Chapter 1

                                        

                                              
Dead Man Walking
                              
Published: 4/21/2021
                              
The minute hand ticked forward. Draco couldn't sleep. How could he? This was all the time he had left. No one came to bid him farewell, which didn't surprise him. The Ministry was handing out summary judgements for even suspected Death Eaters. Moreover, he wasn't even sure if he had any friends that escaped the crackdown. He knew who didn't: his parents, Pansy, Greg and every other Death Eater he knew. He didn't know if Theo and Blaise had escaped the roundup.
                              
Another minute passed. He could just hear the clock on the wall just beyond the bars tick. Distantly, he could hear the guards muttering that it was about time. Time... he winced, as tears came, again. He brought his shaking hands to his face to wipe them away. He'd seen all the others taken. Some resound and proud, a few quiet and meek, but most were begging and crying for respite.
                              
Draco wished he could be strong. He was a Malfoy... the last and only Malfoy, but his father had always beaten into him to never embarrass himself. Of course, he saw his father screaming and pleading as they took him to his appointment with Death, so Draco didn't know if it was really necessary to uphold the family honor anymore. There was no one left to impress, anyway. His mother had been quiet... only telling him that she loved him as she passed by.
                              
Fuck... he didn't know why he was the last one. At first, he was thankful that his date kept being pushed back. They were arguing about his age and crimes, he guessed. But was once relief, was now torture. Every single Death Eater walked past him for their date, and no one came back. It only intensified the dread he was feeling. The hopelessness. Even more so when he received the final judgment of the appeal. Dawn was coming.
                              
He looked at the clock, ticking to point at the number three. His hands shook, again, as his execution was only hours away. He couldn't lose his last moments to sleep. He was scared. Breathing was difficult. His chest hurt painfully. He couldn't drink. He couldn't eat. Hell, the guards didn't bother to feed him last night. They said Death Eaters didn't deserve a last meal. Draco ran his hand over his faded Mark and agreed.
                              
He never considered himself one. He didn't enjoy a second of it. Any mistake or misstep would result in a Cruciatus or even an Avada Kedavra if the Dark Lord felt irritable enough. He just wanted to get through it alive. That was the ironic part. He did. He was liberated from the madman only to be immediately arrested and condemned for belonging to him. He wasn't even allowed to speak at his trial, Silenced before he even entered the room. The Court would only allow non-Death Eaters to speak.
                              
Potter did show up. He surprisingly argued pretty forcefully on his behalf and nearly had the place in a riot. A bare majority declared him guilty. The sentence was automatic. No exceptions. But his first date passed by and then the second and third. Then he was pushed to the last spot to wait for death. He suspected that someone was trying to be nice, but it only elongated his suffering. He let out a sigh and glanced at the controller of his life, the clock. It only went forward.
                              
His final appeal was gone, upholding the sentence and conviction. The guards had left some parchment and a quill, which they had denied him before. They dutifully informed him that there would be no last words and he could write his farewells, now. But he had no one... he cried quietly. He looked up at the clock as he had lost a few precious minutes in self-deprecation. But that had been his main way of passing the time until now. But now, he could write anyone... that was all he could do. But who?
                              
Then, he remembered he had an aunt. She had married a muggle, and her daughter, his cousin, married a werewolf. He knew they were dead, except Andromeda and her grandson. He didn't even know his name. He wrote a letter to her, saying goodbye and apologizing for her loss. He left a bequeathal of any Malfoy property or income not seized to her and her grandson. He wrote that he wished he could have known her without his father's influence.