The Quiet Redemption of Draco Malfoy
The bed was empty. These days it always was; sleep had forsaken its previous inhabitant, dancing tantalisingly before his eyes, only to fly away when he reached for it. The dark, twisted creatures that plagued the few hours of sleep he had managed to snatch here and there had served to stop him even trying to catch the few hours he had survived on. Now he kept an alert face on through continual cups of black coffee from the house elves in the kitchens. He had bribed an impressionable one to supply him with them on as regular a basis as was possible without attracting attention.
Let's just say Draco Malfoy wasn't the world's sanest boy. He was pretty messed up.
Gods, how he hated that room; its green hangings taunting him, hinting at his fate if one of the boys asleep behind each curtain were to find out about him, how he'd betrayed them.
Death.
He almost longed for it, now. Or if he could get some hotheaded Gryffindor to knock him out, maybe the pain would ease for a while. Possibly a Weasley? If he could anger the Gryffindor enough to have them put him out for a few days, he might be energised enough to carry on his act.
The dreams came back to him in mind-bending detail; the pain, the dark, the cold, 'Do it again, boy, you're getting it', the strange faces dirty and twisted in pain and begging for mercy, 'Please, no, not again, please god no....'
Draco dropped his head into his hands. I can't go on doing this, he thought. I've got to do something. But what? Go to Dumbledore? If he did that, the headmaster might cast him out for the things he'd done. He would deserve it. Deserve every minute of the torture Voldemort would inflict on him for what he'd done, or rather, what he'd refused to do.
And what would the Wonder Trio, Potter and his little friends, do when they found out? Even if Dumbledore convinced them that Draco was fighting for the side of good, they would never forgive him for the insults he'd flung at them over the past four years. Hatred can take a lifetime to dispel. If they would ever listen, which he strongly doubted, they wouldn't believe his apologies, or that he was simply following in his father's footsteps. But still, he couldn't go on spending his nights awake, making sure no one got a chance to finish off Voldemort's job for him. He had to go to Dumbledore. For the first time in his spoilt, pointless life, Draco Malfoy wanted, desperately wanted, to fight against the darkness. To put things right.
In Dumbledore's office, Fawkes the phoenix began to sing.
Yes, it's very short. The next chapter will be longer, I promise. Please review, as it makes me happy.