The Song Fic

Unwritten Law- Save Me

Had a bad day, don't talk to me,

gonna ride this out,

My little black heart, breaks apart,

with your big mouth.

And I'm sick of my sickness

Don't touch me, you'll get this.

I'm useless, lazy, perverted,

and you hate me.

You can't save me,

You can't change me,

Well I'm waiting for my wake up call,

And everything, everything's my fault.

The Mansion was even bigger and emptier than usual when Draco returned home. The dark forest framed the sides and back like a well-groomed coat. The many windows were like closed eyes to him, darkened by curtain eyelids. The unwelcoming door, complete with an unfriendly serpent door-knocker, was unfortunately familiar. A part of him.

His stomach churned. Why did he have to be a Malfoy? Why couldn't he just be himself? This house held so many unpleasant memories and he knew it only had more waiting for him. As he inhaled to sigh, the scent of dread, emptiness, loneliness, and the decaying, earthy smell of the Hogwarts dungeons filled his lungs.

A tiny house elf closed the carriage door behind him and grasped his suitcase. Draco watched in an unreal, slightly sickening disbelief as the tiny thing strained and huffed and puffed, its face reddening with effort to pull the suitcase down the walk. The Malfoy's forbid their house-elves to use magic except in the event of an emergency.

Any other day, any other summer, Draco would have left the poor thing to fend for itself. Maybe even give it a kick to hurry it up.

But he couldn't. Not this time.

He bent down and ignored the elf's astonished look as he pulled his suitcase inside himself. It was heavy, even for him, and he felt all the worse for nearly making someone three times smaller than he lug it for him.

"Draco!" he heard once he opened the front door. A tall woman with a face he saw every time he looked in the mirror and long, platinum blonde hair swept down the hall towards him. His mother. Narcissa Malfoy. "Oh, put that down! That's servant's work!" she chided airily, making him drop the suitcase. Draco couldn't quite make out the curious look she gave him as she did so, her lips pursed and her upturned nose scrunched. Yet still, her eyes were soft.

He wondered if his mother knew of his failure. He wasn't sure. Not like his father would bother telling her anything, but she was looking at him as though she knew something. But that look... What was it? Relief? Annoyance? Wonder?

"Now, go upstairs and get freshened up. You've had a tiring trip and you need your rest."

She made her way back down the hall and disappeared through one of the many doors that lead to nowhere.

Draco made his way slowly through the maze of hallways and staircases, ignoring the photographs of his ancestors that sneered down at him with disgust. Obviously they knew. They'd always been quite nosy. Their whispering and disdainful expressions didn't make him feel any more welcome to be home.

By habit, he soon reached the large silver and green door that belonged to him, encrusted with the Malfoy crest and motto. It opened to a grand bedroom with ceilings so high that Draco could barely make out their engraved pictures and symbols, even if he threw his head back and squinted. His footsteps echoed along the marble floor as he made his way to his bed. Falling face first onto the silk covers, he inhaled, trying to receive some comfort. But all he could smell was the old, yet underused fabrics.

He groaned and turned over, his arms splayed out either side of him. He turned his head as his hand hit a piece of parchment. He picked it up and held it up above his head, recognizing the Malfoy stationary and his father's handwriting.

"We failed because of you. Your punishment is yet to be decided."

We failed because of you.

This was your fault.

How could you make such a mistake?

What's the matter with you?

Draco was tired of all these accusations! He ripped up the piece of paper in an attempt to erase some of the guilt from his mind, but it was a small piece of parchment and there wasn't much to tear. He sat up and threw the shreds into the air. Watching them fall, he made up his mind.

Everyone could hate him for this all they wanted, but he wasn't going to hate himself. He was going to forget.

He wandered the halls quietly until he found a house-elf carrying a dirty tablecloth down to the laundry room. "Oy," he murmured to it and it nearly dropped the tablecloth while bowing.

"Listen, bring me a bottle of, uh, Firewhisky, then, okay?" he murmured to it. "Straightaway up to my room and don't tell anyone, especially my mum, what you're doing, okay?"

It nodded and scampered away. Feeling rebellious, as though he were doing something he shouldn't, he snuck back up to his room.

Went to the doctor, and I asked her,

to make this stop.(whoa)

Got medication, a new addiction,

Fucken thanks a lot.

Had to relapse, I'm outta rehab,

It ruined everything.(whoa)

So point your finger, at the singer,

He's in the pharmacy.

You can't save me,

You can't change me,

Well I'm waiting for my wake up call ,

and everything's my fault.

You can't save me,

You can't blame me,

Well I'm waiting here to take a fall,

and everything, and everthing's my fault.

"And here's to... to Dumbledore!" he cried joyously, thrusting his bottle sloppily upward in a toast to no one before throwing about two mouthfuls down his throat. The sting and bitterness of the alcohol was like sugar on his tongue and he savored every exciting zing of his taste buds. It didn't hurt going down his throat much any more. The smell didn't make his nose sting until his eyes water.

"And here's to Hogwarts! And Harry Potter! And house elves! And Firewhisky! And silky, smelly sheets!" he cried, hiccupping before chugging down some more. A rather silly grin was pasted on his face, his eyes half-closed drunkenly. A rather silly grin was plastered on his face, his eyes half-closed drunkenly. His hair hung about his ears, no longer pasted back on his head.

He slumped down against the side of his bed, his head falling back against the blanket.

He reached up the hand that wasn't clutching his cure and tried to reach the ceiling. "So far away... come down, please?" he whispered, trying to touch the designs and carvings that seemed even further away than usual. He emptied a bit more of his bottle sloppily, spilling some down his front.

After a few moments, he got up staggeringly and made his way to the wide balcony, the bottle to his lips. He threw open the French door and stared placidly as the thin curtains blew and twisted like flowing liquid in the light breeze. They were so beautiful. He made his way out onto the balcony and grimaced as the far drop made his head hurt. He looked up at the sky, but that too seemed like a far drop.

"Imagine falling into the sky," Draco whispered, then let out a small laugh. "Dumbledore fell into the sky..." With a sudden pang of reality that hit him like a frying pan to the face, he saw vividly in his mind's eye Dumbledore's old, frail body arching as it toppled over the wall and out of sight.

He wondered what was happening to him as his body convulsed suddenly. Something was forcing its way up his throat and his vision was burry. He then realized he was sobbing. Crying.

"Malfoy's don't cry," he whispered to himself. He remembered his father saying that to him when he fell off his first broom. He sat down on the floor of the balcony, one leg outstretched but his right pulled up to his chest. He'd been sitting this way on the ground then, over ten years ago, staring at the blood streaming from the scrape on his knee. "Malfoy's don't cry!" his father raged at him once seeing the tears of agony and humiliation stream down his pale cheeks.

Except for one time when he had thought his mission was failing, he hadn't cried since then. He'd been to ashamed to. He thought his father would have some way of finding out and he would be punished for showing weakness. For giving his family a bad name. For being disobedient.

But he was disobeying now. He was sure his father wouldn't approve of drinking his troubles away. Only losers did that. Malfoy's handled their problems properly. But he wasn't going to be a Malfoy anymore. He was going to find his own identity, his own ways. Everyone should be allowed to cry, right? Everyone should love their children, right? Everyone should be allowed some mistakes, right? He wasn't going to live by some strict, unwritten book anymore.

Draco gulped down more of his Firewhisky and, in addition to his incomprehensible sadness and recollection, felt angry that his bottle was now empty. He needed more. He must never be sober again. All the things he was realizing, he never wanted to lose. He felt braver now. Like he was ready to face the world. He was impenetrable.

And I'm a death threat haven't slept yet,

Baby wide awake at dawn.

Helmet bad boy, tell the tabloids,

everything's my fault.

Whoa whoa yeah, write it write it,

Whoa whoa yeah, write it write it,

Whoa Whoa everthing's my fault,

The next morning was simply hell. All the things he'd heard about hangovers and more. He stayed in bed, under the covers for the better half of the morning, then realized he should really get himself up. Squinting at the light, he showered and changed his clothes.

Down in the kitchens, there was a full breakfast, still warm, waiting for him on the table. Along with the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet. He riffled through it over his eggs, his eyes skimming headlines. An article soon caught his attention. Against his better judgment, or perhaps his headache wouldn't let him think straight, he began to read.

News of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore's has murder spread through the Wizarding word quicker than an owls' flight. While thousands converged at the lakeside for his funeral just a few short weeks ago, few know the real reason behind his death. This intrepid reporter has the story.

In the biggest scandal at Hogwarts since the mysterious murders over 50 years ago, the headmaster was murdered by a teacher. Severus Snape, teacher of Potions for almost 16 years, performed the killing curse on Albus Dumbledore June 2nd of this year. There were only a few witnesses: Mr. Harry Potter who has revealed this information to us, and three Death Eaters that, fortunately, were not around to be interviewed.

Only one knows where Professor Dumbledore was when his school was attacked, but young Harry refuses to spill all. What is known is that a student, yes a student, found a way to sneak Death Eaters into Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. How, you ask? Through the use of two, strategically placed vanishing cabinets. The advanced magical protection around the perimeter of the school appears to have been wasted, if lethally dangerous wizards only had to step into a cabinet elsewhere and appear without a problem inside Hogwarts.

For his own safety, the name of this student has not been revealed. But it is said that he is the son of one of the Death Eaters let into the school. And from what it seems, he is feeling no remorse for the tragic event he has caused.

Hogwarts. He's lived here for six years and had one more to go, yet he couldn't call it home like everyone else. It was school. Just school. But maybe this year it would be a little different. At least he hoped so as he approached the castle with the other Slytherins.

Draco had been dreading whispers, stares, questions even. Shunning from his classmates. But they seemed to not know. It was only a few, his enemies. And he wasn't surprised they were the ones that knew. Potter, Granger, and the Weasleys, as well as a few of their Gryffindor buddies, shot him glares like never before. Potter, for one, looked angrier than ever to see him back at the castle. Draco wasn't surprised.

The Great Feast was abnormally quiet. Everyone could sense what was missing and eyes constantly shot up to Professor McGonagall, who was now Headmistress. She was trying her best to command Dumbledore's magnitude and importance, but she just couldn't fill the spot the same way.

The Sorting was done quickly, followed by the feast itself, then a small speech that commanded not nearly as much respect and attention as usual. Draco stood along with everyone else. He turned to Crabbe and Goyle once in the Entrance Hall "Hey listen," he said, turning to the two large boys who always stood just behind him as the other students swarmed around them. "Take a break for a while, okay? Get a hobby rather than following me around. I can take care of myself."

"Are you sure?" Crabbe, who'd always been the more talkative of the two, asked him. Goyle nodded stupidly, looking as though Draco was about to strand them in the middle of the Sahara Desert.

Draco simply nodded, turned heel and left. At first, as he wandered the halls by himself, he felt strangely alone. Unprotected. Knowing that if someone were to loom in the shadows, lurking up behind him he wouldn't have anyone there to knock them out or warn him. He was completely unprotected.

'Get a grip,' he thought to himself. 'I don't need those two, I'm perfectly capable of walking around on my own. I don't need chaperones. Besides, those two gits need lives other than following my orders.'

He didn't feel like going down to the common room. It was hell down there. Filled with more rich-kids-of-Death-Eaters, reminding him just how rich and stuck up he is. No. Was. He was going to change. He was determined on that.

The hallways brought him to places of the castle he'd never seen before, staircases he'd never climbed and windows he'd never looked out of. It was strange that he'd always kept himself confined to certain parts of the school, certain haunts. He never liked to stray from the ordinary and explore, but it seemed like wide blinders had been removed. The castle was beautiful.

"Malfoy! What on Earth are you doing wandering around this late? It's after midnight!" came a shrill voice from behind him. He started and turned round. Professor McGonagall stood at the end of the hall by the entrance to her office. The Headmasters' office. She was Headmistress now. Something clicked in his mind. Something that could be dangerous if done wrong, but wonderful if done right.

"Why are you staring at me that way?" she asked as he contemplated his thoughts.

Draco blinked. "Sorry Professor," he said. "Can I talk to you?"

"Is it that important that you had to stop me from going to bed?" she asked him with distaste.

"Yes. It's about... which side I'm on."

She seemed taken aback at his answer. "Well," she said slightly breathlessly, her angry expression changing to one of curiosity. "Well, I... yes of course, come in."

I went to heaven, couldn't get it,

For what I had done.

I said forsake me, you said you're crazy

you were too much fun.

You can't save me,

You can't change me,

Well I'm waiting for my wake up call ,

and everything's my fault.

It had been hard to tell McGonagall all he felt he should tell her... about his job--and initiation into the Death Eater circle--the pressure from his father, his mothers' worry, the peer pressure, all he knew about Voldemort's plans and current location, and the biggest apology he ever had to make in his life.

It was the first step away from his father. Before, he never would have dreamed of confessing to someone that he was afraid. That he'd been bullied into doing something that he didn't want to do. That he felt it was a life or death situation and he didn't realize it would mean the death of someone else. He just wanted to prove himself and make his father proud of him for once. It was hard to do, but he did it. It was his first step.

A big step.

McGonagall had seen stunned by his confession, and not entirely believing either. She'd surveyed him carefully over her square glasses, a lot more awake then she had been before. Her expressions were unreadable, her face kept cleverly blank.

"And I wanted to... I messed up and I know they plan on killing me. I know that I'll be punished. It hasn't come yet, but I always heard Dumbledore was the only one... he... ever feared and this side could keep me safe. I... I don't wanna hurt anyone, I just don't want to suffer or have anyone else suffer for me. Again."

He let out a breath and looked at her, breathing rather hard from all the talking he'd been doing.

"What you did..." she said at last, straightening up.

"I told you I was sorry," he had said desperately. He knew that sound in her voice. She didn't believe him. She was going to send him back. Back to...him.

"I know, Mr Malfoy," she said sternly, then again softly. "I know. But what you did cannot be forgiven. At least not so simply. You will need to show me that you have truly changed before forgiveness can even be considered."

Draco didn't know what to say. He thought this would be easy if he told the truth but she still didn't believe him. "What do I have to do?"

So now, he walked down the halls, not with his usual band of housemates but alone. Not picking fights. Not taunting anyone. Behaving himself.

The old part of him cringed at the thought of being a good boy, trying to fit into the muggle-traitors side. But he didn't care because the part that wanted to change wanted to try.

"Guess what?"

"What, Hermione?" Harry asked, humouring her yet not looking up from his cereal. Ron didn't even answer or seem to hear her.

"Draco Malfoy has switched sides!"

Ron heard this. "W-What?" he asked, choking on his bacon. Harry had dropped his spoon into his cornflakes.

"Yes, I heard the teachers talking about it today!"

"When? Where? How?" Ron demanded of her, Harry nodding vigorously at his side. He'd been dying for something exciting to happen and this caught his attention at once. This was the quietest war he ever had to sit through and he was getting tired of it. This was just the kind of news he'd been hoping for all summer.

"Quiet, and let me explain! I had went into the staff room to ask Professor Binns' a bit more about his lecture on those dragons used in World War Two and I heard McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout talking about it! Apparently, he was walking around last night and when McGonagall caught him he said he had to talk to her about what side he was on! He gave her loads of information on what Voldemort's up to and said he wanted to be on our side!" Hermione was breathless once she finished. She looked hopeful, but still a bit frightened, her cheeks pink with excitement.

"Well, I guess we should have expected it," Harry mused softly after he and Ron contemplated the news for a moment.

"Come on, it's Malfoy! He's the last person I expected to fight against Voldemort;

I mean his father's a Death Eater, after all!" Ron said, turning to him.

"But he's never really liked his father, has he?" Hermione pointed out. "They never seemed to be the best of friends, however much he resembles him."

"True. And I mean, what else is he going to do after last year?" Harry said. "Can't go back and say 'oops, sorry, my bad.' They'd kill him in a second. You don't stop being a Death Eater and he basically was one."

"Guess so..." Ron muttered.

"Do you think he's changed?" Hermione asked the two of them in a hushed voice. She seemed willing and wanting to believe it, but still doubtful.

"It's Malfoy!" Ron said, still in opposition.

"Anyone can change their mind, Ronald. Even someone as despicable as him."

Ron picked up his bacon again and took a bite. "Might just be pulling a Snape," he said casually.

"What?" Harry and Hermione said at the same time.

"Well, we always thought was on our side, didn't we? Then it turns out he's a back-stabbing murderer!" said Ron, his eyes wide.

"You're saying Malfoy might be pretending just so we'll trust him?"

"A double agent?"

"Exactly!"

Hermione bit her lip and turned to look at the Slytherin table. The blonde head was easy to spot. "I don't know. I mean, look at him. He doesn't look like someone leading a double life."

"Did Snape?" Ron queried.

"No, I suppose not."

"Looks a bit peaky to me. Like he hasn't slept in ages," Harry murmured, eyeing him as well. It was true; Draco looked about ready to fall asleep in his porridge.

"Listen. Someone can't just change who they are completely in a few months!" Ron argued.

"One summer can do a lot to a person," Hermione murmured, her eyes still on the Slytherin table but her gaze far off somewhere.

Ron sighed. "But it's Malfoy!"

"Either he really has changed and he's sorry..." Hermione started.

"Or he's being his old self and trying to pull something over on someone!"

"It almost worked last year," Harry pointed out. "That Vanishing Cabinet plan, however evil, was pretty good. And he would have gotten away with it too if Dumbledore wasn't such a genius. Maybe he's getting better at it. The plotting, I mean."

"It would be useful with a war going on," Hermione deliberated.

"To who?" Ron interjected.

Hermione looked at him. "Good point."

You can't save me,

You can't blame me,

Well I'm waiting here to take a fall,

and everything, everthing's my fault.

You can't save me,

You can't change me,

You can't save me,

You can't change me,

You can't save me,

You can't change me,(everything's my fault)

You can't save me,

You can't change me,

Everything's my fault.