Yours in Mayhem |Dramione

15 sixth year: entry two

Kill or be killed. Nothing hurts.

Kill or be killed. Nothing hurts.

Kill...

Draco wrote on. He has a mission to accomplish. Kill Dumbledore or have his father's head then his mother's head then eventually his own head up in a spike in front of the Malfoy Manor. It was the worst way to die that he could think of. To have everyone he held dear finished before his very eyes, of him begging and helpless- always weak- always not enough to help them and then eventually dying.

Without pride. Without legacy. Without anything.

And so that will be how his story will go.

Harry Potter was chosen and so was he.

But at least he knows the score, he has read the manual. It's kill or be killed. Always you or them.

"Son," there was a soft knock on his door. He never closes his bedroom door now, since there was nothing left to hide anymore. Nothing, it had all been discarded.

Discarded in the deepest corners of his consciousness.

"Draco, we have to go now," Narcissa Malfoy walked into his room tentatively, she was the only one who felt a bit disturbed by his lack of want of privacy. Draco didn't stop his scribbling of lines into his journal. He was way past the stage where he tried to conceal anything. They will know eventually, the Dark Lord is all knowing. The Dark Lord has taken his past, his present and future, to resist now will be futile. "The letter from Hogwarts arrived as well as the result of your O.W.L.S."

"Ah," he stopped scribbling for a moment, "I forgot about those," Draco said truthfully as he faced his mother. It doesn't really make sense to worry about something so futile as academics when his family's life is at stake.

Narcissa smiled at him, "Well, you did splendidly. Your father would be very proud."

"It's only exam results, Mother. Nothing has been saved," Draco didn't know why he had to say a cold remark but he regretted it instantly when he saw the look on his mother's face. She was still elegant but her face was showing signs of wear. She's losing her fire. "I'm sorry. It's just the headaches. Been reading too much."

His mother only nodded at him in understanding. She knows all about the deal and she did all that she could to make sure he carries it out but she still couldn't accept it. Why does it have to be him? Her only child? And he's only just a boy. But there's no use crying over spilled milk. "Come down when you're ready."

"I will," Draco stood up from his chair and closed the journal. Not hiding it anymore in the secret compartment in his desk.

Because if he did, he'll see his letters to Hermione and if he did...

He'll have to start all over again.
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One of Draco's many, many talents is verbally abusing anyone who works for him or anyone whose service he has bought. So, much to the the luck of Madam Malkin, the Malfoys brought their business to her that afternoon.

"Can't even stick a pin in the right place and you're already wearing spectacles. Would you want me to conjure you a third eye on your forehead?" Draco sneered even though the pin barely touched his skin. "Would this robe even be ready in your lifetime because at the rate that your going it might just not be. Don't die on me, will you?"

Madam Malkin fumed as she steadied the expensive fabrics with more pins, this time she actually stuck Draco. It wasn't an accident.

"Watch were your sticking that thing!" He instantly snapped, taking the cue to go on another round of verbal abuse on the older woman.