This is just something the popped into my head and wouldn't leave, so here we go.
Disclaimer: Not mine, duh!
This is a ONE-SHOT!
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Looking back on it, he could admit it wasn't the brightest idea. It wasn't his best decision. He'd admit he'd been lured in due to his naivety, his idealistic view on life. Draco would admit that he never really thought about what it was, exactly, that Death Eaters did.
He would also admit that, if he could do it over again, he most certainly wouldn't. Draco had never been fond of Albus Dumbledore; in fact, Draco thought the man was a senile crackpot. Draco had often wondered what life at Hogwarts would be like without Dumbledore, always fantasized at how much easier his schooling would have gone.
When Voldemort had asked him to kill Dumbledore, Draco had been honored. He had been raised to believe that the Dark Lord only enlisted the help of the most worthy. That was a laugh, but nevertheless, Draco had believed it at the time he was asked.
And so he had jumped at the chance. Who wouldn't? Voldemort was asking him to kill Dumbledore, the only man who was standing between him and victory. Draco had been in so much awe that he had actually been able to justify murdering Albus Dumbledore.
Draco never even thought about how disappointed his father would be in him. Looking back, he knew that he had actually fooled himself into believing his father would be proud. His father had done nothing but tell him not to get the Dark Mark. Lucius had been adamant about Draco not becoming a Death Eater, he had said that he only went back to protect his family; Lucius wanted no part in what Voldemort had planned.
Looking back, Draco could say his father was absolutely right. He wanted no part in Voldemort, or his evil plots; no matter how righteous the man was, he was also insane. Looking back, Draco knew that if his father hadn't been a Death Eater, he never would have even considered becoming one himself. Lucius was Draco's hero, and all Draco had ever wanted was to be just like his father.
Look where wanting to be just like his father had gotten him; he was living with an aunt he'd never met, waiting for Severus Snape to tell him when it was safe to run.
Draco couldn't remember why he'd thought becoming a Death Eater would make him like his father. True, his father had been Voldemort's right hand man, but his father had been the antithesis of a Death Eater. His father was sane, proud, aristocratic, cool, collected.
Lucius Malfoy was a brilliant man, and the mess he had made of Dumbledore's death finally made Draco realize he was nothing like his father; he never would be. Not even close. Draco was nothing special, not any more. Now, he was just another young man who's life was ruined because of this damned war; there were too many young men with ruined lives for Draco to stand out, as he had always done before.
Draco's rushed and, admittedly, foolish decision had forced him to take refuge with his aunt, Andromeda, and her tacky, mudblood husband, Ted. To add insult to injury, their house was in muggle London, and Draco couldn't use magic, for fear of being found. To be fair, though, his aunt was enjoyable company, despite that fact that she was a Black.
He could be fair enough to admit that Andromeda was decent enough, even if she was a blood traitor with a half blood daughter. His mother and Andromeda were the only two Blacks that Draco didn't hate. For Draco hated the Blacks. Yes, mudbloods were despicable, but the lengths the Blacks went to were ridiculous. Especially Bellatrix. That woman was nearly as insane as Voldemort.
The Blacks were all pathetic. They were either blood traitors, or insane; excluding his mother and Andromeda, of course. Although, Andromeda was a blood traitor, she was completely sane as well as proud of her pureblood heritage. That didn't completely make up for her mudblood husband, but it did help.
Draco could admit that life in muggle London wasn't completely horrific, and that muggles had come up with some very clever ways to compensate for their lack of magic. The telephone was incredible, and matches were ingenious; he could live among muggles for a while without going completely insane due to their clever contraptions.
Draco could also admit that there was an extremely attractive brunette girl in the house next door; he had a date with her on the third. Not that he wanted a relationship with a muggle, but there was nothing wrong with shagging one.
While he could tolerate life with muggles, he still wished he could go back and undo all of the damage he'd done.
Looking back on it, Draco almost wished that Snape hadn't healed him when Potter had nearly killed him with that spell. He wished he had been able to go with Dumbledore. Most of all though, he wished he had listened to his father, that he had been able to do his father proud.
Draco also wished he'd done more than just break Potter's nose on the train to Hogwarts back in September, as Draco would probably never see him again. Draco hoped that Potter won; Potter wouldn't have him killed as Voldemort would.
Draco wanted, more than anything, to talk to his father. Lucius would know what to do, what to day to make Draco feel better about this whole mess. Lucius would also know how to get him out of it. Death was something Draco didn't look forward to. He wanted to be a kid again, things were so much easier when he was a kid.
Draco wasn't a kid anymore, though. He was permanently scarred with the site of Dumbledore's body flying out the Astronomy Tower window. He would always have the guilt of that night. It would always be him that caused the death of Albus Dumbledore. It would always be on him.
Yes, looking back on it, Draco could admit that he'd been a little rash when he'd accepted the task of murdering Albus Dumbledore.
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This is a one-shot, I will not be updating this ever. Please don't tell me to update soon, or that you like where this story is going, or anything like that. This story is complete.
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