a/n: I have no claim to the Harry Potter franchise, I just enjoy interpreting it a little differently. Draco Malfoy is not my brain child, but he is my sweet precious baby boy that I adore.

"Please, please tell me what they look like
Did they seem afraid of you?
They were kids that I once knew
They were kids that I once knew"
-Stars, Dead Hearts

Draco looked to his image in the bathroom mirror. He didn't recognize the slight boy reflected back to him. No, he was much too thin, too pale, his hair mussed and wet, and his eyes devoid of light. Somewhere in the back of his head, he felt contempt for the boy. Who would allow themselves to get into that state? He knew he was much better than that. And yet... He came to realize it was in fact him. He braced his slim hands against the white porcelain sink, and crumpled. A tear fell, slowly out of his eye and down his sallow cheek. Then another, and another, until they just would stop. A choked sob escaped his chest, and his legs became weak. Draco fell to the floor, cradling himself in the dampness. His only thought was, 'How did I get to this point? Why is this me? It can't be real. It can't be real.'

After a while, he gained the strength to wipe away his tears. He stood, slowly and felt all of his weight. Rolling up his sleeve, he looked at where the dark ink tainted his white flesh. He closed his eyes as he pushed his shirt sleeve back down, refusing to look at it again. He could feel the bile rising in his throat, and turned to the nearest stall, letting the door slam behind him. On his knees, head bent down, he coughed up the little substance that his body had in it. He was gagging on nothing, and only water trickled out of his mouth. He hadn't eaten in days, and only allowed himself water to drink. He hadn't felt hunger though, and felt queasy every time he entered the Great Hall for meal time. He knew that continuing on this way would only deteriorate his health further, but couldn't bring himself to change his ways. Going back to the sink, he turned on the tap with slight difficulty, finding his fingers to be weak. His whole body had become weak, and was accustomed to daily tasks being a bit more trying. He cupped his hands underneath the cool stream, and splashed it over his face. Draco took hold of the hem of his white shirt, and dabbed at his face with it, drying off the water. He looked at his reflection for the second time, and saw he was cleaned up a bit better. The evidence of his salty tears had been cleaned away, and he was acceptable enough to leave the bathroom. Had anyone else taken the time to examine his face, they would have seen the dead emptiness entering his eyes.

"Draco. Years ago, I knew a boy, who made all the wrong choices. Please, let me help you." Dumbledore plead. There had been forgiveness in his eyes, and so much mercy. But no fear. And this tore at Draco in ways he would never be able to comprehend.

"I don't need your help! I have to do this! I have to kill you. Or he's gonna kill me!" It came out as a sob.

Not intimidating, or powerful, and Draco had originally thought he would be. He didn't take any joy from being in that position. A wave of relief came over him when Snape had come in and done the job for him. All Draco wanted to do was run, and run far away. Even in his relief though, he felt weak. And so very angry. Angry at Snape, angry at himself, angry at Dumbledore, angry at Voldemort, angry at his parents, angry at the damn war, and angry at Harry Potter. He couldn't help but wonder how different it all would've been if Potter had befriended him. If he had tried to help him, tried to change him. Maybe, just maybe, Draco would be fighting on the other side in this war. But he shook away that thought, knowing deep down that his pride and blood status would've never allowed him to become a traitor. His loved his mother and father too dearly to ever betray their morals. And beside that point, he would never fight for the mudbloods and blood traitors. He could never be friends with Harry bloody Potter. A bad taste crossed his tongue even thinking about it. At the same time, though, he still knew one thing very clearly; He did not want to fight for Voldemort.

"Well, Draco? Is it? Is it Harry Potter?" Questioned Lucius. He was gripping Draco's shoulder, with so many demands hidden in his face.

"I can't – I can't be sure." Draco replied nervously. That was his one gift to Potter. That was all he could give, all he wanted to, and all he was able to. The past few months, his hatred for Voldemort had grown. This was mostly due to The Dark Lord's near constant presence in his life. He was always lurking around, trying to get into Draco's head, and darkening the feeling in his home. Fortunately, Draco's mother Narcissa was skilled at Occlumency. She made very sure to give Draco the skills he needed to protect his mind. The pair had grown ever closer in those months, and shared the secrets of theirs hearts with each other. Growing up, Draco had always clung to his father, being desperate for approval, and ignored his mother who very willingly tried to share her love. Now, as a young man, he found comfort in his kind mother. They both hated Voldemort being there, tearing apart the world and their family. And so badly, they wanted to run from him.

Draco looked at the swollen face of Harry Potter before him, and made long eye contact. He half hoped Potter would understand the gesture. Potter and Weasley were dragged to the celler, screaming and kicking for their mudblood friend Granger. Even covered in sweat and dirt, Draco couldn't help but notice that she was an attractive witch. But then... Bellatrix began her torture. Suddenly, Draco didn't find her quite so attractive, with her face contorted and shrieks of terror and pain eliciting from her throat.

His chest felt tight. He was drenched in sweat, dirt, and in some places, blood. He gripped Narcissa's hand tightly, and felt the pressure of his father's hand on his shoulder. It was down to the final battle, and they knew Voldemort was done for. Unsure how to feel, they were running away. As soon as they were a safe distance away, the three apparated away, back to Malfoy Manor. Narcissa immediately began setting up wards, fearful of any left over Death Eaters attempting to find refuge there. With Voldemort gone, they no longer had to don their black robes and silvery masks. No longer had to fear their home. Never again would they house dark magic.

"Draco, my Draco. I'm so sorry." Lucius held his son in a tight embrace for the first time, probably since he was first born.

"It's over. It's all over now."