Buckle Up Blondie

Chapter one:

Don't save me. Please don't save me. Please, Potter, don't try and make things better. You'll only make them worse.

He sat in the trial room with his wrists bound to the arms of his chair, silver eyes focused. He tried to make them look pleading, he tried to force his pain into his eyes; anything to convey his apprehension.

But perhaps he had worn that stoic mask for far too long. Perhaps his face was too frozen in shock as memories of his parent's trial flickered in his head. At least they weren't dead. He grimaced, mouth bitter. Not dead, merely rotting away in Azkaban where they would eventually die. Perhaps he could join them... If he asked.

Don't save me. Please let me just be with them. Prison, death, I don't care, let me follow my mother.

His eyes caught those of another and held. Green eyes as pretty as a doe's gazed back, almost a passing glance, but hesitant to stray. They glistened in what could only be pity.

Don't pity me, Harry. The world hates me, your pity will not be understood. It will turn them against you. Don't save me.

He tilted his chin, lip curling in that oh so familiar sneer even as he mentally shook his head at his own childishness.

You're a fool, Potter.

Those green eyes fluttered once before glancing away.

Back to his mask, then.

Whatever the verdict, because of 'help' from the Saviour of the Wizarding world, he would not follow his parents to Azkaban.

The minister silenced the crowd.

"Draco Malfoy, because of your involvement with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, you had originally been sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban. Due to an intervention on your behalf by one mister Harry James Potter, you will instead be made an example of. You are sentenced to live your life as a muggle, without magic. Your wand will be broken and you will be ostracised from Wizarding society. There will be no redemption for your crimes."

Draco closed his eyes wearily, too tired to stare into Harry's apologetic grimace. Life as a muggle.

Life had become obsolete.

Draco dropped his bags heavily, hands clenching at the sensation of carrying his own belongings. He stared around the bare apartment, face impassive. The ceiling bulb had exploded recently, leaving small shards of glass on the muddy brown carpet. The one window looked spotted and he began to clap his hands, only to remember and lower them once more. No house elf would come to his aid now.

He tugged at platinum hair where it fell just below his collar. Perhaps he would let it grow out. The memory of his own hand, small and chubby and young, reaching out to grab a man's white-blonde ponytail flickered across his mind and he squeezed his eyes shut. Perhaps not.

A small hiccup-like sob escaped his parted lips and he pressed a white hand to them firmly, shocked. Malfoys did not cry. He ran a hand absently over his chest as his breath hitched. Beneath his palm he could feel his heart beat begin to race. He needed to get out.

The world was dark.

It was a pitch he had never experienced before, somewhere lost between the time the cars stopped and the time before dawn. It was quite beautiful.

Draco found himself on a bridge, breathing deeply as the cold air prickled his eyes and whipped his satin shirt against his skin. The wind felt good, fresh. A new start.

Draco leaned over from where he had perched himself on top on the iron side railings. The water was black. A new start either way...

He could go back and begin life as a muggle, or he could jump. Into the wind, the water. One sure leap into rebirth.

Draco sighed, not likely. Knowing the luck he'd been having he'd simply freeze his bits off before being saved by a passing 'helper'. He leaned forward steadily, balance precarious but holding. He wanted only to feel the wind.

His peace was shattered as a cloth was forced against his mouth and his torso was pulled roughly backwards. Terrified, he breathed a shocked gasp and choked on the bitter fumes he inhaled. His vision swam as his legs began to buckle beneath his weight. As he weakened, voices floated around him.

"You're sure?"

"He won't be missed... about to jump..."

"Followed... apartment... completely alone... assume suicide."

"He's as good as any..."