I don't own Draco, *Snape voice* obviously.

And I don't own the Alesana lyrics either :)

Installment II

"Paint abandons canvas, and my brush can't seem to start again from scratch."

I walked uninterrupted through the school hallways. The only sound was of my dusty shoes clicking on the cracked tile. I didn't know where I was going. All I knew was that I needed to keep moving.

Despite the corridors being silent, I kept shooting anxious glances over my shoulder to make sure no one would see me. If anyone did, they wouldn't say anything, I'm sure. Only look at me like I was a pathetic little brat. Being a sore loser.

Maybe that's what I was. Some whiny child, clinging to his mother. Denying his guilt over and over, only to have his true loyalty proven again and again.

Some may say I chose the easy way out. Hah! I scoffed bitterly. Right. Easy? Living in constant fear is easy? Having to make sure to not show weakness or disloyalty, every day. That's easy?

It took me a moment to register that I had come to a fork at the end of the hallway. I appraised either direction. The left passage was interrupted by a body lying spread-eagled across the floor. As much as I wanted to look away, I couldn't stop staring. There were cracks in the marble and a pool of blood where his skull must have impacted the ground. Hard.

The longer I looked, the harder it became. At least my family had gotten out of the war fully intact. Physically speaking.

I forced my eyes shut to break my gaze, and turned to start shuffling down the right hallway. A slight sob escaped from my throat. My hands rushed up to my face to stop the sound, but there was nothing I could do. I wrapped my arms tightly around my chest to stop the sobbing, but that only resulted in tears.

I supposed that was an improvement. That way someone would have to see me to know what a pathetic state I was in, instead of hearing me first.

Had my father chosen someone else to duel with, he could have wound up just like that man. I suppose Potter could have left Goyle and me to perish in the flames that had taken Crabbe… And Mum could have been seen as she rushed back into the castle to find me after Potter was found alive.

But anyone could have gotten into the crossfire, I realized with a jolt. What if someone fleeing had gotten hit? Would I want to admit to being on the side that caused innocent deaths? I shook off that thought quickly and wiped my hands off on my singed jacket.

I came to another fork and, still not having a final destination, picked a direction randomly. It was only after continuing down the passage for a few minutes, that I realized where I was headed. After that, my feet carried me subconsciously to the broken stone gargoyle that led up to the Headmaster's Office.

I got lost in thought again, in the middle of the hallway. I didn't notice when three voices started ringing through the halls. The acoustics of the school had been weakened with the destruction however, and I couldn't tell who it was. I spun around quickly to find the source of the noise.

No one was there. Even the paintings were empty.

The voices continued, so I shuffled behind a pile of rubble quickly, and peered around the corner. After a few moments, the voices died out. I squinted at the wall at the other end, trying to make out a shadow of anyone approaching.

A sigh of relief escaped my lungs. It was awkward enough sitting in the Great Hall where I obviously didn't belong. To meet anyone in the hallway might just push me over the cliff I was already balancing precariously on.

I stood up from my squatting position as soon as I thought I was in the clear. I hadn't anticipated the three people I was most fearing to meet turning around the corner as soon as I had made myself visible.

I slid back into the shadow of the rubble again, watching Potter and his two friends silently enter the Headmaster's Office.

They all stood with their heads held high. I wished for a fraction of a second that I could be feeling how they were; triumphant and proud of being the downfall of evil. That thought went away quickly; as no matter what scenario I put myself in, my parents would always be the same.

I didn't know what kept me sitting there in the dust – maybe the fact that Potter could emerge at any second, the continued skepticism of his true motives, or something else altogether – but I found that my feet stayed rooted to the spot.

The squatting position became very uncomfortable, and I sat on the marble floor.

Waiting.

"As I watch everything unravel; Why should I even try to stop the collapse?"

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