A/N: Sorry, I just had to go with the title ;) - Wow, is it that time already? The weeks just seem to be flying by. Let's get this moving. I hereby introduce the catalyst to my fic: Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy hated his life. It was just that simple. He'd always hated his life. He used to blame his father for his life being so fucked up. He still let old Lucius hold some of the blame, but it was apparent at some point Draco had started taking an active role in turning his life into the disaster it now was.

Even though he wouldn't admit it to anyone, he truly believed had he been born into another family things would've turned out differently for him. There were just so many things about the world that he, even at the age of 20, still couldn't understand. Realizing your parents were wrong to teach you everything they had is a tough thing to come to terms with at any age. It didn't help matters that his parents weren't even alive to explain the reasoning behind their madness. Well, it wasn't as if he exactly needed an explanation. After all, he'd understood their prerogative perfectly for the first 17 years of his life. He should've known life wouldn't stay so simple.

The things he had done kept him awake at night. He didn't know enough about the human condition to understand that what he was feeling was his conscience. He didn't know that normal people had to contend with their actions on a daily basis. This truly was all a very new concept to the young blonde man.

He couldn't quite pinpoint when he began to see things in a different light. It just seemed as if one day things weren't as he had always believed them to be. He saw errors in so many of the things that had become mere habits to him.

The irony of it all was, all of these realizations had taken place during his sixth and final year at Hogwarts. They had taken place before Snape murdered Dumbledore. Somehow, he felt that Dumbledore had known this about Draco; that he had known he'd changed inside. Dumbledore had given him an out, an escape. And he had done nothing with it. And now it was too late. Years too late.

He should've turned to the light on that fateful day. Instead he ran off into the forest, following Snape, and thus beginning what would be the darkest chapter in his life.

It made him ill to think of the things he had done to all those innocent muggles. It made him equally ill to be filled with remorse over his actions. After all, they were only a step up from beasts... - No, he didn't believe that. Not anymore. Not really anyway. It was hard to figure out just what he believed anymore.

It wasn't that he was against the Dark Lord, he just... Wasn't with him either. Or the light side for that matter. He just simply began not caring what the outcome of the war would be. Well, not to say he'd ever cared. He was more interested with looking out for himself. However it was his indifference that caught up to him in the end. He unwittingly became sloppy with covering his tracks. It wasn't long before Aurors caught up with him. They captured him and he was brought into Auror Headquarters for comprehensive questioning. By that point he was positive he didn't care about the Dark Lord and his followers. He did what he had to do to survive: he told them what he knew, and it was a damn lot. He had only hoped at the time that it would be enough to save his skin. They didn't look it, but those Aurors could be damn intimidating when they wanted to be, even if he had never let his intimidation show.

They didn't believe the things he revealed to them, at first. They refused to believe Draco Malfoy had been so easy to crack. It was strange they hadn't realized he was only looking out for himself. Typical Malfoy behaviour. Well, almost anyway.

After Potter, the fucking redeemer of the entire universe (as per usual), saved humanity from Voldemort's clutches (did he need to add "again"?),  Seriously... Who hadn't seen that one coming? Hell, even Trelawney had caught on.  the Aurors decided to let Draco go free. Though, only after extensive testing; they had decided he wasn't a threat to anyone other than himself. And that was good enough for them. He was relieved, to say the least, that he'd come out of the whole ordeal relatively unscathed. It still pissed him off Potter got all the credit though. He was positive the information he'd given to the Aurors had played a big part in the downfall of the Dark Lord.

So now he was free. He was free for what could very well have been the first time in his life. And he had no idea what to do with himself. He had no idea how to act. The people he had grown up with and had lived with were either all dead or locked away. He tried to tell himself it didn't matter, that he didn't care. But the simple fact remained: Draco Malfoy was all alone.

But hadn't he been preparing for this fate his entire life?

I woke with a sudden start. I quickly shot out of bed to check my appearance in the mirror hung above my bureau. No, I wasn't that vain. I simply had to convince myself my dream hadn't been reality. Those nights my dreams were almost always the same. I might've had a chance at getting rid of them if I only had someone to talk them over with. Though it wasn't as if I believe in anything that has anything remotely to do with Divination. Well, at least I try not to.

It had proved to be more difficult to maintain such a stance night after gruelling night considering the dreams I had been having. The only positive thing about my newest recurring dream was there was no chance of it becoming a reality.

You see, the only other person that joined me in this dream is long since dead. I know because I was there when Voldemort finally finished him off.  Well, not technically; it had been another one of my dreams. Though, I suppose 'dream' really wasn't the correct terminology, but to label the things I saw as 'visions' would make it seem all too tangible. I had actually been locked up and was under close Auror supervision at the time.  Of course the entire wizarding world had been devastated at the loss of their beloved Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived. I wasn't though. I couldn't be. After all, it had been an entirely necessary measure to free the world from their eminent demise at the hand of the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. And you know, if it happened to get me off the hook as well, I wasn't exactly going to complain.

Maybe if I had known I would later be plagued with returning dreams including him, of all people, I might've thought twice. Death through evil forces might have held a bit more appeal.

I looked into the mirror one last time. Things certainly seemed to be in place: my blonde hair, even though it was plastered to my scalp with sweat, was still, in fact, my blonde hair; my grey eyes still held their guarded guise, even from myself; my forehead was flawless as it had always been. I sighed as I closed my eyes. I repeated my mantra, "I am not in love with Harry Potter. No matter what dreams I have."

Odd, isn't it? If it weren't so damn frustrating and terrifying as hell I might've been able to laugh about it. But I couldn't. Not when I dreamt, every night, about myself searching through the Forbidden Forest for Potter. Inevitably, I find him. He is always sitting on a patch of moss-covered ground, propping himself up against a petrified tree. The moonlight always splays across his forehead, as if spotlighting his infamous scar. He always turns his head in my direction, his emerald eyes meeting mine. And every night I am filled with the same feeling of affection for the deceased raven-haired wizard. In my dream there is no subconscious voice in my head telling me to snap out of it. All that exists are the two of us. I would stand there in the forest next to him for what seemed to be hours, simply gazing down into those eyes of his. And every night I jolt awake, with the undeniable feeling that when I look into the mirror I'll see Potter's face instead of my own.

What did it mean? What did any of it mean?

I returned to my bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress, burying my head in my hands. If these dreams didn't stop soon, I couldn't be held accountable for what I did to myself.

The only solace I had was the knowledge that I wouldn't dream of him again tonight. I gingerly slipped back in between the silk sheets on my bed at Malfoy Manor.

After all those years, I had ended up here, of all places. Though, it had only stood to reason. I was the only Malfoy left and I wouldn't have even been able to give the place away. Too many people feared the dark magic would never be gone from inside the walls of the mansion I now called, for the second time in my life, home. And I think I would have to agree with them.

As if on cue something in the hall came crashing to the ground. It didn't startle me though, whatever had just caused the ruckus was undeniably something with dark magic that managed to survive the dozen or so Ministry confiscation searches. No, there would be no getting rid of the mansion. I wouldn't have been surprised if dark magic had very literally helped build it.

I sighed. There didn't seem to be any escape in store for me. I would inevitably rot away here. At least after I'd gone insane I would have the portraits for company.

A/N: The narrative of Draco at the beginning was supposed to be sort of in a Draco-type mindset. I don't really hate Harry, but as we all know, Draco does. That's all I was trying to convey.

I'm not too sure where to go with Draco from here, so I apologize this chapter's so short.

Did I do the math right? Would Draco be 20 years old if it's been three years after sixth year?

Also, this isn't going to become a slashy fic. I just kinda like messing around with Draco. And my friend Jilly is a sucker for the DM/HP ships, and I promised her a slashy dream, though I didn't have the heart to make it very slashy at all. :)

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