Burn
oOo
The flames jumped and licked, crackling against the stone as it consumed the dry parchment flung carelessly into its depths. Black ink shimmered red as the heat crept over its surface before melting and disappearing in the ash and sparks of fire.
His silver eyes flashed and glittered as he stood there, watching and waiting and hoping. For all the world to watch, Draco Malfoy was finally stripped bare for prying eyes ready to pick him apart in the privacy of his own home with no one to see it save himself and the ghosts of his pureblood lineage.
His life was burning in front of his eyes and his hands had thrown it straight into the flames not seconds before. He had done this. He had finally ended it.
The once cowardly, fucked up boy striving to prove himself to his father was choking in the ashes along with the official documents stating his birth, his Malfoy heritage, the rules of being who he was, the memories of following his Death Eater father's steps, and the images of once being someone he couldn't even remember now. He was so lost.
The war had mutilated him on the inside and done a great deal on his psyche. Maybe that was why he was here, now, burning everything of his past and feeling a familiar heat building in his veins because he had, clearly, lost his mind. That heat, that searing, sick, infesting hot feeling seeping through him was the regret, the hope, the wish, and the guilt.
The regret of living a lie.
The hope of finding redemption.
The wish to forget it all.
The guilt of never making the effort to pull away from the dark until the pain had already been dealt.
Draco could see his father in the flames, that familiar sneer, and he found himself screaming silently with his fists hanging useless at his sides. The hate that had been so carefully placed inside him at a young age had grown and manifested into something dark and cruel. Like a leech, sucking any chance of a savior dry. He had been nothing but a pawn.
But he had changed, hadn't he?
He had broken free, hadn't he?
He had thrown himself at Light's door, begging and pleading, and had been taken in with open arms. He had fought with them. He had won with them. He had lost with them. He had killed with them. He had ended the darkness with them.
But he still harbored it in himself.
That hate.
Though the main cause of his hate and prejudice and all over failure of his life had died, had met his demise at the end of Draco's own wand, that hate remained. Why couldn't it just burn with his past?
His hands had blood on them through the war. Good and bad blood, pure and mixed, but all the same. They were all the same. They were all losing.
He didn't know how, but he was on his knees in front of the flames, silver eyes glazed and distant. His life was void. He heard himself whispering,
"Just let me burn."
Burn.
Burn.
Burn.
He hated the man he had been and feared the man he was becoming. What was left for someone like him? He was damned by the sins he had committed, and if there was a God, there would be no salvation waiting. So what was he to do? He had tried.
He had tried since the end of the war to make it right, but it was exhausting trying to be the man everyone wanted him to be, the man he wanted to be. The valiant and forgivable blood traitor seeking forgiveness from those he had wronged so horribly. There was no one here now, his family had perished, so who was to forgive him?
Potter.
Weasley.
Granger.
But they weren't here and he felt himself breaking.
It was the house-elf that had retrieved him, found him in his own home nodding off in the chair. She was a squat thing and had spent a few good minutes pulling on his pants leg before he finally roused himself and asked what was going on.
"It's Master, sir. He is needing help, he is. Will Harry Potter help Master?"
He knew this house-elf. Recognized it because of a trip he had made to Malfoy Manor once after the war. To this day, she was still the only house-elf he knew that willingly stayed with her Master because she wanted to. She had clothes, was given clothes on a regular basis, but she remained.
"Because Master is needing someone to care sometimes, sir." Had been her response when asked so long ago.
So he had asked her why Draco needed help. "What kind of help? Is he in trouble? Do I need to contact St. Mungo's?"
"No, Harry Potter must forgive Master," she said, wringing her hands. "Forgiveness is what Master needs help with. Please, sir, come with Minty and help Master!"
He was sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa and his head tilted to rest on the cushions behind him when he heard them coming. A pulse of anger shot through him but then burned out almost instantly. He didn't have the energy. And, frankly, he couldn't find the patience to care anymore.
The door opened and he heard quiet footsteps as the door closed once more, but not before catching a glimpse of a pair of luminous and fading azure eyes. Minty. Of course.
"Malfoy."
"Potter."
His silver eyes watched the fire.
The silence had all but engulfed them, neither willing or capable of breaking it so consuming was it's quiet nature. But, eventually, predictably, Saint Potter shattered the still air with the very question Draco was dreading to hear and answer.
"What are you doing, Ma--...Draco."
He watched the flames dance in the fireplace for a moment before closing his eyes. "Trying to erase it all." he said, finally, barely above a whisper.
He could feel Potter's brilliant green eyes staring at him but he didn't meet his gaze. Just say your piece and leave. He thought bitterly. Remind me of how foul I was, tell me that I deserve each and every second of this torture. Of abandonment. Go on, say it!
"You can't erase the past," he finally said in an equally quiet voice.
Of course, this was Harry Potter, the Wonder Boy. The Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived. This wasn't a malevolent avenger seeking pleasure from pain.
Disappointment coated Draco's tongue and he felt bitter. He had actually wanted to be spited by Harry. At least with spite he would no how to react and retaliate, it was solid and tangible.
And deserved.
"Pity, isn't it? You can Obliviate your mind, destroy every piece of parchment that states who you are, but in the end, the past never disappears."
He heard Harry's footsteps and opened his eyes to stare up at the boy who he had harbored a severe jealousy for in their childhood. Who he had dubbed as he enemy.
He watched as Harry bent down and placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled comfortingly, though his eyes showed that he understood no amount of comfort could help this situation. It was just a mutual comprehension between them. Some things weren't meant to be deciphered.
"I think you should come with me," he frowned, contemplating. "Mrs. Weasley is always happy to cook extra for guests." His smile was unsure but determined.
Draco made to protest. Before he did, however, his father's face came to mind and the teachings he had been made to endure during his life and instead of refusing, he heard himself accepting.
"Brilliant."
He couldn't burn his past no matter what he did, it would always be hovering just behind him, cackling and smirking and waiting to jump him whenever he let his guard down. No, he couldn't shake it whatever he did.
But to seek redemption, to seek the forgiveness he craved, it would shine light on that remaining hate. It was a start, and that's all he could ask for. It presented a way out of this impending destruction of a life.
A/N: Well I sincerely hope that wasn't too horrible and you find that you would like to review. Feed back is very much appreciated!