
Mal nods his head, gives Draco a pat on the shoulder and hauls himself up. He holds out a hand to Draco, helping him up as well.
When they’re both on their feet, he looks into his friend’s sad silver-eyed gaze.
“As far as I see it. The way you talk, you’re already as good as dead,” Mal frowns. “Find her, Draco. Tell her what you just fucking told me. There are several scenarios.
The worst is she walks away and you’re right back here, where you started.
Another is that for one shining moment she’ll know how you feel. She might walk away, but she’ll know and you can live knowing you were man enough to tell her.
The last and best is that she’ll tell you she feels the same and even though you’re living in hell, you can have just a tiny piece of heaven.
In all this polyjuice mess, someone said that all she had to hear from Potter’s lips was, “Whatever we face, we can fight it together. That’s what would have made her stay. Granger’s a strong witch. I suspect she wants to protect you as much as you do her. To tell her no, that she’s incapable of helping you, is as much an insult as you calling her Mudblood.
I’ll leave you with this. There are others who already wear the Mark who’ve made the choice you’re telling me I should make. Talk to Snape. He’s one of them. You aren’t without choices, Draco.”
Mal leaves his friend standing in the corridor with his flask in hand. Mal hopes that even in his less than sober state, Draco heard his words and understood the meaning of what Malcolm had spoken from the heart.
He looks after his friend and lets his words sink in. Isn’t that what Granger told him before? To let her decide her fate? That she could handle anything? That she was strong enough? He was doing it again, taking the choice away from her. It wasn’t that he doubted her inability to take care of herself. It was more his inability to handle it if anything happened to her. It was selfish of him, he knew. But what could he do? He sighed and took another look swig of his drink. He hated his life.