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fall away. - regret/memories of snape.
Fall Away. memories of snape. I disguise and I will lie...
Draco Malfoy never thought he'd have to face so many terrible hardships in his life. So young, yet so broken. A boy who made all the wrong choices - a boy made to stand at the frontlines of a battle he wasn't fully prepared for. Draco knew what the war stood for, but he was ignorant to the horrors that would become reality before his eyes. Words were one thing... actions were others. He wasn't prepared for the loss of so many people that he knew. So many people he looked up to. He wasn't prepared to feel the guilt and the pressure that pushed heavy upon his shoulders until it was burying him alive in the dirt beneath his feet. So many had died and he was at fault. Blood would forever stain his hands, and he found no way of ever washing them clean. It would always be his fault, this was how he'd always be remembered. The boy who opened the flood gates - who gave the passageway for a war to start. The boy who killed millions... one of them, a brave man known as Severus Snape. He was the head of Slytherin house when Malfoy first came to Hogwarts, and their Potions teacher. A man that Malfoy admired in so many ways. A role model and his favorite professor in the entire school. Draco would always remember the night that Snape stepped up for him when he couldn't find the courage (or the heart) to murder Albus Dumbledore. Snape had done the job for him; in turn protecting his innocence - or what was left of it by then. In turn... losing his life for Malfoy; over the elder wand that he managed to get from Dumbledore after he had disarmed the wizard. It could've been him in Snape's place. Draco was supposed to take Dumbledore's life... Draco was supposed to retrieve the elder wand...
"Don't you understand?! I have to do this! I have to kill you... or he's gonna kill me..."
And I die as I wait as I wait on my crime...
Malfoy wasn't a killer, he was afraid, he was a coward (or so that's how he felt - that's what he knew he was deep down inside.) Snape sealed his fate with the Dark Lord that very night, because of him. He would always remember how Snape came to his rescue when Harry had used Sectumsepra in defense upon him. How he laid there blood spilling from everywhere on his body - crimson flooding around him. Draco was afraid of death, yet he welcomed it at the moment. He deserved it, didn't he? For everything he had done. For everything he had caused. For even trying to attack the one boy that could save them all. And he would've died, if it weren't for Snape - like a saviour, he was there to pull him back and away from the icy cold grip of death as it threatened to swallow him whole. Although Draco hoped for death on that night, he wished now that he could thank Snape for saving his life. He wished that he could thank Snape for giving away his life for him in the long run. He was a valiant man... not a weak coward like Draco was.
I'm dying and I'm trying but believe me I'm fine...
Most importantly, Draco would always remember the very moment he received the news about Snape's death. The grief that blossomed within his chest. The sudden sinking feeling that made it hard to breathe. His face growing hot, and how hard he was chewing on his lip to keep himself from crying, to no avail. He was furious, upset, and distraught all at once. Especially because he felt guilty. He felt that he was part of the reason as to why so many people had died. Why Snape had lost his life. It should've been him, not Snape. It was all his fault, and Draco would always feel this way. He would always remember. How could he ever forget? He would always be reminded, every single time he'd look down at his forearm - the mark placed upon his flesh would always be there; staring back at him, mocking him, haunting him.
But I'm lying, I'm so very far from fine...
It had been a few years since, and Draco still felt the pang of guilt inside of his chest. Nightmares still plagued him, and voices filled his head; screaming, crying, begging. The things his eyes had witnessed, they would never wash away from his thoughts. They would torment him for the rest of his life, he was sure of it. He was haunted by their ghosts - swallowed down by grief. Yet he was a Malfoy, and had a way of being really good at pretending to have his wits all under control. Even if his guilt tore at his flesh from within.
I can feel the pull begin feel my conscience wearing thin and my skin it will start to break up and fall apart...
Draco knew very well that he couldn't change the past... the fact that he had let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts in the first place. Something that he would forever regret till his dying breath. He was pathetic, that he knew; a boy who thought he could be a dragon, yet could not use his claws. Yet, beyond his sorrow, Draco Malfoy did attempt to focus on the lessons that he had learned from his mistakes. Most importantly, the lesson that he had learned from Severus Snape. A final lesson, that came along with the teacher's death. That although others perceive you as someone evil and only seem to notice your faults, there was always room for redemption. There was always room for some good, within.
A bittersweet realization. A lesson learned too late. Was he worthy of forgiveness? His past was written in stone, but his future was a new path that he could pave for the better - couldn't he? Somehow, none of that seemed possible at all. How could anyone show him mercy after all the things he had done? Draco couldn't even bestow himself with such charity.
Take aim to obtain a new name and a newer place but my name is lame I can't walk and I ain't the same...
"Thank you for everything... I'm so sorry..." He whispered under his breath; words slurred as they fell from his lips. His hand reached for his glass and he downed his millionth shot of Firewhiskey - the vicious liquid burned down his throat, as if Draco hoped to set aflame the darkness in his soul, to cleanse him from his sins and turn them to ashes.
There was no hope for the wicked; he had fallen from grace, and redemption would not save him from the condemnation that he deserved. It was too late for him. He surely couldn't be saved then, and he surely couldn't be saved now.
My crime is my sentence repentance is taking commission it's taking a toll on my soul...
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