To Destroy » Dramione

|21.| Azkaban

The long dark corridor stretched before Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. The lighting cast an eerie glow against the walls that caused a cold shiver to run down Draco's spine. There was something about standing in the Ministry after everything that happened. Being here weighed heavy on him like a pain that he couldn't erase. It wasn't as burdening as his scar, but it also wasn't light. He knew his fate long before Harry shoved him down the hall. After all, when the person the world loves the most speaks out, the world tends to agree with them. Even when he chooses to be radical, for the world will just turn a blind eye and make excuses or create scenarios to dismiss him for his actions. Harry Potter wasn't radical—usually—but he was losing a part of himself everyday ever since he stood near Ron's side and found out about Hermione's escapades. At that exact moment in time, a piece of him changed inwardly. Anger grew in Potter, defeat grew in Malfoy, and loneliness grew in Granger. Draco had accomplished everything he set out to do—apart from murdering—yet he was terribly unhappy. Which wasn't a contrast to his usual mood, for the unhappiest people never truly feel any unhappier. They just become fatigued until they no longer have enough energy to try anymore. Draco didn't want to continue the facade, the lies, the deceit, or the revenge. It wasn't that he had changed in the week he spent with Hermione, it was the fact he knew there was no hope. Nobody would care to hear about his battle stories, identify his battle scars, or understand how the battle wrecked him entirely. The losing side was always tossed into the muck and mire, and Draco knew his voice would never be heard above Harry Potter's.

As they began their descent down the corridor, Harry no longer controlled Malfoy by his wand, for Malfoy now walked ahead of Potter—Harry keeping his wand pressed against Draco's back at all times. The jab in the back Harry gave Draco ever so often was a warning in case Malfoy decided to run away. Little did Harry know that Draco was done running. He was done fighting, he was exhausted. He didn't even care if he died. He was tired of trying to prove himself, trying to show those around him that he wasn't actually weak, but it was all for nothing. The anger of the war turned into bitterness, which turned into sadness, which turned into defeat—he would always be the Slytherin boy that tried too hard to overcome what he never could . . . despair. Everything from the battle to Hermione's presence narrowed down to a despair he couldn't shake off. He was hopeless, he was defeated, and he was destroyed. He sought to destroy Hermione, but only ended up destroying himself in the end.

"Any last words, Malfoy?" Harry asked in contempt before they entered the large room where members of the Ministry sat waiting for them. Waiting for the trial that both men already knew was decided long before their arrival.

Draco turned his head to look at the man that held Draco's life in his palms. There was no remorse on Harry Potter's face, no regret, no sadness, for it was all anger. Where Draco sought revenge on Harry, once again Harry got the upper hand over Draco. It wasn't even the fact that Draco lost again—he was so fucking used to losing to Potter—it was Hermione. She was supposed to be Potter's best friend, a member of the Golden Trio, a loyal witch, a woman who knew all of the answers—yet Harry rejected her. The way he treated her, the way he hurt her, the way he believed the lies as if he didn't grow up with her since year one at Hogwarts, it was overwhelming to Draco. Draco wasn't even close with Hermione, and he would have never believed Skeeter's lies.

"I do," Draco whispered softly, his voice cracking as he tried to compose himself. He wasn't scared, for once Draco Malfoy wasn't scared. He was just so fucking enervated with trying to be someone he wasn't. "Don't believe Skeeter's lies. Hermione deserves better than that. She deserves better than you." Looking away before Harry could respond, Draco felt a lone tear trickle from his left eye and fall onto the floor until it evaporated into oblivion. The exact place he knew his soul belonged.

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The sun began ascending over the horizon, but Hermione hadn't moved since she watched her former best friend leave with the body of the man she tried to uncover. She could still hear Draco's whisper, for she knew she hadn't mistaken it. He had asked her to stay, yet he was the one that left her standing in the doorway as the snow blew inside the house letting the crisp winter air envelope her in its arms as it stung her skin while she watched his platinum hair disappear into the background of the weather before disappearing altogether.