Summary: Draco Malfoy thinks about Hermione Granger and reflects on his life.
I remember the day she slapped me.
Gods, she was beautiful. Her eyes were fiery and bright with unshed tears for that mangy beast of a hippogriff. I knew she was a Mudblood and that Father would disapprove, but that spirit of hers…it was irresistible. I'd been truly terrified then – turning and running away, even though Gregory and Vincent were both with me. If she'd used hexes instead…I shudder to think what would have become of us.
Two years later, at the Yule Ball, I saw her on the arm of Viktor Krum. I was jealous – what hot-blooded man there wouldn't be? She was stunning, the perfect image of grace and elegance. He didn't deserve her, but then again, neither did I. I tried to pretend that I was dancing with her, that it wasn't Pansy Parkinson with me. It didn't work. I left the Yule Ball early.
She was the combination of intellect, beauty, and courage that I could never be. Sometimes, in sixth year, I wished that I had been sorted into Gryffindor. Sure, Father would have probably disowned me. But then I would never have had to watch the tortures, the killings. I would have never had to kiss up to a hideous snake-like creature. I would have had the courage to defy them, to make things right. Instead, I kept quiet and continued following orders, and a good man died.
I can't say I blame myself entirely. I grew up in a family that forced its ideas of blood purity into my head, since the day I was born. I had no role model to look up to but my father, and he was on the side of the Dark Lord. But still, I was given so many chances to turn, to work for the side of the Light, and yet…
So it can be safely said that most of the fault lies with me.
When they were caught, I was asked to identify him. I hesitated, knowing that her fate depended on his. I tried my best to stall, to not give a clear answer. They brushed his hair aside and saw the scar.
I heard Bellatrix torture her. Her screams of pain, her cries of agony – I heard it all. It happened in my house, after all. I knew it was my fault. But I couldn't make Bellatrix stop. She was crazed, insane. She was my aunt.
By now I knew for sure I was on the wrong side. I just didn't know how to switch. It went on.
I had to save the diadem from falling into Harry's hands. I was tempted, so tempted, to just let him have it, but Crabbe and Goyle were there as well, and I knew that they weren't under my control anymore – the moment they noticed anything, anything, suspicious about me, they would go prancing off to the Dark Lord.
Crabbe died in front of me. He fell into the flaming inferno of his own creation. His screams still echo in my dreams.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron saved my life.
After the final battle, I must admit I was disappointed to have survived. I sat there, with my Muggle-despising parents, not knowing whether or not to celebrate. Everywhere there was laughter and rejoicing. Except for where we sat, uncertain of our fate – would it be Azkaban? Would it be the Dementor's Kiss?
I got off scot-free. I didn't deserve it, but I hadn't killed anyone, hadn't done anything that warranted Azkaban. So did my parents, for my mother's last-second switch saved Harry from certain death.
That didn't mean we were truly free though.
The whispers followed us everywhere. We changed sides, they said, only because we thought the Dark Lord couldn't win. Deep in our hearts, we still supported him and wanted all Muggle-borns to die. Everyone I meet still views me with suspicion – a reformed Death Eater, no matter what he does to try to redeem himself, is still a Death Eater in the end. I suppose I understand how Snape feels now.
I wonder what she thinks of me now.
A/N: Random drabbling I just felt like doing…blaghhhh I have no motivation to do anything at all D: