Let's be honest. Crabbe killing one of the Horcruxes was dumb, especially after JKR set up Draco's redemption arc in his confrontation with Dumbledore.

This is my exploration on how a redemption could realistically go.

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A Dragon's Redemption

Nightmares and Regrets
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"Why?" Rosmerta had asked before I'd Imperiused her.

I hadn't said anything to her, then. She'd just been a means to an end. It hadn't been anything personal. It was just business, and I didn't hurt her, did I?

"Why?" Her voice continued, almost beseeching me.

I felt my anger flare. Why couldn't she understand?

What choice was there? That foolish bartender— what did she know of family duty, of allegiances between families and orders?

Katie Bell's scream rang ahead, blood-curdling and haunting, breaking me out of my train of thought. I felt its reverb shattering my carefully created walls and shaking me to the core.

Eyes now wide in sudden alarm, I stared at her gracefully floating form, arms splayed out as if she were about to fly. Her own eyes were wide, but unseeing from the agony she was experiencing.

My heart clenched painfully at the sight. "I did this. This is my fault."

A moment passed, and my gaze hardened as the reality of the situation set in.

"No." I said to myself. "This is what I want. This is the goal I've always been aiming for. With the old man out of the way..."

Killing Dumbledore, what a thing it would be to tell others! Who would have been able to match my boast?

And, yet…

Katie disappeared along with her screams. I would have sighed in relief, had it not been for what followed.

"Draco, Draco, you are not a killer…" and, there it was, the old man's voice. Taunting me, even as he revealed things about myself that I'd never wished to admit to anyone— least of all myself.

My weaknesses.

What did he know? Living his life like the wizarding world's golden boy, all the way into his aged years. All he'd known is praise and love from all. I was a Malfoy. Everyone hated our family, they were all our enemies.

A motley crew of upstarts, grabbing at what few opportunities life gave them; unworthy beings who thought they could rise above their station and challenge our might.

What would some old bearded crackpot know about what I've been through? What I've had to endure to get to this point? He knew nothing. That's right. He is nothing.

He'd underestimated what I was capable of and paid the price for it. Stupid old man.

Stupid.

He'd underestimated me. They all had. Every single one.

Even for all of her supposed intelligence, that know-it-all mudblood hadn't suspected a single thing. Neither did her fool of a hanger-on, Weasley. They underestimated me, and I used it to my advantage.

The only one who'd had the most meagre hints had been Scarhead, and I'd outsmarted him, as well. He'd thought he could observe me, at all times, with his stupid tricks.

Invisibility Cloaks, and special maps.

I didn't need any of those, for I had my magic.

I was good at magic. It hadn't taken long for me to replicate the mudblood's feats with enchanting a coin and slipping it undetected to Rosmerta.

Ha! As if a Malfoy would settle for anything less!

"I appreciate the difficulty of your position." Dumbledore's voice, still soft and understanding, cut through it all— my self-esteem, my pride.

His sad blue eyes seemed to see right through me, as if he understood me more than I did, myself. "All you have to do is come to the right side."

The right side, what a joke! The right side— I laughed again; a band of equally useless crones and blood traitors, burdened by their bonds and friendships.

I suppressed the envy in me. I was the Malfoy heir, wishing for such a life was not for me.

"I can help you, Draco." Dumbledore's voice echoed, once more.

No, you couldn't! Nobody could.

Going against him was like pissing in the river in the faint, impossible hopes of changing its current. It got you nowhere, fast.

Bloody hell, it got you killed, fast. It had been a miracle that Father had been spared, at all.

There was never really a choice.

Obey, or die. That was all there was to it.

"Come over to the right side, Draco."

I ignored the old man's words.

"Draco... you are not a killer..."

I should have killed you, Dumbledore. I could have done it, I know I could!

"Look what's happened to you, dear boy… What you're becoming..."

July 31, 1997, 9:00 AM

I awoke with a jerk, heart thundering in my chest. I looked around, eyes wide and frantic, before calming down at the sight.

My room; I was in my room. I struggled to get my breathing under control, the events of the dream blazing through my mind. Ever since that night at the Astronomy Tower, I'd been having nightmares.

Unceasing, relentless nightmares. Sleep was a luxury I could no longer afford.

Why didn't I just kill the stupid old man!? Part of me snarled. In the heat of anger, I took my pillow and flung it on the other side of the room. "All of that effort. All I've gone through— for nothing."

As usual, there was no answer. I sighed and retrieved my wand from my bedside, feeling its warmth banish away my seemingly permanent unease, at least for a while.

I sighed and closed my eyes, my hands tightly gripping onto the hawthorn stick like it was my lifeline.

I was stronger than this.

"You are a Malfoy and a son of Black." I muttered under my breath, opening my eyes. "Act like it."

The memories of what had happened in the prior week came to me with relentless intensity. I could not suppress the resulting frown, despite my best efforts. Professor Charity Burbage's death at the hands of the Dark Lord was yet another new horror to add to the things I'd borne witness to ever since Dumbledore was killed.

It wasn't right. A small part of me— a part that had been growing stronger, as of late— said softly. She shouldn't have had to suffer such a fate.

That's the fate of blood-traitors. The other part of me raged. Do you really think she should have been allowed to live after what she'd done? The scum deserved far worse.

An image of her tortured expression flashed through my mind, and I was once again suppressing yet another cringe.

But, did she truly deserve that? To be humiliated, subjected to such indignity, reduced to nothing but food for the Dark Lord's damned pet snake? She was a pure-blood, just like I am.

I didn't have an answer for that.

Instead, I huffed and got off of the bed, the warm feeling from my wand long gone. With a wordless wave, the pillow returned to its resting place, the bed fixing itself in a few short instants.

I smiled, somewhat cheered by the display of magic. If there was anything I could take pride in, it was my magical prowess.

Quitting Quidditch, not wasting time with my homework or Prefect duties, and instead learning how to fix the Cabinet— and all of the tricks to mislead my enemies therein— had increased my skill by such a margin that it left me feeling like a completely new person.

I wondered how things would go if I returned to Hogwarts after the summer break was done with.

I frowned. With Dumbledore gone, and the Dark Lord free to act as he pleased, it was not a question of 'if', but 'when'.

I began to get dressed in front of the mirror, ignoring the bags under my eyes, and the gray-ish pallor of my skin.

I just have to put all of this behind me. I thought, taking a long, deep breath. Soon, a new chapter of my life will begin. I've done my duty to the family and saved us from utter eradication. In time, Father, Mother and I'll be able to reclaim our former position and stand above the rest, as is fitting for House Malfoy.

I finished getting dressed, freshened myself up with a wave of my wand before pocketing it.

I left the room, feeling ready to take on the new day.

As I wandered the halls of my home, I wondered what I would have for breakfast. Mother was likely already waiting for me at the table, with Father—

"Draco." I heard Mother's voice from the bottom of the staircase. Her usual smile was nowhere to be found. "Come. Let us have breakfast in my study."

I took in her appearance. Out of all three of us, Mother had always managed to look dignified in the face of both friends, and enemies. But now, her tired blue eyes stared back into my own.

I opened my mouth to answer, not sure why she had said that, but stopped as the screams began. I'd heard that particular man's screams before.

It was Ollivander, the harmless old man who'd sold me the wand currently gripped tightly in my hand.

Strange. When had I drawn it?

"Put that away, Draco!" Narcissa Malfoy hissed and I obeyed her in an instant, unwilling to raise her ire or even protest. "Come, lest the Dark Lord turn his sights onto us."

So, he was here. If my previous mood had been unsettled by the screams, it was now eradicated by news of him.

It seemed as if the man's— no, for I'd already decided he was something other than man— horrors would know no end. I watched my mother walk up the stairs, felt her arm linking with my own and dragging me away from the screams. We went through a few hallways, past our ballroom, and onto the most remote section of the Manor, where a single door stood.

I followed her inside, closing the door behind me and sighing in relief as the screams ended. I'd been retreating to this room more times in the last month than in the past fifteen years of my life.

Narcissa Malfoy's study was a thing of both comfort and practicality, contrasting with the wealthy and ostentatious style of the remainder of the manor.

What little finery that was hung on the walls was hidden by the rows upon rows of shelves lined with books both new and ancient.

My mother's personal collection— one I'd had the pleasure to comb over the past few months.

"The only room that the Dark Lord hasn't managed to spread his foul spell to." Narcissa took a seat and called. "Rinky."

With a pop, a house-elf appeared. "Mistress calls?"

Narcissa turned her nose up at the creature. "There is a change of plans. You will serve breakfast, here."

"As you wish, Mistress." And with that, the ugly little thing disappeared.

I took a seat at her study table, watching as she pulled her wand out and wordlessly opened the window by simply pointing at it. A cool breeze came in, and with it a sense of balance.

It helped, even if a little.

My eyes flitted to my mother, who'd placed her wand at the table and stared at it with an intensity which surprised me.

"What happened?" I asked, curious despite my wariness.

"Your father's wand." Narcissa said, her eyes still glued to her wand. "It failed against Potter."

I frowned, the sense of balance broken by the news. "I… see. Is that why..?"

Narcissa nodded, and the conversation ended there. I frowned, trying and failing to put the man's screams out of my mind.

Why was I worrying about him? Wandmakers of his caliber weren't found easily, true, but there were others like him, well versed in the lore. Wizards could still acquire wands, after all was said and done.

With that knowledge, why should I have cared about him?

"Precisely ten inches. Hawthorn and unicorn hair, reasonably springy!" His words came to me from an old, buried memory. "An interesting wand, to be sure."

"Interesting?" I'd asked dumbly, back then. "It's no dragon heartstring..."

"Ah, your father, Lucius. Elm, and a dragon's heartstring, if I remember correctly. Perhaps, you take more after your mother than you do your father, hmm?" Ollivander had replied. "Do you know what the hawthorn symbolises, child? It is duality, itself. A union of opposites. It will be interesting to hear of what you will be able to accomplish, in the future."

I hadn't taken any of his words to heart, believing them to be the ramblings of a crazy old man. All that mattered was that unicorn hair sounded lame. Unicorns were beautiful creatures, sure, but they never inspired any fear in anyone.

Not like dragons, did.

I'd been sure that Father was going to be furious, but he'd accepted the news quite well.

Now, even as I had this thought, Ollivander was several floors below me, being tortured by the Dark Lord.

Just what is the point of it all? He's just a dotty old man who sells wands. What use could possibly be found in torturing him?

"Ah, the food is ready, Draco." I heard my mother say, and I came back to reality.

My eyes turned towards the food at the table. The elves had outdone themselves. Laid across the table were plates of eggs, ham and potatoes. A large jug of orange juice, freshly squeezed. A basket of bread appeared before me, enough to keep the entire Weasley family going for weeks.

I snatched the warmest piece of bread off of the top of the pile, as I'd always done, and took a bite.

The food tasted like ash in my mouth.

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My sincerest gratitude to all of my newest supporters on the website which must not be named. You guys make this possible!

Once again, thank you to the wild Karthrax.

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