"How does it feel, Malfoy," ask his friends, their faces contorted with rage. "How does it feel knowing you've killed his soul?" You sneer at them, saying you don't care. Turning around to leave, you see him, and know he's heard the whole thing. His whole face is cracked, and you know how much he hurts, because you're the one that hurt him. It's final, you want to say to him, but he's already gone. He's gone, pretending not to care either. But you know him. You know him almost better than you know yourself. And you know that he's broken.

He avoids your gaze in the corridors. Your friends ask you why you smirk when you see him, and you simply answer that seeing him makes you happy. They don't notice the ambiguity of the sentence, but you wouldn't expect them to.

You walk up to the Astronomy Tower one night, craving fresh air. As you open the door, you see him again. He's up there, looking out onto the school grounds. He hears you enter, and you're slightly surprised to see tears in his eyes. His eyes widen when he sees you, and before you can say anything, he's pushed himself past you and is hurdling down the stairs.

He seems to be everywhere you go, nowadays. He tries to escape but somehow you always end up in the same place. You can see he's hurting, when he looks at you, and you know he wants you back. But it's true: you really don't care. You've been taught not to.

You catch bits and pieces of what his friends are saying during Potions. They want him back. They want him fixed. They want him alive. And these few words unsettle you more than you'd like. You push him out of your head, and smile bitterly at how seemingly easy it is to forget about him. But then he enters the Potions classroom, and a flood of memories comes back.

You and Harry being partnered together in Potions and giving each other I-know-what-you-look-like-naked glances and giggling like schoolgirls at the stupidest things.

You and Harry arriving late to Potions, both looking thoroughly debauched. Snape knows what you've been up to, but of course you'd never admit it, so he settles on glaring at you filthily.

You and Harry getting detention from your teachers for always being late to class, and using your time more usefully than cleaning trophies.

You remember these things and your chest tightens. You look away, staring at the quill in your hand. You know he's seen you, and you know that he's hopeful, hopeful that you still feel the same way. You dispel any doubts you have about your decisions and look back up, your face sneering. You simply look at each other for several moments before you hiss, "What the hell are you looking at, Potter?" and you see his face fall. He stumbles over to his seat, mumbling a quick "Sorry" to Snape, avoiding everyone's eye. His friends glare at you, trying to understand why you're hurting someone you once loved.

But was it really love? You don't think so. If it was love, it wouldn't be so easy to let him go. It wouldn't be so easy to forget. But it still hurts, your heart tells you, but you refuse this thought. It was purely physical, you tell yourself, forcing yourself to believe the empty words. Harry doesn't mean anything to you. You bring your hand to your face and it comes away wet. Pansy and Blaise are looking at you questioningly before you quickly turn around and wipe roughly at your eyes, hoping no one else saw. When you turn back around to go back to your work, your cheeks are slightly flushed. Pansy and Blaise just sit, heads bent, whispering to each other, eyes locked on your form.

You skip dinner that day and spend it in the showers, letting the scalding water run down your back, hardly noticing that it's burning you. You almost wish the water could wash your problems away. Maybe after a while, it could wash you away too.

You get over your uncertainties only to find yourself furious. Furious that he's able to make yourself question your choices, and furious that you're falling for this stupid game he's playing. Suddenly, it's like your previous years all over again, but the hatred isn't reciprocal. You taunt him at every turn, but everyone can hear how cold and hard your voice gets. You're dead serious under your candied words, your coated gibes. You can see a bit of the facet he puts on crack when you say something like that, and you take it upon yourself to break it all the way. Finally, he snaps and punches you in the face. You're on the ground, laughing slightly simply because you're numb, and it feels good. Harry just looks at you, horrified with himself, his fist still clenched by his side. Your laughter slowly dies down and you lay your head on the cool stone floor, knowing that the whole corridor is silent and staring at you. You can feel your lip swelling up, and your front tooth is loose. You slowly sit up and spit out the blood from your mouth onto the ground. "Is that your best shot, Potter?" you ask mockingly, leaning back onto your elbows. His eyes widen in surprise before he unclenches his fist, crescent-shaped marks dug into his palm. He looks from your bruising cheekbone to your taunting smirk before turning around and disappearing down the hall.

You're in Paris for Christmas, and your father drags you around from dinner party to dinner party. He's at a bar with his associates, and doesn't notice when you quietly slip out. It's 4 in the morning, but the whole city is alive. You quickly navigate to the Champs-Élysées, and catch your breath as you see the lighted street. There's music coming from one of the restaurants close by, and you can feel the chilling wind carry it away. It's not loud and bustling like during the day, despite how many people are still out. It's almost serene. You look skywards as you dream of growing giant white wings and flying away into the inky black sky, because in Paris, right now, you no longer feel the dull ache in your chest you've been pretending doesn't exist. You no longer feel empty.

You're back at school now, and you see Harry walking alone in the dungeons. You quickly step in front of him, blocking his way. He looks afraid for a moment, and you open your mouth to say something cutting, but before any words can escape he's got his arms around you, and you freeze up. "Please don't say anything," he whispers, his voice slightly muffled by your shirt. "Just... Don't." You're about to push him away when you notice that he's not there anymore. It's almost as if a passing draft of an opening door carried him away. You walk briskly away, trying to ignore the fact that you can still feel his arms around you, as if he had branded you.

The war has started. You're on the Dark Lord's side, even though you'd rather not be. I don't have a choice! you want to scream as you see everything familiar crumble around you. But you've got obligations, and the rather weighty Malfoy name to uphold. You kill when you're told to, always managing to hold down the vomit until a time when no one is looking. You have never drawn blood during any of your kills, but you can feel it on your hands, always there, like a reminder that this is what you're supposed to do whether you want to or not. You don't sleep anymore; your dreams are haunted by the screams of people you've killed. People you've gone to school with, known for years.

But you're only 17, and dragged out of the security of Hogwarts, and your classmates are fighting you, and suddenly feel how young you are. You remember the stories you used to read, of boys your age having fun with friends, talking about girls, playing practical jokes on teachers. It's only been a few months, but that seems so far away. You're suddenly bewildered and scared and worried, forced to grow up even though really, you're still a child. You'd still be in Hogwarts had it not been evacuated and later destroyed, and even though you've killed and slaughtered, you just want your mother, you want her to be there and hug you and hold you and tell you that everything will be ok because she loves you and she'll never let you go. But it's too late for that. Your parents are dead, killed by aurors, and you have to pull yourself together right now because the Dark Lord is calling you, and you know it's time for more death.

When silence falls over the battlefield for several moments, you know it's over. You know that your side didn't win. You know that Harry Potter killed the Dark Lord. It starts to rain as people rush off the field in a frenzied game of hide and seek, but the people who are "it" won't stop until their targets are dead. What a merciless game we play, you think to yourself, closing your eyes. No one seems to notice Draco Malfoy, the only remaining person on the field, on your knees, welcoming the rain, letting it cleanse you. Words come to you out of nowhere, and you yell them to the sky. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned... The wind carries your words skyward, and you slowly lay down in the mud, exhausted. This will all be over tomorrow, you promise yourself, and you want to believe it so badly that you do.

You wake early, before the sun is up. It's stopped raining and you're caked in dirt, but you don't care. You slowly get up on your shaky legs, letting the cold morning air chill your bones. You ache all over, and it's all proof that you're alive, and you want to scream and shout for joy, but something catches your eye, and your heart stops. It's a body, no different from any other body that litters the field, but you know automatically who it is. Harry has always caught your eye, and this time it's no different. Tears stream down your cheeks from the second you start moving towards it. It's near the edge of the forest, and you don't seem to notice all the times you trip and fall. You get to him and fall to your knees, retching. The stench of death is almost more than you can handle. Harry's on his stomach, and slowly, tentatively, you flip him onto his back. He's dead, probably by a rampant Death Eater in the minutes after the Dark Lord's defeat. The wind is suddenly howling, and you are so very aware of every sound, every movement around you.

You sit there for minutes, hours, looking at him, hands carefully folded in your lap, tears still falling. Your heart is twisting, threatening to break, and you want to claw at it until it doesn't hurt anymore. Your chest is so heavy that you feel like you're being crushed, and you have to struggle for each breath. You felt like this when you found out your parents had died, but this feeling is much stronger. It's as if something inside of you died, and now there's a hole there, but nothing can fill it. Hopelessness, desolation, agony, fury, anguish... Your whole body is on fire with emotions and it's burning you. You reach out a shaking hand to smooth Harry's hair, straighten his broken glasses when a small sob escapes. It's as if a dam burst, and now you're sobbing harsh, painful sobs, clutching at your heart, your whole body trembling and shaking. Your breaths are gasping and ragged as you try to hold it in, and your head is spinning. You're gasping words, but you're being torn open, so you don't know what you're saying. Harry I'm sorry I love you I didn't mean to please come back I can't live without you I love you Harry please I'm sorry I love you I love you come back please I miss you please don't leave please Harry I love you. You bury your head in your hands and sob until the sun rises.

Your cheeks are tear-streaked when you finally look back up. You feel so old and tired, and there's despair in every movement. You slowly smooth back Harry's hair and rub the smudges off his cold face. Putting your hands on either side of his face, you lean down to kiss his forehead ever so lightly before laying your head down on his still chest and falling asleep, pretending that when you wake up, it'll have all been a dream, and you could go to Harry and apologize and tell him everything he's been waiting to hear.

But in a way, Harry already knows.