Draco Malfoy had regretted many things in his nineteen years of life. He regretted that his family never cared.
It had been an elegant facade. But even as a child he saw through the masks and mystery. And below it all was the cold hard rage. At him.
He had never quite lived up to his parent's expectations of him. He was a sickly child, even at birth. He was slower than his father wanted him to be. In the elaborate fencing lessons he was always half a step behind his instructor. In school he wsa always half a step behind Granger.
He regretted that he let it get to him. He had watched as a child as his mother and father coddled each other, ignoring him. So blissfully in love... with power. The love was another act, put on for Draco's benefit. This is what you can have, it said. If you just do everything we tell you.
Draco had shied from the tolletarian rules. He had thought he was making his own destiny, that he would be nothing like his father.
Then one day he swore at a passing boy. The boy had spilled his milkshake on Draco and Draco had replied with out thinking. Calling him a filthy Muggle.
His father had given him a look of admiration.
And the flood gates opened. Draco knew how to get approval. He bad mouthed Muggles, Muggle lovers and MudBloods alike. And basked in the warmth of his father's approval.
He regretted his first meeting with her. He saw his father put the journal into her cauldron and said nothing. He saw her with Potter and reacted instinctly, lashing out at the boy through her. Potter always had that effect on him.
He regretted pretending not to care her first year. He should have been the one to save her from the chamber. He had grace and elegance with a sword. Instead Potter charged in, waving Gryffindor's sword like a baboon with a pointed stick. Draco could have made her proud of him. He should have been the one to wake her.
He regretted telling the Hat to put him in Slytherin. He hadn't let the thing argue, just demanded that he be put there.
He regretted every insult he ever flung at her. He regretted every curse they exchanged. He regretted it all.
He regretted not being there to take the curse for her. He knelt now in the grass beside her fallen form. Her face was white and drawn and her breath was shallow. He pushed back her crimson hair. He didn't know what curse hit her but she would pull out of this. She just needed time.
And help. She needed that now. She couldn't wait for the men searching for survivors.
He gathered her in his arms and kissed her softly.
"Let's take you home, Ginevra."
There was only one thing in his life he had never regretted. Falling in love with her.
(A/N: Soooooo one shot or not? Once again, my stunning intellect decides it's insanely courteous of me to update a preexsisting fic and so I have decided to start a new one. Ok real reason is, I forgot to type the chapter I was going to update so you get this instead.