Bad Blood

Wings

Wings

Sunlight comes creeping in

Illuminates our skin

We watch the day go by

Stories of all we did

It made me think of you

Under a trillion stars,

We danced on top of cars

Took pictures of the state

So far from where we are

They made me think of you

Lights go down

In the moment we're lost and found

I just wanna be by your side

If these wings could fly

For the rest of our lives.

Draco Malfoy leaned his head on the cool stone wall of his prison cell, closing his eyes as he took deep breaths. He just had to keep breathing, that's all. If he kept breathing he would survive. He just had to survive. He shivered, pulling his tattered cloak around his shoulders. The cell was dark, the only light coming from the small hole in his cell. It hardly qualified as a window. Outside he could hear the ocean hundreds of feet below, crashing against the walls of Azkaban. Every now and then a dementor would glide by, blocking out the light of the moon. The dementors particularly enjoyed him. They infested this dark and filthy place, they gloried in the decay and despair, they drained all the happiness and hope from him and they left him a shell of his former self. They fed off all he had done, bringing horrible memories back to the front of his mind, memories he would love to forget, yet it was those memories that kept him sane. Reliving the pain of losing her, of hurting her, was stronger than what any dementor could do to him. He knew that if they fed on him long enough he would become just like them, soulless and evil, which wouldn't be hard since he already considered himself one of the foulest people he knew.

Fortunately for him, that didn't happen, as the new Minister of Magic got rid of the dementors around his second year in Azkaban. The new prison guards kept the prisoners in line by employing the Cruciatus Curse, keeping them too weak to attempt to escape. In a way the prison became more humane, the Cruciatus curse was only used when someone stepped out of line, but Malfoy suspected there were other charms at work to keep the prisoners weak. He never got to finding out.

Hating someone was easier than loving someone, but there was a very fine line between the two of them and no matter what he did to her, he couldn't hate her. He made her hate him, he had done everything in his power to ensure that she hated him and it worked brilliantly. She hated him, but not as much as he hated himself for all that he had done. He just had to keep telling himself that it was for the best, it was to protect her. He had to protect her, it was easier for her to hate him than for her to love him. If she had loved him it would have gotten her killed, it would have gotten them both killed. They lived in an extremely dangerous time to fall in love and he couldn't allow her to get hurt because of him, so he hurt her himself. He just had to keep telling himself it was the right thing to do.

Draco looked out of his window again, the clear night sky was a welcoming sight, so was the absence of the dementors. His father had gone mad before he could and bashed his own head in with a plate. Draco was allowed out of his cell to bury his father in the courtyard and to see his mother. Draco didn't feel any sadness when his father passed, the man didn't deserve to live anymore.

Then the day came when he was called from Azkaban by the new Minister of Magic to see if it were possible to lighten his sentence. He had no idea who the Minister was, but when he found out he knew his chances were shot. She wasn't the only one he tricked into hating him. Harry Potter had saved his life despite everything he had done to him, he knew Harry was a good person, but reducing his sentence might be asking for too much. He would take his chances though, it couldn't hurt.