Chapter 23

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Draco opened his eyes and breathed in the cold air. He looked around in confusion. He was in a field, nothing but miles and miles of grass. Gray grass. A colorless sky was above him. It reminded him of cloudy days in London when the sky looked white, with no definition of clouds or sky. Draco stood, feeling his wand in his hand. He did a 360. What was this? 

"Hello?" His voice echoed as if he was in a small room, but from what he could tell there were miles of space. 

Draco looked down, to his monochrome clothing and noticed the smallest dot of red coming through his shirt. It began growing. It was his blood. Draco put a hand over the increasing amount of blood to stop it. 

"Hello?" He called again, looking up. He saw a figure in the distance. Draco furrowed his eyebrows and headed towards it.

 The last thing he remembered was Hermione's eyes locked with his after she took the sword out of his stomach. He remembered the pained expression on her face and the sound of her crying apologies to him. Draco couldn't understand how one minute he was with her and the next he was here. Was this hell? 

He arrived at the figure and found himself shocked as he looked down at himself. A five-year-old boy, using magic for the first time with his mother's wand. Draco watched the child, giggling and squealing at the magic. 

He heard his mother's voice scolding him for taking her wand, "it's not a toy, Draco." Narissa's voice echoed through his ears. Draco was in a trance watching the boy in front of him. The boy walked, and aged three or four years and mounted a broom. 

He remembered that day, he had gone outside to escape the noise. Muffled shouts came banging around in Draco's head. His parents arguing. Draco didn't realize at the time but it was about Voldemort and the Death Eaters. His mother was so angry with his father for considering helping them. 

Then he was eleven, being sorted into Slytherin. He remembered being so relieved that he was put into Slytherin, if he hadn't, his family would have practically disowned him. His whole family had been in that house- it was already determined for him before he was even born. 

Then the summer after his first year. Draco remembered mentioning to his parents some of the people he met. Including her. Hermione Granger. His father's words echoed through his head, "you shall never associate with Mudbloods."

His younger-self asked why. But the memory was already fading. Draco hadn't realized how much of an effect it had on him. The following year at school Draco hid his feelings with insults and nasty words. It was so bloody stupid. 

Draco watched as he neared thirteen, his father was mad about Harry Potter's triumphs. He remembered feeling jealous that his father didn't pay him more attention. Later that evening, sitting with Blaise in his room, talking about school. 

Fifteen, Draco overheard his father discussed him taking the mark. His mother screaming about how he shouldn't. He remembered feeling scared. Sixteen he took the mark, he remembered being petrified of Voldemort. 

More memories flashed in front of him. The look Hermione gave him when he returned to school that year. It had bothered him. Blaise trying to help him through orders from his father. The vanishing cabinet. 

The Astronomy Tower. Snape. Dumbledore's death. The Battle of Hogwarts, having hope it would be over. Doomed by the aftermath. He bought his apartment, a temporary safe haven. Avoiding orders from Voldemort. Blaise coming to him for help. His father being angry. His mother being tired. 

Draco's memories were swirling around him so quickly it hurt. Then there she was, just a glimpse at first, of breaking her out. Then at Grimmauld and the apartment. Voldemort torturing him. The hopelessness he felt when he made him a Horcrux. He felt like he let Hermione down. The look in her eyes when he told her. It was all there. Flashing before his eyes. 

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