He slammed the door that had led him to the roof of the manor behind him, taking in a slightly ragged breath; the empty firewhiskey bottle in his left hand dropped to the floor, unnoticed.
He'd known, of course, that they would be here. It had only been a matter of time. The war was a few months over and anyone even remotely suspected of working for the dark side was being dragged into the ministry and questioned. Could he handle sitting through an unfair trial? Did he even want to? The results of hearings had been prominent in the news for the past several weeks. They targeted the more prominent names first, which was why his parents had been taken within the first week the ministry began their search. They had been out to dinner, for the first time since the war began. He clenched his fists in anger. His parents were only beginning to get over the war. No one knew all the shit they'd been through. All they wanted now was to live in peace, together, as a family, for as long as they could. They'd asked Draco if he wanted to join them for their meal, but he felt they needed some alone time. He needed alone time, himself. It was the first time they'd even left the warded manor in days, and they'd been taken. They were among the first brought in, so they hadn't known to hide. He probably should have seen this coming. Something else he could blame himself for, he supposed.
He pulled his hand through his shaggy, near-white hair. The world could be cruel sometimes. Yes, his father had been a supporter of Voldemort since the last war, and yes, he'd done terrible things in his life, but he wanted to turn around. And if he was found guilty and shoved into Azkaban, he'd never get the chance to. He'd go made within weeks.
Draco's world spun around him. His view was hazy, and he felt dizzy. The firewhiskey was really getting to him. He walked to the ledge of the building and looked down, grabbing on tightly so as not to fall to his death. For now, anyway. He saw figures in black moving below and snorted. The aurors thought they were so damn good at their jobs; he could have cast a spell to kill them quicker than the bat of an eye, if he'd wanted. Some of the wards he'd set could assure that. But he didn't want to. He was sick of the carnage, of all the death, and he wanted a peaceful life, away from his past and away from everything he'd known.
Most of all, away from her.
Hermione Granger. Best friend of the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die and his witless wonder of a sidekick. She was the only one who looked at him with eyes that weren't judgmental, but kind, as if she knew he hadn't had a choice when he became a Death Eater. As if she could tell he wasn't the mask that he showed to the public, but man who lay underneath it. Most of all, the only one that could match his wit, who could grab his attention. Who could make him think about her all day and night without saying a word to him. He hadn't said one nice thing to her in school, and she had found it in her kind heart to forgive him. He knew she had; he had seen it in her eyes the last time she was near him. They weren't together, they weren't even friends, and he couldn't do anything about it. What would she want with a former Death Eater? He wasn't worthy of her. He wasn't even worthy of life itself.
He looked to the ground many feet below him and thought. About his life, and what it would become if he was shoved into a prison cell, a court case, and then Azkaban. Hadn't he suffered enough in his life? If there was a God, he must be a sadistic bastard.
Draco had been in the middle of wallowing in his shitty life when the wards around his manor alerted him to a presence. Or rather, quite a few presences. The wards he had set up so carefully to alert him not to who exactly was entering, but what their intentions were. It would tell him if those who entered were merely there to visit, or to harm him. If they were friends or strangers. If they had only the purest intentions. It was the ward that led him to chugging the rest of the bottle of firewhiskey in his hand and locating the stairs and door that would lead him to the roof of the Malfoy Manor.
He wasn't sure a life behind bars even constituted as a life. He would be treated as dirt for the rest of his life. Not that he wasn't already treated like dirt. He laughed bitterly at the thought; as if it were possible that he could be treated even worse. The dementors of Azkaban may have left the place, but it would still be a miserable place to spend his days, nights, holidays. He wondered of he'd have any way to keep track of the date in there. Surely not. It was all part of the misery, not knowing how long you'd been in there. Not so much if you had a life sentence, as in that case you'd be locked up forevermore anyway, and it really didn't matter how far along in your sentence you were.
One foot up on the ledge, Draco made up his mind. His life wasn't worth it if he would be imprisoned for acts he couldn't help but commit. And of course he would be imprisoned. The only people who might speak in his favor were already behind bars, almost behind bars, or had fled the country thinking they would soon be behind bars. He had no one in his life, and he couldn't foresee that changing. Not as long as he could look down and see the mark on his left forearm, not as long as people remembered who he was and what he'd done.
He scratched his arm; he knew the mark would never be removed, even if he scraped all the skin off of his arm. The mark would regrow with the skin. It was cursed. Hewas cursed.
He realized there were tears falling down his face, and his vision was blurred even more. He wondered how the aurors below would take him simply stepping off the edge of the building. Would they save him? Enjoy the sight? Decide if he was going to die anyway they might as well let him die now, as he wanted it?
But then he thought, of course not. They would want to torture him somewhat before he died, like all the muggleborns were tortured during the reign of The Da- Voldemort. He swallowed heavily. Hopefully the aurors wouldn't notice his fall quickly enough to save him, or they would be too in shock to stop his body from crashing to the ground at an intense speed.
With that, he lifted his other leg onto the ledge and looked down once more. He was teetering slightly, the amount of alcohol he'd consumed that night, or rather the endless amount he'd ingested over the last week, impairing his sense of balance.
Suddenly he heard the door behind him crash open, and a girl whose voice would've seemed very familiar to, and may have stopped him from walking off the ledge, had he not consumed the aforementioned alcohol, scream "Draco!" The damage, however, had been done. He couldn't stop to think about who was screaming and one of his legs had been out forth into the darkness before the scream even registered in his ears.
The witch behind him hadn't been named the smartest witch in her year for nothing, though. She was at the ledge quicker than a whip, and she had performed a levitating spell on his body, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't stop to think about anything, she just wanted him to be okay.
When she had dropped him softly to the ground before her, she turned an affectionate gaze on him, one he wouldn't see as his eyes were tightly closed. "Draco," she murmured to him, pushing hair out of his eyes. His eyes were guarded as he opened them, but the wall fell away as soon as he saw who was before him. She saw regret in his eyes, anger, self-loathing. But what surprised her the most was the love she found pooled in his molten-silver orbs. She was lost in them for a few moments, before she pressed her lips softly to his. The gentle kiss lasted only a moment, before she pulled away and attempted to bring him to his feet. He leaned heavily on her shoulders, as he shuffled along beside her. "Never do that again," she murmered. "Never again."
Hermione pulled a cloak around him, as he was becoming alarmingly paler by the minute, and pulled him inside. She performed a warming charm on the cloak, and he sighed. She could hear him faintly whisper, "Don't leave me... I'm sorry..." over and over again. The tears were still falling from his eyes. Her gaze softened and she pulled him closer into her side.
Aurors came out of their hiding places around her, and attempted to tie Draco up and take him to the ministry, but she waved them off. Once they left the grounds, she and only she would safely apparate him to the ministry.
Hermione had seen in his eyes that he was the same lost and lonely boy that he'd been at Hogwarts, despite the fa ade he'd thrown over himself every day, and she would do anything and everything in her power to make sure he was not imprisoned. She may even be able to get him out of there without a trial. Since she was one of the main reasons of the war's end, she had a lot of pull with the ministry.
She would worry about what to do about their - what could she even call it? A relationship? Were they even friends? - later, once she made sure no more harm could come to him. Sure, she would have some explaining to do to Harry and Ron, but hopefully they would see she had done the right thing. If not, maybe they would come around sometime. She was sure seeing Draco out and about would persuade them.
If he decided he didn't want anything to do with her after the business with the ministry was through, she would survive. She would be alright, given time. Time could cure anything. She hoped he would realize that life was precious and he couldn't end his own; too many people had died in the war, and she wouldn't have him throwing his away like yesterday's Prophet. In saving his life, she'd given him time; time to reflect on his life, to think about the future, and most of all, to live his life to the fullest. And after all that had happened, couldn't that be considered the greatest gift of all?