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Draco Malfoy, the brat prince of Slytherin. He was smug, haughty, boastful, attention-seeking, self-serving, and always looking to start trouble for everyone below him. And he thought everyone was below him. Especially Mudbloods.
Or at least he used to think that way.
He wasn't that person anymore, although not many people knew it.
But then again, it was hard to just come out and say when Voldemort was constantly breathing down the back of his neck. And the necks of his parents, as well. His aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, wasn’t much better either. She’d probably kill him on the spot if she ever found out he no longer believed in the Dark Lord’s plan.
He knew he couldn’t tell anyone the truth, not until this was all over. Not until Voldemort was defeated. And Draco prayed he would be.
He had changed immensely since Dumbledore died.
Coming back from one of the Dark Lord’s missions, he apparated into the Forbidden Forest. He was injured and bleeding, his adversaries having almost gotten the best of him, but he won out in the end.
He hated being back at Hogwarts, but it was mandatory for everyone to attend now. He used to walk the halls like a king. He’d been loved by everyone; everyone in his house, anyway, but those were the only people who mattered.
The rest used to fear him; fear his name, his family. But now everyone just hated him.
Hell, he even hated himself most days.
This wasn’t at all what he had expected. He’d never wanted to watch all those people tortured and killed. He most especially didn’t want to be the one doing the torturing and killing. When he was younger, he’d thought it would be fun. But now that he was older, he saw things differently. He couldn’t take the pain in their voices as his victims pleaded for their lives, begged him to let them live, nor could he stand the hopeless look in their eyes when he finally cast that final and unforgivable curse. He didn’t like these people all that much, but he didn’t want to see them dead.
Being a Death Eater was not all it was cracked up to be.
Nearby, something caused a rustling among the trees, stopping Draco suddenly in his tracks. He squinted into the darkness, raising his lighted wand to help him see. His body tensed, preparing to fight or flee depending on what he found.
White beady eyes gleamed back at him as a black skeletal horse-like creature came out of the trees.
A Thestral? he wondered silently. Draco had never seen one before. When Hagrid showed them to their class in fifth year, he had still been that naive and pompous child, yet to witness the horrors of death. As far as he’d been concerned that day, there’d been nothing there. Now, he was in awe at the majestic creature in front of him.
It came forward, seemingly aware that Draco had no intention of harming it, and sniffed his arm, where he’d been injured. It must have smelled the blood on him. Slowly, Draco raised the same arm and petted the Thestral’s dragon-like face. Its skin was smooth and glossy, but so thin that Draco could easily see the creature’s bones protruding from it. Its body was very large but lean; the wings enormous and leathery.
Most people believed Thestrals to be unsightly and sinister, but Draco had never seen a more beautiful creature than the one in front of him.
The beast reminded Draco of himself. These days, he barely even recognized his own reflection when he looked in the mirror. He’d become unsightly and sinister-looking himself. Ever since Voldemort had invited him into the folds of his dark inner circle, he’d grown even thinner than usual, his own bones jutting out from his pale skin, which was even paler than normal. His face was gaunt, and his skin had turned a sickly grayish color. Long gone was the handsome, spoiled, naive little boy he once was.
“You’re like me, aren’t you?” he asked the beast, as he patted its silky black mane. “Misunderstood by the masses. They’re simply too afraid to see what you really are, to see that you’re not all bad.”
The Thestral merely snorted at him in response.
Draco looked around the forest, no longer sure of where he was. “Do you know how to get back to the castle?” he asked the creature.
The Thestral snorted again and began to walk, Draco following the beast at its side.
After an hour of walking, or so it seemed, Draco began to see moonlight through the trees as they got closer to the forest’s edge. When they arrived on the grounds, the Thestral stopped.
Draco looked to his new friend, thankful for its accurate sense of direction. “Thank you,” he spoke quietly.
He’d never been a fan of magical creatures, or animals in general, but this one stirred something in his cynical soul. The Thestral reminded him that not all creatures are dark and deathlike, even if they appear that way. Just as not all creatures are evil, or overly judgmental and easy to offend, like those bloody hippogriffs.
This one was different. And so was he. He didn’t want to be full of darkness and decay, and he didn’t have to be. If he could just get through this war, he could be the person he wanted to be. He could be good. He could make a difference in a new Wizarding World, one without Voldemort and his evil aunt Bellatrix mucking it up.
If he survived, that’s what he intended to do.
Saying goodbye to his new friend, Draco made his way back up to the castle. When he reached the main doors, he looked back to the forest, hoping for one last glimpse of the Thestral before he went inside. He wasn’t sure; it was too dark to tell, but he thought he saw two white beady eyes glowing at the forest’s edge. He then opened the doors and headed inside toward the Slytherin Common Room, wondering if he would ever see the beast again.