Redeeming Grace

It's quiet. Perhaps a little bit too quiet. The war was over and there was the rhythmic breathing of others in the infirmary. So few were left, and if all went well then there would be one fewer. There were not many Slytherins who had remained at Hogwarts during the battle. Draco was dead. Murdered by his own father in a sacrifice to the maniac of a dark lord. He had survived the battle to see himself in the mirror. The reflection was bruised and disheveled. The contrast between his green and silver striped house tie and the world weariness of his face made for an alarming juxtaposition, that immediately made his decision.

As he slipped out of the infirmary, so silently that no one stirred, it occurred to him that this was goodbye. Some would understand and some would not. They would all be better off, and so would he. The world was going to change and he could not live with himself if he didn't act.

The issue of disgrace still hung in the air. He had taken the dark mark. Not by choice, but nevertheless branded a Death Eater. He had committed atrocities while trying to hide his double agent status. Fighting for the light involved incredible amounts of darkness. Had he ever been loyal to anything? Talking out of both sides of his mouth to Dumbledore and Voldemort. Most of the time he was never sure to whom he was telling the truth. It was a life of shadows that he was glad to finally escape. The memories, though, burned in his mind permanently. Things so horrible that Snape had said even an Obliviation wouldn't erase.

Out of all of the former students of Hogwarts he felt respect, and what could only be described as affection, for his former Potions Master, Severus Snape. They had shared the same life, though he not for as long. Without such a mentor he surely would have been killed, or taken his life long ago. Snape explained in a coldly calculating manner that the outcome of this war was greater than either man could ever hope to be, and so it was best to fulfill their roles. He never knew if Snape felt the same way about him, but assumed that he must have at least been satisfied that one of his Slytherins had heard the subtext of the many subtle lessons he tried to instill in their developing minds.

His closeness with Severus would serve its final purpose this evening. Severus was currently under the effects of a dreamless sleep potion, and would not wake for several hours. More than enough time for the necessary actions to take place. Walking quickly down to the dungeons, he tried to block out the memories of his childhood. Had he ever been truly happy? Or had he just been content to stay out of his father's way and avoid his wrath? Being in the shadows and being ignored didn't cause happiness anymore than the limelight. It was something that he and Potter had in common. One is not any better than the other. It is equally painful to live either way. He was just too afraid as a young boy to search for happiness when invisibility was easier and less likely to result in a beating or hexes thrown at him by his Death Eater father.

There was no fear in his eyes as he opened the door to the potions classroom. With the same loose limbed grace he had always possessed, he walked to the supply cupboard and withdrew the desired substance. Many Slytherins excelled in potions, and he was not an exception. The calculating coolness of his actions would have made a voyeur ill at ease, but no one was watching the classrooms at this hour.

Stir twice counter clockwise and simmer for three minutes. The potion was quickly completed and he placed a generous amount into a large vial. Cleaning up the work space, because there was no reason for Severus to be greeted with a mess the next time he entered the room, was the last thing he did before exiting the dungeon classroom for the last time.

Up the stairs to the Slytherin common room and then to his own head boy room. The gravity of the situation felt heavy upon his chest, but not overwhelming enough to change his mind. His decision was made when he was as sane as ever, and was a matter of knowing that there was no way to forget what he had seen and the things he had done. Being unable to look at oneself in the mirror is sign that something is truly wrong. He was painfully aware of his own shortcoming, and fiercely proud of his work for the light. It was the shadow world that he had existed in that tormented his soul. Neither light nor dark, good nor evil. He was merely there, and that was unacceptable. While he has helped in the defeat of Voldemort, he seriously questioned whether or not he would have stayed working for the light if he thought that the Dark Lord was going to win. That human frailty of self-preservation was fodder for the self-loathing that made life unbearable.

Dressing himself in his school tie and best dress shirt was part of the ritual he was participating in. Preparing for life to end. If he had a sword to fall on he would have, but trying to Avada Kedavra oneself generally proves to be inefficient and, honestly, lacked the drama that the serpent house would see as acceptable. If there was to be no sword, then a potion would have to do. Sitting on his bed, he brought the vial to his lips. He laid down and pulled the down comforter over himself and stoically accepted his fate.

The potion was bitter, but the belladonna was sure to serve its proper purpose. Slowly causing his body to cease functioning. Taking the life out of him in a blissfully painless way. Just a deep sleep. A permanent one. If the potion did things as efficiently as he hoped then everything would be over soon. Deep breaths knowing that death was imminent. Just as he had always existed, Blaise quietly, and without fanfare, left life behind.