Three weeks.

It had been three weeks since the last time he had seen Potter, and so much had changed for Malfoy. Who knew that within three weeks so many horrible things could happen to a person? Albeit, they were three weeks that consisted of all the things that had been brewing since the end of the war coming back around and giving him the torment that he very well deserved, but it was still, oh so quick. So quick that Draco couldn't hold on - even if he wanted to, even if he tried. Life had stepped a foot upon his fingers and crushed them beneath its boots until he couldn't bear the pain any longer and he let go of the edge, allowing himself to fall backwards into the never ending darkness that consumed him entirely. Very much like the nightmares that still plagued him. There was no escaping the things he had done.  No escaping anything. There was no one he could talk to, no one he could confess his torments to, and so they were bottled up within him. Swallowed down and left to fester at the pit of his stomach. But, this is what he deserved. To hit rock bottom the way he had hit it. To have the entire wizarding world turn their backs upon him in his time of need. Not that he'd ever ask for help - no, Draco was much too arrogant for such a thing. Just because they were correct in their assumptions that he was weak and needed help, didn't mean Draco was eager to let them know that it was more than just that, assumptions and rumours.

He was lucky that Astoria was kind enough to keep his turmoil a secret. She had been the only one that he had been open to. The only one that knew of his dark thoughts and his pain, but he pushed her away. For a second, Draco believed that perhaps with her, he could start over. Astoria was different from the people that he usually surrounded himself with. She was kindhearted, accepting, and didn't care much about such trivial things as blood purity, money and family hierarchies. Draco wondered if with her, he'd be able to change. He'd be able to heal. In the seconds when the storm within his mind would calm, Astoria seemed like this beacon of hope that made him believe that it was possible that maybe... maybe things could change for the better. That he'd make it out of that dark hole alive.

"People make mistakes, Draco, but people can change..."

She would tell him, and he almost believed that.

Yet, Draco's mind betrayed him. The thoughts within his head always whispered, always told him that that they were always judging him, even when they said they weren't. That dark cloud would always and forever linger above his head, the mark upon his flesh will never fade; it would be there for the rest of his life, reminding him of all the horrible choices that he had made. They were more than just mistakes. The explanation wasn't as simple. People died over these so-called mistakes of his. Innocent people. He would never be forgiven.

Following the Dark Lord wasn't a mistake - it was a choice... and now he had to live with the horrible consequences that that choice brought upon everyone, his family, and himself.

Astoria was never going to understand that.

"I'm using you, stupid girl..." His words slurred, fire whiskey on his breath. "I'm using you to make myself feel better..." He was half-asleep, crashed on her couch when the words had stumbled from his lips.

"This isn't working out, Draco. You need help. Healing. I can't keep you here anymore." Came her words the next morning.

People make mistakes.
People can change.

But, no. Not Draco. He can't ever change.

Or could he?

Living in the muggle world, working in the muggle world. Even sitting here, in the park, surrounded by muggles.

Sitting... beside the great Harry Potter; having a conversation that wasn't as entirely hostile as they used to be. That could count as something, couldn't it? Draco couldn't tell anymore. This was all so new to him, and his emotions were sucking him into this chaotic vortex that he couldn't seen to get himself out of.

Harry spoke, and Draco's entire body felt cold. He was c*cky, smug, and confident, but he couldn't control the way that Harry's voice caused his body to feel. He hadn't heard it for a while - not since the trials, not since he spoke in favor of the Malfoy family, despite everything that had transpired. Draco wished that he could muster up the courage to thank Potter, but the words never seemed to conjure up and leave his lips. They just lingered within his brain, repeating over and over again until they were all he could hear screaming loudly inside of his head.

Draco was afraid of opening his mouth to respond. Afraid that his thoughts would finally push through his mouth. He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw, turning his head to look off to the distance, at nothing in particular. His eyes narrowed and his brows knitted in frustration. Maybe it was best if he just got  up and walked away? But, why should he? He was here before Potter... and how would it look if he did such a thing? Draco didn't know how much Harry might've known about the things that had been happening to him - the sh*te luck that he had been struck with. Was he being honest when he said that he wasn't stalking him? For all he knew, that's what he was here for - to pry... to judge... perhaps mock him? Malfoy stayed silent as Harry continued to speak, shifting stormy grey orbs to eye Potter from the corner of his eyes. He sounded like Astoria. Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes, yet he had to admit that Harry wasn't all wrong. The muggles weren't all that awful, yet he wasn't exactly ready to admit such a thing out loud. He was still learning to adjust.

"Of course. I should've known better. You've been rolling around with them since childhood." He responded with a sneer upon his face. Draco's eyes focused then, on a little girl running far too quickly in her sandals; she was sure to tumble and meet the pavement with her knees any time soon, yet oddly enough the thought didn't amuse him or bring any joy to his heart as it usually would've when he was much younger, when he was stupidly following what everyone else told him was the right thing to do or say or feel... when the thought of making others suffer was what made him smile... when being the horrid one was the cool thing to be. Draco almost felt the urge to make her stop running, to save her from the incoming pain that she was inevitably going to face - and then... she tumbled forward, yet... she never hit the ground.

Something had stopped her from falling. Someone. Harry, of course. Malfoy starred at the girl, almost as stunned as she was about the entire thing, and then he quickly regained his composure; hoping that Potter had been too busy saving the muggle child to notice the worry written upon his face. Draco watched as the little girl shrugged off the strange luck and her mum rushed towards her to fix her sandal. Stupid. Draco thought to himself. Should keep her sandal strapped in better. Stupid muggle parents.

"No." Malfoy responded almost bitterly, finally shifting his gaze to meet with Harry's once again. "None of us really do." His tone suddenly seemed pointed, "Especially not me. Sorry to disappoint, Potter." Draco spoke, his lips curled into that infamous sneer of his. Then Harry asked about his mother. Narcissa. How was... Narcissa? Malfoy felt himself sink almost immediately. His gaze kept himself focused upon Harry's green hues - attempting to find some sort of solace within them, something that would keep him from breaking down into tears right then and there. But, Draco couldn't. Even if he wanted to. It felt as if he had already cried all the tears that could ever exist inside of his body. They didn't exist. His eyes didn't swell up with them anymore, all that was left behind was that sinking feeling. The feeling of constant drowning - of being unable to breathe or move or speak. All that was left behind was numb, bitter and cold.

"She's fine." The words left his lips almost automatically - robotically, as if he had rehearsed them over and over again. Did Harry know that she wasn't? That she had decided to leave this world behind and join her husband in the next? Could Harry read Draco's mind at the moment, could he tell from his gaze that he was lying? That his heart was aching? And that he too had considered several times in ending it all? How Draco wished over and over again that he would've died that night in the boys bathroom, or during the fire in the Room of Requirement. Harry had almost killed him, yet chose to save him... twice, but why? Why would he? Surely those fleeting moments of confused feelings and equally confusing actions meant nothing. Malfoy was sure to make it obvious to Potter that they meant nothing. He made sure to do everything in his power to make Harry hate him - so why?

Draco's mouth had suddenly gone dry and he licked his lips; gulping down the knot that had formed itself at the bottom of his throat. "She's... fine." He repeated, finally lowering his gaze. "Better then the rest of us. Dead." The words left his lips in an uttered whisper, almost as if they were a forbidden incantation. Draco hadn't really spoken to many about his mother's death or how it happened - not even Astoria, who knew the most, but never dared to speak of his mother. Draco didn't even like talking about it at all. If he spoke about it, then it made it true... and if he didn't, well... he could pretend for a little while that it was just all in his head. That he had cracked and gone insane, and his mind was making up horrible thoughts. Scenarios that didn't exist, just his fears eating at him. Or at least, that was his logic.

"But, how couldn't have you heard about the great fall of the Malfoy's, Potter, hm? Everyone knew. Everyone had something to say." Draco stood upon his feet now, head held high and posture straight - he wouldn't seem weak, he couldn't. "So what is it, Potter? That's what you're here for isn't it? To mock me? Draco Malfoy, the one who belittled you constantly about being an orphan - finally, left without parents. Without anyone at all. Alone and treated like dirt." He scoffed, "Finally getting what he deserves, right, Potter? What I deserve." Draco paused momentarily. He was so bitter, so filled with anger and darkness; his hands would never be clean of the blood upon them. "So, tell me Potter - what's your judgement? Let me have it. Tell me how much I deserve it - all of it." Grey hues met green ones; so full of hatred... for everything, for himself.

Draco was a broken and empty shell - there was no doubt of that. No matter how much he pretended that he wasn't. No matter the facade that he attempted to put up.