The cold wind howled as Draco Malfoy stood on the edge of the roof. He had come here every night for the past week, staring down into the abyss below. All he could see was darkness, like the darkness that had consumed his soul for so many years.
But tonight was different. Tonight, as he gazed down into the bottomless pit of the precipice, he felt a sudden urge to jump. He had tried so hard to change, to be a better person, but it seemed that every time he took one step forward, he was pulled five steps back. The weight of his past consumed him, bearing down on him like the mountains of guilt and shame that he couldn't seem to shake off.
As his feet crept towards the edge of the cliff, he wondered if this was what it meant to hit rock bottom. His resolve began to weaken. He felt a sense of despair wash over him, a feeling that he would never be able to shake off the mistakes he had made, that he would never be able to redeem himself in the eyes of the Wizarding world. He knew that if he let go, there would be no coming back. But the thought of being tormented by his past for the rest of his life was almost too much to bear.
Draco had been a former member of the Death Eaters and a dedicated follower of Voldemort, had been involved in many atrocities. He was guilty of murder, torture, and the infliction of pain to advance the interests of the dark lord.
But now the war was over, and the dust had settled. All he wanted was a chance to start over, to become a better person. He had grown up in the shadow of his father's name, His only goal in life to claim his place as heir, to prove himself to the Dark Lord, and earn his favour, To bring honour to his family.
The Dark Lord was gone, and Draco had a chance to start over, to become a better person But the scars of his past, they ran deep, and would never be mended. He was trapped in a prison of his own making, A living hell that he could never escape from, A prison of guilt, shame, and agony so profound. Draco was left to face the consequences of his actions alone. He knew he could never undo the things he had done, And the weight of his guilt was a burden he could never overcome. He could not forgive himself. The ghosts of his victims, and the memory of their grief, Haunted him every waking moment, and tormented his dreams.
He had tried to find a place in the Muggle world, to live among the people that his father had once looked down upon. He had tried to blend in, to be just another face in the crowd. But everywhere he turned, he was pushed away, reviled for his past associations. People saw him as a monster, a symbol of everything that was wrong with the Wizarding world.
Draco didn't see himself that way. He saw himself as a man who had made terrible mistakes, a man who had been seduced by power and the allure of the Dark Arts. He knew that he would never be able to undo the damage that he had done, but he hoped that he could at least live a quiet life, away from the temptations of the Wizarding world. He craved normalcy, the simple life of a Muggle, untainted by the corruption of magic and the constant pressure of living up to his father's expectations.
People would recognise him, and their faces would darken, and they would turn away from him, as if he were a plague that would infect them. It didn't matter that he had tried to change, that he had turned his back on the dark side, that he was trying to start over. For them, he was still the same arrogant, spoiled bully, the same monster who had once terrorised the Wizarding world.
He was fated to be forever haunted by the ghosts of his crimes.
It was just too much to bear. Draco felt as though he was drowning, as though he was being pulled under by a current of past mistakes and missed opportunities. He was tired of fighting, tired of trying to be something he was not. He had tried so hard to prove to the world that he was more than just a spoiled, arrogant bully, that he was more than just a Death Eater, that he was capable of change.
But it seemed that no matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to make amends, it was never enough. People still looked at him with suspicion, as though they were waiting for him to slip up, to fall back into his old ways. And Draco was exhausted. He was tired of trying to prove himself, tired of constantly having to prove that he was a good person.
Maybe he just wasn’t, wasn’t capable of being good. All goodness has leaked out of him and now he’s just full of hatred and evil.. Why try.?
He was tired of fighting. Tired of trying to be something he was not. Tired of the constant pressure, the constant judgement, the constant guilt. He knew that he could never truly escape his past, but he was ready to let it go.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the cool breeze on his face, listening to the sounds of the city below. And then, with a final thought of peace and solitude, he–
“Draco!”
A voice called out behind him, , like a lifeline thrown, Breaking through his darkness, his soul all alone. A hand stretched out, like a shining light, To save him from the abyss, from his endless night.
Harry. The boy who had defeated Voldemort, twice, and saved the Wizarding world from Draco's mistakes. Harry had now seen him standing on the edge of the roof, and he knew what Draco was about to do.
Draco turned around, shocked to see Harry there, concern written all over his face.
“Please…”
As Draco stood on the edge, his eyes filled with tears and his voice broke with emotion, he whispered his apology. “I’m sorry,” he said, his words barely audible above the din of his own thoughts. “I really did try.”
With a deep breath, Draco took a step forward, his hands grasping at nothing as he let himself go. A whisper on the wind, a faint light in the dark, Was all that remained, of his battered heart. And as he soared through the sky, He prayed that he would never die, but a cold sensation washed over him as he tumbled into the abyss below.
For a moment, the shouts of someone calling out his name drowned out his own thoughts, but as he descended deeper and deeper, the sounds faded into the distance. And finally, as the coldness sank into his bones, his mind grew still and empty, his conscience leaving him with nothing more than the feeling of regret.
His soul was set free, like a bird from its cage. And for the first time, he knew he was not just another page.