Inspired yet again to post something... Back to my old genre. Please read and review! :) I'm sorry if I get any of the Catholic traditions wrong... I'm not Catholic (I'm a baptist) so I had to do some research for this. I'm also not entirely happy with how this goes, and I'm not trying to be religious in publishing this.
He goes to the confessional every week.
Every Saturday he goes to the Diocese of Westminster, on Francis Street, and goes to the very back of the cathedral, past the monks and nuns praying and fasting and reading and burning incense. He goes to the very back of the church and enters one of the vacant black boxes, and tells of his sorrows to the priest, and receives his penance. The priests know him by name. The monks know him by sight, as the man with the white hair. The nuns know him as the boy, the boy who if they had ever had wanted sons, they hoped would not have as many sins to repent for. The people who come to pray recognize him but do not speak. The London tourists see him and sometimes mistake him as someone who works at the church, or another tourist, or merely a wealthy, faithful fellow. He looks to be twenty-something, a man; but he is little more than a child.
He goes to the confessional every week, and confesses the same sins he always does.
On that particular Saturday he pushed back the curtain of the confessional and kneels beside the screen, where he knew very well the priest was waiting. He makes the cross symbol, sighs, and says, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been seven days since I have last confessed. I have missed Mass this week for no real reason. I have sat back and watched as evil was done, and did nothing to stop it. I have mocked, I have hated, held prejudices, and taken advantages of others."
The priest on the other side sighs rather loudly. "Why is it that you miss Mass?"
"I-I was afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"I am not certain," the white-haired boy says.
The priest just grunts in reply.
"Ought I pray the Act of Contrition now?"
"This is a confessional, as you know very well, and ought be familiar with."
"Yes."
The priest sighs. "You come every Saturday with the same sins. Why?"
"I commit them weekly."
"Are you lying? To an ordained minister? In a confessional? The Father might strike you down this instant!"
There was a long pause. Then the man with the white hair says, "Bless me, for I have lied as well."
The priest seems to bite back laughter, something very inappropriate for church, let alone during a confession, and even worse when by a priest. "You do not need to repent, Draco. You've been forgiven for these things long ago."
"You have to give me penance."
"I don't have to do anything," the priest corrects.
"I just confessed mortal sins, I think it would earn me some penance."
He can hear the priest moving around inside the confessional. At last he says, "Come out, Draco."
Reluctantly Draco obeys and comes out of the box. "That's not how a confession works, Father Joseph."
"For which I apologize, Draco, but I wish to speak to you about personal matters," the priest replies. "Why do you always confess the same sins?"
"They are very bad sins. I may have toned them down some."
"You shouldn't do that."
"I'm well aware, Father Joseph," Draco answers drily.
"That was the only time someone has ever asked me for penance."
"I apologize," Draco answers quietly.
"It was just...unusual," Father Joseph admits. "Most followers don't appreciate penance, you know." The words are weighted with an unspoken question.
There is a long pause, and then Draco glances around and says, very softly, "The sins I confess were...unforgivable."
"Nothing is unforgivable, Draco," Father Joseph corrects. "At least, not here in the church."
"With all due respect, sir, the people I have wronged will not forgive me. What I did-" At this, his voice shakes- "What I did was very bad. The penance is to make up for it as many times as I can."
Father Joseph frowns slightly and scratches his chin. "I believe you should seek out these people, Draco, it's what the saints would want. And if they do not forgive you, you can come to the confessional and tell us you tried. But if it is yourself who you need to forgive, I'm certain that you'll find it easier if you take a break from confessions."
"You're a priest. You can't prescribe that."
"I can, and I am. How's that for penance, Draco?"
He stares at Father Joseph for a long moment, unable to believe what he is telling him. At last he says stiffly, "That's fine."
He feels a little guilty for lying to the priest. Hermione and Harry and Ron and the Weasleys had all forgiven him, even George, who had a temper hotter than hell. The truth was Father Joseph was right. Every time he shuts his eyes, he sees himself cowering as Bellatrix tortured the defenseless.
He steps out of the Diocese of Westminster, out of the dark and cool church and into the light outside. He feels the sun touch his skin, warmth flowing through his veins and into his hands for the first time in years. His pace grows brisker and faster even, until he is running down the walk in front of the cathedral. The bonds are cut. He is alive again.