“Draco…you are not a killer…”
The way Dumbledore said that to me made my insides jump. He doesn’t know me, and he doesn’t know what I’m capable of. The Dark Lord has entrusted me with his most important mission, and I have not failed him yet. This will not become my first time.
Back when I took the oath entrusting me as a Death Eater, I knew what was going to be in store for me and my family. I knew from that moment that it was going to be my job to pick up where my father left off. I was going to have to do all the tough missions, and yet, unlike my father, I knew that the Dark Lord cared nothing for me. My master would throw me into a pit of dragons if he thought it would help his personal gain. My father never would have believed that.
But I’m much smarter then any of the other Death Eaters. I think much the same way as the Dark Lord, and I know what his final intentions are. I’ve done my research, I’ve learned my magic, and I’ve still held my tongue. But I know that in the end I will get the final glory. I’ll be better then my father ever was, and I’ll do it for myself, not like he was trying to do it for me.
Because in this world you have to stand up for yourself and no one else. Those who go around trying to save others only end up dying themselves. And I don’t give a damn if they think they’re being ‘noble’, because they’re only being stupid. No one cares for someone who dies in vain; it’s those people who survive that really matter. It’s the living who rule over the dead.
Dumbledore, the poor soul, never understood this. He always pushed for the ‘good side’, because he thought it was all for the ‘greater good’. But there is no such thing as this ‘greater good’ if everyone ends up dead. Dumbledore doesn’t realise that being dead is not something one strives for. With a dead heart, your soul can’t survive to finish what you never completed. When you die, you’re dead-- and nothing in the world can change that.
The old man always tried to get me to join him. He offered me everything he thought I might want, but it was never enough. He couldn’t give me everlasting life, and he couldn’t give me eternal power. Those were things the Dark Lord could give.
When I was given this assignment to kill my own Headmaster, I knew it was my one chance to prove myself. I knew that if I could do this, I could do anything. I worked my hardest on this project, and remembered not to give up hope. I had endless glory awaiting me if I completed this, and that wasn’t something I was going to let go. I was going to finish this, and not just for me, but for everyone before me that attempted this murder. For everyone that tried and failed numerous times to kill the one man who stood in the way of the Dark Lord and his never-ending reign.
But I went through some tough times completing this goal. There were spots when I thought it might not work. I just had to remember for what I doing this-- for whom I was doing this. I’m doing this for the Dark Lord. I’m doing this for myself. But, most of all, I am doing this for my father. He was never given the chance to do anything great, and I pity him for that. His assignments were never as important as mine is, and I knew that he regretted that wholeheartedly. When Dumbledore and his men sent my beloved father into his final resting place, I knew it was my job to get revenge. I knew it was my job to kill.
I often tell myself that I am doing this not only for my master, but for my family as well. Had I not been given this assignment, I think I would have tried my hardest to kill this man at my feet anyway. Even if I had to do it alone, I still would have done it. I would have given this man the same pain he’s making my father suffer years of, and I would have done it alone if I had to.
Because the old man is wrong. He’s wrong. He tells me if I join him I can run away with my mother, and everything would be all right. He tells me I can be hidden and survive the downfall of the Dark Lord. He tells me that I’m not a killer. But he doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t know the anger I hold inside that yearns to be let out. He doesn’t know my pure hatred of him and all that he stands for. And he most certainly does not know what I’ve done. I am a killer. I will kill.
I’m doing this for everyone that has ever tried and failed to kill the man who had taken their pride. I am doing this for anyone who has been sent to a life of basking in their sorrows because of a few words uttered from the mouth of this old man. I am doing this for anybody who has ever had to suffer pain because of the acts he has done. And, I am doing this for my master. I am doing this for my father. I am doing this for myself.
“Avada Kedavra!”