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The first time Draco came across one of the diaries, he didn't really understand what he was reading.

November 5th, 1977
I don't know if there's ever a way to get rid of the smell of burning human flesh. Kreacher tries but even he can't rid me of that stench. I don't think I'll ever be able to eat bacon again.

I've seen the colour of their blood, many times by now. We all burn and bleed alike.

At the time, all Draco wanted to know about was quidditch, flying and finding a way to finagle a pet from his parents. The pages spoke of a darker time that confounded his seven year old brain. It scared him enough for him to stow it away for years.

Somehow or other, they made their way into his school trunk and he found them while rummaging for sweets to share with his new housemates. To be placed in Slytherin was an honour and he knew his father would be proud.

September 1st, 1971
We got the owl from Hogwarts. Sirius has been sorted into Gryffindor. Father is livid and Mother has taken to her room. It's like he's trying to kill them.

It is imperative that I be the son this family needs.

The entry only confirmed his belief that Gryffindor was the worst. Let them boo and jeer all they want, in the end Slytherin would prevail. Draco closed the book and set it aside, temporarily abandoned, after he spied the box he was looking for peeking out from beneath his spare school robes.

In second year, following the petrification incidents, he heard rumours of a dark artefact disguised as a simple diary. Remembering the school year and all the turmoil that came with it, he panicked and nearly threw the stack of diaries away.

May 17th, 1967
Today was so much fun! Sirius and I went to the pond near the house. He taught me how to skip stones and we caught frogs.

There were other boys there. They were terrible and mean. I tried to show them a spell for catching frogs that wouldn't harm them, not like what the boys were doing. But instead of learning like they should, they called us 'furriks'. I didn't know what that meant but Sirius told me not to pay any attention to them. That they were just being silly muggles.

Big brother is so brave. When I grow up, I want to be just like him!

But no matter how much he looked at it, the entries didn't seem to be any more sinister than a pygmy puff. Neither could he, he found, anymore throw them away. Odd as it was, he had become inexplicably attached to the adventures of this strange boy and his older brother.

The pieces started falling into place in third year when he read the glaring headline in the Daily Prophet.

June 6th, 1968
Mother tells me Sirius is a menace. I don't understand. He's supposed to be the elder, isn't he? So why doesn't he act like one?

Mother and Father are exasperated. They don't know what to do with him. They tell me not to be like him.

He can't be all bad, can he? Sometimes when I'm down, he gives me sweets, then he does that thing where he ruffles my hair and calls me kiddo. I don't like it when he does that, but it seems to make him happy, so I don't say anything.

I worry about Sirius sometimes.

He is my older brother. Who else am I supposed to be like if not him?

It's difficult for Draco to reconcile the boy who skipped stones and gave his little brother sweets with the man who betrayed his friend and murdered an entire street of muggles. Something didn't feel right and it didn't sit well with him.

Draco brooded long and hard as the uncomfortable ache in the depths of his stomach swell and grew. It took him long to reach the decision to approach his father but it seemed like the best option available to him then and surely his father would know what to do. However, when he tried to tell his father, all he got was a stern admonishment that children not speak about matters that didn't concern them.

June 8th, 1968
Father tells me about this man, Lord Voldemort. I can hear the respect and awe in his tone when he does.

If I can't be like Sirius then surely I can be like the Dark Lord.

It felt almost like treachery, but Draco couldn't help but think that maybe sometimes fathers didn't know best.

Draco didn't know what possessed him during the World Cup. He should be out there, alongside his father, but he'd explicitly forbidden him from joining in the proceedings. Draco resented that — to be treated like a child when he was clearly old enough to help. So he'd stolen out of the tent, away from his mother's side, and joined in the hysterical throng.

December 24th, 1977
Sentimentality is a weakness. I know that. Yet... I couldn't.

Sinclair never meant anything to me. She was just some mudblood I knew in passing. I don't know how she got sorted into Slytherin but it didn't make her time in Hogwarts any easier. Sometimes teachers would pair us up for classes. She did her work well enough and I barely gave her the time of day otherwise. I think I was her favourite partner because of that.

I did not care for her.

They, my... colleagues, tell me I have to mean it. Indifference is apparently insufficient.

I lied to them and left her. She was still breathing when I did. I don't know if she still is now.

He was supposed to spread terror. Instead he'd left Granger with a warning, more insult than caution really, but it was evidence of mercy, in his own twisted way. The knowledge of what he'd said and done gnawed at him as he stared, unblinking, at the Dark Mark in the sky.

XxXxXx

The 'Potter Stinks' badges were a riot. It was his best work yet. The pale, hunted look on Potter's face accompanied by the reddening anger of Weasley and annoyed glare from Granger was something he'd cherish for years to come. Of that, he was sure.

February 14th, 1975
I know what they did to Severus. Yesterday I found demeaning notices about Severus pinned throughout the school. He couldn't go anywhere without someone pointing and laughing at him. I took down whatever I could find. Severus refuses to say who did it, something about it being pointless, but I know.

For all his Gryffindor talk about nobility and honour, he's nothing more than a bully. A Slytherin would never resort to such tactics. Hypocrites, the lot of them.

Unexpected rage shot through Draco and he threw the diary against the wall, panting heavily as it fell to the floor. He let it lay there for the entire night.

Come morning, he picked it up and stowed it away in its usual spot in his trunk with the others, shame and guilt trickling through him. He decided then to try and keep things on an even playing field.

The resolve only lasted till the next thinly veiled derisive letter from Lucius. When the Golden Trio and most of the student body kept insisting on bringing up the amazing bouncing ferret incident, all notions of fairness and integrity faded to the back of Draco's mind.

XxXxXx

The world seemed to shift sharply two inches to the left and Draco was left feeling out of sorts. When the mudblood passed him by, all he could do was stare and he'd missed the opportunity to make a snide jab at her.

October 31st, 1975
It's disgusting the way he cavorts around with that mudblood, Evans. Why does he even bother? She clearly does not want his or that Potter's attention.

Have some dignity, brother. Honestly. You're a Black. Act like one.

He reread the entry again and again, willing the words to sear into his mind.

Disgusting. Beneath him. She didn't even want him anyway. He's a Malfoy. He would act like one regardless of how nicely mudblood minxes cleaned up.

Draco didn't need to hear Potter make a fool out of himself to realise the truth. He could feel it in the tension that blanketed Malfoy Manor throughout the summer, could see it in his father's gait.

January 10th, 1976
Lucius is my way in. He still talks to Severus, and I hear he's recruiting within the school. Severus is being deliberately obtuse and telling me to stay out of their business. He's foolish if he thinks that's enough to deter me.

Lucius has ties to the Dark Lord, I just know it. I will owl Cissy, she has to know more. She will understand how important this is to us Blacks.

His parents didn't speak much of the first war or of their involvement in it. Before fourth year, he still believed the claim that his father was acting under the Imperius. Now he wondered if that were enough to avoid imprisonment a second time.

His mother told him not to worry, that all would be well. Draco didn't think he believed that.

XxXxXx

Aunt Bella was clearly mad. He'd heard of the strain of insanity that plagued the Blacks, but it was in her that he truly saw its significance. He didn't like the way her deranged gaze lit up whenever she saw him. She talked too much about her inability to have children that she could pledge into the Dark Lord's service and she seemed to have a strange obsession over her 'dear cousin Sirius'.

He took to avoiding her whenever she was around but her cackles seemed to follow him no matter where he went in the Manor.

December 24th, 1975
Sirius has left. There is a hole where his face used to be on the tapestry, struck off, just like cousin Andromeda's.

He's a Potter now, I hear.

No matter. Father and Mother only need one heir.

He felt numb when he heard of Sirius' death. It disturbed him far more than the news of Lucius' imprisonment did. Draco couldn't understand how anyone could take such delight in killing blood kin. Judging from the way his mother held on to him, she couldn't quite believe it either.

Bellatrix insisted that she be present for his ceremony. He'd rather his mother but she wasn't allowed since she wasn't marked. He envied his mother at the moment but that went away at the not-so-subtle threat at his mother that Aunt Bella casually dropped.

Goosebumps erupted all over him and he shivered at the way Bella cooed and stroked his forearm lovingly. The urge to vomit never did leave him.

April 25th, 1977
Today is the day I get my Mark. Father and Mother don't know yet, but I know they will be proud.

Draco stared down at the Mark, black and ugly against his skin. He'd been slipping in and out of consciousness for the past few days, delirious and constantly in pain. That was the first day he'd been able to maintain a permanent waking state. His mother hadn't fussed and though he was aware of her reasons, it had still hurt.

He didn't know if this would make Lucius proud. What he did know was that this was an act of punishment, not reward.

XxXxXx

While the Gryffindor-Slytherin match raged on outside on the quidditch pitch, Draco was in the Room of Hidden Things, knelt beseechingly in front of the cabinet that broke Graham. Vince and Greg were standing watch outside, polyjuiced as younger year girls. Draco felt the weight of the charmed galleon in his breast pocket, its twin in the pockets of his friends.

May 3rd, 1976
The only time I ever feel alive is when I'm in the air. The only place I ever feel safe in is this room on the seventh floor. I found it by accident when those Gryffindor thugs chased me up here. Did Sirius have a part in that? Do I care?

I was pacing in front of this blank wall, needing a place to hide and suddenly this door appears out of nowhere and what choice did I have? It's full of rubbish, old desks, books that tower high above yet I feel secure in here. Here, I can hide away from Sirius' accusing glares, I can hide from Mother's constant need for assurance that I won't abandon them like my brother did.

The Black signet ring is mine. I don't know if I really want it.

It was the same room, there was no doubt, but unlike Sirius Black's younger brother, the place held no solace for Draco Malfoy. The sparrow that went into the cabinet came out twisted, like an amateur artist's crude impression of what a bird should be.

Draco tried hard not to think about how not even Pomfrey could put Graham fully back together.

XxXxXx

Draco gripped the edges of the sink till his knuckles turned white. Myrtle was trying her best but even her ghostly assurances weren't enough. She was already dead and she was all the better for it.

If only Potter had finished the job properly.

March 11th, 1978
I took a walk through muggle London today. It's the only place I can be sure that I won't be found until he summons me.

They have beautiful parks. Filthy creatures shouldn't be able to create such things of beauty. It's not... right.

I was sitting on a bench and this muggle woman just sits down next to me. Just like that, without nary a word! How uncouth. But then she gives me her handkerchief and this odd container of water and told me that I looked like I needed it.

I should be repulsed, I should kill her for daring to insinuate that I need help from a lowly muggle like her.

But I... But, but, but.

This container. It's clear as glass but not as brittle. When I asked her what it was, she gave me a funny look and told me it's called 'plastic'. How ingenious. It didn't break no matter how many times I threw it to the ground. Did muggles make this too?

Curious little creatures, aren't they?

Draco should have known that Hermione Granger couldn't leave well enough alone.

He was groggy from the pain medication and half fancied that he actually imagined that bushy hair though why his mind would choose to hallucinate about Granger of all people was beyond him. She'd slipped her hand into his clammy cold one and muttered apologies until dawn break then she'd slipped away and left him — finally — to his rest.

It wasn't until hours later when Draco was more awake that he realised that he could still smell the cinnamon and vanilla tones of her scent lingering on his pillow.

XxXxXx

Professor Snape had stepped in, taking over what Draco couldn't do. Despite that, despite knowing that Dumbledore was right, Potter's screams of 'Murderer! Murderer!' still rang in his ear long after Snape had apparated them away from Hogwarts.

Now staring into the face of the Dark Lord, Draco wished that Dumbledore had been wrong after all.

March 25th, 1978
I found myself gravitating to the same park. Did I hope to see the muggle woman again? I don't know. It doesn't matter.

There was this man, screaming and shouting loudly to himself in the middle of the grounds. Other muggles walk quickly past him, shaking their heads like they're ashamed. I suppose that means he's an anomaly too.

He speaks of gibberish, of a bearded man in the sky called 'god'. Apparently this man is all-seeing and all-powerful yet he's capable of great feats of love and magnificent acts of kindness. Miraculous, in short.

Stupid, foolish muggles. What utter tripe.

It's a logical fallacy. An all-powerful being will never be magnanimous. I've looked upon the face of god and he is anything but benevolent and kind.

For hours following the ordeal, the aftershocks from the multiple Crucios still ripple through Draco. It was the one spell that Bellatrix was almost as good at as the Dark Lord himself. Draco should know.

He curled into a tight ball under the duvet and tried to go to sleep.

He didn't know what Snape was thinking, letting the Carrows loose in the halls of Hogwarts. The brother and sister pair had no sense of subtlety whatsoever and delighted in the casually cruel. Their classes were nightmares come true and though they singled out the Slytherins for 'better treatment', the truth was that none were spared.

They 'rewarded' those that did well in torture and punished those that failed to meet their arbitrary standards.

July 25th, 1978
I didn't think it'd be children... Merlin, they were just children.

What have I done?

Draco wished he had the answer to that as well. He studiously avoided Longbottom's and the youngest Weasley's eyes as he handed off the latest student victim to them. It didn't matter how many potions he brewed for them, it would never be enough.

XxXxXx

Draco cursed the day he ever had the misfortune of meeting Harry Potter. If he had just died on that Halloween night or never came to Hogwarts or not turned down his offer of friendship then all this wouldn't have happened.

Of course Draco recognized the git. He'd looked upon that face for six bloody years. His reaction to Saint Potter was almost instinctual at that point. But instead of pointing it out like his father wanted, he'd bit his tongue and lied through his teeth.

August 31st, 1978
They know I lied.

The stupid mudblood joined the Order of the Phoenix. We were on a raid and there was she was, bold as day, flinging spells left and right. She recognized me, I know, because her wand wavered for a split second. Stupid mudblood!

They caught her, but I have no clue for what purpose. Interrogation? Torture? Main event for the next revel? I think Bellatrix knows that she's the one that I had supposedly killed. Severus does, certainly. He was right next to me. They know, oh Salazar, they know.

I can't. I can't be there. I can't watch.

His mother held him in an iron grip but he could have broken free if he wanted. He almost did too. What kept him rooted was the almost imperceptible shake of Granger's head and the slight widening of her honey brown eyes.

Fucking Gryffindors and their fucking courage.

XxXxXx

Vince was gone and it was all his fault. Draco wanted to lie there and be left alone to mourn because Vince deserved at least that. But it was Greg, who was never separate from Vince, who was crib mates with the man, who ended up pulling Draco to his feet and pushing him, urging him to go on.

Vince wouldn't want that, he said as he pulled Draco along with him. Vince would want you to move on, he insisted when Draco started to falter again. Draco trusted Greg. Greg would know, Greg was Vince's almost brother.

September 29th, 1978
"We are no longer brothers." He mouthed that to me before I stunned him and dropped a cloak on him so no one else would see.

He was distracted. He could have died while saying those meaningless words to me. The only reason Severus stayed his wand was out of kinship for me. Sirius has given Severus enough reasons for wanting his death.

I do not wish him dead. Regardless of everything that has happened, everything that he believed in the thick of battle, he is still my brother.

"Harry Potter is dead!"

Draco felt instantly sick. Greg was the only one that kept him standing.

Draco clutched the journals to his chest.

Somehow the aurors have allowed him to take the books with him into the cell as he awaited his fate. Surely it wasn't standard protocol but Draco was too grateful for the windfall to question it. The auror who had taken him and his parents in seemed to have taken pity on him and had let slipped that Draco had four character witnesses on the defence for him.

Draco couldn't say that he was surprised when Hermione Granger stepped up to the plate and spoke for him but when Harry Potter, brand new hero of the hour, Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley all stood up as well, Draco suddenly found his eyelids too heavy to keep open.

He later blamed the tears that wet his cheeks on the bright spotlight that they had kept on him throughout the trial.

XxXxXx

There had always been one that was missing — the final journal in the collection. Draco had never been able to find it until now.

It had, it turned out, always been in his mother's possession. Draco supposed he now had an idea of how they had appeared in his room one fine day and then again in his school trunk after he first abandoned them.

His mother didn't say anything when she handed the last book to him but Draco took no offence. They were beyond words now — reassuring smiles and simple touches were all they needed.

XxXxXx

July 31st, 1979
He nearly killed Kreacher. If I hadn't ordered Kreacher to come back after his task was done... Loyal Kreacher who didn't mean anyone harm.

He left him to die! Hasn't he taken enough?!

I must find out what the Dark Lord did. This cannot be allowed to continue.

XxXxXx

Draco realised he'd already known what he had to do a long time ago, far before he'd even read the last entry. It was a long time coming — one that started since he was seven and his curiosity had led him to flip the pages at random.

Granger may have disappeared and sunk into obscurity after the war, but Slytherins were cunning and Malfoys were resourceful. It took no trouble for Draco to track her down to her doorstep and start pounding on her door, yelling and begging for her.

If there was anyone that could right this wrong, it was Granger. She was the most bleeding heart Gryffindor he knew and that was before he even touched on her terrifying sense of justice and relentless crusade for the downtrodden. It was the reason for her appearance in his trial so many moons ago and he pinned his hopes on appealing to that side of her again.

There must be something pathetically pitiful about his plea because when she opened the door with the most irritated look this side of Britain she didn't hex him and slam the door in his face like he had expected. Instead, she had opened the door wide for him and mumbled something about needing a stiff drink.

It must have meant something that he wasn't even surprised when she revealed that she had taken notice of the diaries in his possession during their school days. If it hadn't been for their mutual animosity, she might have even been an accomplice to the secrets of Regulus Black. She'd even shared with him the truth of the stolen locket. But most importantly, she was also as eager as Draco was for a different ending to all of their stories.

XxXxXx

September 1st, 1979
For so long, I was blind. I'm afraid I have to use Kreacher for one last time. For as long as I live, he will never be put into danger, not again.

Mother, Father, forgive me. I cannot be the son you wish me to be.

Sirius, my only brother, for all the things I said, for all the times I never stood by you, I am sorry. Maybe one day when we see each other again and you have forgiven me, we can go to the pond by the house and catch frogs like we used to.

A/N: I've been thinking about this one for a while now. The fragmented format is deliberate (read: experimental) but it's not exactly 100% where I want it to be. But I've spent enough time on this that I'd rather have it down and focus my attentions elsewhere than fiddle with this anymore.

As always, be kind to authors. Leave a review. Even a simple "I like it!" is enough to brighten an author's day.