I sat on a bench in the corner, unwilling to assist anyone in clearing the bodies of the fallen. I was still trying to process all that had happened, all that was happening. How could it be that all had changed so quickly? How could it be that I have gotten myself in so deep, with something I neither want nor understand? I was, not for the first time, questioning my loyalty to Voldemort and my fellow Death Eaters. I was starting to regret ever taking the Dark Mark in the first place. I did it only because it was expected of me. I was raised by my father to believe in Voldemort. I was raised to believe that I would one day be a powerful Death Eater.

Pondering on my thoughts, my eyes happened to wander over to the Weasley's. I noticed the mother, crying uncontrollably over the lifeless body of one of her sons, and I noticed how distraught the family looked as they watched the scene before them, pained expressions on their faces.

My mind kept taking me back to the Room of Requirement, when Potter had saved my life, though in all fairness I had saved his life when he was brought to my home by snatchers. I'm not sure what compelled me to lie to Bellatrix, but I simply knew that I couldn't be the one who was responsible for his death. I didn't want to be the one that turned him in. So I did all I could, I lied to save his life, and for a reason unknown to me, I'd do it again.

I watched silently as Ron Weasley, hand in hand with tearful Granger, entered the room. They both looked pale and each of them had red eyes, no doubt from crying. I saw the father walk over to them, his face concerned.

I heard it faintly. A statement that made my stomach turn. "He's gone."

I could hear my heart beat in my ears and I felt sick to the very pit of my stomach. He'd gone to the forest. All hope was lost then, I thought. The chosen one was most likely dead by now, and with him gone, none of us stood a chance. Don't get me wrong, I'd never liked Potter. From the moment I met him, when he refused my offer of friendship, I took an instant dislike to him. That didn't mean to say that I wanted him dead.

No, not dead. I wanted him to succeed. To triumph over Voldemort, and set me free from my life sentence, a reminder of which was to be forever printed on my forearm. Though I'd never admit it, I had faith in Potter, and I truly believed he would succeed. Maybe I was wrong.

Suddenly, an older Ravenclaw student I didn't recognise burst through the doors to the great hall. "He's here, Voldemort's here, he's outside."

Everyone stood, silently, wands out and prepared for attack, as they approached the front of the school, all waiting to see what had transpired.

He gradually got closer. I could see the outline of my parents. My father's bright blonde hair, so like my own, was recognised by me instantly. I saw that outline of Hagrid, the gamekeeper, trudging forward, something in his arms.

"What's that he's carrying?" The youngest Weasley asked, as they continued to draw closer.

"Harry Potter is dead!" Voldemort announced gleefully.

I felt my eyes begin to burn and sting as I saw the body. The rest was a trance. I remember going to my mother. I remember Longbottom stepping forward, I remember him saying something. I felt entirely disconnected from my body and my mind, as if my sanity and sense of reality had disintegrated, and I began to feel like I was drowning. I knew that I was condemned to a damned life of murder and malice. I knew that with Potter gone, I was sentenced to a life serving the very man I hated more than anyone.

All of a sudden, he moved, jumping out of Hagrid's arms and running into the castle. I couldn't help but smile, as my mother grasped my hand, leading me away. I wasn't wrong. He could do it. He could win.

My name is Draco Malfoy and I lied to save Harry Potter's life, and for a reason unknown to me, I'd do it again.