Draco sat in his dusty office, a cool cloth resting on his damp, sweaty forehead.
He groaned softly, squeezing his eyes shut .
Every night for the past week he had been plagued by the most terrifying dreams.
He dreamt of Death Eaters, of Dementors, of Hogwarts, even of Voldemort himself, though he was long dead.
The dreams left him exhausted. They weren't ordinary nightmares.
They started out perfectly fine, but then turned hideously jarring.
Those dreams were trying to tell him something.
It took a while for Draco to figure out what that exactly was and after a few more nights of torture, he knew.
I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone
It was his existance.
For years, he had been living someone else's life - his father's.
Draco had looked up to Lucius. He had listened , followed, done what his father wanted. He had fulfilled everything to please him. He had hoped that his Father would see him as a son, not as someone who just existed.
He had become so twisted by Lucius, he hadn't been able to see what life was about.
He didn't know what to do.
I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where the city sleeps and I'm the only one and
I walk alone
Draco surveyed his room grimly, his swollen eyes smarting.
The blinds were shut tautly, casting no light into the dim room.
His desk was cluttered with official-looking papers that Draco had barely glanced at.
Draco practically lived in this room when he wasn't at the Ministry. It was the only part of the manor that his Father hadn't inhabited.
Draco hated his life.
Something was missing; something wasn't right.
His consience wouldn't leave him alone, and Draco had spent hours trying to figure out what, before realizing what was missing:
His life was empty.
Draco didn't have any joyful memories to look back at.
He didn't have anything to be proud of.
He had done so many wicked, vile things.
He had killed, murdered, and tortured people.
His throat constricted at the thought of all the people he had affected. It came as no surprise that no one liked him.
He had no friends. Nothing to look forward to. Nothing to comfort him.
He had been selfish, proud, angry, conceited. Draco had reveled when someone looked at him in fear.
But now he knew what he had done wrong.
After the last battle, that had left so many dead on both sides, Draco had secluded himself.
The Dark Lord had fallen, and the Death Eaters toppled, having the Kiss performed on them.
But contrary to what many people had thought, Draco had never been a Death Eater.
He had come close to receiving the Mark, but the ceremony was postponed, after Voldemort found out that Harry had accumulated more horcruxes.
The Dark Lord had been enraged, no, wrathful, and opened fire on the other side. The battle lasted for two long, blood-filled days.
Now, there was no one from Voldemort's original group. Everyone had been extradicated.
Except for Draco.
After a arduous court session, he was pronounced innocent.
Draco had found a job at the Ministry, although it wasn't easy. Many people still distrusted him. It was hard to forget all the things that had happened, and because Lucius was his father, Draco was frowned upon.
He didn't mind; he actually enjoyed the peace, and mainly kept to himself.
He was cold, yet civil, polite and reserved around others.
Draco had built these walls around himself, and he was sure that no one could break through.
They didn't know him - the real him.
They only had one image of him imprinted in their minds - a Death Eater's son.
Draco wasn't alive. He wasn't living.
He was empty, a broken shell. He was a shadow of someone else.
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
'Til then I walk alone
Draco stretched as he stood up, flinging the wet cloth to a dark corner in the room.
I better start working, he thought.
He walked out of the office and into his diminutive bedroom.
It was dark; just like he preferred it.
He took a hasty shower, pulled on his Ministry robes, and apparated out of the Malfoy Manor.
He chose to walk to the Ministry; it calmed him down and gave him some special strength to make it through the day.
The streets were jammed, filled with hecklers, worried parents, sophisticated workers, and crying children, their parents comforting them. Draco saw a little boy holding his mother's hand happily, sucking on a piece of candy.
Draco looked on the scene forlornly.
He had never experienced any of it.
He had never knew love; the real love.
His parents had never loved him. They were too busy with themselves; Narcissa frantically obeying Lucius' orders and getting herself drunk, and Lucius carrying out commands from Voldemort.
I'm walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line
Of the edge and where I walk alone
Clenching his teeth, he tore his eyes away and plodded on.
As he passed a restaurant, something suddenly caught his eye.
His gray, indifferent gaze settled upon a woman who seemed to be his age.
Her rather bushy hair was tied up in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, her toffee-colored eyes were darting around her, and she looked worried. The woman was clutching a stack of papers to her chest, and she had begun looking around impatiently, as if waiting for someone.
She started to tap her foot; the look on her face increasing to one of urgent worry.
Draco immediately recognized her as Hermione Granger.
She had changed since their 7th year.
Her hair was sleeker, her eyes wider, and she held herself with a maturity beyond her years.
He watched as she picked at her robes nervously.
Draco faintly remembered being told she was a teacher at Hogwarts.
He saw as she visibly gave up her quest to wait for someone, and began to walk away. A big manila envelope fluttered from her arms as she dissapeared into the throng of hurried travelers.
Draco grimaced. He would have to give it to her, but he didn't want to risk a confrontation. He hadn't talked to her since their graduation, three years ago.
She was teaching at Hogwarts; and she rarely was seen around the Ministry.
Sighing, he walked over to the paper that had dropped.
Tempted, he looked at the writing. It was an envelope from Hogwarts, and pretty bulky. It was probably important.
"Granger! Wait up!" He called after her retreating figure, his voice hoarse.
Hermione was racking her brain.
Surely this was the right time. He had told her to meet him there.
How could he not have come? It was crucial, critical, he had said so himself.
She was about to cross the street when she heard a voice behind her, calling her. Had he come after all?
She turned around, and wasn't prepared for the sight that met her.
A young man had caught up to her. His uneven, platinum blond hair fell across his face loosely. His eyes were a light gray, criss-crossed with a little blue, and he had dark circles below his eyes, contrasting sharply with his pale complexion and high cheekbones.
His features were regal, rather pointed, and the robes accented his thin frame.
The man was wearing dark blue robes, clearly marking him as one working at the Ministry.
Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she recognized Malfoy- clutching her envelope.
Damn, it must have fallen, she thought, crestfallen. She hoped he hadn't read it.
They looked at each other silently for a moment, studying each other. Hermione didn't know what to say.
She knew he was innocent, but she couldn't help but think of their youth, and his cruel taunts directed at her.
He had changed, she acknowledged.
She knew he helped the Ministry considerably, controlling various cases. He kept to himself, working alone.
Malfoy wasn't a prominent figure in society.
She pitied him, and had resolved months ago to be nice to him if she saw him around.
Yet, just looking at him brought up unwanted memories of the battle. She had wanted to forget that day, when he died.
But he died gallantly, for a good cause , saving her life in the process. Hermione had never forgiven herself for Ron's death.
She didn't like thinking about it, and the few months after his death had been pure hell.
Harry was there for her, basking in his triumph of the defeat of Voldemort, helping her pick up the pieces and continue with her life. The only thing that consoled her was her position as a teacher at Hogwarts.
It comforted her; proved an excellent distraction for her.
She hadn't known one person could bring all those painful memories back.
"Are you ok?" Hermione awoke from her stupor, to look back up at him. He was tall, nearly half a foot larger than her petite body.
"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, rather protectively, wiping the tears that had gathered at her eyes.
He wisely pretended not to notice and handed the envelope to her. "You dropped this over there," he said, jerking his finger over his shoulder.
Hermione took the envelope and stood there awkwardly.
She had never imagined having a conversation like this with him.
She was suddlenly hit with a wave of self-consiousness, although Hermione had no idea why.
"Thanks, "she said after a while, smiling thinly.
They both stood there speechlessly for a few moments, not knowing how to end the uncomfortable conversation.
"Well," Draco ventured," see you around."
Hermione looked up at him curiously. "See you," she whispered, and with a curt nod, started walking away, her mind spinning with questions, her missed appointment with Harry forgotten.
He watched her leave.
Her robes billowed around her feet; her hair bounced on her shoulders. Draco observed her with mild interest.
For a while he stood there, pondering the conversation and contemplating her.
Then, mentally slapping himself for doing so, he abandoned his walk to the Ministry and dissaparated to his office.
Yet….there was something nagging him at the back of his mind. And it wouldn't leave him alone.
Draco sat on his green, velvet couch in the living room, staring into the embers of the dying fire.
He clutched a bottle of Firewhisky in his hand, absently staring out into space. He was going crazy.
He couldn't get her out of his mind.
Her image kept forcing itself in , not letting him think of anything else.
I'm walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line
Of the edge and where I walk alone
He sat there in silent meditation, his mind somewhere in Hogwarts.
He now hated how he had acted towards her.
Read between the lines
What's fucked up and everything's alright
Check my vital signs
To know I'm still alive and I walk alone
He took a sip from the bottle, and closed his eyes.
How could one person have such an affect on him?
He felt giddy, carefree, and more alive than he had ever felt before. Draco had thought it was impossible for him to feel like this. Everything felt lighter.
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
'Til then I walk alone
I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk a...
He had to talk to her again. He had to see her again.
Now, he had something to do.
His life wasn't empty any more. Draco had an ambition, a wish…he had something to look forward to.