Last Night On Earth

Last Night On Earth

Why?

It was the question that bugged him more than anything else. He kept asking himself over and over again. Why?

One little word that posed so many questions. Some were simple, easily brushed aside. 'Why don't you like transfiguration?' - It's too hard. 'Why don't you talk to your grandmother?' - She died last year.

Then there were the other 'why?' questions. The harder ones, that were either too complicated to explain, or too painful to think about. Why? Why? Why? That word filled his head day after day; it was all he could think about. Now finally he was able to voice it, his tired voice rang out in the empty room.

"Why?"

"Because," another voice spoke in the darkness, "they were fighting to save the world. Fighting for peace and freedom and to save innocent lives. You wanted to help them but you didn't know how. They rejected you and you could never explain to them how you really felt."

I'm sick of sorrow, sick of the pain.

Sick of hearing again and again,

that there's gonna be peace on earth

Again he spoke his thoughts aloud.

"Harry Potter. It was always Harry Bloody Potter. He was going to save the world and I was just a nobody. They shouldn't have discounted me, they should have read the warning signs, and maybe now Harry Potter would still be able to save the world"

"Is that your excuse?" the voice spoke again. 'My conscience,' Draco thought, 'it's talking to me...'

"I don't need an excuse, they deserved what they got."

His voice faltered as the pain swelled in his chest, "They should have thought about me before they opened their stupid mouths. They didn't care about me or about how I felt. They were supposed to be good and kind, but none of them ever spared a thought for my feelings. If they had had an ounce of compassion I wouldn't be here today. I'd still live free, they drove me to it, and it ruined my life. They hated me. I had every right to do what I did"

"But, if you had your time over again, you wouldn't do the same thing. You regret it, I know you do."

"Of course I regret it. It landed me here. If I were to have my time again, I'd think of a better way to get my revenge on them. One that doesn't incriminate me."

His voice was desperate, begging as he tried to convince himself that his actions had been justified.

"If I had a choice I certainly wouldn't want to be stuck in this hell hole listening to you"

"Wherever you are you'll have to listen to me. That's the tricky thing about a conscience."

"Oh shut up!", he snapped into the darkness, the bitterness in his voice clear as the words echoed off the damp walls.

Outside a guard slid open the small peephole on the cell door. Inside he could just make out the dark figure huddled in the far corner.

"Talking to yourself again Malfoy?", he snorted, then slammed the window shut and stalked to the next cell without waiting for a reply.

"They bullied me, they tipped me over the edge, so it was their own fault!"

He was crying now. Heart-wrenching sobs racked his entire body.

"That's bullshit and you know it! You murdered them in cold blood. You've got no excuse, you're pathetic."

His mind slipped back unbidden to that last day, when it all got to be too much. For months he'd put up with a constant stream of taunts from smug Gryffindors. He'd put up with teachers giving lavish praise to Harry Potter and Hermione bloody Granger. He was just as good as either of them. Just because he wasn't the golden boy, or a swot it didn't make him a second class citizen. In fact he was better than them, he was rich and his family were purebloods. His father was respected and influential, as he should have been too. Most of all Draco was used to getting his own way. He couldn't understand why these people should be allowed to make his life miserable for the very reasons they should have feared and respected him.

They all made their assumptions about him, they seemed to think that because he was who he was he must therefore be evil, and because they assumed he was evil they saw fit to treat him as subhuman. To them he didn't matter. They didn't care about his feelings or opinions, and they all judged him on these assumptions. Not a single one of them spared a thought for him. They never asked him what he really stood for. No one bothered to find out if he wanted to fight for good. No, he was a lost cause to them. They thought he was destined to give up his life fighting for The Dark Lord.

So he took matters into his own hands. He broke into the busy Gryffindor common room one evening and exacted his cruel revenge for all the snide remarks and the glances and mutterings that followed him down the corridors.

"But they made me! They made me..."

Draco Malfoy cried himself to sleep that night. He knew it might well be his last night on earth.

They came for him early the next morning. Two guards and a Dementor led him up to the courtroom. It was fairly empty; his second trial was not open to the public. After the controversy of they last one there was just one official reporter from The Daily Prophet to inform the public of the verdict. Dumbledore was there to give evidence, and a few ministry officials made up the rest of the viewers. Arthur Weasley was among them - Draco hadn't expected that.

The trial didn't last long, 30 minutes at most. There had never been any doubt about his guilt which was why there was no jury present. It was his punishment that was causing all the trouble. Originally he had been sentenced to life in Azkaban prison, a grim future for anyone. But there had been a public outcry, people had written letters, held protests, even chained themselves to railings, and just generally made as much fuss about it as they could. It seemed at first the Ministry thought if they ignored it, it would go away. But it didn't, so now a year on he was to be re-sentenced.

The voice of Cornelius Fudge rang loudly through the chamber and jerked Malfoy from his reverie.

"...the condemned is to be subjected to the Dementor's Kiss, and then held prisoner here for the rest of his life. This punishment will be executed immediately."

He had known that this was the probable outcome, but still the words cut through him like a knife. He felt hollow. A slow ache began in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't fair. Then his conscience was back;

'It is fair,' it told him, 'it's perfectly fair.'

The Dementor was released form the side of the room and it glided slowly towards Draco chained in the chair. Draco's eyes met with Dumbledore's, and he sought out some sort of forgiveness or understanding; anything that might make his last moments easier. But there was nothing, the headmaster's blue eyes remained cold and unforgiving.

The Dementor came closer still and darkness seemed to swirl around him. He heard again the screams and wails of horror. Echoing shouts of people begging him to stop, wanting him to spare them. He couldn't help it, a scream escaped him - an unearthly shriek from a desperate man, or a frightened child. A shiver ran around the room as the Dementor swooped down and the noise was cut short. This intelligent 16 year old who should have had his whole life ahead of him was reduced to a glassy eyed figure, his head lolling slightly. He was worse than dead.

The two guards took Malfoy back to the cell. As they locked the door, the first one spoke.

"At least the public got what they wanted." He sounded bitter. The second guard shook his head in disbelief; he was older and more hardened to this job.

"He killed practically the whole of Gryffindor house. That boy deserved all he got."

He stalked off back to the office glad that this business was finally over. The first guard lingered a while longer, the words of his colleague resounding in his mind. That boy deserved all he got, that boy...

"He was only a boy," the guard spoke out, not that anyone down this corridor would be listening. "He'd just turned 16. What in the world compels a 16 year old to kill so many people. Its not exactly the behaviour of a happy man."

He shook his head sadly. So many people had been killed and now the perpetrator would just be another name in a book. Remembered forever as a cold blooded killer instead of the innocent and curious little boy he once was. His eyes once so bright and full of wonder at the world were now unfocused and dull as he lay with his head resting on a cold concrete floor.