A/N: This is for round 13 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Go Mapgies!

Optional prompts: 1. High, 7. "Even Death has a heart." -Markus Zusak, 12. Middle of the road.

Read, review, and most importantly, enjoy!

Cowardice

They had just saved his life. He stared after them, brain swimming with disbelief and shock. It didn't take any deep soul searching to know that he hadn't deserved it. Looking in the mirror wasn't necessary anymore; he knew he was a pathetic slimeball. Pathetic, cowardly, disgusting slimeball. When they'd been high up, scraping the ceiling of the Room of Hidden Things, ugly flames licking the soles of their shoes, he'd been stuck in the moment, not really realizing that it was Potter's hand he'd grasped, Potter's chest he was clinging to…

How had he let it happen? Standing on the enormous pile of hidden artifacts, things that students like himself—and apparently, Potter—had not wanted to share with their classmates, he hadn't been thinking straight. Death, orange and furious, had been cackling in the flames below him, and no matter how high he climbed, it seemed to chase after him with even more passion. He'd read somewhere that "even Death has a heart," and that should have been some consolation as it hugged him with all its heat. But it wasn't, because he knew more surely than anything that when it came to him, Death would show no mercy.

So he'd grabbed Potter's outstretched hand, the offer that might have taken him higher than Death could reach with his flaming fingers. Stupid, righteous, do-gooder Potter.

As he stared after them, something else mingled with the shock and disbelief. Shame. Had he no dignity? At this question, he snorted and rolled his eyes. Of course he had no dignity. He'd lost any ounce of dignity he'd ever possessed when he signed his soul over to the Dark Lord. There was no room for pride; serving him was a full-time job. It took up everything, everything.

In a fit of rage, he slammed his fists against the stone wall that had once held the Room of Hidden Things. He punched it again, and again, and again until his knuckles were bleeding. The pain was unimportant, almost laughable, he'd felt much worse than this in the last two years. It felt sickly satisfying to smash the stone and nearly break his knuckles. Goyle had, apparently, gone. And he was alone, all alone, as usual. A wretched cry split his throat on its way out of his body as he sank to his knees, his fists still clenched against the wall. Dry sobs shook him, the thought of Potter's determined face appearing vividly in his mind.

The stupid Gryffindor git hadn't even thought twice about saving him, he realized with a jolt of fury and shame. Why couldn't he have faced Death like a man? It was coming anyway, he'd always known it. After the Dark Lord had burned the cursed, hateful insignia into his left arm, he'd been proud. Of course, it turned his stomach to think about it now, but he had felt glorious, like a prince who had finally been given his chance to be king. Not too soon after, he'd learned the terrible price. Death was always around the corner. Heartless, vengeful, and omnipotent, always breathing down his neck. Even Death had a heart…He scoffed at the idea.

"You're a shit," he said quietly to himself, as if realizing it for the first time. And, in a way, he was.

"You're a shit," he said again, more loudly this time. "A slimy, pathetic, useless little shit." His breath was coming in short, shallow bursts. He'd stopped crying, but he was still shaking uncontrollably. Rage, like he'd never felt it before, surged through him almost electrically.

"You deserve to die, you little shit," he growled. "You should die. You coward, you should die. You should just FUCKING DIE!" He was screaming now, screaming into the empty seventh floor corridor that knew him so well. Every cry ripped from him ferociously, and his fists began to clench again.

He spotted a window in the corner. With a short gasp, the idea slithered into his mind. It wouldn't be difficult. All it would take was basic charm to shatter the glass, and then he simply had to close his eyes and fall…Toying with the idea, flirting with the thought of being free, free from everything, from this war, from his horror of a life, from the disgusting toerag he'd become, he fingered his wand.

There was no way he could do it. He knew he was a coward, he knew he was pathetic. Throwing himself out the window of the seventh floor would take courage that bloody Potter probably didn't possess. Anyway, there was a war going on, and a battle was being fought directly below him. The only problem was he didn't have a place in it anymore. Idiot Potter and his idiot friends had thrown him into a hopeless gray area. How could he return to the Dark Lord now? How could he take this final step of cowardice? How would he live with himself? He was barely clinging to life now, if he proved himself that disgusting and pitiful, it would be impossible to hold on any longer. He shuddered as he remembered Death's flaming hands.

With an enormous effort, he pulled himself to his feet and looked around. The corridor was, as usual, deserted. There was nobody but him and his thoughts, enveloping him and fogging his senses. He had no choice, he knew, but to go back down to the battle and choose a side. There was no place for gray in this war, and he was no exception. Deep in his heart, he knew that the choice he'd make was the cowardly one. It tore his insides apart, but he knew it. Still, at this moment, while he stood in the middle of the road, he had one tiny shred of hope.

As he stood there, summoning the will to take a step forward, he hoped that he could one day make the brave choice. One day, he'd do the right thing. Just not today.

A/N: This has turned out to be one of the saddest things I've ever written. I generally don't pity cowards, but I couldn't help but feel sorry for Draco in this moment. Also, I hope it's not weird that I never use his name. For some reason, I just couldn't do it as I was writing it. It seemed to break my flow, and I think it was because in this moment, he really hates himself and to identify as "Draco" would have been contradictory to that. I hope you enjoyed and please leave me your thoughts!

~Maya