Draco

The cheers echoed off the walls as I shuffled past. No one gave me so much as a glance. I was glad. I couldn't fathom their looks of disgust. What was I to them? Deatheater scum. Nothing more and nothing less.

Potter won. I predicted this. My mother predicted this. Hell, even my house elves predicted this. I still don't understand why my father couldn't. "Too stuck in the old ways," my mother always said. She said it with such distaste it surprised, and frightened, me.

Mother never used that tone of voice with anyone, let alone her own husband. War does that to people, I guess. It was unbelievable that she used to be filled with such joy. She didn't ask for this. You didn't either. An annoying voice in my head said as I sulked in the shadows of Hogwarts remains. I couldn't argue. I didn't.

No. You are not innocent Draco. You have blood on your hands.

Nevertheless, I still couldn't help but think, no hope is a better word. I still couldn't help but hope that this was a dream. I will wake up back in the summer before sixth year. That I would never had the task of killing Dumbledore. That I never have made such pathetic attempts to do so. Before everything in my life began to swirl in a never-ending pit of darkness. Before I was far too broken to ever be fixed.

I remember, all too vividly, the night when everything changed. It all became too real. The night I opened that cabinet.

Flashback

I was a nervous wreak.

My palms were sweating. I knew that if this worked, Potter would be short a mentor and Voldemort would have one more advantage to what seemed like a endless list of leverage.

My hands shook. I had worked all term on this antique. It was painstakingly hard work. And for what? To serve a guy would would kill me without a second thought if he found it amusing.

The cabinet handles felt smooth on my otherwise callous hands. I could imagine tonight's events. I kept trying to find a way out of it. I played scenario after scenario in my head. None of them looking pleasant. I had no choice, I decided. No way out.

This was my last thought as I turned the handle. The door creaked. The fates have spoken. It was done.

End of Flashback

I shuddered as I relived the memories. I can't think about it. I won't. I was jolted out of my thoughts by a certain red headed bafoon and bushy haired know-it-all having a conversation with, air? Potter, I realized. He was under the invisibility cloak.

They didn't seem to realize I was there, and I wasn't about to come out of the shadows. They talked and lightly joked for awhile. Granger put her head on Potter's shoulder. Strangely, Weasel was okay with this notion. The war does change people in more ways than one.

I tried to look away from the group, but my eyes always found there way to them. The golden trio never ceased to amaze me, though I'd never admit this to anyone else. How they do the things they do in such short times they have. They're not just bloody Gryffindors; they are heroes.

I've mostly figured out how they do things; the instances in third year couldn't be described as anything but brilliant. Scratch that. It can be described as lucky, reckless, AND brilliant. Granger saved the day, you could say. Honestly, I bet Weasel and Potter wouldn't be standing here today without her.

Everyone knows that she is the brain of the group. She could help them when no one else could. No one.

Why couldn't I have someone like that? Someone who could fix me, someone who could save me? Why can't I?

I know that she used a time turner in third year. She never did hand it back in. It was never used again, if I was correct. So why can't I have it? Or better yet, why can't I use it to fix my mistakes. My life changing choice could be corrected.

It will be corrected.

Even if it kills me.

Ooooooo

Author's Note

Random. Sorry. :)