His sixth year had changed him, as it would anybody.
Draco lay in his four-poster bed staring up at the ceiling.
Thinking.
He knew it. He had finally realized just three months ago what a monster he had been. Not that he thought he was anything near as bad as his Father or his Aunt Bella, but he hated himself just for associating with them. For being born into that scarred, stained excuse of a family. His sixth year at Hogwarts had been hateful and lonely. He hadn't talked with anyone. Ate rarely. His mind was always thinking. Thinking about the awful, awful deed he'd have to fulfill. He tried fruitlessly, with little success to discreetly kill Professor Dumbledore. Curses, and poisons wouldn't work. He gradually got very frustrated. He was, for lack of a better word, miserable.
When the long-awaited time came and he was perched on top of that astronomy tower with his Aunt urging him on and Dumbledore standing in front of the offending wand so calmly you'd think he was waiting for a bus. But Draco was shaking. From fear more than anything else. His face looked sallow and sunken. He was torn and destroyed. Ripped open by the split reality on which he lived. The dark mark on his left forearm proved to be a vengeful symbol to him in that moment. His physical body was worn and breaking. And his mind was tainted with the darkness he had been cloaked in his entire life. Hesitation was upon him.
"Do it...! Now!"
His face screwed up with an expression of despair. He longed for warmth and hope and light. Though he knew it was silly to expect such things from this life. His future held none of it for him. His face was sweating. His hands and knees were shaking. His breath was short and shallow and his shivers were desperate and just when he thought he would black out from the strain and pressure...
He didn't do it.
He couldn't.
Dumbledore was right. He was no assassin. He couldn't kill a living person of such importance and wisdom.
"No."
Severus Snape slunk around from out of the shadows, his wand pointed menacingly at Dumbledore. Draco lowered his wand with an internal sigh of relief.
And then Draco heard a plea. A plea for death. But the way Dumbledore said it, it sounded more like a cry for help.
And then Severus uttered the words that Draco himself was too scared to speak.
His heart was beating frantically and the sound of his shivers were only drowned by the sound of Bellatrix laughing wildly into the misty, black night. Dumbledore fell onto the school grounds below with a air of finality.
As Draco recalled the memory of that night not long enough ago, a tear ghosted down his temple and onto his pillow. He hastily wiped it away on his wrist and cursed himself for his weakness. He rolled over onto his side and stared out of the submerged window at the green water. He watched the underwater life as it swam free. Free from anything. Freedom was something he thought about a lot these days. He longed for it. He would be seventeen in one day. An adult. He could leave his family if he wanted to at any time after that, but what would people say. What would they think of him?
"Oh, that despicable Malfoy boy. He's acting like such a coward, quitting when the dark lord is strongest."
That's what he thought people in his family would say at least. He tried not to think about what Potter would think if he left his family. He probably wouldn't believe it until he saw it.
Draco wanted to apologize though. He wanted to say sorry and own up to the people he hurt. It was quite unlike him and it was a new feeling. He didn't like it. He never liked change. He didn't like to admit it but, with his father in Azkaban, he felt more secure. He felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Which it had. Lucius had been one of the biggest influences on him while he was home. His mother was rarely in the house anymore. The house elves became more timid and reluctant to be of service. Which meant more punishments for them. Draco thought of Granger with a twinge. What would she think of that? She would probably want to "rescue" them in some way. To save them.
Draco needed to be saved. He felt like he had all this tension and weight on his heart and mind and he needed someone to talk to, without any judgement or advice for him. The problem was, he had no one. No one wanted to talk to him. He couldn't think of anyone that he wanted to talk to.
His mind reeled.
He sighed long and slow, his bare chest rising and falling beneath the sheets. The small radio on his bedside was quietly gurgling static and small indistinguishable voices. Draco rolled over, pulled his wand out of the drawer, and tapped the radio to turn it off. He then took his expensive gold watch out and held it in his palm as he squinted at the face.
1:47 AM
It was the beginning of Draco's seventh year at Hogwarts and he had been assigned Quidditch Captain by Professor McGonagall. He would have to sleep eventually if he was going to hold successful try-outs tomorrow morning. But he just couldn't sleep tonight. It was hopeless.
He sighed again. This time shortly. He rolled over and pulled the curtain over the murky green window. The only light in the room was the calm crackling cinders from the fireplace and a small oil lamp with a yellow shade standing on Draco's bedside table. The other Slytherin seventh year boys were all asleep under the covers in their own beds. Warm and safe.
"I don't want to leave." Draco admitted quietly to himself.
It was true. Hogwarts when he was young seemed like such a magical place, and it was. Literally. But now it was better. It was a place of escape and solitude for him. Last year was different but this year he had no pressure from anyone. His father was in Azkaban. His mother was who knows where. He would have the freedom to do as he pleased in exactly one day.
He didn't know if he wanted to leave his family yet. They were all he ever knew. His parents would probably disown him, but he really couldn't care less what they did. And he shouldn't. As long as they kept their distance. If he could leave right now without any pressure from the other Slytherins or his family, he would. He would leave in a heartbeat. But this was something to think about. This was bigger. No one can just pick up everything they have and walk away from their old life no matter how horrible it was. But then again, if he left, the only people that would care, would be the people he was leaving behind. And what did it matter what they thought of him, anyway? It's not like he would be at much of a loss.
Draco turned reasons and questions over in his mind as he gradually fell into a dreamless sleep. Throughout the dormitory, a large gray cat was sleeping soundlessly on the rug near the dying fireplace. The spindle tables were littered with half-finished chess games, decks of cards and wrappers from sweets. An owl fast asleep was perched on a metal rod in the dark corner. And the dormitory held a mellow silence as the oil lamp on Draco's nightstand flickered and then went out.