Chapter 1

Present Day; mid-afternoon of May 31st, 1998

May was coming to a close. The Second Wizarding War that had erupted at the doorstep of the ancient school of Hogwarts was over. Unfortunately, the warmth of summer that proceeded to settle over the country did not touch everyone's spirits this year. Instead it was a time of mourning, rebuilding, and re-stabilizing lives. Hundreds of people lost someone they loved; their children, a niece, a father, an aunt, a cousin, even friends. Others lost their very homes and even their lives.

One family, however, had been lucky enough to not lose a single person they deeply cared for. The Malfoy family walked away from the war with something several had not: each other. They remained an unbroken family, whereas others only wished that was what they had left in the end. Those who had been blessed with that would never take it for granted ever again. This family, however, just may do such a thing. Of course they survived, driven by love to keep out of harm's way; even if what they did was wrong, they had looked out only for their own and prevailed.

Instead, their pride was left heavily damaged, along with their dignity – and above all, respect from others. As the family walked back to the manor from where they apparated, Draco Malfoy realized his family's home still felt like a prison. Only this time a different side enslaved them. Being escorted back, along with his parents, by three aurors after witnessing the burial of the aunt he secretly feared wasn't how he wanted to spend his day. At least they were able to get out and stretch their legs in the fresh air. Being under house arrest was dreadful; no visitors were allowed, no wandering through the gardens without being stalked by an auror, even sleeping was unpleasant at times.

Why his mother refused to have Bellatrix cremated with the rest of the unclaimed dead, he would never know. Surely after everything that… thing did – he couldn't identify her as a human after seeing what she was capable of, not without losing the contents of his stomach – burning her foul remains was more than what she deserved. Burying her only tainted and cursed the earth that now lies around her.

Along with his father, Draco absentmindedly stood to the side with glazed eyes and blank, unreadable faces during the burial; numb. Deaf to Narcissa's sobs that she tried to hide and blind to the tears she rubbed away from her face, neither man comforted their broken mother, broken wife. At least she was able to find comfort in her one and only true friend that came, albeit her presence was required, being an assigned auror. Sabrina Blackthorn would have come regardless. He still wondered how the Blackthorns were assigned to his family when his mother knew them like the back of her hand. Maybe the Ministry was still that stupid, or had no other willing aurors at their disposal that they resorted to volunteers and had not bothered to inquire if they were pre-acquainted to who they were assigned to.

Leaving the newly founded Cemetery of the Wars Fallen Heroes had not gone unnoticed by other mourners that were present. Despite the name, the Minister of Magic reluctantly designated a "neutral" section of the cemetery for those who lost someone from the other side of the fight, as well as those who ended up defecting at the last minute. Of course, there was a lot of paperwork and legalities involved to even get to that point to begin with, which – in Draco's mind – was not worth it at all just to bury a horrible person that didn't belong there.

'Why not bury her in the family crypt?' A curiosity he will never care to ask about.

There were dozens and dozens of headstones all in neat rows with fresh mounds of dirt at their feet; there was also a lot of room left to grow. Some already had so many flowers and wreaths surrounding them that the names written in stone and the fresh piles of dirt were concealed. As they weaved their way through from the back half of the cemetery, the handful of people that were also there watched them intently from a distance. They did not hesitate sending some nasty looks or even try to hide their blatant staring when eyes accidentally met. This made Draco seethe in discomfort. These people no longer had fear-stricken hearts and they were making it clear now.

He tried to keep from reading the stones, but his curious eyes betrayed him, and the first name he skimmed was Violet Rickman.

'She was in my year and house.'

That name was well known; reckless family, sketchy history too. Reckless, though not stupid. He knew they would've turned tail once the battle resumed when Potter wasn't dead; he wondered if she got caught in the crossfire while attempting to flee with that younger brother of hers.

The name following Violet's made him feel ill; Vincent Crabbe. The fresh mound of dirt was not there, though. All he could dwell on at that point was feeling responsible for that grave being there in the first place – with a body or not. Crabbe's grandmother must have requested the headstone since his father was in Azkaban and his mother had been dead for some time now. She was clearly granted one for her grandson. After all, she did no harm in either war. Or at least, was never caught in the act.

As they transitioned into the "light side" area of the cemetery, the nasty comments started along with the dirty looks. The handful of eyes on Draco and his family felt like it tripled, and the threat of bile started stinging his throat. It was clear the bystanders wanted the Malfoys to feel ashamed for being there; the level of humiliation he felt was beyond the incident with Moody during his fourth year - and that was saying something.

Keeping his eyes trained on the earth below, it helped him ignore the stares. He wasn't bothering with how he held himself anymore in public, and he didn't care what anyone thought of it. His father only seemed to manage the proper posture, but only out of habit. As for his mother, he couldn't bear to look her way to know after his lack of affection and comfort minutes earlier.

He continued to skim more headstones as he passed; so far none of them rang any bells, except one. He felt his legs lock up and go numb, his feet suddenly leaden: Severus Snape.

Using every fiber in his being to not collapse or release the sob that burned in his throat, Draco stared blankly at the engraved stone. The only professor he actually liked, admired, and respected was gone.

'How? Why? He earned the place of Vold–His right-hand man, surely that entitled some sort of invincibility. Why was he laid to rest with the other heroes and aurors?'

Unfortunately Draco concluded he would never know the answers to any of these questions, and this troubled him deeply. The only ones who would have satisfying answers would be the idolized and worshiped trio, and he would certainly never be caught dead on their doorsteps knocking and expecting tea.

Setting foot in the manor was not as comforting as Draco wanted it to be, not after enduring today. He barely noticed that the ginger-haired auror – who he found out, astonishingly enough, was NOT remotely related to a Weasley – remained behind at the gate, but the other two aurors followed the family inside the manor. What was the ginger's name again anyway? Steele? Stealer? Star? Whatever it was, she always had a nasty look on her face. If she stopped wearing it all the time, wasn't a mudblood, and the color of her hair didn't repulse him, Draco may have found her somewhat pretty.

He'd quickly learned her hexes were pretty nasty when they first met behind the manor's walls, remembering the encounter pretty well. In fact, a small sting on his right shoulder decided to prickle as a reminder. He was surprised he'd regained feeling in that arm some three weeks later. Recalling he wasn't in the best of moods that day, and it so happened he crossed paths with her when she was alone in his house, had him decide to challenge her lenience to blow off some steam. The color of her hair had him itching to ask if she was a long lost Weaslette, saying those exact words in fact. She'd ignored him but he'd kept going on about her hair and her overall appearance. Even though he really didn't find her visually unappealing, it didn't stop him from commenting on it.

When Draco made a remark about her muggle surname he could remember the hexes started flying, and she did not back down, even after he was tripped up with her leg-locker curse. He ended up having a stinging and numbing hex hit his right shoulder back-to-back, causing a strange heavy burning numbness throughout his whole arm. She managed one last stinging hex at one of his legs before she released the leg-locking curse just before Ian Blackthorn found them. He prayed he never met her in a dark alley – ever.

It didn't score the Malfoys any special treatment by any means after the incident. Ian had taken his ally's lying word over his after the situation was explained. Her playing the victim irked Draco enough to mention it to his mother, but nothing came from telling on them, unfortunately. Not even an apology. The Blackthorns acted as though they'd never seen the family before when they were around fellow allies or in public since they became volunteers. He didn't know why, not really caring; he never really liked them to begin with, yet it was still a bit irritating and insulting.

Draco quickly made his way to the only place where it didn't feel like he was in prison, or where the walls wouldn't randomly decide to close in and suffocate him; his room. The tightness in his chest eased once he sought the safety behind the room's walls. He never questioned why the room he'd had since before he could remember gave him some peace of mind and comfort. A form of twisted security among the bleak, war shredded world. The only thing it didn't provide him was a dreamless, pleasant night's sleep.

He found himself at his writing desk with a quill in hand and a book with blank pages opened before him. Never in his short life would he have envisioned himself keeping a journal, but when you had no friends to turn to, when it seemed the world hated you, and you were locked in your own house – again. One had little choice, and very few options left, before everything in their head burst and made them go mad. Even his own parents were off the table; he wasn't even sure they were an option to begin with.

.oOo.

May 31th, 1998

Well, the worst is over… for today anyway. The trials start tomorrow and yet I find facing them will be nothing after what I endured today; The Walk of Shame. At least everything is starting to come to a close, finally. I am in need of a blank slate.