Author's Note: nice little drabble on time, something that I thought of on the boat ride back to my cottage. Nothing all that new, really, but I think it's okay. On a different note: I posted a story called Giving In To Love, but accidentally posted it as Twilight. I have corrected this error, but who knows if it really ended up in the right place. Anyway, you can for sure find it on my profile if it's not in the right spot, and please do read it and review. The same plea ensues for this story, so remember, if you can favorite it, or even read it, you can review!
Time
Time is a funny thing, and Draco Malfoy had never resented it more. Time was the source of all his problems, the reason his life was the depressingly empty ghost of what it had once been. The broken shards of his family, his home, his world lay scattered on the floor, and only time could touch them. Only time could destroy them, could dull the sharp edges of his memories. Time was out to get him, and he was terrified. It was twenty years since the demise of the Dark Lord, and times had changed. The world of beauty and majesty that he had once inhabited, had once ruled, was gone, and his 'subjects' were no more than mere memories, frail wisps of days gone by when all was right with the world.
They had talked of freedom, of equality for all, and in a way he supposed they had achieved their goal. The mudblood was bound to be happy; two laws campaigning against house elves' rights had been lifted last week after years of debate. But though magical creatures were now looked upon as comrades rather than lesser beings, and the word 'pureblood' held absolutely no meaning, Draco could not remember a time when he felt more restricted. There were no other ways of thinking, no different perspective from the one installed by Potter and his cronies, and time was responsible for this.
Just like time was to blame for the mold on his father's grave, time was the true source of the changes. Few of his kind were alive to remember how the world used to be, how it could still be. Few could remember the huge balls filled with laughter and delicate conversation. Few could recall the time when family history and heritage were something to be proud of, to learn of and uphold. He supposed it didn't matter, not really, because even if anyone from his world still lived, there was a slim chance they would have the guts to say anything. Harry Potter's grip on the wizarding world was iron-clad, and the worst part was that those suffering from his power did not even care. They were proud of their leader, proud to say that they cherished and upheld the ideas of equality and peace, when truly they didn't give a shit.
Really, though time was a powerful thing, though it could erase memories and snuff out a way of life with ridiculous ease, some things would never change. The greed of man, the uncaring coldness with which he regarded his neighbors, would always remain. Nothing, no matter how strong, could hope to ever change that, and this was the true source of Draco's hatred of the whole institution. Sure, time could wipe out his family, his friends, his hopes, his dreams. Sure, time could turn on those it had favored in an instant, with no more warning than a slight shift in the wind. But could it ever touch the things that needed to change? Could it ever hope to lay a delicate finger on the evil of men? No, it could not, and it was because of this that Draco despised it.
Because it could suck all the good away from his world, but it could never lay a finger to the bad.
