Draco Malfoy: Dead Man Walking

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.

He wrote a short letter to Blaise and Theo, as he knew that they hadn't been condemned like him. They could have been arrested for lesser crimes, but he still wished them the best, and he hoped that they were free now that the Dark Lord was gone. When he finished that, he realized that there was no one else. But then he remembered Potter. The golden boy had saved him from the fire, fought for him at his trial, and probably was currently fighting his appeals. Draco owed him.

Draco glanced at the clock, again. All he had left was time, right? He put the quill to the parchment and wrote.

Potter,

Thank you. I can only assume it's you that has been fighting for my appeals. I don't know why. I don't know why you bothered to save me from the fiendfyre, either. But I know you tried, and you, being you, will probably feel guilty for all this. Don't. This wasn't your fault. I spent a long time coming to terms with your actions and mine. I can only believe you're doing this because of my inaction when Greyback captured you. Some part of me hates that I denied it was you, thus allowing you to escape, ensuring your victory and resulting in my parents and my own death.

But it's better this way, for everyone. I know that. The Dark Lord was a monster, and you freed us all from him. If that price is my death, then it was worth it. It is a small price to pay for freedom. After everything you've done, I have a few requests, and I don't have anyone left who cares about me enough to see them through. I will be grateful if you can find it in you to honor them.

First, I did write to my Aunt Andromeda, requesting that she accept whatever is left of the Malfoy fortune. I trust that you will assist her in getting as much of it as possible? Thank you, if you do. My next requests are considerably easier. I do not feel it's appropriate for me to write them directly.

Please tell Granger that I'm terribly sorry for how I treated her. There's no excuse for the names I called her, but let her know why it started. My father beat me nearly every day that summer between our first and second year, when he found out that she had bested me in class. I'm sorry that I directed my anger and pain onto her. Please tell her that she is the brightest and best student in the school, and I hope she finds some solace in that admission from me.

I'll admit, the day you three came to my house was one of the scariest days in my life. Watching her being torturing in front of me, almost made me turn on my family right there. But I am a coward, and I saw no way to help you all escape. How Dobby turned up, I will never know. I let you have the wands to escape, but I wish I had done more for her. But please, tell her sorry, and I hope that she has healed from it.

Next, I guess I need apologize to Weasley. I know how badly I bullied him, but he never gave in. He's a great Keeper and made some fantastic plays. Our families were constantly feuding, and I'm sorry that I let that influence how I treated him. If I can offer some reconciliation, it is all I can do. His family, despite their financial situation, is so much better and wholesome than mine. His mother must be an amazing lady to raise a great family and adopt you into it.

My last request, Potter, is that you accept my apology. That rejected handshake in our first year, turned me into a petulant prat. I'm sure I was a prick. The fact that I'm gay and always had a crush on you, didn't help either. You were just something out of my reach as you were a straight, Gryffindor who was the Chosen One. Most of the things I did were childish... messing with you in Snape's class and dressing up as a dementor, but for the things that were cruel, I'm sorry. Your nose, Hagrid, and bringing up your parents... I'm so sorry.

They gave me all the parchment I could want and, other than a short message to Blaise and Theo, I have no one left. Even if the others were alive, I wouldn't have said anything but a brief farewell. No, you are closer to me than anyone. Isn't that sad? And we aren't even friends... in the traditional sense. But by the end, I considered you an ally, and I hope you will remember me in a little better light, now, and perhaps as a friend that you once knew.

Goodbye, Harry. I wish you a happy, wholesome life that you deserve.

Draco Lucius Malfoy

He couldn't stop a few tears from falling to the parchment. He was almost out of time as clock hand had ticked forward. He folded it up with the others and approached the bars.

"Guard?" he called, hoping they answer.

"What, Death Eater?"

"Can you put these in the post, please?" he said, hoping. The guards weren't exactly friendly. They were all Aurors guarding the specially built Death Row, in the basement of the Ministry.

"Post? Your family is dead. Who are you writing?" he asked, walking to the door and snatching them and reading the name on the outside. "Harry Potter?"

He nodded and stared at the ground. "I needed to apologize for the things I've done."

The Auror stayed in his spot. "You're the only one of them that did that, you know? Fine, I'll post it for you. Shift change is coming up. But it's almost time for you, Death Eater. You know that."

He nodded and glanced at the time. The letter had been a considerable distraction... a blessing, really. The guard went back to his chair. The guards switched out at five and were loudly talking about how glad they were that this duty was finally over. They were taking bets on if he'd cry and beg for his mother or not. He tried to resolve himself not to, but he wasn't sure he had that strength. The prolonged torture of his impending death had nearly broken him.

Minutes ticked on. Five after. Ten after. Half-past. Quarter to. Fuck, it was going faster. The clock was just laughing at him. He went to the sink basin and washed his face in an attempt to stay the tears. Time was up.

The door to the ward opened. Footsteps came down the hall and stopped outside of his cell. His heart felt like it was turning sludge as breathing became nearly impossible. They were here to take him down the one-way hallway.

"Death Eater! Put your hands through the bars!" one ordered.

Though they had the power of magic, they enjoyed manhandling him and others.

"Death Eater... we can pull you out by your fingertips just like your scummy father!"

Draco swallowed and glanced at them, before making the slow walk to the door. He offered his wrists which they bound. They opened the door, and he tried to back away, but they each grabbed an arm and pulled him out. The one on the left put restraints on his legs, too. No running. He looked up at the clock, one last time. Five-fifty. He couldn't stop shaking.

"Set. Let's go."

"Dead man walking!" announced the Auror on his right.

The other chuckled. Laughed. Like this was funny. Like his execution was a joke. The cruelty and callousness made this so much worse. Like he was worth nothing. He guessed he was. He lowered his head while they forced marched him through the cellblock doorway past the guard booth toward another big door.

"I like when they're quiet," left Auror muttered. Draco was just trying not to give them the satisfaction of breaking him and they weren't making it easy.

"Nah... I like them scared shitless. Crying and begging... it makes it all the more sweeter."

Draco had a hard time maintaining his composure. Holy Salazar... his legs stopped working, and they dragged him forward. He couldn't stop this. It was really going to happen. No, he didn't want to know what was on the other side of the door. The Aurors gripped him painfully, and there was no way that he could resist them. He was going through the last door, willingly or not.

"You just had to say something, John? Come on. You're not going to escape. Your time has come, Death Eater."

Draco didn't cooperate still, and they pulled him through the door. The room was white. Everything. Walls, floor, ceiling. Everything but the eight-foot dementor. He seized up. He could take the Dark Lord's wrath and even death itself, but none of that compared to his fear about losing his soul to one of those things. He whimpered and tried to push away from the Aurors but failed.

"End of the line, Death Eater," the Auror growled.

"Please... please...no..." he cried, as the right one laughed.

"Gonna beg for your mum?" he chuckled.

"Please, don't feed me to that thing!"

"It's what you all deserved. A Kiss goodbye!"

Draco couldn't help but cry. He had tried not to think about the Kiss while waiting in his cell. It only horrified the more he thought about it. Dementors keep the souls. They consume it. There was no coming back. He honestly believed that he would be tortured forever in the gut of that thing. Slowly disgusted for hundreds if not thousands of years. It wasn't just Death in front of him. It was hell itself. Why did it have to be a Kiss? Why not Avada Kedavra him?

Hundreds of years ago, the Wizengamot elected to have a more humane way of executing their criminals and stop forcing Aurors to be executioners and having to do the act of killing. How was this humane? Why not feed him to a chimera or dragon, if they wanted to ease their conscience. Why this thing? This fiend? Who was going to hold his soul for all eternity? Was that the reason? Death was too good?

Draco didn't have much time to answer his mental questions. It moved closer. Though the Aurors could have frozen him, they gleefully held him as the dementor's clammy, gray hand advanced toward him. It pried whatever resolve and strength he had left out of him by sucking the hope and vestiges happiness out of him, before it grabbed his weakened arm from the Auror. It pulled him closer and lifted its hood, revealing a toothless, black hole. Draco cried hopelessly as it descended on him, latching onto his jaw.

Harry, he thought, desperately.