Beyond Salvation

How can you see into my eyes, like open doors
leading you down into my core
where I've become so numb

Without a soul

My spirit sleeping somewhere cold
until you find it there and lead it back home

Damn you, Potter.

You never understood anything, did you? All those times holding hands, the gentle kisses and sweet whispers during Potions...they didn't mean anything to you. You never did have a good reason for anything you did. Love, hate, they were all the same to you.

Remember when we first met? I didn't know who you were, how was I to know? Sure, I'd heard about you, but I didn't exactly picture the Boy Who Lived as a scrawny, underfed boy in oversized clothing. Not to mention that disgraceful haircut - you looked like some orphan thrown out onto the streets. Which, of course, wasn't that far from the truth, was it?

But I'm sorry. That was a low blow, and most of it wasn't true. It isn't that you don't have good reasons for your actions; it's simply that I don't want to admit your reasons. You have an odd way of looking through everything, all the glossy facades and exterior posing, right down to the very souls of the people you meet. I hated it.

I couldn't stand the fact that you could see right through me. Everybody else looked at me and saw Malfoy: rich, polished, the embodiment of perfection. Whether they hated me for it or sucked up to me because of it wasn't important; what was important was that it was the only thing they saw. Nobody saw the real me. Nobody knew Draco, and I was happy because I knew I was despicable. Draco was less than nobody, a weakling, a useless coward who obeyed his father's every whim. Malfoy, on the other hand, was everything. Power, grace, popularity were all mine when I rode on the coattails of the family name. As long as I was a Malfoy, nobody would see my shame, my weakness. Nobody, that is, but you.

You knew who I was, who I really was, the first time you met me. Do you remember? We were both purchasing school robes in Diagon Alley. You came in as I was being fitted, stood on the stool next to mine. All the time I was talking, you just stared at me with those piercing green eyes, stared at me and through me and into the core of me, noting every flaw along the way until you knew exactly how loathsome I was. I couldn't take you looking at me like that, and I tried to draw your attention to Hagrid. That was a mistake; my remarks only intensified your scrutiny of me until I wanted to run away and hide, hide myself from the brutal honesty of your gaze.

We fought all that year, and the next year, and the year after that. By fourth year, our enmity was well known throughout the entire school, students and staff alike. I never fought you because I hated you though. The taunts, blows, humiliations, those weren't aimed at you. They never were, though I made it appear so. I fought because you were a constant reminder of my inferiority. I couldn't look at you, with all your bravery and nobleness, without having my own cowardice rubbed in my face. Did you know I admired you, Potter? Yes, I admired you more than anyone. I admired your courage each time you triumphed in the face of danger. I admired your kindness, each time you helped that bumbling fool Neville. I admired your nobleness, your determination to save the world. And everything I admired in you, I could see its opposite festering within myself. I wasn't brave, or kind, or noble. I stood by and watched as my father beat my mother in front of me. Her screams wrenched at my heart, but I was too afraid for myself, for what would happen to me, to interfere. You would have attacked my father without a second thought, had you been there. Instead, there was only me, too feeble and cowardly to save even my own mother.

I hated myself, and I took it out on you. They weren't really meant for you, those insults and taunts that slipped off my tongue so easily. They were for me, myself, the contemptible filth I had become. I had nobody to blame for my weakness but myself. How could I blame anyone else, when you were there proving every excuse wrong? You never allowed the bitterness of the Muggles you live with to seep into your own being, how could I blame my parents? Every year, every day, every hour and minute and second spent with you was torture. You forced me to confront myself, so that I could no longer hide from the truth.

Somehow, it all changed. Somewhere along the line, when I was weakened and desperate and nearly mad with despair, something changed. I looked at you, stared deep into the emerald depths of your eyes, and saw something different. Instead of reflecting the failure of my life back at me, they shone with promise and something else, something far more important. Within your eyes, I found forgiveness.

Forgiveness. Such a small thing, but it meant more to me than anything ever had. You saw the deepest, darkest part of me and forgave me for it without a second thought. You told me there was good in me, then forgave me for every atrocity, every sin and every depravity I was guilty of. Clichéd as it sounds, your forgiveness gave me hope and let me believe that, perhaps, there really was a light at the end of this black tunnel of misery I was trapped in. With your help, I grew a little stronger, became a little more like you: a little braver, a little kinder, and a little nobler. I began thinking that maybe I could make it, maybe I didn't have to follow in the footsteps of my father, and those of his father before him. I thought that, maybe, I could be different. Maybe I could be myself without being ashamed, maybe, with the power of your forgiveness, I could learn to live. But that's gone now.

There's a Death Eater meeting tomorrow evening, an induction ceremony. I will attend, as I am expected to, and I will receive the Dark Mark without protest. I know this is my last chance for escape, for freedom, but without you, I am weak. I will embrace the darkness that is my inheritance and swallow my tears. You left when I needed you most, when a single word from you could have altered my fate, changed the course of my life. Remember me, Potter, when we meet again as opponents on the battlefield. Remember me, the boy that you rescued from despair, then cast back to the shadows. Remember me, Potter, and know that you alon could have saved me.

I need you, Potter.