Somehow, this moment in his life had always been inevitable. During his inquest, people like Harry Potter and Professor McGonogall have given impassioned speeches about his role in the war merely being a few bad choices made by a misguided teen. But, in the hours, days, weeks, since then he’d spent dissecting every moment of his life, every decision, he’s never been able to pinpoint the one moment when his course had changed. Draco Malfoy had simply always been destined for this moment. He’d been born into the wrong family in the wrong time on the wrong side of history. No matter how many times he imaged singular moments in his life turning out differently, every path still ended up here.
He’d been in Azkaban for 6 months now, first while waiting in a very long line for his turn to please just case before the ministry, which he hadn’t even bothered to do. People who’d pitied him, who’d felt a sense of duty to the boy just barely 18, had done so for him, but he hadn’t had a single thing to say in his own favor. He belonged here. In the time since then, he’d simply been waiting for his turn to die.
It wasn’t really dying, not exactly. People liked to say the dementors’ kiss was much worse than that. He would know nothing of himself except pain, no memory of who he once was. He’d live out the rest of his existence as a soulless shell of a person. it couldn’t be that much different to his current reality, he reasoned. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt like he had any sense of personhood left.
Several hours had passed since he’d woken up, but time was meaningless in Azkaban. Days passed with no light or dark to mark them. He simply floated between sleeping and waking, both times plagued by nightmares and regrets. A rare non-dementor warden came to collect him and escort him to a small courtyard. Courtyard was a bit general, really. It was empty and grim, the grey of the faded stone blending seamlessly into the ashy sky. It should have been refreshing to breathe fresh air for the first time in ages, but by that point, celebration felt futile. What was the point of finding joy in a life that was about to be over?
The air had a cutting chill, both from the sea breeze and from the swarm of dementors that formed an impenetrable force field above the grounds of Azkaban. As the warden escorted him to the middle of the cobblestone pavement, he grasped the chain of Draco’s shackles tightly. Deliriously, he laughed to himself at the absurdity of the man even bothering to tie him up. Where would he go if he escaped? What life would be left for him in a world he had so easily betrayed out of his own cowardice? Even if they set him free right now, he wouldn’t run. He was meeting death like an old friend.
When he’d been tethered to a new set of shackles, the warden quickly fled back into the prison. Already, dementors were breaking away from the flock to inspect their latest offering. Creatures that had no conscience, no purpose except for this, to consume and to destroy. As the first one descended on him, Draco shut his eyes. Destiny was barreling toward him like a freight train, but even now, he was a coward. But really, could one be expected to face their executioner head-on?
A coating of ice began to overtake the ground around him. He could feel it underneath his bare feet, the now frozen metal of his shackles biting into his skin. The air was frosty and thin, his breaths coming in sharp pants that burned his lungs. At the last second, he forced himself to pry his eyes open. The dementor was over him, the black void where a face should have been looming inches from his own. Already he could feel himself wearing. There wasn’t much goodness left in the world for him, but even the few memories he’d clung to started to fade. As his life force was slowly pulled from him, his eyes started to fall shut again. His consciousness was slipping away. The last, fleeting thought he had before his life slipped through his fingers like chaff in the wind was that despite his best efforts, he couldn’t have done anything to prevent this. Sometimes people were just powerless against the cruelties of destiny. And then, there was nothing.