It was six months into the War, actually it was a year and a half into the War, but six months into the hell of the War. Draco sat at the back of a large, cavernous room, at an old wooden table with his long legs stretched out in front of him. The raid on Hogsmeade the night before had drained him. He looked like hell with torn and bloodied robes, hair askew, dark circles under his eyes, and a vacant expression in his gaze.
One scene played over and over again in his mind. He had seen it, smelt it, felt it so many times he believed that he might just be going mad. Their mission had been to take the town. Their leaders believed it would be a quick job, given the element of surprise and their greater numbers. However, the Order had been prepared and waiting for their arrival. Hexes, stunners, Avada's, smoke bombs, and such all formed the backdrop. There was the screaming, of course, the terror, and the chaos.
Then it happened. He was half-hidden behind a large tree and peering out at the battlefield, wand at the ready. A curse of green light flew past his nose and hit her. She fell, screaming, to the battlefield ground. He couldn't move. He felt as if his feet and his hands were immobilized. Maybe it was a hex, he would tell himself later. He saw her moaning and writhing on the ground. Then her attacker stood above her. She looked up and begged for mercy, begged for life. He had seen the stripped down fear in her wide eyes, the desperate tone in her voice. Her aggressor lowered his wand for just a moment. Was he moved by her pleas, or did he recognize her voice? Then she struck him with her other hand, holding that second wand. She Avada'd him, and he fell, red hair mixing with the brown of the earth.
Then her eyes turned on the back of his companion. He stood dueling with another. He wore the crimson robes of the Order, that mat of tousled dark hair, his glasses slightly askew. She drew her wand, but before she could strike with the full curse, Draco suddenly found his arm moving. That movement caught her eye. She looked up at him, their eyes locked, and she smiled knowingly a second before he struck her with the killing curse. Her eyes went wide with disbelief and horror. Then he saw her body lying motionless on the ground, next to the red haired boy. He had killed his childhood friend, his some time confidant and some time irritant. He saw Pansy's face, contorted with betrayal, eyes staring dead ahead, lying on the ground in Hogsmeade.
"Draco," he looked up at the call of his name. "Get some sleep. You need to be well rested. There's more to be done in the morning."
"Yes, Father," he replied, slowly getting to his feet.