Stains
*This was written purely for my own amusement. Nothing is mine, except for the plot. Everything else is the lovely Mrs. Rowlings*
Life can be severely complicated. There are twists and turns that take you everywhere but the place you wanted to go. Draco contemplated this idea as he surveyed the destruction of the castle from his hidden vantage point. He was tucked into an alcove in the corner of the great hall, and could clearly see the devastation that this battle had wrought on his beloved home.
Through the smoke, all of the horrors came into clear and pristine focus. Everything looked stained. That was what struck him the most. His world had always been clean and pristine. Nothing was out of place and everything had a focus. In the wake of this battle, everything was disjointed.
He looked into the blackness of the night outside and saw nothing but the rising grey spirals of smoke, staining the inky black sky. When he looked back to the great hall he could see the stains of blood, dirt, and filth. Everyone seemed to be covered in grime.
These people fought for what they loved and he stood in the shadows with a feeling that was quite foreign to him. He was filled with regret and remorse, but there was also something else. It felt like a bolder was crushing down on his windpipe. He could feel bile forcing its way up his throat and tears stung his eyes. He felt ashamed.
He was ashamed of his actions. He watched his home crumble. He watched his friends perish in ways that he would not even wish on his worst enemies. He watched as his house deserted Hogwarts in its time of need and did not even look back to watch the ruin they helped to construct. He was even ashamed watching his parents stand there in the corner of the great hall. How dare they stand in the midst of this hard won victory? How can they sit there are watch these people, so strong in battle, but so weary in the aftermath, wash their dead and clean up the stains from the concrete?
How could he dare to watch this ritual that he helped to cause?
Ashamed may be an understatement. He was stained. Stained with his pride, stained with the archaic ideas of his pureblood class, and stained with his own selfish wants. It was almost more than he could bear.
All of this paled in comparison when he happened to look across the room. Granger was standing amidst the rising smoke. Her hair was singed and blood stained her clothes. Her face was stained by the tracks that the tears made down her face. But even through her despair and he grief, a fire burned in her eyes. She knew that the world would be rebuilt. That tyranny will not triumph. Most of all, Draco could see through her that the will of many can be defied by the determined and rightful few.
He turned away and looked back out across the lawn and up to the sky. The smoke was beginning to clear and Draco got his first true look at the sky. The stars were obscured and the sky had a brown tint to it. It looked coffee stained.
As Draco looked at this coffee stained sky, he began to hope that even though he was stained, perhaps, like Granger had unintentionally showed him, stains can be wiped off.
Things will be okay. These stains will not cloud his life. He would make his own destiny now. With that thought, Draco allowed himself a semblance of a smile.
