1 – A Day is Gonna Come
Bright EyesMany a night has found me stalking the streets of London. I do not deny that I closely parallel a vampire in my nightly strolls. I suppose our hearts have the same false hopes of finding a requiem for our empty souls. My vocation does not differ from the Deathless Ones. Perhaps I belong with those – the immortals, but our paths have yet to cross.
My nocturnal habits often find me ending my mindless wandering in front of an empty Muggle house on a frightened Muggle street. The windows are vacant and lightless. I know none have lived there since before the Great War.
The Great War. I, and many of my generation, find no solace in the memories of those days just past. Those who spirit themselves with handsome tales and feats often have not witnessed the utter catastrophe shadowing the former students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hardly anyone knows the true details of the day that ended the War of All Wars and those that were present were brought together by Albus Dumbledore in agreement of remaining taciturn.
There was little argument that day.
The only retribution – or shall I say restriction – I find that keeps me from ridding the world of my useless presence and ending the Malfoy line forever is those dear words my father spoke to me before I murdered him naked and disgraced. After all, his own son betrayed him and his master abandoned him. No, I daresay I found pleasure in the sight of his writhing body and the sound of his screams into the dead night. If only he hadn't spoken those damned words.
Ancient magic courses through my blood and those with the knowledge of it have already passed from this world to join in the pits of purgatory. I have little hope in finding solace from the curse flowing with every cell of my pure blood. Oh, how I loathe that blood.
His words, however, did not quench the joy I held in pulling the trigger of a device stolen from the Muggle world he so despised. My delight in his last images do not supercede the impeding doom that was cursed on me. His blood stains my hands and will not evaporate until I fulfill the wishes of those deceased. Such is the magic that lies in the Malfoy line.
I should've killed him before he could utter a word. My vengeance shuddered through my body to the very marrow of my bones that day and I left him writhing on the ground naked and shamed. It was reported to me that he died 38 hours after my bullet was lodged into his lower extremities. He had shamed himself one last time and commanded a house elf to kill him. I, of course, killed the house elf and left them both unburied in the darkest, dirtiest crevices of the Malfoy necropolis. I am a horrible wizard.
I am also a powerful wizard, only second to that of Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore. And for that, my life is damned until Hades finds pity and engulfs me in his flame of death.
I turn and leave the Muggle world. I do not belong there. The streets are empty from fear of those nightly goblins and ghouls. I laugh out-loud and the sound is bitter even to my own ears. I stop before a brightly lit house and watch a little girl watch me. A twisted smile forms on my lips. I raise a finger to my lips and search her mind for an image of her fate.
I pass a hand over my face and take the form of her future lover. Remember me, I mouth and Apparate to a place where I belong. She should not have been up and I have punished her with the kismet of witchcraft. I am a horrible man.
---
I rarely sleep anymore. The first rays of dawn each day land on the pages of a bible I have read and reread since the end of the Great War. The pages are worn and the spine is bound together with Spellotape. I have searched far and wide for a reason to survive, but I have found none. My quest has been proven futile, yet the liquid words are enchanting and I cannot stop my eyes from hungrily devouring the sacred text each day.
I often wonder though. Is it true what I've read about the Son of God? Did he come to save? Did he come at all? Is there hope for a wretched soul like mine? Somehow, I know that even if I wash his feet with my dirty hair, I would never be clean again. I am the man that sold my soul for a bag of gold and attempted to liberate myself foolishly by spying on the beliefs of my forefathers. The Son of God would never be able to cleanse me of the blood on my hands.
The days following the Great War were spent in a cold cell of a dungeon that I now own. My dealings with the Order of the Phoenix were left incognito and I was being charged with murder and practice of illegal Dark Arts. The judges had looked at me with hard, accusing eyes. They would not believe me any of my words because I was the son of a Death Eater.
"Draco Malfoy," They had said. My own name sounded repugnant when They spoke.
"Will you kill a man for what his father has done?" I had stated. "What my father did, well, it don't mean shit. I'm not him." They had gasped and all previous convictions toward me were intensified. "So you think I need some discipline? Are my words too sordid for the heirarchy that now controls the Wizarding world? Well, I had my share. I am Lucius Malfoy's son."
And I was released and became one of the most powerful wizards in London. Second only to Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore.
---
I am once again at the Muggle house on the Muggle street. The lights are bright and I am contemplating this new espial. The door pivots open with a loud shriek and the light filters out. I stand motionless. My eyes rise to the figure of an angel. My breath labors and I turn away. Such beauty would kill me.
"Draco?" Her voice is a sweet melody to my broken ears. I step back and ready myself to run. My experience with celestial beings was limited and I would surely die from the purity that supercedes tainted blood.
"Draco Malfoy?" She steps forward and I step back. I shudder and close my eyes as she speaks my name. It rolls off her tongue mellifluously. I do not deserve to be in the presence of such magnificence. "What are you doing in front of my house?" I open my eyes and prepare to answer, but my words are caught in my throat.
Her beauty was far more majestic than I previously presumed. Her auburn eyes bear into my own and I plunge myself into her mind. She allows me and searches my own soul while I penetrate through her memories. I probe through her anamnesis until I find one that throws me back. I land on my backside, but I hardly feel it. I lift my head to see her smiling serenely down at me. I gasp for breath and lift myself up.
"Hermione Granger," I choke.
Author's Note: The chapters are named after songs – and based very loosely on them – so the artist name is below the chapter title/song name.