Adult Content Warning
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Summary
Harry still remembers the first time the dream came to him, prowling like a tiger through a haze of fog. He remembers him, so bizarrely out of place that his mind would never let the vision slip from its grasp.
There stood Draco Malfoy, edges blurred like drawn in oil pastel, perhaps indistinct had the viewer not been Harry.
(Footnote— In this light, Harry understood why Draco was named after the stars.)
But what Harry will always remember as if it were real was the way he could see Malfoy's lip tremble even from so far away. He stared through Harry, eyes flitting around like no one was there at all, face twisted with fear. His mouth moved and two syllables had fallen on deaf ears. Harry remembered stepping forward to listen closer.
Right before Malfoy turned and stepped off the ledge, vanishing into darkness.
—
Draco Malfoy is sick of being used as a plaything by the Dark Lord. He is sick of getting his hands soaked in Muggle blood, all in the name of becoming a better weapon for the Dark.
He knows he is being punished for his failure, and he would have taken it, too.
That is, until his mother’s life is put on the line.
That’s just unacceptable.