Run Away, Far Away (A Dramione Fan Fiction)

Chapter 2: The Boy Who Made All the Wrong Decisions

Author's Note: I do NOT own Harry Potter or anything related to them. All rights belong to the lovely Ms. J. K. Rowling.

Run Away, Far Away

Chapter 2: The Boy Who Made All the Wrong Decisions

Just because the war was over doesn't mean everyone's wounds have healed. Being shone upon by the light of goodness doesn't give everyone a free pass to escape the horrible nightmare brought upon by nightfall. And it is true what they say, scars do not heal, they only fade. The biggest scar that I've got in my entire life stares right back at me, judging my being and the decisions I have made. I was not the boy-who-lived nor was I the brightest wizard of my age. All those praises went to Potter and Granger. As for Weasley, I bet he's still a King, wallowing in the wealth and popularity brought upon Voldemort's defeat. I wasn't like the Golden Trio, no. But I had a title of my own, or at least I'd like to think that I do. I refer to myself as the boy who made all the wrong decisions. Mother used that term as well, much to my dismay. The title seems fitting, though as it speaks nothing but the truth. I was raised poorly by my parents. I'm not one to point out fingers but I cannot hide that fact anymore.

Father drilled the thought of blood superiority into my head ever since I had the sense of reason. All my life I went about believing that we are the good guys, that we are doing the Wizarding World a favor by putting those Half-Bloods and Muggle-Borns right where they belong; lower than the dirt under the soles of our feet. Being a rich Pure-Blood was all I cared about because I knew I could get away with just about anything. People do shut up and keep a blind eye as long as you suffice their financial needs.

By the time the Dark Lord was introduced to me, I felt both gratitude and fear. I was proud that Father's position among the Death Eaters moved up and up each day. After all, the fewer Mudbloods, the better. Or so I was told. But when Voldemort stepped up and met me eye-to-eye, I knew that I was on the wrong side. I wanted to refuse his offer of the Mark. I wanted to refuse the task of killing my own Headmaster. I've always thought Dumbledore was an old fool, blinded by his over the top kindness but I cannot fathom the sight of him falling through my own wand. But I knew better than to speak up. If I did not do what Voldemort has offered me to do, it will cause not only my life but my parents as well. I will be a bigger disappointment than before. And for the first time, I was truly scared.

I hated Potter and the people who surrounded him during our Hogwarts years for they only are interested in him because he is the 'Chosen One'. Fools, they are, I once thought. Potter couldn't save his own arse if he wanted to. He didn't have any knowledge of what's going on in the Wizarding World. He didn't know that a slimy old man is forcing his way through existence again just to battle him. Hell, he didn't even know a single magical spell! If it weren't for the atrocity they call a girl and the redheaded oaf, I doubt he would be alive right now. And that was the thing behind all of Potter's success—love. He wouldn't have that lightning scar on his forehead if it weren't for the love of his parents. He wouldn't have those Quidditch trophies if it weren't for the love of his teammates. He wouldn't have defeated Voldemort if it weren't for the love of almost everyone suffering in the war. They called for his name, for his power, and Potter delivered. And now, peace has been restored. I bet it would take a hundred years for it to be disturbed again. By that time, Potter's name would be in history books for the next generations to follow. And secretly, I am both envious and proud of that.

I didn't return to Hogwarts to finish my final year. I just thought it was irrelevant because when I show up in the great establishment, the glares and whispers will be sure to follow. I wouldn't blame them. If our roles were to be switched, I will resent a former Death Eater who helped kill thousands of innocent lives, too. Alas, fate cannot do that. As long as I bear the Malfoy name, I don't think anyone in the Wizarding World will forgive me. And for that, I am still a coward. When I turned my back during the war and stayed with Mother in the Manor, I did not even dare look back at the remnants of what was once the great Hogwarts. It was too painful to think that I was one of the factors why it stood in ruins. When I was younger, I would have been proud. But war changes people. It truly does.