So sad - and then, so beautiful. Could be one of H. C. Andersens tales. Thanks for writing and sharing!

sad.

Oh... I wanted to leave a really meaningful review, but I'm pathetic, so: I love your fic. Nice job.

Highly insightful, cupid. I've always wondered why was it, exactly, that Draco had made it through the war. I've always imagined him dying some tragic death in a bid for dramatic redemption. While there was no redemption in this peice, there was resigned acceptance and just a bit of regret. Overall, a nice fic.

~Koky

Brilliant. I loved the part of "and maybe dying in Romania wouldn't be so bad", because it was just so very him. Draco is hard to pin. I'm not sure what I think he's like, but this is very close. Thanks again!

Aimael

so insightful so my friend have an amazing way with words. I like how you in-coporate everything from what he thought to what he thinks to what he thinks/knows what others think of him.

My favourite thing about this though is the subtle use of a Hamlet quote (out,out damned spot)

I am in love with your writing it really does amaze me how you are able to get inside a characters head and write no matter who it is in such a poetic way. Brilliant

Vimmi

That, was truly beautiful.

Dang, I can believe this won an award-definitely deserves it.

I love the irony of it...dying on the perfect day, never to know. Which of course, is paraphrasing exactly what Malfoy said, but you know, I had to mention it.

His thoughts are very much in character, the regret intertwined in his thoughts and strong in his voice.

When he felt guilty for tainting the snow, my breath got caught in my throat...how poignant.

Overall another very well worded character sketch that is both profound and lovely.

Paddy

Ooh, I love this-especially your take on Draco's outlook in life; survival over praise, indifference to what's deserved, and the likes. Excellent!

All he can see is the sky, blue and bluer and fading in and out, white to black, and then back to blue. The moon is already out, pale and wan in the corner of periphery. He doesn't see the snow around him, blood-red like life and fire and the color of his master's eyes. He's glad he can't. He doesn't want to see the pristine whiteness tainted by him.

The blue is better, brighter, whispering words of consoling in his ear, soft and inaudible and far-away like gods or angels or mothers in the doorway watching her babies sleep. Something calming, but the bile is rising, and he's afraid.

Afraid of dying, of death, of -

Oh, wow, this was wonderful, you're a spectacular writer, nice work.

Aww ...

This story realy would suit Regulus, but I love what you've done with Draco as well. Some of the minor things, like the fact that he's sorry for staining the now, really add to the story as well. Great job, although I wouldn't expect anything else from you.

Cuba