Chapter 1: Tyrant
"I'll stay with apathy I'm blind but I can see
The tyrant to the bone
I'll stay with apathy I'm blind but I can see
Don't justify me, don't justify me, don't justify me
Don't justify me, justify, justify me."
OneRepublic (Tyrant)
One month after the Battle.
"Draco," the voice whispered silkily into his ear, "Do it my boy. Prove your allegiance to me."
Draco scrunched up his eyes, trying to block out the images of the prisoner sprawled in front of him. His mind desperately trying to shut out the pitiful moans coming from all corners of the dungeon. He raised a trembling hand and directed the wand to the frail old man in front of him. He knew he needed hatred to make this work. He didn't feel any such feelings toward that man. Instead, he thought about how much he hated himself and all that he had done.
"Crucio!"
A flash erupted and screams echoed in the chamber.
Draco abruptly sat up in his bed. Sweat covered his face and body and his shirt was soaked. He flinched, as the screams seemed to continue even though he was awake. He pushed his long blond fringe out of his eyes and directed his eyes to the small alarm clock by his bedside.
Great. It was only 6.30am in the morning. It was just bloody fabulous.
Knowing that he was unable to get back to sleep now. He stretched to work out the kinks in his back. He placed his feet on the ground and sat on the edge of the bed while rubbing his temples, the nightmares were getting worse day by day. Each one was an act of his sins. Each and every one was an act that damaged his soul beyond repair. He believed he was beyond salvation.
He gritted his teeth and strode into the bathroom. After a quick shower, his mind was clearer. Tugging some jeans and jumper on, he moved towards the kitchen, thinking that a coffee and some painkillers were a great way to start the morning.
His house elf, Arick, pushed a cup of coffee and the Daily Prophet into his hands as he took a step into the kitchen.
"Thank you." He offered the house elf a small smile before he strode out onto the porch that went around the small house. He settled down onto a wicker chair and placed the items on the small table beside it. He stared at the glorious view around him. The house opened up to a beautiful, secluded beach. The sun was just spreading its colorful rays across the dark midnight blue sky. It was as if the two were fighting each other - light against dark.
Draco sighed. He didn't know what to believe, think or do anymore. He couldn't decide what he wanted to do. Should he go back and turn himself in? He reflected over the past two months as he sipped his coffee.
One month ago.
He landed on the beach with a pop. He looked up at the house before him. It was a quaint little cottage and the only one for miles. It was two stories high and it was painted white with a brown tiled roof. He shuddered as a cold breeze from the ocean buffeted him. He strode quickly into the house.
The living room was furnished with a long extremely cushy sofa and a love seat before a fireplace. A painting of a manor was hung above the mantle. Draco plopped himself on the cushy sofa. He extracted an envelope from his pocket. He pulled out a worn creased letter. He knew every word, but he just needed to come to terms with what he had just done.
'Dear Draco,
Please understand that what we're doing this to ensure that you would be safe. We're sorry to have brought you into the cruel tyranny of the Dark Lord. It was the only way to ensure that we would survive. When possible, please run. Do not wait for us Draco. We know you are not destroyed. The wizarding world will turn on us once this war is over. They will throw you into Azkaban. My boy, you have not done anything wrong. You have been forced into this. However, the Wizengamot will not accept that.
Go to this cottage in France. It's near the ocean and it's secluded. Stay there until we contact you Draco. Please do not come back under any circumstances. A photograph of the cottage is enclosed so that you may apparate there. Leave before the Dark Lord falls. We're doing this because we love you.
With all our love,
Your father and mother.'
A few days after he arrived at the cottage, the Daily Prophet stated that his mother had died in the last few stages of the battle and his father was awaiting trial. Draco had cried, tears silently streaking down in his pale face. He had loved his mother; she was a source of comfort and love in the dark times under Voldermort. He knew that she sent him here to protect him, but he didn't know how much longer he could live with the guilt that, maybe, just maybe, she would have lived if he hadn't decided to run. It weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he'd adopted the stance of one marginally older than his 17 years.
He'd waited, day and night, for something to guide him. He looked for any sign, but none came.
Present Day
He peered at the Daily Prophet. A large photo of Hermione Granger took up the space with the headline: 'Brains of Golden Trio Retreats from the Wizarding World'.
He quickly read the article beneath it.
'Hermione Granger, the brains of the golden trio, has seemingly vanished from the Wizarding World. Miss Granger has not been spotted anywhere and sources close to her have said that they have not seen her in the past few weeks. When we approached the famous hero, Harry Potter himself, he brushes aside questions with a curt: "I respect Hermione's wishes for space, and I do hope that you can do so too."…'
His brow furrowed. Why did she leave? His mind unwillingly flashed back to almost two months ago:
"Crucio!"
Her screams reverberated throughout the room. Her limbs were contorted into painful, awkward positions. Tears dripped onto the marble floor. He stared at it all, his heart clenching and unclenching painfully. His aunt cackled and jumped gleefully.
She glanced at him from her prone position on the floor when she'd finally stopped shivering with those warm brown eyes that were laced with pain and underneath it all, a silent plea for help. He stared at her, willing his face to not reveal anything, even though all he wanted to do was to place his arms around her and protect her from the world around them. His mind struggled against his heart.
His aunt would turn him to the Dark Lord if he did anything, and the Dark Lord would go after his family and him. He needed to protect his mother. He kept repeating that in his head as Aunt Bellatrix threw curse after curse at Granger. What was she to him anyway? He didn't associate with her. He shut his eyes as Bellatrix pulled a thin silver blade from her robe.
"Now Mudblood, tell me why do you hold the sword of Gryffindor when it is supposed to be safely in my vault?" She spat on Granger.
Granger whimpered as the blade came closer and closer to her throat.
"Please no. Please. We found it. PLEASE!" Her voice became a shriek at the end.
"You don't deserve mercy. You filthy scum." Bellatrix sneered. She slowly carved out the term 'Mudblood' on Granger's arm. Granger cried out repeatedly in pain, tears streaming down her face while she struggled but Bellatrix had her pinned down.
He opened his eyes to see her looking at him, again. This time the anger and frustration were replacing the desperation and the plea for help before. He didn't blame her. He'd be mad at himself too. For just standing there and letting this happen. He glanced at his mother in the corner. She gave an imperceptible shake of her head. He couldn't do anything without the repercussions falling on them. All the while, she kept screaming, the shrill inhuman cries filling his mind.
He jolted back into reality, realizing that he'd been lost in reminiscing for almost an hour, and his coffee had gone cold. He peered again at the photo of Hermione who was smiling and waving at him from the paper and decided that he should do something. And that something involved apologizing to her. Maybe that would lessen some of the guilt in his heart and correct some of his sins. Then he'd turn himself in.
I'll see you guys in a week. Thanks for the lovely reviews for the first chapter.
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