Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise. I do own my right to fantasize. See what I did there?
Chapter Five – New York
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I thought that life outside Azkaban would be different, that I can change my fate.
But what good is change, when I cannot erase my past?
My past will always haunt me, keeping me from any chance of salvation.
I rub the mark on my arm, replacing my disgust with acceptance.
I don't see the point of living.
My past will never leave me.
Even if I am living in a different realm from now on, everything that defines me cannot be ignored.
I am..I was a wizard. I was the son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, raised to believe that purebloods are more superior to any being on this earth. I was called..no..I was forced to accept responsibilities that lead to numerous deaths, and I accepted with complete and deliberate ignorance from my part.
I chose this. I chose to be who I am.
I chose to follow my father's expectations, I chose to follow the dark lord's orders.
I chose to kill.
I chose this life.
And now, I can choose to end it.
Just as I am about to close my eyes and let the ledge take me, I notice the handkerchief which I unconsciously carry on my pocket. The cloth looks so out of place with the white garments that I wear, shifting from the wind which plays with it. Her initials shine as soon as the rays of the sun passes by.
At the back of my mind, I hear a voice. I hear her voice, and the words that she told me the last time that I saw her. I feel her delicate fingers brush through the back of my neck, cleaning my skin as if there is still remnants of that rotten egg. I concentrate on her touch, her gentle patting with her handkerchief.
And then, I remember her eyes. How her eyes looked at me without judgement or anger.
How her eyes look like forgiveness and kindness.
I remember her words..her words that sounds too good to be true.
I let her clean my shame..my sins. I let her soothe my turmoil, my self-hatred..my regrets.
And then, a strong gust of wind made me realize where I am.
The wind is cold, cutting my face like a blade of sharp ice.
I open my eyes, and feel this immense fear. Fear for my life.
I feel fear that I am going to disappoint her.
As I pondered on whether I should live or die. I feel rough hands pull me away from the edge. I violently land on the clean tile floors, and come face to face with a balding old man who was talking to me with a language that I am not familiar with. He is furious, showing his anger with how much he hits my arm.
Instead of jumping down from the window, I move to go back to the safety of the room. With trembling hands and feet, I move away from the window and take a seat on the floor. I feel a cold sweat collect on the sides of my face, the trembling becomes worst, I collapse to the ground and allow myself to vomit.
I vomit the contents of my stomach, which was not much. The strange old man continues to rant from behind, perhaps irritated at my pathetic show of retching. My bile consists of chocolate and saliva. I tried to vomit some more, but that was all that I had. And then I start to shiver, shiver uncontrollably.
Seeing as I managed to discard all the remains of my stomach, the old man pulls the collar of my flimsy top, not caring that my exposed skin is being injured by the abrupt friction of being dragged on tiles and eventually the metal frames of the bed. Without warning, he punches my face, hurting my left cheek.
All throughout his way of mishandling me, he ranted in a strange condescending language. Most likely, he was cursing me for being such a fool. Any person would have thought that I was considering suicide when I sat on the ledge, he must be giving a very colorful sermon which I cannot really understand.
Despite the language barrier, I oddly find his language to be vaguely familiar.
For reasons I care not to identify, I am certain that I have heard the language before.
"I'm sorry. I cannot understand what you are saying." I tell him weakly, losing a lot of energy.
He sighs, choosing not to continue with his scolding. Having realized that I do not speak his language.
He mutters some more, before pulling the wooden chair next to my bed and taking a seat in front of me.
"What were you thinking, syn? Have you lost your mind? Ty durak!" He tells me, hitting my head with the back of his hand. Despite his heavy accent, I understand his English.
"I was just..taking some fresh air." I say with a wheeze, lying to myself.
"Nobody would sit on the ledge of a building just to get some fresh air." He says.
A man wearing a fancy looking tuxedo enters the room. He breathes heavily, from running perhaps.
"Is everything alright, Pakhan?" The man questions, looking at me with suspicion. He appears to be slightly concerned for the old man's safety.
"We're good, Lev. Leave us be for now." The old man replies with a commanding tone. The man in a tux simply bows respectfully in acceptance, before leaving the room.
"What kept you from killing yourself, syn? What stopped you from falling to your death?" The old man asks me, crossing his arms and making an effort to keep his anger down.
"I was not trying to kill myself, I was just..I was just trying to..I was just.." I stop explaining and sighed. "Alright, yes. I was thinking of committing suicide. But..not anymore." I admit.
"Well then what kept you from falling on that ledge, syn? What kept you from killing yourself?" He mutters without looking at me, perhaps embarrassed for my foolishness or uncomfortable for asking.
"Excuse me?" I ask.
Coughing in irritation and gazing at me with more arrogance than moments earlier, he asks again.
"What changed your mind? What made you decide to live?" He says, and then his face expresses realization. "A person…a person perhaps. A person made you decide to live, syn?" The old man inquires.
Her.
It was her.
Her dark brown eyes.
Her heart-shaped face.
Her strong yet feminine voice.
Her last words to me.
Her.
I want to see her..I want to face her..and the feeling of wanting to see her is terrifying.
I am terrified, not because I was about to plunge to my death, but because I don't want her to know that I choose to kill myself instead of living a life of constant nightmares, guilt, and humiliation. I don't want her to remember me that way..I don't want to disappoint her because..because I want to see her again.
I feel fear of never truly facing her, or anyone else, with pride of being who I really am.
Because..because I could be so much better than this. No matter how bleak my life has become, I still have the choice to move on from my mistakes and be someone who failed..yet learned from failure.
I can show them that I am human, I can show them that I can better myself.
I can be better..I can take pride in myself.
She can be proud of me.
But is it possible?
Is it possible for me to accept what I was, and look forward to what I could be?
Can I actually live a life that I would be proud of?
"Well, whoever this person is, he or she will be very pleased to find you have an ounce of intelligence. Perhaps this person of yours, is the one who gave this letter." He states, tossing a letter at my lap.
Absentmindedly, I take the letter and opened it to be overwhelmed by a strong familiar scent.
"Mother." I whisper, feeling my heart slowly beat faster and then gradually but painfully slower. I bite my trembling lip, my throat hurts from words I wish to say. Words of disbelief and gratitude. I try to keep my eyes from watering as I try to read the first words that I have heard from her in years.
As I read the words, I hear the soft graceful voice of my mother. The letter magically resounds her voice throughout the four corners of the room, making it even more difficult for me to control my erratic emotions. With enough resolve, and trembling hands, I focus on reading what she wants me to know.
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Dearest Draco,
How are you my son? I missed you so. I am doing fine, despite currently staying in the manor for most of the time which you spent in that horrible place. My disposition is nothing compared to what you have experienced, I'm sure. I hope to Merlin that you managed to regain a part of yourself, despite Azkaban.
My love, it is my deepest regret that I failed to keep you away from this fate. Someday, I beg you to forgive me and your father for instilling pain and hatred unto your life. I can only pray you will do better than what we have done to ourselves. We can never change the past. But my dear, you have a future.
I have hired a capable and trustworthy Barrister to appeal for your case. She assured me that denying the recognition of Mr. Potter five years ago, at the presence of your now deceased Aunt Bellatrix, can be used as a way to reduce your sentence to at least twenty years or more. Mr. Potter is willing to witness.
I am overjoyed to know that there is a chance for you to come home. But I do not want you to solely depend on this possibility, I want you to live in the muggle realm. I know you might think that living in the muggle realm is unrealistic..perhaps unbearable. But I want you to thrive, wherever you may reside.
I want you to survive, I want you to live the life you wanted before we pushed you to a life of fear and death. I want you to live a completely different world, away from persecution and hatred. I want you safe. And if staying in the muggle realm will be the safest place you can be in, I want you there.
I wish I can write more, but the Ministry limited my magic to basic needs in exchange for weekend walks at neutral pureblood places and areas. Don't worry about me dear, they might have taken my wand, but intelligence was always my asset. I am doing fine, please take care of yourself. I love you, always.
Your Uncle Vladimir will take care of you in the muggle realm. I trust him as your guardian and your advisor. Follow what he says, and give him the same respect which your parents did not deserve.
Your mother,
Narcissa Malfoy
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As soon as I finished reading the letter, the parchment started to burn at the edges with green flames. Desperately, I try to stop the small fire by patting it down or tapping the letter at the nearby desk. But the green flames continue to consume the letter at a fast pace, until there are no more remains.
"Obviously your mother does not want anyone to know she contacted you. Best that the letter was destroyed." The old man unnecessarily explains. Perhaps feeling sorry for my brief show of sentiment.
"H-how would you know about her preferences? You know nothing about her." I childishly comment, too estranged and frustrated with my helpless situation of painfully missing my mother.
"I may have not known your mother directly, but I am a father. And like her, I would never want you to end your life so easily if you were my son. I would have wanted you to live." He comments.
"Even if I killed innocent people..even if you raised a monster?" I tell him. Stating a question which he is not directly involved in. The question is for him or for my parents..I don't know why I even ask.
He surprises me by taking a knee and lowering his worn out face to my level.
"Even monsters deserve to live. They deserve to live, in order to respect the lives that they have taken. They deserve to be in anguish, and then they deserve a chance of redemption." He tells me seriously.
I was not expecting an answer.
The answer was simple, yet perfect. Tears started to fall from my eyes uncontrollably.
I was about to kill myself..I was about to take my own life.
I do not want to explain my actions, which I already regret.
I was trying to make it easier for me. It would be easier to just die than deal with the aftermath.
I'm such a fool, such a coward. I can't do that.
I can't just kill myself. Killing myself won't redeem me from my sins.
Killing myself won't justify their deaths.
Committing suicide won't cleanse my soul, or kill my demons.
Nothing will be accomplished if I die, nothing.
But what will?
Unless..unless I choose to live..and perhaps I can then find an answer.
I will live. I will live a different life, to begin again.
I will live, and I will find the answer.
"Syn, are you alright? You are pale as a ghost." The old man points out.
Thinking and experiencing a lot of emotions is starting to take a toll on me, I have no energy to comment. Instead I weakly prop my legs on the bed, and then let my head rest on the pillow. I feel tired, so tired, I can barely keep myself conscious. I made my decision. Now I need rest, I need sleep.
The young man in a tuxedo arrives again, and this time the old man beckons him to enter and have a conversation. I cannot understand their conversation, they are speaking a language which I am not inclined. I should be more suspicious about their intentions..but my bed is beckoning me to recover.
I rest my head on the pillow and close my eyes.
I will live..I will live a different life.
As soon as I get enough sleep, I will learn to live my life here, in the muggle realm. If I recover enough, if I have a chance, I will then leave to go somewhere far away, a place where I can be different. Perhaps I will be lying beside the sea on a sunny afternoon, watching the wind shift fronds of coconut trees.
I would be in a place where I can hear the ocean calling, feel the sun warm up my skin.
A place where the breeze feels nice and cool as it combs my hair.
A place where the sky is blue..clear and endless like the ocean.
A place where I can begin again.
.
Cool breeze on my face
It makes me stop and think -
The only brolly that's in sight
Is the mini one that's in my drink
JD, coke and lime -
This is how I want to spend my time
Not wasting hours
Being stuck on the M25
- Tom Felton