RebeccaFine

Draco scrambled out of the battle-torn grounds of Hogwarts and Disapparated home before he knew exactly what had happened. As he at last entered his own room, never having slowed his pace, he felt himself crumble under the weight of what he had seen. Memories of that night roared in his mind, twisting through each other till not one of them was recognizable. What have I done? his mind screamed, his hand still gripping his wand tightly. He stumbled to his bed just as his mother appeared at the door, her expression wild with worry. “Draco?” she whispered, her voice shaking in her shock at seeing him back so soon. “Draco, what happened?” Draco looked at her, trembling. “Mother, we need to get out of here!” Narcissa ran to her son and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him fiercely. “Tell me, Draco! What happened?” Draco looked at her with the eyes of a frightened child and answered, “I didn’t do it. I couldn’t...” To his complete surprise and awe, Narcissa took him in a fierce

Chapter 3: Nora's Word Draco spent the early hours of the morning thinking restlessly about the things he had done, the lives he had been willing to destroy in order to save his own, and that of his family. When he looked back, he saw only blind desperation, and the closer he examined his past actions, the more convinced he became that he wanted nothing more to do with it. Had Dumbledore not offered him safety, and had he not spoken so kindly to him, with such respect, Draco guessed he would never have considered changing paths. In fact, it had been a lack of kindness and respect from certain family members that had sent Draco spiraling downward into the Dark Arts in the first place. Awake, all the youth could recall of that time long since past was a thick haze surrounding a pale blur of half-formed memories. Yet in his slumber that night, otherwise faded memories turned vivid and cold as they stirred freely, creating vicious storms of confusion and uncertainty within

Chapter 5: What Evil Will Come The next one-and-a-half hours were filled with a silence as thick and heavy as the low clouds that were forming over the homes and businesses of Little Whinging. Boredom had sunk in, and Harry was the only one prepared for it, having Quidditch books to read through, and friends to write to, and an owl to welcome home once she returned from her trip. Deep in the back of his mind, Draco had begun to regret entrusting anyone with his situation who had been raised by Muggles. His mind wandered aimlessly, leading him on a wild goose chase in the search for a way to busy himself. Finally, Hedwig came soaring through the open window. Draco looked up, wide-eyed. For him, this was the moment of truth. Would Harry’s friends be convinced that he genuinely needed help? Or (Draco swallowed hard at the thought) would they try to convince Harry that Draco was lying, and actually serving as a spy for the Dark Lord? Harry was reading Ron’s rushed writing when Draco

Chapter 6: Patching Old Cloth The room went still for a moment while everyone registered what Draco had said, after which Narcissa hurried to the window, searching frantically for any sign of spies. Meanwhile, Harry turned to Ron, waiting to see how he would react. “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Ron scoffed, “coming here after you tried to kill me!” “But I never—” tried Draco, but Ron cut him off before he had a chance to finish. “Oh, that’s right, it wasn’t me you were trying to poison, it was Dumbledore. As if that’s so much better!” snarled Ron as he stood to approach Draco. “You don’t under—” “And you let the other Death Eaters into the school, and Greyback! You must have heard what he did to Bill. How can you expect anyone to forgive you after all the evil you’ve done?” Draco stayed silent for a long while. He wanted to run for it, and not stop running till every ounce of strength had left him. He felt the room begin to whirl around him, steadied only when he heard his

Chapter 8: Crimes Never Forgotten Even after he had set down his quill, Draco continued to stare intently at the parchment. To assume that he was sorry he’d written what Ron had seen was entirely incorrect; he simply wished he’d been more careful to keep his words to himself. In truth, he had spent much of his time ever since that day following his tenth birthday writing down everything he could think of, which as an added bonus prepared him well for the typically lengthy essays he would be set while at Hogwarts. Writing had always felt like the one thing he was most adequate at doing, more so than Quidditch or potion-making or any other kind of magic. Moreover, spilling his emotions through his quill had been a welcome release for him all these years. Even at Hogwarts, where most students would rather be outside during good weather, or at least socializing, Draco sat down with his diary wherever he could do so alone, to sort out his jumble of thoughts onto its crisp