weasley looked up and simultaneously got to their feet, wands at the ready.
Malfoy twirled his own wand nonchalantly. “Relax, Potter, Weasley.” He looked around Potter’s small, square office and sneered. “I’m surprised at you. I didn’t think you’d want to stick around here after Dumbledore, that old fool, died.”
Potter’s jaw clenched. He raised his wand and yelled, “Crucio!” just as Malfoy wordlessly performed a shield spell.
“Don’t try that, Potter,” said Malfoy. “Expelliarmus!”
Potter’s wand flew over to Malfoy, who caught it and pocketed it. The Weasley girl stepped in front of Harry, her wand raised. “Sectumsempra!”
Again, Malfoy blocked the spell effortlessly. “Crucio!”
Weasley screamed, her eyes scrunched tightly. Potter looked on in horror. “Stop!” he shouted, not taking his eyes away from the red-haired girl. “Malfoy, STOP!”
Laughing, Malfoy lifted the spell. Potter helped Weasley to her feet, glaring at Malfoy. “Malfoy. Why are you here?”
“Oh, it’s not just me.” Right on cue, Voldemort stepped inside. Weasley gasped, and Potter stepped protectively in front of her.
“Crucio!” Potter never had a chance to do anything-even if he’d had a wand. As he writhed on the ground, Weasley looking on in horror, Malfoy felt something twinge inside. He and Potter had been enemies from day one, but he wasn’t ready to watch Potter die a horrific death.
Slightly alarmed, Malfoy tried to push this new feeling back. But Voldemort didn’t lift the spell. Malfoy looked on helplessly as Potter shrieked, rolling around. Finally, the curse ended. Potter lay on the ground, panting.
Voldemort stepped over him and Potter struggled to get to his feet. Voldemort simply pushed him back down. “No, Potter,” he said softly. “I don’t want you to die like a man. I want you to die on the ground, begging for mercy.” He raised his wand. “Avada-”
“NO!”
Malfoy flung himself on top of Potter, hardly believing what he was doing. Potter stopped struggling, his mouth hanging open, looking utterly dumbstruck. Voldemort had momentarily frozen, and Malfoy took the opportunity. “Stupefy!”
Voldemort was thrown across the room, where he lay in a heap. Malfoy and Potter both got to their feet.
“Malfoy, what are you doing here?”
Malfoy stared determinedly at the ground, his cheeks reddening. “I….”
The Weasley girl flung out her wand and held it to Malfoy’s throat. “What’s going on, you beastly, vile-”
Potter stuck out his arm. “Ginny, stop.”
Weasley flung Harry the dirtiest look she could muster, but she lowered her wand. Malfoy looked up. “Potter, I’m going to help you. Kill him. Kill him right now, while he’s weak.”
Potter just stood there, stock-still, not believing a minute of it.
“What are you waiting for? Kill him!” Malfoy was almost screaming.
Potter took a step towards the world’s most evil sorcerer, and then stopped. He turned back to Malfoy. “This-this is it?” he asked hoarsely. “No joke?”
Malfoy solemnly shook his head. Potter turned to face Voldemort, crumpled in a heap on the ground. The Weasley girl started to cry out, and Malfoy quickly clamped his hand over her mouth. "Hurry," he urged Potter, "before she spits on me."
Potter walked slowly over to where Voldemort was lying. His hand was shaking as he raised his wand, brought it down, and yelled, “AVADA KEDAVRA!”
The burst of green light erupted from his wand, and suddenly Voldemort was dead.
Potter turned around, his face gleeful. “Is he really dead?” he asked. “For real?” his face changed for a split second, to reveal the child inside who had never gotten a chance to be a real kid.
Malfoy shrugged. “I’ll check. Ennervate!”
Voldemort did not stir.
Malfoy turned to Potter. “He’s gone,” he said simply. He could hardly believe the words spilling out of his mouth. Voldemort, gone, dead? Forever? Suddenly, the impact of what he had done hit Malfoy. He sank to his knees weakly.
“What have I done?”
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