The shape had gone out of his world. All that was left were blurs, vague suggestions of form. The colour had mostly gone to. His world wasn't black as such, more shades of gray than anything. Not that he could really remember colour now, he knew their names but was unable to match them up. Every once in a while he'd get a flash of colour, nothing major, nothing to make him think his sight was coming back. He'd struggle to tell you which colour it was however, for it came and went so fast. Any colours that did linger were more often than not ones he'd rather forget: red, green. Colours from his past. Colours that had separated him from others. Colours that had beliefs attached to them.
Red courage, Green cunning, Blue intelligence, Yellow...he'd forgotten what yellow signified now. No matter, he was sure it wasn't anything important. It was all a crock anyway. All a waste of time when it came down to it.
Red, blue, yellow, and even green, it didn't matter what you were. Most haddied, all had suffered. All hadlost someone or something they believed in. So they weren't really all that separated from one another when it came down to it.
Being red didn't mean you suffered any more than others. Even if they did like to make out thatthey did. Stupid self sacrificing gits. What did they know? Maybe life would have been better under the Dark Lord's rule. What was that muggle saying? A change is as good as the same? Or something stupid like that. Jesus he was quoting bloodymuggles now. He must be really low today.
To anyone that had known him, that would come as a supreme shock. Draco Malfoy quoting muggles. But those who had known him then didn't know him now. They didn't know where he was. If he was dead or alive. He'd seemingly dropped off the face of the wizarding world.
He'd been at the final battle of course. Though battle wasn't quite the word he'd choose. It had been a very one sided 'battle' once that four eyed loser had defeated his master. Bloody Potter, why'd he always have to spoil the fun? Just couldn't keep his big honorable Gryffindor nose out. Friend to all. Savior of the wizarding race. Stupid speccy git. If only Potter had switched sides, things could have been so different. He, Potter, would be dead of course. As if the Dark Lord would share power with a Gryff.
Yes things would be so much different. Granger would be dead too, and not the mud-blood Minister for Magic. The Weasley's would have been the first to go. Left with their backs against the wall and no Potter to save them, they'd be sitting ducks. All the mud-bloods and the muggle lovers would be history. And Draco wouldn't be stuck where he was. He'd be in the position of power. He'd be adored and more importantly, feared. But no, Potter just had to be the good Gryffindor hero he'd always been.
Draco wanted revenge. Wanted it so badly it consumed his every thought, every dream. Every waking moment.
Like many things over the years these thoughts had changed, progressed. Whereas formerly he would have handed Potter on a plate to his master, now all Draco thought about was destroying Potter and everything he stood for. And then he would take over. And if anyone opposed him, he'd kill them. None of that pointless cat and mouse nonsense his master had so loved to engage in. Conformity or death. It was as simple as that. There would be no choice, no waiting.
But things were never that simple. He'd never get his revenge. He was near blind, he had no idea who he was aiming at unless they spoke. And he highly doubted that Potter would make it easy for him by announcing where he was and then standing still long enough for Draco to kill him. Potter had always enjoyed making things difficult for him.
So he was stuck. He couldn't use magic, for fear of destroying himself or his surroundings. He couldn't cure himself, apart from the fact he didn't know of any useful spell, the prospect of pointing his wand at his face wasn't particularly tempting. And he definitely couldn't pop into Saint Mungo's to be healed. He'd be straight to Azkaban before he even crossed the threshold. He was a wanted Death Eater, he'd get no sympathy, just more punishment.
He really thought he'd been punished enough by now though. He was alone, blind and poor. While the Weasley's were living it up in their large country mansions. Richer than they ever could have dreamed of being. But Draco wasn't. He was stuck hiding among the damn, dirtymuggles, with no hope, no chance, and worst of all no magic. Damn Potter to hell for this.