Summary: A songfic about Draco, in which he reflects on his life, particularly a doomed romance, failed
friendships, his shattered family, and his war with Voldemort-and himself.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various
publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and
Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The
song “Acoustic #3” belongs to The Goo Goo Dolls.

Author's Note: Erm…I suggest you listen to the song “Acoustic #3” before reading this fic. You don’t
have to, but it would help you get the mood of the story.

Rating: PG

Dragon Song

by PhoenixRoseOfHope
 
 
 

They painted up your secrets
With the lies they told to you

Draco strolled the halls of his manor with his arm stretched out so that his fingertips skimmed the walls.
His eyes, which were sad and haunted, wandered from the paintings, which were snoozing peacefully,
to the carpet, which was muddy from his boots. He laughed bitterly at the thought of how long it would
take the house elf to clean the carpets. He turned a corner and walked into a corridor whose walls were
plastered with pictures of him and his family. In them, he laughed and waved from his father’s shoulders
or soared across the sky on his broom. He was his parents’ pride and joy, their apple of their eyes.
What a joke their love turned out to be. It was all fake, all a cover-up to keep him from discovering the
truth. The truth was that they were cruel, evil people, who, although they looked like they were trying to
help Draco get ahead, actually held him back. How many lies had they told? What had they concealed
from him, how many times was his memory modified? What secrets lay buried in the sands of time,
never to be uncovered? He supposed he would never know.

And the least they ever gave you
Was the most you ever knew

Everything in the manor glittered and sparkled in its dark, gothic way. His family was the portrait of
success…And yet, most of the fruits of their successes were hid from Draco, masked deep inside some
huge Gringotts vault. They gave him little, so very little…and he believed it was all he ever wanted. All
he really wanted, though, was a hug, a kiss, a word of praise that was actually real and actually
deserved. He had only received fake praise, and he grew up knowing that to be all he could ever get.

And I wonder where these dreams go
When the world gets in your way

Draco had a vault of his own, and it was deep inside his heart. It was hardened by cold smiles and
cool, insulting words. The flame of the dreams kept safe there had been smothered in his father’s
ambitions. It was funny, he mused, how he had once believed that his father’s desires were his own.
Now he knew better. He knew what he wanted, and she lay six feet under the frozen ground, sleeping
forever. Dead at Lucius’s own hand. All he wanted was to hold her again, kiss her again, and tell
her he loved her, but that wasn’t possible-yet.

He made his way to the spiral staircase and began to climb it, his mouth twisted into a grim smile.
Lucius thought he had won, and that Draco would stay and follow in his footsteps, marry a Pureblood,
and take over the manor. Well, he was wrong.

What’s the point in all this screaming
No one’s listening anyway

He opened his bedroom door and slumped onto his bed. His cold, shaking fingers traced the sheets,
remembering the warmth they once harbored as he and his love slept there. Without warning, angry
tears, cold as ice, formed in his eyes and fell onto the sheets. He opened his mouth and gave a pitiful
cry. His voice cracked and he grabbed the sheets, yanked them off the bed, and tossed them into
the fireplace. His rage took him over and he ran across the room like a madman, throwing things into
walls and out the windows. His mirror fell to the floor and glass shattered across the carpet. Draco’s
eyes met his reflection in a shard, and he saw a ruined man, driven insane by grief. Drawing a long,
shuddering breath, Draco tilted his head to the ceiling and screamed.

Your voice is small and fading
And you hide in here unknown

Had anyone entered his once magnificent room, they would have seen a tiny, shivering figure, cloaked
in smoke and sitting amongst broken glass and broken lives. They might have thought there had been
some kind of earthquake, had they not seen the rest of the house, which was still immaculate, resplendent,
shining in all its glory. Draco lifted his head and whispered a few words. They were lost on the wind that
whipped in through the broken windows. A quiet fear began to creep up on Draco. No one knew he
was here. How long would it be until they found his body?

And your mother loves your father
’Cause she’s got nowhere to go

Spared from Draco’s wrath was a single picture in which his father was kissing his mother as an
embarrassed young Draco pretended not to notice. He picked it up and wiped a little dust off it, then
smiled slightly as he thought of those days, when this manor was filled with love. No, not love, because
it was never real. It was an illusion of love given off by his father, one to which he and his mother clung
to. Only because they believed they had nowhere else to go.

And she wonders where these dreams go
’Cause the world got in her way

He studied the image of his mother more closely. She was stunningly beautiful, and looked radiant in
the twinkling lights of the Christmas party they were attending. Did she have dreams, like him, dreams
Lucius had to crush in order for her to survive him? He brought the picture closer to his face, so that
hit almost touched his nose, and studied her eyes. There was an underlying sadness there.

What’s the point ever trying
Nothing’s changing anyway

Memories flooded back all at once. Memories of Hermione Granger, the girl he had promised to marry,
the girl whose body lay in the local cemetery next to her parents’. The girl whose angel was watching
over him this very moment. The girl who had once rested on those sheets smoldering in his fireplace.

He remembered Harry Potter, the boy who had taught him a thousand lessons without ever meaning to.
Harry was safe now, though not happy. The war was over, the Death Eaters were gone, Voldemort was
dead…and so was Hermione. How could anyone who ever knew her be happy, ever again? Harry had
fought, tried so hard, and he had won. Harry always won. Draco knew, though, that things were not the
same for himself. Nothing changed for him. After Hermione’s death, he had given up on everything.

And I tried so hard to reach you
But you’re falling anyway

Draco crawled across his floor to his bureau, cutting himself on the broken glass from his mirror. He
opened a drawer, shaking uncontrollably, and pulled out a beautiful mahogany box. He lifted the lid,
and a dagger’s steel gleamed at him. It had a jeweled handle, and his name was carved into it. A
Christmas gift. From Hermione. It was something from her that had given him life, and something that
would take it away. He sat against the bed and thought of her, of his mother, of his father, of Harry,
of Ron, of Hogwarts, of flying, of fighting in the wars, of Voldemort, of his life, and of his death. This
was it. His death.

And you know I see right through you
When the world gets in your way

Why? Why was Hermione gone? Why was he sitting here, holding a dagger, ready to kill himself? A
strand of blonde hair fell into his eyes, and, as he reached up to set it back in place, his fingers traced
the scar on his forehead. It was a straight, thick line, that spilt his eyebrow and went up to his hairline.
A memoir of fighting for Hermione. The only person who had really seen through his shell and seen
the real person there.

He clutched the handle of the dagger even tighter and then pushed. It slid straight through his skin and
into his heart. There was no pain, only a blissful feeling as his spirit left his body and joined its match
among the heavens.

What’s the point in all the screaming
You’re not listening anyway

His body slumped to the floor, and the spirit was aware of a sad scream that escaped his lips. It barely
heard, it simply soared amongst the stars.