Memory Loss, part five: I Just Want to Be Close to You
Draco felt righteously angry for losing more than a month of his precious time over something as trivial and childish as a fucking amnesia! And in the care of bloody Saint Potter, at that! Well, now he would make up for that, and no more time would be wasted; he would make every second worthwhile.
He Apparated to the parlour, which had always been his favourite room, and obviously interrupted some kind of meeting. He stopped dead in his tracks and looked at all the people that were gathered in the room, silently cherishing every single familiar face. When he appeared in front of them, they all fell silent and stared at him in utter disbelief. Some of them even rose to their feet, reaching for their wands, but none of them seemed to dare to break eye-contact with him while doing so. Many Death Eaters regarded him with fear. Draco wondered what the Hell had happened while he had been gone.
Right in the middle, Malfoy senior was standing with an important look on his pale, stern face, but when Draco showed up he seemed to lose track of his words. Draco began to circle around the gathered Death Eaters to get to his father. "What's up with you all?" he asked. "You look as if you've seen a ghost or something. Listen, I don't know who did this to me, but I bloody Hell will find the people responsible—and when I do, I will kill them all! You don't mess with a Malfoy unpunished!"
Some of the surprise faded from Lucius Malfoy's face and was replaced by a slightly amused understanding. "Come to take your revenge, Draco?" he asked. "I must say that you cast that amnesia of yours surprisingly quickly …"
Draco knitted his eyebrows suspiciously. "Revenge? What are you talking about? I only came back to do what I should have done ages ago."
Fear settled in his father's eyes, and he made an urgent gesture to a few of his men. "Seize him!" he yelled.
Draco could not hide his bafflement at this. Suddenly, four large Death Eaters had seized him from behind and were attempting to drag him out of the room. Furious, he shouted, "What the bloody Hell is this supposed to mean? How dare you touch me, you filthy low-status half-wits! Let go of me immediately! Do you know who I am?!"
A shadow passed over the icy grey surfaces of Malfoy senior's eyes. He held up his hand. "Wait. I want to hear what he has to say before you kill him."
"Kill me?" Draco could not believe his ears. "Father, what is this? Why are you all looking at me as if I was some sort of juvenile delinquent? I demand an answer!"
Several of the Death Eaters present were staring at him with utmost puzzlement. They all acted as if he had come there to curse them all, and he could not for his life understand why. When had he ever wished them any harm? He was one of them, for crying out loud!
His father was studying him intently, slowly and thoughtfully scratching his chin. "Why did you come back here?" he asked.
Draco was astonished. "Why? I live here, for Christ's sake! What kind of a question is that?"
The Death Eaters gasped in unison.
He glared at them angrily.
"Really?" Lucius was saying now. "I thought your wish was to sever all ties to your family and go live with Potter." He spat out the name in quite the same fashion that Draco had done when his memory had returned to him.
"Live with Potter? As if! Whatever gave you that stupid idea?"
"You did."
"I—! I what?"
"Yes, during your sixth year at Hogwarts, you came here telling me how much you loved Potter and how you wanted to build a future with him—and you clearly said that you never wanted anything else to do with me, the Dark Lord, or the Death Eaters. You were quite clear on your point, Draco. So what changed your mind?"
Draco was shaken and shocked by this revelation. He had … what? With Potter? Were they joking with him? But their stern, wary faces were more than enough to convince Draco that this was no joke; it was the truth. "But I never changed my mind," he protested, "I have never said any of those things, and I certainly don't … love … that Potter brat—he's a half-blood for fuck's sake! And he's a boy! What are you thinking of me, father? Would I have betrayed you for him? I hate him! I want him dead, and I promise you I'll go after him as soon as I have purchased a new wand! Now, would someone please tell me what this is all about? And let me the fuck go already!"
He tore free from the four Death Eaters holding him, and they did not try to grasp him again.
Lucius's face had lit up with a wide, self-satisfied grin of amused malice. "I see … so you don't remember that part of your past, do you?" he stated, seemingly very pleased with himself for making this observation. Draco just stared at him, because he did not understand what the Hell he was talking about. "Well, this was an interesting side-effect of the spell … You really intend to kill Potter, Draco?"
"Yes! How many times do I have to tell you? Did you go senile while I was away?"
"Then, in that case … Welcome home, Draco."
Draco snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. With a dark look in his grey eyes, he said, "Well? Where are my servants? I need to get out of these hideous clothes! I look like some sort of low-rate Muggle." As soon as the house-elves turned up at the door, he began to give them harsh orders. Then he turned to his father again. "And where's the bloody Lord? I want my Mark."
Harry did not understand where he had gone wrong—he had done everything in his power to make Draco remember everything that they had gone through to be together, but the only thing he had succeeded to accomplish was to bring back the old, evil Draco Malfoy, and twice as bad as usual, at that! How could that have happened?
He pondered this over and over, but he could not find any straight answers. His throat was sore and ached with pain. It had been close this time; he had almost passed out when Hermione came into the room.
"Thanks," he said hoarsely, carefully rubbing his aching throat with one hand.
She helped him stand up. "What happened? Why did he try to kill you? I thought he was starting to remember …"
"He was—he said he remembered everything," Harry told her as he sat down in one of the armchairs. "But apparently he only remembered everything up to our fifth year at Hogwarts—maybe not even that much—and he interpreted it as being his whole past. He doesn't remember anything about us, and to be honest … I don't know if he ever will. The rage in his eyes … he's lost, Hermione. I don't think we can bring him back."
Hermione thoughtfully began to dust the surface of the coffee table to distract herself from the truth. "I'm afraid I must agree with you, Harry," she said, not daring to meet his gaze because she knew that he would hate her for saying this. "I know you tried your best to bring him back exactly as he was before he left you at Hogwarts, but he has proven that that is impossible. He's turned back into his old self, and to be honest with you, I don't want anything to do with him."
Harry shot up from the armchair, disgusted and indignant with her. "What? How can you say that, Hermione? You can't be serious about just giving up on him like that!"
She stopped dusting the coffee table and turned to look him in the eyes. The cold determination was plain to read on her face, and he did not like it one bit. "You were about to give up on him yourself just a moment ago," she pointed out soberly, "and honestly, after what he did tonight, can you blame me for resenting him? For wishing I had never taken him into my home? For regretting ever to befriend him, even? How can you trust someone like that? He's like a ticking bomb, just waiting to explode under your nose. Maybe it is just best to eliminate him once and for all."
Harry clenched his hands into tight fists. Had to restrain his emotions very carefully not to lash out at her. "You have no right to say that," he whispered with gritted teeth. "Just a moment ago you were on his side—and now all of a sudden you want to eliminate him?"
"He tried to kill you, Harry! If he ever tries that again, I will use the killing curse on him myself!"
"He is not himself, dammit! Get that into your sorry little Muggle head!"
Hermione stumbled backwards, utter shock portrayed on her swiftly blushing face. Harry knew that what he had said had been very unfair and very mean, but he could not find it in himself to regret it or take it back. Instead of waiting for her to tell him what a jerk he was, he walked around her with the intention of leaving the apartment. "I'm going out," he said bitterly. "Can't stand it in here."
She did not follow him, but she did reply—and to his surprise, she did not seem to be the least bit angry with him. Hell, she was not even offended by his honest insult. She sounded worried, and slightly frightened. "What …? Wait! Harry! You can't just go like that, you—"
He swirled around to face her anew. "Yeah? Why not?"
Finally displaying some of that offense, she stuck out her chin and said, "You are bloody pathetic if you expect to find him sitting around on the street again—because you won't, you know."
Boiling with fury, Harry shouted exactly what he thought at that moment, and hot tears were streaming down his flushed face. "Yeah, so I am pathetic, then! But what did you expect, huh? Would you rather me locking myself in the guestroom sniffing the pillows for a chance of detecting his scent on them and going mad from the loss of my soulmate? Do you? No, I didn't think so. Now leave me the fuck alone and let me sulk in peace, alright? I don't need your pity, and I certainly don't need you to tell me what I should or shouldn't do, because I'm perfectly capable of doing so myself. It hurts that you always have to tell me that I'm wrong, Hermione. Maybe it's not so hard to understand why Ron never told you he loved you, is it?"
And with those harsh words, he stormed out of the apartment.
He was standing in that corridor again, looking back towards the staircases. He had a feeling he should not be there-somebody might catch him. The watch said that it was close to midnight. Maybe he should go a little further down? Maybe he was not visible enough where he now stood? Besides, he had said outside the library, and he was now waiting impatiently in the corridor south of the library. He should move closer.
Yet … he was feeling somewhat embarrassed. What was he doing there? He was violating every single House vow—not to speak of the school rules about walking around at night—and if his classmates found out …
The clock ticked past midnight. Where is he? he thought worriedly. I hope he hasn't been caught, because I really can't risk getting expelled! My father would kill me …
But then, when he was just about to give up, Potter appeared before him. Struck by surprise, he gave a short shriek. He was well aware of the strangeness of the situation. Potter? He had waited there in the middle of the night to meet up with Potter? Why? Was he going to challenge him to a duel again?
"Bloody Hell, you scared me!" he said, but he did not feel as if he was moving his lips by his own free will—someone or something was controlling him, forcing him to say and do certain things that he himself never would have said or done. "Where'd you come from?"
Potter bit his lip and looked very reluctant to tell Draco how he had got there so silently, but then he sighed and said, "Oh, what the Hell. I used this." Potter showed him a liquid silver-grey cloth that totally made him lit up with childish wonder. It was an Invisibility Cloak! How long had he not pestered his father about getting him one? Just imagine all the things you could do with an Invisibility Cloak—
—they stepped into a hidden room down in the dungeons, and Potter started to move the furniture around. That's right, Draco thought, this is the room that I found when I was so furious about losing against Potter's Firebolt in Quidditch … but what am I doing here now?
He got his answer pretty soon. Potter was actually tutoring him in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Draco instantly knew that it was because Professor Umbridge had banned all use of Defence Magic in her classes. Now he felt deep in his soul that he wanted to learn how to defend himself, because he knew that it would be necessary in the future. He also knew instinctively that what he needed to defend himself from was the Death Eaters.
But that's preposterous! he thought. Why should I need to defend myself against my own people? Are they going to betray me? Is that it?
The scene shifted. They were still in that same dirty room, but the situation was different, and somehow he knew that several days had passed. He and Potter were lying on the huge cushions on the floor, lazily looking at each other. At first, they did not say anything, but when they spoke it became obvious that this was not part of any lesson of theirs; they were discussing whether they should stay or leave. Weird, Draco thought, why would I want to stay in this filthy old broom closet?
Then, all of a sudden, Draco leaned in closer and kissed Potter. Warm, happy feelings were swirling through his young body, but at the same time, he was yelling at himself to stop, stop, stop! What on Earth had come over him?!
—they were in someone's bedroom, and Draco did not recognize the place at all, but he did notice that he was in bed with Potter. And it felt good. It felt nice, just lying there next to each other, gazing into each other's eyes, talking silently about what a wonderful day it had been … until he kissed him. Draco was all in for it and kissed him back, snuggling up closer, pressing up against the Gryffindor. He realised that they were both aroused, but that did not bother him. He moaned when Potter touched his bare skin, those warm hands on his body …
When Potter bit down on his nape, he could not sufficiently suppress the cry of pleasure and anticipation that escaped him, and he wanted him to go on, wanted him to touch him more, just keep touching him, oh God, yes, he wanted to be touched there …
When Potter finally pushed inside him, Draco was washed over by millions of wonderful emotions that completely filled him up, and he was not afraid to cry out his pleasure, because he wanted Potter to know exactly how much he loved it. And when he gazed into those mysterious emerald green eyes, now ablaze with desire, he knew that he had found Heaven. This was exactly how it should be; this was complete and utter bliss … This was love.
—Draco woke with a start, and later he realised that what had really awakened him was his own ecstatic cry. He looked around him as if expecting to be watched by hundreds of people, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Or was it really embarrassment? For a second, he could have sworn that he was blushing because of something else that he could not quite remember. But the dream was fresh in his memory, and he hated himself for having it.
He was breathing fast—panting. His heart was beating so hard it was almost painful. And then he noticed the sticky, warmish wet feeling on his crotch. He had released himself sometime during the dream, and that only made him more furious.
He had ejaculated while dreaming of having sex with Harry Potter? How sick was that?!
Swiftly getting out of bed to change his sticky underwear, he kicked hard into the furniture. "That does it!" he said with gritted teeth. "He is dead meat!"
Harry never wanted to return to that bloody apartment—at least not as long as his best friend did not apologise for trying to curse his boyfriend. Hermione could be so bloody stubborn! He hated when she started to lecture him about right and wrong and 'there is nothing in between, so do try to choose the right thing to do!' Man, did she always have to assume that he was just as stupid and fuzzy-minded as an amoeba?
He was going to do this—he was going to get Draco back somehow, and it did not matter if he had her on his side or not, he could just as well do it all on his own! Better to be alone, actually, that way he could really talk to Draco and plead with him to remember. Oh, please just try, he thought grimly, please just try to remember me, baby … that's all I ask. Give me a sign, just a little sign, use your Legilimency skills to tell me how you want it, just send me a tiny little sign and I'll come right away, baby … Just give me a sign …
He slept in a backstreet that night, not worried about muggers or murderers, and it was the best sleep he had had in a month.
Draco was going to use all of his power and status as a full-blood wizard to get everything that he wanted and to right the little wrongs he had done in his past … Like getting seduced by Potter, for example. Because regardless of how much he wished to deny it, it must be the truth. His dream had been parts of memories striving to surface, and he figured that as long as he lived his life as a true Malfoy, they would stay exactly where they were and never surface again—just the way he wanted it to be.
He was going to take his life back.
"Pansy!" he called when exiting his bedroom in the morning, fully dressed in expensive silk from France. "Pansy, bloody Hell! Get out here now!"
He knew that all the Death Eaters had stayed at the Manor overnight, because his father was planning some sort of attack, but the old man had not minded to tell Draco about it. It frustrated him, being kept in the dark like this, because it meant that his old man still did not trust him. He still thought that Draco would run off with that half-blood Potter and live happily ever after—yuck! Was not taking the bloody Mark voluntarily enough to convince him that he had no such intention?
"PANSYYYYYY!"
"Yes, what the Hell you yellin' for?" she asked irritably, drowsily rubbing the sleep out of her left eye. She yawned and glared at him angrily.
He grabbed her arm and started to drag her along the hallway. "Pansy, this is your lucky day—you're about to score a Malfoy."
"Wha'?" she asked, still half-asleep. "Splendid."
"What? You just let him go?" Ron did not believe his ears when he went over to Hermione's to see how Harry was doing with his 'grand mission.' And to his extreme surprise, there had not been any Harry there for him to see.
"Yes! So it was stupid of me, what else is new?" Hermione spat at him and yanked free of his hand. "You're hurting me, Ron."
"Sorry. But maybe you deserve it, 'Minie. I mean, what were you thinking? For all we know he could be wandering the streets in hope of being knocked into a pulp or something! Or what if he went straight to the Death Eaters? What if he even begged for them to take his life, huh?"
"I know, I know, I know! Shut up already, will you? You don't need to remind me that I made a bloody mistake letting him go, okay?"
"Oh, but it's okay for you to tell everyone else about every single mistake they make?" he stated sceptically. "You always take all the prizes, Hermione, you really do."
"Oh, come off it, Ron! As if you never did anything wrong! You're starting to sound awfully much like Harry …"
"Thank you."
Hermione let out a long moan of irritation and frustration. "Why do I have to get stuck with you? Why does the only person in the world who seems to love me have to be you? And why do I have to love you back? You're stupid and annoying, that's what you are! I simply hate the sight of you, and I can't stand all those little noises you make when you eat—not to mention the way you always fail at everything you do. So why on Earth do I have to love you? Can you answer me that?"
Ron just stared at her blankly. Blinked a few times. Her words did not seem to want to go in. Who had said anything about love? They were talking about Harry's disappearance, and then …
"Erm, Hermione … I don't mean to be rude or anything, but this is hardly the time to discuss something as trivial as that. I don't know how you feel about this, but I would really like to find Harry before we commit to anything else—is that okay with you?"
She did not meet his eyes, but she at least nodded slowly. "Where do we start?"
Late that afternoon, Harry received his answer. Evidently, Draco had tuned in on his mental message and by way of his Legilimency skills he now said: Come to the Manor. Happy and thrilled that he finally got some sort of response from his boyfriend, he went straight away, with not a thought in his mind that this might be a trap. He only cared about bringing Draco home.
Because they had a home now. Just three hours earlier, he had received a phone call from the real estate agency; they had got their apartment. If everything went well, they would be living together in just two weeks. And until then … well, they could stay at the Leaky Cauldron or something, because he never wanted to live with Hermione again. Despite their having been close friends ever since their first year at Hogwarts, he simply could not forgive her for what she had said about Draco. If she could not accept his relationship with the Malfoy heir, then she could just go to Hell. Literally.
When he got to the Manor, everything was still and quiet. Too quiet. He did not like it at all, yet he kept going. He even called out to Draco a few times—without receiving any answer, of course. The downstairs was completely deserted, so he decided to go upstairs and have a look around there. Maybe he could find some kind of clue as to where Draco was.
Maybe he had tried to see Harry, but been seized by the Death Eaters again. Maybe he had started to remember more than he currently wanted to remember and needed to ask Harry about it. But in that case … why had he asked him to come to the Manor only to leave before he arrived?
It was somewhat spooky, actually.
He walked down the long hallway on the second floor, anxiously looking back over his shoulder every ten strides to see if anyone was following him. A door was ajar at the end of the hallway, and he was compelled to learn what was hidden behind it, even though it was stupid since it was such an obvious trap. He was simply … drawn to it. As if someone had put a huge magnet in there and had it set to POTTER.
Two steps from the doorway, he stopped. Listened for sounds in the early evening. Nothing.
Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and crossed the threshold. One look at the room and he knew that it was Draco's. Everything was in neat order—but certainly not because he cleaned it obsessively himself, but because he probably had a score of servants doing the job for him—and state of the art. Harry had never seen so many objects used in the Dark Arts before. And all the books! Shelves after shelves crammed full of them—and all of them on dark magic! Who on Earth had he fallen in love with?!
As Harry strode around the room, looking at everything, daring to touch only a few items, he wondered if this was a person capable of change. If it was indeed a person worth saving. But then he hit himself on the forehead, persistently telling himself that this was the old Draco, and he was not like that anymore. Or … at least he should not be like that anymore.
Oh, why did everything have to be so bloody confusing and complicated?
Suddenly, he noticed a piece of parchment lying on the bedspread, as if it had been waiting for him. Curious, he picked it up and unfolded it.
Potter – I challenge you to a wizard duel.
If you win, I promise you I'll come with you
and listen to everything you have to say. I
will even let you do anything you want to me
if you think that will help me 'remember.'
Just come alone—or else …
/Draco
Harry stared at the note. Hesitated. It was a trap. Draco Malfoy had never engaged in a fair game, so he could probably expect a lot of foul play in this duel. Yet … he could not just walk away from it and forget all about it, not now. He had to give it a try. Below the short message was the name of a place, most likely the place Draco had chosen for their duel.
And he was right. But Draco was not alone; he had Pansy with him, and his old cronies Crabbe and Goyle. They were all on broomsticks, hovering about two yards above the ground, their feet pretty much in line with his forehead. Boldly, he looked up at them. "Come down from there, Malfoy, and let's have an honest battle of it."
Draco smirked scornfully at him. "No, why would we have that? That was just the bait, Potter. I never wanted to have any duel with you—I just wanted you to come here so I could kill you."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Then why not kill me at the Manor? Why bring me here?"
They all laughed. "And smudge all our expensive furniture and carpets with your filthy blood? I don't think so, Potter. No, I want you dead on this very ground where I can just leave you and never have to worry about you ever again."
Harry felt chills travelling down his spine. This was not how it was supposed to go … This was not how it was supposed to end …
"But … But Dracums … I thought you loved me," he heard himself say, and felt pathetic for uttering those stupid, naïve words. "I thought we had something special …"
Draco laughed maliciously again. "Really, Potter … If I loved you, would I have slept with Pansy then?"
Harry's eyes widened with shock. "Wha-what?"
"Yes, that's right," Draco said, a self-satisfied smug sneer on his lips. "I'm with Pansy now, and she's by far a better lover than I imagine you could have been—though I have no recollections of it, I have to admit. Sorry to disappoint you, Potter. I know how much you were hoping for me to get all squeamish and come running back to you—although I'm not that sure that I ever came running to you in the first place …"
"But you did!" Harry protested. "You did love me! And it's not your fault that you don't remember! It was your father, Draco! He was the one who ordered the Obliviation Charm—not me! I'm only trying to help you remember!"
Suddenly Draco's grey eyes seemed to turn jet black with fury. "Shut up, half-blood! You don't know what you're talking about. Don't push it—I might have to give you a more painful death …"
He was interrupted by two loud Pop!s that stirred the still evening air. Harry turned around in bafflement and found Ron and Hermione standing a few yards away, stern expressions on their faces. "It's all right, Harry," Ron said with a determination unusual for him, "we're here to support you and help you if you get in any trouble."
"Ah, Weasley!" Draco exclaimed, pleased. "Perfect timing, as usual. Too bad you popped up in the wrong place at the wrong time." Then, cold-heartedly and utterly indifferently, he raised his wand and uttered the worst of the Unforgivable Curses: the Avada Kedavra curse, the only curse that actually killed. When the green light had hit Ron hard in the chest and the redhead had fallen down dead in front of them, Draco simply yawned and said that he was bored.
Harry could not believe his eyes. This was not happening, this was not happening, it was a dream—yeah, it had to be. And when he woke up in the morning, he would find Draco in his arms, sleeping soundly, not a worry on his face, just peaceful, and all of this would have just been an awful nightmare and everything would be back to normal. Right? Right?
Shaking, he took a step towards Draco. "How could you?" he asked, his chest hurting so bad he could hardly stand up. "How could you?"
That superior smirk was back on the blonde's lips; mocking him. "Accept it, Potter," he said, "I'm not the person you want me to be. And if my words aren't enough to convince you of that, I suggest you take a good look at this." He pulled up the sleeve of his expensive silk shirt and revealed a fresh, strongly burning Dark Mark—the mark of Lord Voldemort; the mark of the Death Eaters.
Harry flinched. Stumbled backwards. It was as if he had been slapped in the face—hard. For a few seconds, nothing else seemed to exist except the black skull with the tongue of a serpent on Draco's pale arm, but soon he became aware of Hermione's agonised screaming. She was bent over Ron, crying and cursing Draco for killing him, but Harry could not bring himself to feel sorry for her. Her loss did not by any means measure up to his. Maybe it was cruel of him to think like that, but that was how he felt.
Neither did he feel anything when Draco directed the same curse at Hermione. Now both of his best friends were dead—and he did not feel a thing. He was not sorry for it. Not one bit. He knew he should scream in agony like Hermione had done, but there was no scream inside of him. There was just a hollow nothingness that seemed to consume him slowly, slowly, leaving only an empty shell behind. He had lost all the people he had ever cared about: his parents, Sirius, Ron, Hermione … Draco.
No, wait. He had not lost Draco. Not yet. There was still something he could do to prove himself to his lover, and even though it was utterly insane, Harry thought it seemed perfect and even logical to do so. Without further hesitation—hurrying to speak up before Draco used the Avada Kedavra curse on him as well—he straightened his back, and said, "Take me with you. I want to be a Death Eater. Then at least I would be close to you, even if you don't love me back. I just want to be close to you, Draco."
Draco stared at him in disbelief at first, but then he sneered gleefully. "What about your loyal little friends, Potter? What about your fan club?"
Harry swallowed hard. "You've already killed them, Draco. I've lost everyone—except you. Please, just let me have this one wish. Don't kill me. Take me back to the Manor and make me a Death Eater, just like you. That's all I ask. Wouldn't being evil be a worse punishment for me than death?"
Malfoy thought it over for a while, thoughtfully scratching his chin. Pansy was yelling at him not to listen to Harry, to 'just kill him!' But to Harry's relief, Draco nodded. "Okay. You can come with us. I'll tell my father to prepare the ceremony—you can wait in my room."
And that was what happened. Harry sat on Draco's bed, anxiously waiting for them to prepare the ceremony that would make him a Death Eater. He was going to betray his whole kind and convert to the dark side—but that was an acceptable sacrifice for love, Harry thought madly. And even if Draco never regained his memory, he would at least have the privilege to stand by his side in the upcoming war, a dream of his since the end of their fifth year, when their relationship had started to get really serious. He just would not be standing on the side that he had always imagined …
Draco appeared in the doorway. "We are ready for you now," he informed him ceremoniously, and escorted Harry back down to the huge parlour. All the other Death Eaters, and even Voldemort himself, were gathered there, standing in a wide circle in the middle of the room, and Harry never suspected anything fishy going on when Draco instructed him to stand in the middle of the circle, with all the others facing him.
Not until Draco withdrew his wand from his trousers and pointed it straight at Harry's chest. With the same self-righteous, superior smirk that had always annoyed Harry in the old days, he said, "Did you really think that we would make you one of us? You're no true Death Eater—you don't have what it takes. Sorry to tell you this, Potter, but we don't need you. Enjoy your stay in Hell—I'm sure I'll see you there someday."
And with a cold, vicious laugh, he uttered the killing curse.