PROLOGUE: The Right Thing
It was August. It had been almost three months since Draco Malfoy had had to choose between what was right and what was expected of him. Everyone with any relevance to his life had been watching the moment he made the decision to cross the courtyard to join Voldemort and his followers. His mother, who loved him so dearly and would do anything to protect him; his father who had tried to bully him into thinking the way he did for most of his school days; his teachers and friends who hoped he would do the decent thing, just this once; the Gryffindors who knew he wouldn't because he was nothing more than a coward; and the man who would kill him at the blink of an eye and not feel a thing.
When Draco had walked across that courtyard to where his mother and father stood, what real choice did he have? It was walk, or die. His legs were shaking with every step he took as he gave the people who already hated him a reason to despise him even more so. His head was pounded every time his foot hit the ground. With each step he took, he disliked himself more and more for his inability to do the right thing. He reached the Death Eaters and accepted that this was his life now. If Potter was dead, Voldemort was unstoppable, Draco knew that much.
The moment Harry leapt out of Hagrid's arms was the last time Draco would have a chance to correct all the bad things he had done. With a voice screaming in his head, Draco had looked down at the wand in his hand and made his decision within a split second. He didn't recognise his own voice as he called "Potter!" across the courtyard. He didn't feel as though he belonged to the body that was now running towards Harry and he didn't know where the courage came from which made him throw Harry the wand which he was to use to defeat Voldemort once and for all. But he did know one thing: for the first time in his life, he'd done the right thing.