DISCALIMER: I don't own Draco, or anything in the Potter-verse. If I did, there'd be a heck of a lot more snogging, and Harry and Ginny never would've gotten together, and Draco would have a love interest BEFORE they Epilogue. J. is a genius, and has my respect. This has potentially graphic images, and some gruesome mentionings of torture and pain & it's rated accordingly. Enjoy.

FREEDOM

Draco winced, coughing as his breath whooshed back into his body, or at least, it felt like it had. But how? Had The Dark Lord spared him? No, he would never show such… pity. The Dark Lord was heartless, that much the blonde had come to realize during his short period of years following him. He was lying on his back, sprawled on a surface that was cold on his bare skin. He wore dark trousers, nothing more, and shivered slightly. He sat up slowly, blinking his pale eyes back into focus. He looked around, eyes widening as he examined the area. He didn't recognize it, though it was stark-white and very peculiar. He froze when a deep voice spoke in a low drawl, a voice he hadn't heard in quite some time, and it made his heart, if that was what he felt in his chest, pound.

"Draco."

It was soft, simple, and yet the familiar sound made Draco scramble to his feet, his chin held high in pride as he turned towards his old professor, mentor and guide. The dark-haired man stalked forward, stopping a few meters away and looking the blonde over. Dark eyes narrowed as he took in the sight and sighed. Draco swallowed, his chin falling slightly as he looked at the older man. Pale locks of blonde fell in his face as silvery blue eyes took in the welcomed sight of his elder. Draco's own appearance had been altered with his years of service, once bright eyes had dulled considerably, and his high cheekbones were slightly more prominent. Months of traveling and hiding had left him skinnier than before, and his hair, though still the platinum white-blonde that matched his fathers, was longer, not as well kept, and had lost some of its prideful sheen. The one before him, however, looked far less ragged. Dark hair framed a pale yet healthy face and the equally dark eyes were smoldering with emotions the blonde couldn't quite name from this distance.

"Why are you here, Draco?" He asked, his voice coated in its normal ice.

Draco shivered, licking his lips before speaking.

"The Dark Lord… said that I had failed him, Professor." The blonde hesitated, the pieces connecting in his mind. He heard Severus move closer and inhaled shakily, closing his eyes.

He could remember the scene clearly and was still able to hear the voices in his head. He was standing before the Dark Lord, whom he had served now for seven years. He was forced into a kneeling position, his head bowed in shame as his hands were bound behind his back by an invisible rope….

"Draco." The voice is been as icy as his fathers, only if the man before him had been his father, there would've been far more hatred. No, the man he now knelt before was not his father. In fact, he loathed Lucius Malfoy, the coward among Death Eaters. He had been captured, imprisoned, and killed back when the Dark Lord returned to power.

"Master." He murmurs, not daring to raise his head. It would be an act of disrespect in a moment like this, which was something he couldn't afford. He had failed him, he knew and understood that. The consequences, however, were to be debated. He had finished killing all but one of the multiple he was ordered to destroy, unable to find him. Still, it was one living person too many.

"I am no longer your professor, Draco." The elder man spoke calmly, the bitterness in his tone fading slightly as his words interrupted Draco's thoughts.

"Sorry, Sir…." He murmured pathetically. Why did Severus always seem to hold this kind of… power over him? It was as if he feared upsetting him, and didn't want him to be angry or disappointed with him. Then, Draco realized with a bitter-sweet taste in his mouth, that he saw Severus Snape as his father instead of his own. Severus always helped him out, and made sure he was alright. Hell, he'd even healed him after that day, what, maybe eight years ago? It was back in his 6th year, with Potter. His mind, unable to keep from wandering, took him back to that moment…

Tears are streaming helplessly down his cheeks as Moaning Myrtle floats above him, hovering and attempting to find out what is wrong. No, he can't tell her. The stupid mudblood ghost won't be able to keep her mouth shut, but still… Having someone willing to listen is so rare. He can't help it, the words pour out of him through rough sobs.

"I can't do it… H-He's going to kill me…" He whispers in a broken voice, not hearing the door to the boys' lavatory open and shut. He looks up in the mirror to find the one person he longs to tell, to have help him. Even… no. Potter would never do such a thing. Draco doesn't bother to give him time to speak or really think--mindlessly, curses and hexes start flying, the first coming from the blonde's wand. Potter retaliates, firing back. One word was his downfall.

"Sectumsempra!"

He's on the ground, in the water, and all he can feel is the pain. It hurts, Merlin it hurts so badly. His chest... It feels like it's on fire. Stop the burning, someone, help, stop the fire, stop the ripping, stop cutting, stop it, stop it, please, it hurts. He can't move, nothing will move, gods why isn't anyone helping him? Why can't they make the pain stop? He can hear them, for Salazaar's sake! Please, just make it stop! Someone's touching him, the ghost is screeching about a murder, murder in the bathroom! The world dims as the pain flares inside him, but the voices don't, the crying and the screaming don't fade.

"But tell me. Did you fail Him?" He asked, his voice cold again, his deep drawl of a voice ringing in the silence and bringing Draco's mind back to the reality of the situation and out of memories. They were pointless to look back on now, anways…

The blonde raised his chin again, trying to keep his dignity as he felt his chest tighten as the realization hit him.. Voldemort had killed him. There was no other explanation for his appearance here, nor for Snape's presence. He had been killed years ago, back during that final battle. Potter was killed as well that night, and the Dark Lord had come into power not long after. The Ministry had fallen, and the Wizarding World was cast into times darker than ever witnessed. Draco, following in his fathers footsteps like always, had joined the ranks among the Death Eaters. He loathed serving The Dark Lord, and only the one he looked up to most of all knew this, but there was no escape.

"Yes." He muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He heard the other sigh and felt his presence move closer, but didn't dare raise his gaze from the white ground. His eyes moved upwards as he felt a hand on his shoulder. His eyes immediately met with a pair of darker eyes. The ice within them, for just a moment, was gone. They were un-aged, clear, and warm. Caring, even. The ones of a father looking down at his son.

"Then I welcome you to freedom, Draco." There was a hint of a smile on the pale pair of lips as they faded to nothing and the hand was gone. Pale blue eyes closed and relief washed over the thin, battered frame of the blonde. When they reopened, they saw the platform still, but there was no pair of dark gems to join them. And, after years of servitude, Draco was free.

A/N:My first fic, please, don't bash =/ I try, atleast. If you find mistakes or errors, feel free to point them out! Along with laspses in continuity and facts. Thanks a million! Please, R&R!!!