Drarry One-Shots

Choosing Him Pt3

 Draco slumped against the cold, damp stone wall of his cell, drawing his knees up to his chest. His eyes drifted to the tiny barred window near the ceiling on the opposite side of the room, and he watched as the moonlight spilled through the opening, casting its soft white light onto him. He closed his eyes and felt a tear escape and roll down his pale cheek, but he made no attempt to wipe it away. He wished desperately that Harry was there with him at that moment—to tell him that everything would be alright, even though they both knew it was an empty promise. In this moment, Draco couldn't help but feel like this prison cell was where he belonged. If he ever needed a bigger sign to prove to him that he didn't deserve to be happy, that he didn't deserve to love and be loved by Harry... then this was it.

 He clenched his fists, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he fought off the urge to yell. He hadn't done a damn thing to that tosser, Grayson, but no one gave a shit, all they needed to condemn him for it was Draco's past. It wasn't even really his past, it was his father's, he had been a kid when his father had forced him into serving Voldemort, he had been a damn kid just like everyone else, dammit, but no one gave a damn about that. Despite all the good he had done for the Wizarding world since then, none of it seemed to matter, he would always be Draco Malfoy, the Death Eater. His breath caught in his throat and he shut his eyes tight, trying to fight off the tears that threatened to spill from them. He sighed shakily, he had never been a quitter, he had never given up on anything before but he couldn't do it anymore, he couldn't keep fighting a losing battle.

 Suddenly, Draco heard the dull thud of slow footsteps echoing from down the corridor, the faint steps, grew louder with each step as they came toward his cell. The figure stopped outside his cell and silently observed him for what felt like forever. Draco kept his face downcast, refusing to look up, he didn't move or acknowledge them. He heard the person whisper an incantation and seconds later, he heard the locks on the door release with a loud click. Draco still didn't acknowledge the person as they opened his cell door and came in.

 "Draco?" Robards said gently as he sat on the hard lumpy cot across from Draco. "I spoke to Harry and the others." He said, hoping that that would get a reaction from the man, when it didn't he sighed before he continued. "Draco, I know you didn't do this, I know you didn't because you're not your father." He added firmly. "I promise you we will find out the truth and clear you." He said sighing again. "I have to go but I wanted to give you a message from Harry and your mates. They wanted me to tell you that they love you and are going to get you out of here."

 Robards studied Draco's face, searching for any reaction to his words. But Draco was as still as a statue, not even raising his eyes to meet Robards'. Sighing in resignation, Robards slowly stood up from the cot and made his way toward the door. Just before he left, he stopped in the doorway, shoulders slumped as he glanced back at Draco sadly. The sight of the broken figure in the corner caused Robards' heart to fill with regret and sorrow and he vowed to free Draco at any cost. He hesitated momentarily, then left and quietly closed and locked the door behind him. After the sound of Robards' footsteps had faded away, Draco finally allowed himself to cry. He buried his face in his knees as tears streamed from swollen eyes, overwhelmed by grief and despair—the pain so deep it consumed him, he was broken in every possible way.

**Two Days Later**:

 Harry sighed frustrated as he stood in the middle of Grayson's destroyed living room, with the others. The room looked horrid, something bad had definitely happened here judging by the damage. Harry's heart sank as he surveyed the chaotic destruction of Grayson's living room. Grayson's living room had been reduced to charred rubble; upturned furniture lay splintered after being thrown around the room, and broken glass shards sparkled in the faint light filtering through the windows. There was blood smeared on the walls, and scorch marks on the walls and along the floor leaving behind a trail of destruction. Harry felt his stomach twist as he realized what must have happened here, but was it murder and why was everyone saying that Draco had done this? Dammit, Draco wasn't a killer and Harry wouldn't stop until he had proved that to everyone else. Somewhere in this mess was the evidence that would prove Draco was innocent—he just needed to find it. He was glad that he had their mates to help him, he knew he was too emotionally invested to be objective and see things clearly.