It feels strange, looking down on you and you not looking back at me with hatred but blankness and a mirage of green. But there was peace on your face. There shouldn't have been, you hadn't had a peaceful death and you certainly hadn't had a peaceful life. But what do I know? I'm only a Malfoy. I know nothing of your life. I just know what I see, and that's serenity and rest at last. I know I have no right to think this, but I hope you do rest at last.
I feel sort of privileged. Out of anybody that could have found you out here, it was I, Draco Malfoy. I found the great Harry Potter. Not Granger. Not Weasley. Me. Maybe it's fate. Maybe this was supposed to happen. Maybe this is my one chance to tell you what I need to tell you.
I'm not a good person. I've seen too many things to be good. I've watched Muggles being tortured and I didn't stop it. I've let myself be branded by darkness, and I let it be done with a song in my heart. I have thought of your death for a long time, and I've always despised those with common blood.
But I'm sorry.
I'm sorry, Potter.
Because it's never been your fault for the pain my father's pressed on me. It's never been your fault that I'm not good enough for him. It's not Granger's fault that I'm not that smart after all. It isn't her to blame that, despite the endless hours of study, I couldn't compete with her. It's not common blood that's made me so unhappy, it's been the pure blood that's doomed me. It isn't Weasley's fault that I was forced to join the Dark Lord's ranks. It wasn't because he and his family were Muggle Lovers, that I was made watch them die.
I want you to know that I know you tried your best. You couldn't kill Voldemort, and that's okay. It was too much pressure for you, you were only seventeen. But not a boy. You had grown into a man. You left all us other seventh years behind with your power. You couldn't stop him but you tried. I think that's what's important.
I'm going to try too. Does that matter to you now, wherever you are? I don't know. I just hope you know that I'm not as one-sided as you thought. I have other sides, ones that I've hidden. But I can't hide it anymore. I can't pretend blood doesn't make me sick. I can't hide the guilt that eats away at me every night. I can't do it anymore. I can't push down the guilt I feel; I made your life more difficult, and that was stupid. You didn't need it.
Rest now.
Go to your Mudblood – sorry, habit – mother and embrace her. Meet your father for the first time. Take your Godfather's hand and never ever let go. You don't ever have to feel isolated or lonely or troubled ever again.
We'll be okay. Voldemort is at his highest and deaths are frequent now, but we'll survive. We'll rebel and we'll fight and we'll always remember your name with reverence and respect. Your memory will keep us going, and we won't be afraid to die.
I'm afraid, Potter, of what your people will do when I come to their side. I'm afraid of what Voldemort will do to me when he finds me. I'm afraid that really I am as bad as every one thinks. I'm afraid it's too late to change. I'm afraid, and so very, very confused.
But you just go to where ever you're being sent.
And be peaceful.
And I'm sorry, Harry Potter. For being who I am. And for you having to be who you are. For the responsibility given you when you were just one years old. And for your failed attempt. And for you short life. And for your death.
I'm hyper and have drank loads of coke and I don't want to go to bed so this is the final result. Sorry about the messed up grammer: I hope you got that it was supposed to run like that because they were thoughts And I dunno about you guys, but That's how I think...
