A/N: I'm glad to see my "review rant" worked. Thank you, ganta, kittenonabroomstick, Neighpony, JazRox, and Jay FicLover. I REALLY do appreciate the feedback. Please keep them coming! ;) And don't make me do that again!

Yours forever, Tsona

Kill. Me, kill? I can't, I-

Draco turned again at the bookcase, away from Secrets of the Darkest Art, away from Grindelwald's diary, to stalk back along the length of the bed. His shadow, cast by the Dark Lord's blue-white flames, wavered beside him- or did it tremble? It was so hard to tell as he wrung his hands, still cold in their dragonhide. The thump of his fur-lined boots counted out another loop.

His mind was playing tricks on him. There was not really a pair of round, shivering, blue eyes staring at him, watching him from beside the bed's foot. They did not watch him with that fear that waited for a slashed wand, wanting and hating to get it over with. The blue eyes were not there. He did not have to face that look until tomorrow. Tomorrow when-

Good Lord. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would come so soon. Already he suspected he had let hours pass in pacing. It was surely past midnight. Already tomorrow. Today. I have to kill today.

The blue eyes were in front of him, always in front of him, always watching. They were there even behind his lids jammed shut against them, jammed shut against the coming of the day, the locked door, the knowledge that he was completely and utterly trapped.

He kept pacing and the blue eyes watched.

What was he to do? What could he do? for that icy voice was right: Did he really want to spend forever locked in training, locked into a room each night by the Dark Lord, living beneath his fiery glare? He couldn't do that- anymore than he could kill that Muggle.

The expression in the eyes was so pitiable. He almost could have imagined the tiny whimper he heard came from a mouth beneath them. They were hovering at just the right spot. He knew how the Muggle would be- crouched on the floor, with his knees drawn up, holding them tight, too scared to let even a toe near Draco as he stood over him with a raised wand, ready to-

God! couldn't they just leave him alone? He didn't want to be doing this. Didn't they understand that? He didn't want to kill.

It was a second whimper that sent him over the edge.

"Just shove it already! I'm sorry, all right?"

Draco's eyes flew open onto the flickering blue of the flames. He scanned the room, his breathing ragged. He couldn't see the eyes anymore. He slammed his eyes shut, just to make sure they hadn't taken refuge on the underside of his lids. They were not there in the darkness either.

His breathing started to slow and he found himself facing the ebony bookcase. It was so solid, not like those eyes. It was real. Draco found himself crossing the room to it. He put his hands flat on it, feeling the hardness of the wood on his skin. Only what's real can hurt me, he reminded himself. Those eyes aren't real. But the Dark Lord is. How would he be punished this time?

The wood was not quite smooth beneath his hands. The tip of his forefinger had fallen into a gouge in the wood and, looking, he saw the symbol carved in the case's side, the dissected triangle with the circle inside- Grindelwald's mark. Draco traced it with his finger and the Dark Lord's voice drifted through those lines. 'Gellert Grindelwald is now firmly shut away in his own prison of Nurmengard. That, Draco, is how your beloved Dumbledore deals with Dark wizards. I thought you might benefit from a daily reminder of that.'

Prison. What must that be like? Draco had heard tales of Azkaban all along, since his earliest years. 'He's in Azkaban now, poor man. Better dead.' 'They eat the happiness right out of you, leave you dead.' Moody's low growl, his roving, magical eye and the beady, black one both fixed on Draco, pointed, staring, 'Avada Kedavra, Imperius, and Cruciatus- the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban.' A fellow human being... not just "wizard"... Muggles too.

Draco's fists balled on the sides of the case and he leant his forehead against the shelf. He couldn't do it. Azkaban? He couldn't risk it. But what else could he do? What other option did he have? If he went back to Hogwarts, to Dumbledore- who was as real as the Dark Lord, if more distant, a less immediate threat- could he really expect any better greeting than his old friend had received on that German field the day he had given himself up? He'd kill me, Draco quickly decided. If he locked his friend up, he'll kill me. I've done nothing to deserve better.

Deserve. If this came down to desert... Then I as good as gave myself up years ago, didn't I? He heard his own laugh, grating to his ears now, as he watched Longbottom fall to the ground with his legs locked together, watched him wriggle like a worm on the floor. He heard again all the jabs he'd taken at Weasley. His groans and moans over the "pain" in his arm when Hagrid's hippogriff had attacked him, just to spite the gamekeeper, because he'd thought himself better than Hagrid. He remembered the flush in his cheeks at Potter's jibe at his mother, the fire in his veins. That was the first time he had felt that fire, while the Dark Lord's strength grew, while his second rise came ever closer. It had scared him. He remembered watching the jet of light that leapt from his shaking wand graze Potter's turned cheek, the bang that echoed around the hall, the pricking sensation as white fur sprouted from his shrinking, morphing limbs, Moody's shout of "OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"-

The color climbed into his face at the very thought and he was glad of it, raised his numb fingers to his cheeks in the vain hope that its heat was transferable. His stomach turned too and he turned to lean back against the case. If this came down to just desert, it was death any way he looked at it.

But someone somewhere had to believe in more? Didn't Dumbledore trust Snape? Wasn't the Death Eater still walking and talking, even teaching at Dumbledore's school? Everyone knew Snape's allegiance. Moody knew to say the least- he had hinted at as much when he'd dragged a disheveled and embarrassed Draco down to the Slytherin Head- and Moody hadn't struck Draco as the type to keep quiet about that sort of thing; he'd almost threatened Draco's father; he'd as good as threatened Snape that day. So Dumbledore knew Snape had ties to the Dark Lord and he hadn't hurt him- visibly.

Even if he had, it would be better than death. And death's all I'm likely to get from the Dark Lord's wand.

But Draco remembered too the crushing weight of enchanted armor and the fire radiating from Dumbledore as he stalked across the Great Hall of Draco's mind, wand drawn, calling, 'Professor McGonagall, alert the Ministry. Tell them that we've a Death Eater they'll want for questioning. Tell Cornelius to summon the dementors and have them brought here.' He remembered the wand tip between his eyes.'Traitor. You think to return here to harm my students? Never! I cannot allow-' Draco wondered suddenly, could the Dark Lord have possibly planted all that in his head?

Hogwarts! He'd been trying to push it from his mind. Since his punishments had become more severe, he'd been all but succeeding; it was hard to think of much else with the Sword of Damocles hanging over his head, while waiting on the Dark Lord's seven syllables to cut the string that was his life. But... the door was locked, enchanted. 'If you should try to remove them, or to undo the door in any other fashion an alarm will sound and I will be summoned here immediately and you will find my mood quite... unpleasant.' He had no way to get to Hogwarts to be able to risk Dumbledore's wrath.

Draco sighed and fell back onto the case. The shelves' contents rattled and Draco spun to catch them. It was then his eyes fell on the stone. 'If Master Draco ever really needs his Dobby, it will bring Dobby to him. He is needing only to squeeze it and think of Dobby.'

Need? Maybe not, but what he wouldn't give for the elf's counsel! Even just to see his face again. Even if only to say goodbye...

Draco reached up and closed his hand around the stone. He brought it off the shelf and looked at the smooth, black surface. What did he have to do?

Dobby? Dobby, you said this would work. Please.

Draco looked up and waited, but no one came. The room was silent save for the odd whisper of the flames, Draco's slow-drawn breaths, the tick of the watch on his wrist.

He's not coming. It was just some trick. Some silly thing to make me feel better about the change. And it worked 'cause I was thirteen and stupid.

Draco's fingers closed over the stone as his hands fell, fisted, to his sides, his head fell toward his chest, and his eyes fell shut.

It had been a last hope- a last desperate hope! And now what was he to do? Sit here and wait for the Dark Lord? Try to sleep?

What would death feel like when it came, as it inevitably would? Draco could already see the green light building behind his shut eyelids. Would it be quick, painless? A flash of light and then-? Or would it hurt to have his soul torn from his body? Would it hurt as much if he found some way to do it himself? Killing himself, there would be no eyes to stare into, no soul to see quivering just below the flesh, no body to watch crumple-

Draco shuddered and his eyes fluttered open again on a rattling breath.

Eyes. The eyes were back. But green this time. Great, round eyes that stared at him from a dark corner.

"I told you," Draco sighed, "this isn't- this isn't what I want. I wouldn't do it if I-"

"Wouldn't do what, Master Draco?"

The green eyes blinked and led a small, brightly bedecked body into the flickering, blue firelight.

"Dobby!"

The house-elf nodded and dropped into a low bow, so that his mountainous stack of- were those hats?- was in danger of falling off his head, leaned heavily against his large bat-ears. Then he looked up at Draco, peering down the length of his thin, green bean nose. "Master Draco is calling Dobby. What's wrong, Master Draco? The stone isn't letting you call Dobby unless you is really needing him."

"Oh Dobby." Draco pushed the heels of his hands against shut eyes. If only he didn't have to watch, if he couldn't see those eyes waiting for him, see the light leave them- he'd heard that's what death looked like- then maybe he could- But he couldn't blot out his vision anymore than he could kill. Draco slid down the length of the bookcase, his knees folding against his body. "Dobby, I'm not a murderer."

"Dobby knows it, sir. Did Master Draco kill someone?"

"No," he moaned. "But I'll have to, Dob. I'll have to in the morning. And I can't do it. I can't. But the Dark Lord- he'll make me do it. I have to pass the test. And if I don't- Dobby, I'm out of chances. He won't let me walk away from this."

The pressure of Dobby's hands on his, the long fingers pulling his away from his eyes, made him stir, made him meet the elf's concerned gaze. Dobby kept his hand in his, brushing its back the way he used to when Draco was ill. Draco had forgotten a touch could be warm, forgotten it could be any solace. He tried to smile.

He was about Dobby's height in this position, so that he could see himself reflected in the black mirrors of Dobby's pupils.

The lines in his face seemed sharper even than he remembered them. His wide, dark eyes were hidden in a deeper concave than Draco thought was usual, and the skin beneath drooped in dark shadows. And he'd grown thin. He hadn't noticed- the change had been so slow- but as he looked down now at his wrist, he knew it was narrower than it had been, that he ought to have looked larger compared to Dobby.

"I'm wasting away already," Draco breathed, stunned. He looked away from the elf, not wanting to see anymore, to even catch a glimpse of himself in those eyes.

"Why hasn't Master Draco left? Why hasn't he been eating? What's kept him awake so many nights?"

Draco hesitated. "They hate me here, Dobby. I'm not living up to their expectations. I see them. They all wear that same expression Father does, when they think I'm not looking. That peeled back lip, that wrinkled nose. And the Dark Lord- I've been nothing but a disappointment to him since we met and he's fed up with me. He's tortured me, Dobby. Look at my hands!" Draco raised the one that hung limp at his side for the elf to see. "Look at my face! And my back's worse. And he's threatened to kill me, Dob- so many times.

"I've tried," Draco said. "I've tried to please them. But I can't do it. I can't, Dobby. I don't think- I don't think I was meant for this. I don't think I'm supposed to be a Death Eater."

Dobby blinked, staring at Draco. "Then what is Master Draco supposed to be being?"

"I don't know. God! I'd be anything else right now." Even a prisoner. "Dobby- you know Dumbledore- better than I do, anyway; you work for him. What's- what would he do to me if I went back there? Would he send me to Azkaban like he says?"

Dobby's green eyes grew wide. "Who is saying Professor Dumbledore sends you to Azkaban?"

"The Dark Lord," Draco mumbled, avoiding Dobby's glare by looking down.

"Well the Dark Lord is being wrong."

"He is?" Draco sat straighter, opened his eyes wider.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir, isn't turning away Dobby or Winky- he is paying them!" The elf threw out his sweatered chest momentarily. "Why is Professor Dumbledore turning away Master Draco?"

"You were- it isn't the same Dobby. You hadn't done- what I've done."

"You isn't killing."

"Not yet. But I've tortured people. I've tortured elves." Sometimes at night- and now- he saw the contorted face of the house-elf, Vlad, as the Veritas Curse tore secrets from his chest. Draco tried to mask a shudder.

"Professor Dumbledore is a great man," Dobby said solemnly, lowering his great eyes toward be-socked feet.

Draco found himself nodding. "Dobby?" he said quietly. "How do I get there?"

"To Professor Dumbledore?"

Draco nodded again.

"Through the door, Dobby is expecting."

"It's enchanted, Dobby. I can't do a thing to it or the Dark Lord will be here and then- Dobby, I don't think I'm going anywhere."

Dobby shuffled over to the door and held out long fingers toward the wood. The heat of the the Dark Lord's spells didn't seem as unbearable to the elf, though. His fingertips touched the wood, where Draco's could not. "It's wizards' magic."

"Of course it is. What did you expect from him?"

"No," Dobby said, looking back at Draco with a bit of a quirk. "It's only wizards' magic that will not be working on the door."

Draco's eyes snapped wide and he scrambled to his feet. "You mean you can undo it?"

"Dobby can open it," Dobby clarified.

"Do it, Dobby."

Dobby eyed him a moment, then said, "If Dobby lets Master Draco go, Master Draco will return to Hogwarts?"

"Isn't that what I've been saying?"

"And he won't come back to this place? He won't come back to the Dark Lord?"

Draco hesitated a moment, biting his lip. "There'll be nothing for me here," he realized, speaking softly, "except death. Yes. I'll stay there."

"Away from him?"

"Yes."

"No matter what?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You know something I don't."

Dobby backed away from the door, but he was looking somewhere just to Draco's left. "Dobby is knowing many things Master Draco."

"Tell me."

A grimace passed over the elf's face. "Give Dobby your word, Master Draco."

"I don't like him, Dobby."

Dobby hesitated then nodded and pointed a single long finger at the door. Draco drew a breath. The spell went off with a bang that made Draco wince and shut his eyes against the sound that echoed off the cold, stone walls of the dungeon room. The blue flames, Draco saw from the changing quality of the light behind his lids, guttered.

He peeked.

The door had swung open onto the long, dark corridor.

"Quick, Master Draco," Dobby hissed. "Someone will be hearing that."

Draco tore his eyes from the miraculously open door and onto the elf. "Dobby- how can I ever- you marvelous-"

"Master Draco can thank Dobby when Master Draco is at Hogwarts! Now go!"

Draco flashed him a smile, then darted toward the door.

"Master Draco!"

Draco skidded to a stop and turned to see Dobby, holding out Draco's wand, his long fingers around the rod rather than the handle. "Master Draco will be needing this."

"Thanks, Dobby," Draco said, walking back to accept it from him.

"And take this." Dobby unfurled his other fist to reveal the black sea stone that had called the elf to Draco. "Just in case. Put it in your pocket. But keep your wand out and ready. And fasten your cloak so you won't get cold. And put up your hood."

Draco smiled, flipping the hood onto his head, pulling it low so that the hem was near his eyes, narrowing his field of vision. "I'll see you soon, Dobby." The words came in a whisper.

Dobby nodded. "Good luck, Master Draco," and disappeared with a crack.

A/N: Ah... How scenes expand in rewrites. This was only 3 pages before and -gasp- the first three pages of this were practically all stream-of-consciousness, weren't they? Well how on earth did that happen? I don't even read stream-of-consciousness. Was it hard to follow? Did it work for this fic? Also, for those who understand the reference, that last bit was supposed to come off sounding a bit like Iroh's exchange with Zuko, um, midway through "Siege of the North, part 1." "And put your hood up. Keep your ears warm." Somehow that same line (in gist) doesn't have the same effect when the boy's not going off to kill/capture someone, that's my theory. How can I make that work better? (And if you're going to respond to this point, please realize I've yet to see Avatar: Season 3.) Thanks for reading and because I probably won't get something up before then: Happy Christmas! er, Holidays! :)

Yours forever, Tsona