Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling's world not mine.

He had lost track of the days. It was sometime in January, that much he knew. It was the middle of another cold night, but thankfully it hadn't snowed yet. The crescent moon was hidden by the clouds above. It would snow soon, a blessing and a curse. The snow at least made things brighter, easier to see; but it was cold and wet, and hard to disappear in the snow. The footprints alone made it too easy for someone to track. Of course, he wouldn't have worried about being followed if it hadn't been for the war.

War. War was one of those things that changed people. War made them think, contemplate their choices, ask themselves if it was all worth it. At least, that's what Draco Malfoy thought as he lied in a ditch.

He was just a boy, barely seventeen, but he felt older lying in that ditch. Ever since the war had begun, he had grown beyond his years. There were things he had done he wasn't proud of. Lying, cheating, and stealing were things he could live with; but when had he turned into a murderer? He tried not to think about the first time he had seen the green light emitting from his wand. He had enough hate in his heart to actually take someone's life. When had this happened? Did that much hate build up after seventeen years? Suddenly one day he was able to Avada Kedavra someone without thinking about it. That was what made him nervous. The fact that he acted on impulse rather than thinking about it. He didn't even want to believe it. It made him sick.

There was nothing to do now but wait it out. How had it come to this? He couldn't really be evil. When he was younger, he had dreams of his own. His life hadn't turned out to be what he hoped. His father and the other Death Eaters told him that dreams were to stay in his head. He didn't have time to dream anymore, he was a high ranking Death Eater. Draco Malfoy had been essential to the Dark Lord.

The snow was starting to fall ever so slightly. A few flakes here and there. He remembered his years at school, Hogwarts. The place he had fled at the end of his sixth year to fulfill his duty. Memories of train rides, meals in the Great Hall, and Quidditch games overtook him. Would he have been chosen as Head Boy if he had gone down the other path? Of course, for him there was never another path. It was always a one-way road. Still, he could have been a damn good Head Boy. He was certainly smart enough.

That made him think of her. The one that got away. Scratch that. The one he never had. He felt ashamed. Ashamed of the things he had said to her, ashamed of the things he had done to her. What else was he supposed to do? He had to save face, he was a Malfoy. After all, she did have the audacity to slap him that time. She'd never known it, but he was inwardly proud of her when she stood up to him like that. Too bad she had such dirty blood. She was the type that he could have loved.

The Death Eaters had captured her weeks ago. The story spread like wildfire. They disarmed her and put her in chains. She was given an ultimatum, live or die. Give them the information they needed and she'd go free. What did she choose? He knew she'd rather die than live a "free life" under those conditions. She told them she'd rather bleed a slow painful death, and then spit in Bellatrix's face. That must have been a sight to see. They kept her alive and tried to torture the information out of her. One thing he admired in Hermione Granger was her stubbornness. She never talked; never even let out a cry of pain.

He had gone to see her in the dungeons where she was being held. Her skin was pale with a tint of yellow to it. There were bags under her blood-shot eyes. Her robes were filthy and her hair was a mess (nothing new there, though). She sat solemnly in the corner of her cell, bound by the chains on her ankles.

"Granger." She said nothing, she didn't even look at him, but he expected as much. "They think they're going to get some useful information out of you." He leaned up against the bars smirking at her. "Of course, you and I both know you're not going to tell us anything. No one listened to me though. They still think after a few more Crucio's they're going to finally break you." She scoffed at this and he smiled. "Granger?"

Finally, looking him in the eyes she spoke quietly. "What do you want from me, Malfoy? You just said that you know I won't give you anything."

"I just..." Even he didn't really understand why he was there. "Um, I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"Like you care."

"That bad, huh?" He'd never admit it to anyone, but he hated seeing her like that. She had so much potential, so much to give back to the world, and here she was wasting away in a dungeon on the brink of death. "Maybe I should kill you." Put her out of her misery. She looked up at him, shocked by his words but showing no fear.

He Avada'd her that night. He couldn't stand the thought of her suffering in that cell, being tortured by the Death Eaters. He apologized to her and hoped whole-heartedly that she believed him. In the end, she thanked him before he did it. She was no coward, but she knew that either way she wasn't getting out of there alive. Later that night, he broke down. He had hesitated before he killed her, his hand had shaken so badly. His impulse was gone. She must have taken my impulse to her grave. He knew he couldn't do it anymore. The hate wasn't there. He took her body and left that night, for good.

He was a deserter. Word had gotten out about his disloyalty to the Dark Lord. It had been all over the Prophet days after his abandonment. He had nothing. All he had left to do was to lie in that ditch, thinking about where he went wrong and the one he never had.

Author's Note: Yeah, kind of depressing. Maybe one of these days I'll write one with a happy ending...