Based on the song 'Back to the River' by the Pretty Reckless
It was a beautiful late summer's day, with blue skies all around him. The students of Hogwarts had returned mere days before, and most were ecstatic to be back, eager to take shelter in the safest place in the Wizarding world. Draco was not one of these students.
Everyone else talked about a different world to the one Draco saw. They talked of the sudden darkness that had taken over their lives, the constant threat of violence or death lingered over them all. For him, this was his entire life in a nutshell. The world looked just the same to him, except for the mission which he had been set.
Draco was walking quickly, almost running, to a place that he was sure only he knew of. There, no-one knew his name. No-one would find him there.
He kicked at a few leaves on the ground angrily as he thought about his situation. Draco often wondered what it would be like to be free, because as privileged as he appeared to his fellow Slytherin students, Draco was basically a prisoner.
But no-one ever listened to the words he had to say. It was like he was just an object, not even a human, who had to perform the Dark Lord's bidding, and that was all he was there for. It didn't matter what he thought.
As he kicked at the ground savagely, anger filling him like it had never done before; he hadn't noticed that he had arrived. It was the sound of the river, and the gushing water that made him stop in his tracks. He was back at the river, where no-one could find him.
Sometimes Draco wished he was brave enough to escape, to keep travelling until he could find a safe place where no-one knew who he was, so he could start afresh. Despite his parents drilling it into him since he was just a toddler that to get anywhere in life, he had to put his faith in the Dark Lord, Draco didn't really want to follow that path. Unlike his mother and his father, he could feel a strong sense of right and wrong, even if he chose to ignore it on occasion.
He sat gingerly at the edge, watching the water flow by in ripples. It was incredibly relaxing. It almost felt like if he stayed there forever, everything could be okay.
A sharp, stabbing pain in his arm caused him to wince and forget the calm feeling, as he rolled up his sleeve to reveal the vile, writhing tattoo on his left forearm. He shuddered as he remembered the initiation ceremony, how his mother wept, how he wasn't sure if it was because she was proud or secretly afraid. And while looking at the tattoo, he realised that his escape plans were impractical. How easily the Dark Lord could find him, murder him on the spot. It was a foolish plan, and Draco had allowed himself to become carried away with the dream.
He sat for a while longer, his mind on nothing in particular. Then, when the skies began to darken, he got up slowly, and began the long trek back to the castle, knowing that he didn't have the guts to make the choice, make any of his own choices for fear of the consequences.
Draco was cowardly underneath the tough exterior, and he hated himself for it.