A very Malfoy Christmas. 1. describe your character's bedroom in the form of a drabble.
/ requested by tea leaves | 1636671.
Christmas Day night, Malfoy Manor;
Draco L. Malfoy - age thirteen.
Holidays at the Malfoy Mansion were always something to look forward to for Draco, although he didn't really have too many friends his age (at least not ones that he could truly say were genuinely his friends because they wanted to be, more like, because their parents knew each other, and well, the children had no other choice but to mingle with each other as well), he did have many expensive gifts to keep him company. And when one had material things, who needed actual friends, really?
Once the festivities were over, Malfoy ascended the staircase towards his bedroom; pushing the door open and entering. Immediately, his eyes scanned the vastness of his room, watching as the shadows of the lit fireplace danced upon the slate gray walls, contorting in places where exposed stone peaked through. One would say his room was far too spacious for an only child, but Draco needed all the space that he could have. Besides, he enjoyed having a big room. He would never have to worry about running out of space or having to move anything out of it to make room for more.
He could have all that he wanted, and always have the space he needed to move around freely. Draco liked it this way. He couldn't imagine himself living in anything smaller.
"Lumos!" he uttered, waving his wand; he brought his room to complete brightness. The sconces on the walls flickered to life and the five-armed ornate chandelier that hung from the middle of his ceiling joined them - glass and pewter glittering against itself. His room itself was elegant in decor, it surely reflected his riches and the privileges of being a Malfoy. It was nice and tidy, everything seemed in perfect place - thanks to his house elves, of course.
Draco, himself, wasn't a very neat person, despite his appearances. Why, earlier this morning his room was a mess, socks thrown about, toys and others things left out of place. But, he wasn't one for manual labor. He would never dream of having to pick up after himself. That's what the elves were for. Someone of his caliber would never be caught lifting a finger to do such a thing as housework, not a single finger... except to check for dust of course...
Draco's thin index pressed to the top of his vanity, dragging it along its surface, before bringing it close to his face. Gray orbs gazed at his finger closely, narrowing his eyes to inspect and making sure that not a single speck of dirt would be seen atop the tip of his perfectly clean finger; for if he spotted some, he would have to let his father know of the incompetence and that house elf would have to be punished for doing a horrible job at cleaning. Some would call such a thing cruel, but was it really? That's what house elves were meant to do. They prided themselves in such work, didn't they? And so there was no room for mistakes. A house elf that made mistakes, was a useless house elf.
Draco rubbed his fingers together and perked a brow, "Hm." He frowned slightly, almost disappointed that there was nothing there for him to complain about. Not a speck of dust, nothing at all. Although he was glad to know that his room was spotless, it was much to his dismay that he wouldn't get to see someone else in trouble. The misfortune of others usually brought him joy, but perhaps some other time? For now, he had a ton of new and shiny gifts to play with and find joy with.
He sauntered towards the pile of opened gifts that had been transported to a corner of his room and he grabbed a small matte black box that was placed on top of the other gifts; he opened it and admired the silvery ring with an onyx stone that was inside, a smirk on his face. Parkinson had good taste. However, he wasn't surprised that she knew him so well. She was quite the observant one. There was never a gift from her that he disliked. Draco slipped the ring onto his right ring finger, before tossing the empty box aside and turning his attention back to the pile, grabbing the biggest box and carrying it with him towards his four-poster bed. Most of his gifts from his parents had been opened earlier, but there were others that came afterwards from family members and acquaintances, along with letters that he had to go through and read.
Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a chocolate frog, unwrapping it and stuffing it into his mouth.
It was going to be a long night, but he wasn't complaining.
And why would he? Spoiled with so many gifts that he'd have to be up all night if he was going to go through all of them.
Nobody can help me. 6. write out an angsty scene between your character and whoever requested this prompt.
/ requested by gingersnap | 1359100.
Hogwarts; overthrown and under the indirect control of Lord Voldemort.
"Malfoy... I know we've had our differences, but things have changed now. I can see what you're doing. I can see that you're trying to change. I've noticed it all. Why keep helping them then? Why not just fully switch sides and help me and Harry aga-"
"Help you and Potter? You must be delusional, Weasley." Draco interrupted, a sneer appearing upon his face. His gaze was cold and gray, his stance was stiff. He watched her as she stood before him, ever so brave. Wasn't she afraid that he'd rat her out for sneaking around the castle at night doing god knows what? That he'd get her another long torture session with the Carrow's? Draco couldn't even count the many times he had dragged her down to the dungeons for her punishments. Did she enjoy getting beaten for her disobedience? Why couldn't she just follow the rules? Why did she make him do this? Was the Weasley girl asking for death? She wouldn't be of much help to precious Potter or anyone else for that matter if she were dead. Did the stupid girl ever think of that?
Even now, she stood here speaking to him of such nonsensesthat could surely get her into a heap trouble. Trying to convince him to switch sides. Now, she wasn't wrong about the things that she had noticed, but how was she so sure that she was right? What made her think that Malfoy would be so quick to admit his own rule breaking? Previous scars that were still healing could be seen upon her visage, a bruise still lingered below her left eye. No, Draco Malfoy knew better than to choose their side. And he knew very well the dangerous game that he was playing whenever he'd look over certain things purposely. If he were to get caught or raise suspicion towards him, he would end up just like her, or even worse for betraying the Death Eaters, for betraying Lord Voldemort. He was one of them now, the mark that burned dark against the flesh of his inner left forearm was proof of that. There was no going back. No matter how many regrets he had. He had a facade to keep for self-preservation. If he wanted to live, Lord Voldemort's side was the right one to be in. Even if he no longer seemed to agree with what it stood for.
"Draco..." Ginny uttered.
Draco's brows furrowed, and he felt himself shiver for a moment. The heaviness in which she had said his name in made him falter for a second. Suddenly, his mouth had gone dry, and he found himself licking his lips. This had been the very first time that he had ever heard her speak his first name, and Draco was no longer sneering. Instead, he looked down at her, confusion flashing within his vision now. She was just a young girl, not much younger from his own age. They all were just young kids. Afraid and lost. Just doing what they all thought was best to do to survive. Draco was a proud Death Eater, once upon a time, but that was all before he knew the horrors that came along with the title. The terrors that came with serving someone like Voldemort. The fantasy had all dissolved away into nothingness,
Witnessing death could truly change a person's life forever, and before all of this, Draco had never suffered through such losses or witnessed such things. Seeing innocent people be murdered and tortured was definitely not something he was prepared for. The images of Dumbledore and Professor Burbage would never leave his mind. The chaos that he brought upon the school upon letting the Death Eaters in would always lay heavy upon his shoulders and bury him down into the ground below him. After living in such a fantasy world where everything was perfect, where his childish slurs and ignorance hurt nothing more than just feelings... knowing the weight of them now, and understanding the horrid consequences that could come from such hatred and bigotry truly shook him. He was disheveled, cracking under pressure, but he knew better. He couldn't let his family down; loyalty to his own tied him, and fear held him in its grip, suffocating him.
"... Please, let me help you. You can change, I know you can. I know you want to. I can see it... just..." Ginny couldn't tell what came over her then, but she reached for his hand and held it within her own.
Draco's confusion only seemed to increase. He tensed up and clenched his jaw, his eyes shifting between her pleading gaze and her hand in his. However, Draco didn't seem to pull away from her touch as quickly as he would've any other time. By now he would've spat his venom at her, called her out for the audacity of her even daring to touch him. She was dirty, she was poor. But no words seemed to form within his mind, no poison fell upon his tongue to lash out upon her. For a moment, for a single moment, he welcomed it. It felt warm, it felt safe; brave and courageous, nothing at all like he was - no, he was coward.
And then, just as quickly, he snapped out of it. His eyes searched wildly at their surroundings. What if someone had seen them?! What if someone had heard them?! How would it look if he were caught holding hands with the enemy? How could he defend himself against the words that accused him of helping her?! He couldn't... The Carrow's would begin to piece things together, and they'd know... they'd know... and they'd kill them both.
Once again, he sneered at her, snatching his hand away and swiftly gripping bruisingly at her upper arm. He gave her a shake and looked down at her with anger, brows knitted, stormy gray eyes as cold as ever. "Have you lost your bloody mind, Weasley?! You're pathetic." He spat in hopes of hurting her, and hopes of angering her enough to never have her come to him in such ways again. In hopes of erasing the thought away from her mind. "Hopeless. I will not join your side, and if you were any smart you'd realize that fighting back is just a waste of time. I swear, Weasley. You must love getting punished." Draco did something between a scoff and a snicker, as he began to drag her along with him, he needed to get rid of her, take her to the dungeons as punishment for her rebellion. He needed to do what he had to do. What he was assigned to do. Unless he wanted to get in trouble along with her.
"You're the one who's pathetic, Malfoy!" Ginny fought back, wiggling in his grip. "Fighting back would never be a waste of my time, even if I die trying! At least I wont be a bloody coward like you!"
Her kind demeanor had flipped over; her words hit him like daggers, pierced right through him. But, she didn't understand. She couldn't understand how things just weren't that easy. She had her loyalties to those that she loved, and he had his. Even if he did want to help her... even if he was helping in his own discreet and passive way; he could not just switch sides in one fell swoop. It would be reckless, it would be dangerous, and he surely was a coward, as she claimed him to be. Draco Malfoy was much too deep, and he knew that such recklessness could bring him death. Something that he was greatly afraid of. He wouldn't let his guard down, not around her. At least not in the way she wanted him to. He would never be on her side. He was one of them, and she needed to realize that.
Ginny eventually quieted down by the time they had reached the dungeons; the silence between them was deafening. Draco brought her to a cell and tossed her inside, and she turned in anger to scowl and glare at him through the rusted bars of the cell door - tears teetered at the edge of her eyes, her cheeks flushed red. Malfoy returned the gesture as he locked her in. He knew that if she had the chance, she'd punch him square in the face. She was holding herself back, but why? It was because of him that she was constantly being put through pain. Or... did she believe that his guilt was enough pain? Slow and growing... it would consume him. Did she see it in his eyes and believed that to be a much greater aching than any strike that her fist could make?
"I can't believe I actually thought I could help you." Ginny finally spoke through clenched teeth, breaking the silence between them. She stepped closer to the cell door.
Draco shook his head, shifting his eyes downwards for a moment, before looking back up and fixing his hard gaze upon her own. "Nobody can help me, not you, not anyone..." His words were uttered with a cold hopelessness in his tone and before she could say anything to him, Draco had turned and began to walk away.
Ginny's angry facial expression had softened again and her brows knitted. She frowned, watching as he turned his back to her, walking away, leaving her here as he had done time and time again. Ginny usually had something smart to yell back at him, but this time, she couldn't find the words to say. Not with the events that unfolded between the two tonight, not with the words that he had left her with. A cry for help that she couldn't seem to answer to - she knew that he'd reject her helping hand, although she knew very well that he needed it, wanted it... yet, Ginny knew that she couldn't save everyone, and at the moment, those who were on the side of good needed her help the most. Perhaps, eventually, she could reach him... maybe... but if she knew anything about him was that he was just as hardheaded and stubborn as she was. If she was being honest, she felt bad for Malfoy.
A sigh fell from her lips and that sudden sinking feeling in her stomach began to appear. She knew Draco would be telling the Carrow's that he had found her sneaking about. She knew they'd be here soon, jovial and excited to make her suffer once more. Her hand reached up to grip around one of the bars from the cell door, and she leaned her head against it... and then... the gate rattled... and pushed... and slipped open. Ginny's brows furrowed again, her lips parting a bit in surprise. She stepped back for a moment, unsure if she was really seeing what she was seeing. Ginny stepped forward again and gave the cell door a push, and it swung forward slightly.
But... how? Did Draco forget to lock her in... by accident... or on purpose?
This wouldn't be the first time he had "accidentally" helped her, although no one ever believed her whenever she would voice her suspicions about it. Would he even tell the Carrow's at all? Something told Ginny that he wasn't going to...
Ginny pushed open the cell door enough to slip out, and carefully she made her way out of the dungeons back to the mission in mind before she had bumped into Malfoy.
flowers grow back even after they are stepped on... ... so will i.
snapdragon -- favorite mythical creature?
My favorite mythical creature? Clearly, I adore unicorns. Isn't that just so obvious? -Perks a brow, smirks.- No. Being serious now, my favorite mythical creature is actually something even more obvious. I like dragons. I'd never want to meet one face to face in any given situation, but they're beautiful fearsome creatures. Also, it's what my name means.
carnation -- does true love exist?
Does it? I mean, I might not seem like the romantic type... but I've witnessed my mother and my father's relationship. He might also not seem like the romantic type, but my father truly loves my mother deeply. He'd do anything for her, for his family. Their love is true to me, therefore, yes... I believe it does exist with the right person. Someday, perhaps I'll find the right person to share a love as deep as my parents with.
(What do you think, Parkinson? Think it could be you? -Smirk.-)
narcissus -- your best physical feature?
Can I pick two? I'm picking two. I believe my best physical features are my eyes and my mouth/lips. Honestly, I'd say all of me, because, well... just look at me -Is full of himself.- But... I suppose I'll play fair this time around. Or whatever. -Dismissive hand wave.-
madame bones chose...
peony -- do you put more value in honour or truth?
Well... isn't this a tough question? To be a truthful person, you must be honourable, and to be honourable you must be truthful. I'd lie if I needed to, and sometimes depending on the situation my loyalties might change. I think you have to value both or none at all... but if I must pick, I suppose I would go with honour, at least in the sense of credit or distinction. I'd want to be an honour to my father and family name someday.
fxck off and die chose...
tulip -- lucky number?
Number six and twenty-two.
sunflower -- sun or moon?
Well, I do like to take long walks at night, in the quiet, just myself and my thoughts, so I'd have to go with the moon. Something about it seems mysterious, cold. The way it can affect the earth when it's too close, and how it can affect people and emotions. I guess you can say it fascinates me a bit. None of that astrology rubbish though. I'm also not too fond of sweating and I get easily sunburned if I stand too long in the summer sun, so there's that too.
gladiolus -- who do you look up to most?
I hold my father in very high regards for many reasons, and I look up to him for many reasons as well. The way he loves his family, the way he loves his wife. However, I would say that I truly look up to my mother the most. She is strong, she is brave, and I've learned so much from her as I grew up. She makes me feel protected, and would give the entire world to me if I asked for it. Her love for her family is fierce and her heart is warm, despite her public personality and outer appearances. I see her, I know her, and the day I have a family of my own, I can only hope to be as strong and caring and protecting of them as she was of me.
daffodil -- which colour suits you best?
Dark colours, but I specifically think forest green, black, deep grays; surprisingly, all white doesn't look too bad on me either. My go-to colour is usually black, however. It's the colour my wardrobe mostly consists of. It's sleek, it's simple, but elegant and everything matches with it.
(Sure I'm telling you nothing you don't know already, mother.)
credit to undesirable (666251) for the gif set and the inspiration.
I offered you my hand, my friendship so many years ago and you rejected it. I remember the sting, the bitterness, the anger that stirred within my chest that came with said rejection. I was appalled that you'd choose others so lowly over being friends with me, a Malfoy, a pureblood. You went making friends with the wrong sort, and became my rival, my enemy, the very thought of you existing, your presence, tormented me, upset me - the Golden Boy, oh-so-special Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. Everyone always vouched for you, praised you somehow in one way or another. You got away with nearly everything, even when you were sticking your nose into business that didn't concern you. Nosy and always caught up in trouble, yet... you always got what you wanted, didn't you? Because the people around you were so eager to gift you with rewards for your insolence.
It wasn't fair, and I hated you for it. The jealousy consumed me and I couldn't stop myself from competing, from making sure that I'd somehow be equal or above you in some way. Yet, I found myself falling behind. Always. Every time. No matter how hard I attempted to catch up, to surpass you, just when I believed myself to be so close to the goal, to stealing your horrid light and shining much brighter than you... I never could. You were always the hero, the special one, you and the stupid bloody scar upon your forehead.
It was all I could ever hear everyone talk about since I was a child.
"Hurrah, hurrah! Three cheers for Harry Potter! He saved us all. The world is at peace now because of him. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, gone! Gone for good! Remember the name, young one, someday, you'll have to thank him for the time you get to live in; the world you get to experience and grow up in."
My parents would sneer at such remarks, and would tell me to pay no attention to such nonsense.
Ah, but as I grew... as I grew... I craved for praise, for greatness, to be the pride of my family... and what greater pride would it be to have Harry Potter as my friend? On my side? No... what a foolish thought. My father would never accept it. It was because of you that his great Dark Lord was gone. It was because of you that the Wizarding World ran rampant with those of tainted blood, filthy, dirty, traitors...
Even the mere mention of your name brought my father annoyance, yet... I couldn't help myself from speaking it. I couldn't stop myself from constantly bringing you up in my conversations, my complaints, my jealous remarks when I wished to have him buy me something that you have already required before I.
Surely, father began to tire of constantly hearing your name fall from my lips. But, why couldn't I keep myself from speaking it? Why couldn't I ignore your existence? Pretend that you just weren't there at all. Why couldn't I be blind to your presence and deaf to your voice? I had done it before with so many others that I considered below me. They were ghosts to me, passing through the halls of Hogwarts. Yet, no matter how hard I would try to make you a specter to my vision, I failed and you were always there.
Solid, real, as loud as ever.
And I couldn't stop myself from addressing myself to you. In any way possible, I'd ridicule you, insult you, spit my venom and lash you with my silver tongue. I wanted to torment you, I wanted to make sure that you knew that I was always there, ready to pounce at your every move - eager to make you falter and fall, watching and waiting.
If I couldn't be your friend, then I would be a scourge in your life.
I hated you. I hated you with every single fiber of my existence. I hated you so very much that when I got the mark I was so proud of myself. So proud to be part of the army that was bent on destroying everything that you ever loved, everything that you ever believed in. Proud that I got to stand at the side of the very man that promised us all that he would end you, destroy you...
I was so sure that that was what I had wanted. It was all I've ever dreamed of come true. The great Harry Potter, reduced to nothing but dust.
But there was something different that stirred within me then. Things that confused me, that shook me, that consumed me and filled me with fear and anger. They filled me with a sick feeling at the pit of my stomach. And what would happen to me if they knew? If He knew...
If my thoughts were laid out for all to see... the passing glances full of rage, frustration... tension. The fight, the brush of our hands, of our lips... the secret moments that we shared with each other that only managed to fill me with even greater confusion, even greater frustration, and dare I say, shame...
If they all saw, if they all could feel the things that we felt... what would've happened then?
Oh... like any of it truly mattered.
We were both caught in a war, standing on either side; our backs to each other.
Death was lingering heavily over our heads, all of our heads.
Yet... you prevailed.
And I... failed. I failed in so many ways. I felt remorse and regret and guilt, heavy upon my shoulders. Dread and panic. Shame - a new form of it filled me, and hatred crawled and wormed itself right back into my cold heart... and again, I swore to myself that I hated you; convinced that you had ruined my life. Didn't you? No... I'd be dead without you. Even though I was so sure that you had surely killed me at some point -- SECTUMSEMPRA!
I should've died. I wanted to, although I feared the judgement that would face me on the other side. Worse than anything that I could ever face while living.
So many things happened between then and now, and so many things changed since between here and there; and I was sure that my love was stuck in a permanent winter and that my thoughts of you would forever be full of hatred, confusion, bitterness... frustration that I somehow, in some way, owed you my life. Our forever saviour, Harry James Potter.
I never wanted to see those emerald greens looking into mine ever again. I never wanted to see that bloody cursed scar, or feel your fingers interlocked with mine, or steal away kisses in the secrecy, concealed by the shadows that comforted us, that hid us away from the eyes that would never understand, that couldn't... that wouldn't... and could you blame them for it? Even we couldn't seem to fully wrap our minds around it...
I swore that whatever that was, whatever we had, was done and over with. That it would be kept lost and secret in those shadows from the past, within the walls of that castle; dead and buried like those that fell to the war. I never wanted to feel that way again, not towards you.
Yet.... our paths crossed unwillingly, unexpected... and we felt heavy, and we felt that electricity, the frustration, the confusion, the tension that sparked within our eyes when our gazes met.
Everything came rushing back, like a wave of strong water that toppled down the stone wall that kept it from flooding. It pulled me under, it drowned me...
And again, we were fighting, our hands were brushing, our lips were pressed, and your body crushed me beneath its heated weight and I welcomed it... over and over and over...
Now I find myself here, laying beside your sleeping form, wide awake, thinking, watching you sleep soundly. You seem peaceful, stirring here and there, and I wonder what you're dreaming about? I wonder if somehow, I steal away your nightmares... and if I could, I would... and I would make them all mine. I deserve it, don't I? The mark still taints my flesh, slightly faded now, far from the dark intensity that it held when I was first given it. I was one of them. So ready and so sure that I wanted to snuff you out.
And I still hate you, Potter. I hate you for filling me with these emotions. For giving me a second chance. For making me feel like I am deserving of love, deserving of you. I hate you because you are still better than me, you still continue to shine brighter than I, and I would never become that.
I will never love you. I can't ever love you. No, at least not out loud.
A soft sigh escaped Draco's lips as he reached a hand towards Harry's bare back, his finger softly traced that forbidden phrase across his flesh - the letters magically appearing against his skin; bright, yet fading steadily. Draco watched them as they slowly disappeared, like a whispered secret, a shrouded sentiment, burning bright and fading softly into Harry's soul.
Draco Malfoy never thought he'd have to face so many terrible hardships in his life. So young, yet so broken. A boy without a choice - a boy made to stand at the frontlines against his will. He wasn't prepared for the loss of so many people that he knew. So many people he looked up to. He wasn't prepared to feel the guilt and the pressure that pushed heavy upon his shoulders until it was burying him alive in the dirt beneath his feet. So many had died and he was at fault. Blood would forever stain his hands, and he found no way of ever washing them clean. It would always be his fault, this was how he'd always be remembered by. The boy who opened the flood gates - who gave the passageway for a war to start. The boy who killed millions... one of them a man known as Severus Snape. He was the head of Slytherin house when Malfoy first came to Hogwarts, and their Potions teacher. A man that Malfoy admired in so many ways. A role model and his favorite professor in the entire school. Draco would always remember the night that Snape stepped up for him when he couldn't find the courage (or the heart) to murder Albus Dumbledore. Snape had done the job for him; in turn protecting his innocence. In turn... losing his life for Malfoy; over the elder wand that he managed to get from Dumbledore after he had disarmed the wizard. It could've been him in Snape's place. Draco was supposed to takes Dumbledore's life... Draco was supposed to retrieve the elder wand...
"Don't you understand?! I have to do this! I have to kill you... or he's gonna kill me."
And I die as I wait as I wait on my crime...
Malfoy wasn't a killer, he was afraid, he was a coward (or so that's how he felt - that's what he knew he was deep down inside.) Snape sealed his fate with the Dark Lord that very night, because of him. He would always remember how Snape came to his rescue when Harry had used Sectumsepra in defense upon him. How he laid there blood spilling from everywhere on his body - crimson flooding around him. Draco was afraid of death, yet he welcomed it at the moment. He deserved it, didn't he? For everything he had done. For everything he had caused. For even trying to attack the one boy that could save them all. And he would've died, if it weren't for Snape - like a saviour, he was there to pull him back and away from the icy cold grip of death as it threatened to swallow him whole. Although Draco hoped for death on that night, he wished now that he could thank Snape for saving his life. He wished that he could thank Snape for giving away his life for him in the long run. He was a brave man... not a weak coward like Draco was.
I'm dying and I'm trying but believe me I'm fine...
Most importantly, Draco would always remember the very moment he received the news about Snape's death. The grief that blossomed within his chest. The sudden sinking feeling that made it hard to breathe. His face growing hot, and how hard he was chewing on his lip to keep himself from crying, to no avail. He was furious, upset, and distraught all at once. Especially because he felt guilty. He felt that he was part of the reason as to why so many people had died. Why Snape had lost his life. It should've been him, not Snape. It was all his fault, and Draco would always feel this way. He would always remember. How could he ever forget? He would always be reminded, every single time he'd look down at his forearm - the mark placed upon his flesh would always be there; staring back at him.
But I'm lying, I'm so very far from fine...
It had been a few years since, and Draco still felt the pang of guilt inside of his chest. Nightmares still plagued him, and voices filled his head; screaming, crying, begging. The things his eyes had witnessed, they would never wash away from his thoughts. They would torment him for the rest of his life, he was sure of it. He was haunted by their ghosts - swallowed down by grief. Yet he was a Malfoy, and had a way of being really good at pretending to have his wits all under control. Even if his guilt tore at his flesh from within.
I can feel the pull begin feel my conscience wearing thin and my skin it will start to break up and fall apart...
Draco knew very wellthat he couldn't change the past... the fact that he had let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts in the first place. Something that he would forever regret till his dying breath. He was pathetic, that he knew; a boy who thought he could be a dragon, yet could not use his claws. Yet, beyond his sorrow, Draco Malfoy did attempt to focus on the lessons that he had learned from his mistakes. Most importantly, the lesson that he had learned from Severus Snape. A final lesson, that came along with the teacher's death. That although others perceive you as someone evil and only seem to notice your faults, there was always room for redemption. There was always room for some good, within.
A bittersweet realization. A lesson learned too late. Was he worthy of forgiveness? His past was written in stone, but his future was a new path that he could pave for the better - couldn't he? Somehow, none of that seemed possible at all. How could anyone show him mercy after all the things he had done? Draco couldn't even bestow himself with such charity.
Take aim to obtain a new name and a newer place but my name is lame I can't walk and I ain't the same...
"Thank you for everything... I'm so sorry..." He whispered under his breath; words slurred as they fell from his lips. His hand reached for his glass and he downed his millionth shot of Firewhiskey - the vicious liquid burned down his throat, as if Draco hoped to set aflame the darkness in his soul, to cleanse him from his sins and turn them to ashes.
There was no hope for the wicked; he had fallen from grace, and redemption would not save him from the condemnation that he deserved. It was too late for him. He surely couldn't be saved then, and he surely couldn't be saved now.
My crime is my sentence repentance is taking commission it's taking a toll on my soul...
It had been three weeks since the last time he had seen Potter, and so much had changed for Malfoy. Who knew that within three weeks so many horrible things could happen to a person? Albeit, they were three weeks that consisted of all the things that had been brewing since the end of the war coming back around and giving him the torment that he very well deserved, but it was still, oh so quick. So quick that Draco couldn't hold on - even if he wanted to, even if he tried. Life had stepped a foot upon his fingers and crushed them beneath its boots until he couldn't bear the pain any longer and he let go of the edge, allowing himself to fall backwards into the never ending darkness that consumed him entirely. Very much like the nightmares that still plagued him. There was no escaping the things he had done. No escaping anything. There was no one he could talk to, no one he could confess his torments to, and so they were bottled up within him. Swallowed down and left to fester at the pit of his stomach. But, this is what he deserved. To hit rock bottom the way he had hit it. To have the entire wizarding world turn their backs upon him in his time of need. Not that he'd ever ask for help - no, Draco was much too arrogant for such a thing. Just because they were correct in their assumptions that he was weak and needed help, didn't mean Draco was eager to let them know that it was more than just that, assumptions and rumours.
He was lucky that Astoria was kind enough to keep his turmoil a secret. She had been the only one that he had been open to. The only one that knew of his dark thoughts and his pain, but he pushed her away. For a second, Draco believed that perhaps with her, he could start over. Astoria was different from the people that he usually surrounded himself with. She was kindhearted, accepting, and didn't care much about such trivial things as blood purity, money and family hierarchies. Draco wondered if with her, he'd be able to change. He'd be able to heal. In the seconds when the storm within his mind would calm, Astoria seemed like this beacon of hope that made him believe that it was possible that maybe... maybe things could change for the better. That he'd make it out of that dark hole alive.
"People make mistakes, Draco, but people can change..."
She would tell him, and he almost believed that.
Yet, Draco's mind betrayed him. The thoughts within his head always whispered, always told him that that they were always judging him, even when they said they weren't. That dark cloud would always and forever linger above his head, the mark upon his flesh will never fade; it would be there for the rest of his life, reminding him of all the horrible choices that he had made. They were more than just mistakes. The explanation wasn't as simple. People died over these so-called mistakes of his. Innocent people. He would never be forgiven.
Following the Dark Lord wasn't a mistake - it was a choice... and now he had to live with the horrible consequences that that choice brought upon everyone, his family, and himself.
Astoria was never going to understand that.
"I'm using you, stupid girl..." His words slurred, fire whiskey on his breath. "I'm using you to make myself feel better..." He was half-asleep, crashed on her couch when the words had stumbled from his lips.
"This isn't working out, Draco. You need help. Healing. I can't keep you here anymore." Came her words the next morning.
People make mistakes. People can change.
But, no. Not Draco. He can't ever change.
Or could he?
Living in the muggle world, working in the muggle world. Even sitting here, in the park, surrounded by muggles.
Sitting... beside the great Harry Potter; having a conversation that wasn't as entirely hostile as they used to be. That could count as something, couldn't it? Draco couldn't tell anymore. This was all so new to him, and his emotions were sucking him into this chaotic vortex that he couldn't seen to get himself out of.
Harry spoke, and Draco's entire body felt cold. He was c*cky, smug, and confident, but he couldn't control the way that Harry's voice caused his body to feel. He hadn't heard it for a while - not since the trials, not since he spoke in favor of the Malfoy family, despite everything that had transpired. Draco wished that he could muster up the courage to thank Potter, but the words never seemed to conjure up and leave his lips. They just lingered within his brain, repeating over and over again until they were all he could hear screaming loudly inside of his head.
Draco was afraid of opening his mouth to respond. Afraid that his thoughts would finally push through his mouth. He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw, turning his head to look off to the distance, at nothing in particular. His eyes narrowed and his brows knitted in frustration. Maybe it was best if he just got up and walked away? But, why should he? He was here before Potter... and how would it look if he did such a thing? Draco didn't know how much Harry might've known about the things that had been happening to him - the sh*te luck that he had been struck with. Was he being honest when he said that he wasn't stalking him? For all he knew, that's what he was here for - to pry... to judge... perhaps mock him? Malfoy stayed silent as Harry continued to speak, shifting stormy grey orbs to eye Potter from the corner of his eyes. He sounded like Astoria. Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes, yet he had to admit that Harry wasn't all wrong. The muggles weren't all that awful, yet he wasn't exactly ready to admit such a thing out loud. He was still learning to adjust.
"Of course. I should've known better. You've been rolling around with them since childhood." He responded with a sneer upon his face. Draco's eyes focused then, on a little girl running far too quickly in her sandals; she was sure to tumble and meet the pavement with her knees any time soon, yet oddly enough the thought didn't amuse him or bring any joy to his heart as it usually would've when he was much younger, when he was stupidly following what everyone else told him was the right thing to do or say or feel... when the thought of making others suffer was what made him smile... when being the horrid one was the cool thing to be. Draco almost felt the urge to make her stop running, to save her from the incoming pain that she was inevitably going to face - and then... she tumbled forward, yet... she never hit the ground.
Something had stopped her from falling. Someone. Harry, of course. Malfoy starred at the girl, almost as stunned as she was about the entire thing, and then he quickly regained his composure; hoping that Potter had been too busy saving the muggle child to notice the worry written upon his face. Draco watched as the little girl shrugged off the strange luck and her mum rushed towards her to fix her sandal. Stupid. Draco thought to himself. Should keep her sandal strapped in better. Stupid muggle parents.
"No." Malfoy responded almost bitterly, finally shifting his gaze to meet with Harry's once again. "None of us really do." His tone suddenly seemed pointed, "Especially not me. Sorry to disappoint, Potter." Draco spoke, his lips curled into that infamous sneer of his. Then Harry asked about his mother. Narcissa. How was... Narcissa? Malfoy felt himself sink almost immediately. His gaze kept himself focused upon Harry's green hues - attempting to find some sort of solace within them, something that would keep him from breaking down into tears right then and there. But, Draco couldn't. Even if he wanted to. It felt as if he had already cried all the tears that could ever exist inside of his body. They didn't exist. His eyes didn't swell up with them anymore, all that was left behind was that sinking feeling. The feeling of constant drowning - of being unable to breathe or move or speak. All that was left behind was numb, bitter and cold.
"She's fine." The words left his lips almost automatically - robotically, as if he had rehearsed them over and over again. Did Harry know that she wasn't? That she had decided to leave this world behind and join her husband in the next? Could Harry read Draco's mind at the moment, could he tell from his gaze that he was lying? That his heart was aching? And that he too had considered several times in ending it all? How Draco wished over and over again that he would've died that night in the boys bathroom, or during the fire in the Room of Requirement. Harry had almost killed him, yet chose to save him... twice, but why? Why would he? Surely those fleeting moments of confused feelings and equally confusing actions meant nothing. Malfoy was sure to make it obvious to Potter that they meant nothing. He made sure to do everything in his power to make Harry hate him - so why?
Draco's mouth had suddenly gone dry and he licked his lips; gulping down the knot that had formed itself at the bottom of his throat. "She's... fine." He repeated, finally lowering his gaze. "Better then the rest of us. Dead." The words left his lips in an uttered whisper, almost as if they were a forbidden incantation. Draco hadn't really spoken to many about his mother's death or how it happened - not even Astoria, who knew the most, but never dared to speak of his mother. Draco didn't even like talking about it at all. If he spoke about it, then it made it true... and if he didn't, well... he could pretend for a little while that it was just all in his head. That he had cracked and gone insane, and his mind was making up horrible thoughts. Scenarios that didn't exist, just his fears eating at him. Or at least, that was his logic.
"But, how couldn't have you heard about the great fall of the Malfoy's, Potter, hm? Everyone knew. Everyone had something to say." Draco stood upon his feet now, head held high and posture straight - he wouldn't seem weak, he couldn't. "So what is it, Potter? That's what you're here for isn't it? To mock me? Draco Malfoy, the one who belittled you constantly about being an orphan - finally, left without parents. Without anyone at all. Alone and treated like dirt." He scoffed, "Finally getting what he deserves, right, Potter? What I deserve." Draco paused momentarily. He was so bitter, so filled with anger and darkness; his hands would never be clean of the blood upon them. "So, tell me Potter - what's your judgement? Let me have it. Tell me how much I deserve it - all of it." Grey hues met green ones; so full of hatred... for everything, for himself.
Draco was a broken and empty shell - there was no doubt of that. No matter how much he pretended that he wasn't. No matter the facade that he attempted to put up.
They say that a mother is god in a child's eyes; and that was exactly what Narcissa Malfoy was to Draco. He could have not asked for anyone better to be his mother. She was loving, kind and warm. His biggest critic, yet, his strongest supporter. Her love was different than his father's was. Lucius was cold and stoic - Malfoy feared him, and that's what kept him in place. Narcissa was a completely opposite sort of vibe - he kept in place for her because he wanted to make her proud of him. He feared being a disappointment in his father's eyes, but he was terrified of ever letting his mother down. She wouldn't deserve it. No, his mother deserved the best, and although she didn't ask much of him, he wanted to give that to her. He wanted to show her that he could indeed be the best son - it was the least that he could do for a perfect mother like she. He would soon rather stop existing than to bring Narcissa grief.
Although, many would probably disagree with him if he were to describe his mother as such a caring woman. Her public persona was very different - haughty and cold, unafraid of being cruel to those she deemed below she and her family. An ice queen who spit venom from her tongue; where else did you think Malfoy learned how to be the way that he was? She was a Malfoy through and through, but, Draco knew his mother's softer side. A side that not many got to experience. She was judged and hated for how she outwardly presented herself as, and it was always assumed that poor little Draco had no parental love from either side. That he grew up lonely and cold, with bitter parents. Yet, they were all wrong. So very, very wrong.
Narcissa was a selfless woman for her family, especially for her son. She was his guiding hand, his shoulder to cry on. She spoiled him to no end, but not to fill any sort of void, but because she wanted to give him everything he ever asked for, because she could. He was her prince. Her little dragon. Her only son. Her pride and joy. She would do anything for him. Anything to keep him safe, anything to protect him. Even if it meant putting herself in the way of danger. Even if it meant giving away her life for his.
Narcissa Malfoy was an exceptional mother, and Draco wasn't ashamed to say that he indeed was a mummy's boy. Why would he be? He took pride in being her son. Honestly, the others only made fun of him for it because most likely they were just jealous that their mothers weren't at the same level as his own. Jealous that they couldn't have her as their mother instead. It was completely understandable behaviour. He'd be jealous too if he were someone else. Who wouldn't wish to have a mother like his own? Beautiful and powerful. Her love for her son was great and infinite. Every decision, every sacrifice his mother had ever made had been to benefit him - and Draco appreciated that so very much. He loved her so much, and the thought of ever losing her, scared him.
What would he do without his precious mother? Who would be there for him then? He would truly be lost without her.
(AU where Tonks and Draco aren't separated by family and get to actually spend time together. Sixteen year old Tonks is left to babysit a nine year old bratty Draco Malfoy.)
Why did his parents have to go out tonight to some holiday party? And why couldn't he go with them? It wasn't fair. He didn't want to stay behind being baby sat. By Nymphadora, no less. She was always tormenting him in some way (although... maybe she was kind of fun... sometimes.) Why couldn't he just be left alone, really? He was nine. He didn't need anyone to babysit him. He was no baby. He could take very good care of himself. Nonetheless, that was clearly not an option, and eventually, his parents were walking out the door and that familiar head of bubblegum pink hair came walking in through the door. She waved his parents goodbye and turned to flash him a kind smile. Draco (who was currently standing on the staircase) glared at her and greeted her with a sneer. Tonks was used to this bratty behavior by now, and simply gave her eyes a small and playful roll, followed by a shake of her head. Baby sitting him was always a challenge, but Tonks always managed to find a way to entertain him, even when he was being too stubborn to let her do so. It wasn't easy, but she was Nymphadora Tonks, and she enjoyed the challenge.
"Nice seeing you too, baby cousin!" She said, as if completely ignoring his attitude. She approached him and ruffled his platinum blonde hair, which wasn't slicked back as it usually was whenever he'd be seen in public; on the contrary, it was allowed to be free and fall as it naturally did a little above his ears and some against his forehead. Draco sneered at her and slapped her hand away, running his fingers through his hair and pushing it back, only to have some of it fall forward again, to his frustration.
"I am not a baby." He snapped, "And I've told you not to do that!" He continued, pertaining to the fact that she had just ruffled his hair, despite him always complaining about it whenever she did so.
Again, Tonks simply rolled her eyes, a smirk playing upon her face. "You're adorable."
Draco blushed lightly, but his attitude never faltered. He was a stubborn little brat.
"Now, if you're done complaining... I've got something for you!" Tonks smiled, "C'mon!" She said, walking away from him and disappearing into the living room. Draco watched as she walked off. His brow raised in curiosity. She had something for him? What was it? Was she playing a trick on him because he was mean to her? He stood there on the stairs for a little while, before Tonks' head poked out from the living room. "Well, are you coming or not?" She asked, a huge grin upon her face. Again, she disappeared from his view.
Draco followed this time.
When he entered the living room, she was digging into her back pack and pulling out two books, followed by two small boxes of something that he couldn't really see from where he stood.
Tonks waved him over and Draco listened.
"Do you like coloring books?" She asked, once he was standing beside her. Draco looked down at the floor. Now he could see what she was up to. Two boxes of crayons and two coloring books were waiting for them upon the floor. Draco didn't answer her immediately, instead, he stared down at the books, before turning to her and raising a brow. "Is this it? Is this what you've gotten me?"
"Yes... now try to not be too excited, Draco." Tonks responded with sarcasm in her tone, before grabbing his hand and pulling him down to sit on the floor beside her.
Draco didn't hesitate or fight back, instead he followed and sat upon the floor, turning to look at the coloring books again. He had one of those once, he was sure he colored in it once in a while, but then he got better toys and much more interesting things to play with; he was almost sure that the coloring book probably ended up somewhere in the back of his closet - as everything else that he had abandoned and replaced with better things.
"I had one before. It got boring." He answered his cousin's previous question.
"Well! Coloring will be fun with me!" Tonks responded with a smile. She nudged him playfully and turned to lay on her tummy. "C'mon, let's start! Tell ya what, if you color better than me, I'll give you a chocolate frog."
"How about you no longer call me a baby and ruffle my hair?" Draco said.
Tonks rose her brows and smirked, nodding her head firmly. "Deal, baby cousin." She reached over to ruffle his hair once again and Draco shot her a glare. "Hey, I can still do it until you beat me." She said; a sly grin upon her face.
Draco gave her a side glance before he turned to lay on his stomach as well, reaching for his coloring book and flipping through the pages to find a picture that he'd want to colour. Tonks watched him for a second and smiled, before she reached for her book to do the same.
It seemed as if oddly enough, they had both settled on a picture having to do with elephants. They weren't the same, however; Tonks had three elephants in hers, they were playing in water, spraying it out of their trunks at each other. His only had one elephant, and it was balancing on a big striped ball and holding a balloon with its trunk. He wondered if she had copied him or it was by pure coincidence that they had both decided to choose elephants. Maybe the two were more alike than he thought.
Of course, Tonks hadn't copied him at all. It was, in fact, pure coincidence that that picture of the elephants in the water had called to her. She figured that maybe Draco was thinking she had done it on purpose, but she chuckled at the thought and didn't bother to tell him otherwise. Draco glanced over at her for a moment, perking a brow at her chuckling, before turning to look at his box of crayons and picking the first color he'd be using on his elephant.
Grey; elephants were always grey.
Tonks, on the other hand, believed otherwise, and the first color she had chosen from her box of crayons was purple. She brought it down upon the paper and began to give the elephant to the left purple colored spots. Draco stopped coloring his elephant and stared down at her drawing. She seemed too concentrated in what she was doing, to even notice that he had been watching. Tonks put down her purple crayon and grabbed a bright green one next, coloring the purple-spotted elephant green.
She was doing a horrible job at it too; coming out of all of the lines.
Draco furrowed his brows. "You're not even trying to win."
"What are you talking about?" Tonks ceased coloring and turned to look at him. "You don't think my elephant looks better than yours?" She smiled down at the picture, proudly.
"No. You're not even coloring inside of the lines! And last time I checked, elephants aren't green and purple-spotted." He responded, matter-of-factly.
"Are you sure?" She asked with a perked brow.
And then a purple-spotted green trunk appeared where her nose used to be upon her face. "Really? 'Cause this says otherwise." Tonks pointed at her new nose. She made an elephant sound in attempts to make her little cousin laugh, but he sat there, straight faced and staring at her as if she were dumb.
"Because you've made it that way. It doesn't count." He responded.
Tonks rolled her eyes, "Jeez, you're no fun. You're a kid, you should really learn to laugh at nonsense sometime." She responded, her nose going back to normal. She was going to make her baby cousin laugh by the end of this. Or at least giggle. She was determined. Tonks knew that he was raised differently than how she was raised, but there was no need for a nine year old to be as serious as he was.
"I can be fun. I'm just pointing out that you've clearly lost the deal. Mine is so much better." Draco answered with a c*cky smirk upon his face.
Tonks rose a brow. "Hmm. Is that so? Well, you haven't even finished coloring it, so that barely counts yet." She mocked his little c*cky drawl with a teasing smirk upon her face.
Draco looked at her in annoyance and sneered. "Fine then. Let's finish. Even though I'm pretty sure I'm still going to win."
Tonks didn't answer him then, and just watched him go back to coloring his elephant. "Not likely..." She mumbled under her breath and smiled mischievously to herself, uttering a few words and pointing her wand at him. If he was going to be mean about her coloring skills, then she might as well mess up his. It was only fair, right? Of course it was! At least, she thought so.
"Ah! I went outside of the lines!" Draco complained - every time he put the grey crayon down onto the paper, his hand went wild and gave him the coloring skills of a three year old. He couldn't go back to drawing neatly no matter how hard he tried. "What did you do to me?!" He yelled at Tonks and she simply giggled, then shrugged her shoulders. "I've no idea what you're talking about, baby cousin." She played innocent, but Draco wasn't stupid. "You're cheating! That's not fair!"
With that said, he was reaching over for a red crayon and taking it to Tonks' coloring book. If she was going to ruin his picture and cheat, then he was going to mess hers up too.
Tonks gasped. "Draco! My picture! You little prat!" She yelled back, grabbing a dark blue crayon and further ruining his picture.
Next thing they knew, the two were grabbing at random crayons and attacking each others coloring books. Tonks attempted to keep hers away from him and Draco attempted to rip his away from hers several times, but neither of them did a very good job at saving the coloring books from the crayon assault.
Soon magic was involved and the two coloring books took flight, along with the crayons that continued to assault them; until there was coloring book pages flying all over the place and crayons broken in two laying all over the floor.
And so did Draco.
He hadn't even noticed that he had began to do so. He was having fun.
They were having fun.
"Fine! Fine. You win then!" Tonks exclaimed after battling him for so long. She waved her wand, causing the crayons and the coloring books to come falling to the floor. She was winded, and so was Draco. Their faces flushed red from laughing so hard.
She smiled at Draco, who flashed her a smug grin.
"Only because your parents would kill us if they came back to a mess." It was true, but Tonks was mostly lying. She didn't really care about any sort of deal or anything of the sort. She felt accomplished enough that she managed to make Draco laugh and have fun; like the kid that he was.
"So, I guess I can no longer call you baby cousin and ruffle your hair." Tonks pouted a bit.
Draco thought about it for a few seconds, frowning. He thought about what he was about to say first, and made sure that he actually meant what was about to come out of his mouth. He sighed, once he had made up his mind. "I guess.... you can still call me baby cousin... but you are not allowed to touch my hair."
Tonks smiled wide. "Really?! Okay, okay. I promise. I wont touch the hair. Cross my heart." She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close to her side, placing her free hand against her hip. She smiled down at him and he looked up at her with furrowed brows. He was no longer laughing now, and that familiar sneer of his was painted upon his face again. "Still adorable." Tonks chuckled. Draco scrunched his nose up at her.
"Told ya coloring would be fun with me." She said, waving her wand and picking up the mess that they had created.
Many seemed to rejoice after the war. Celebrations were made, of course, after all the mourning had passed for those who gave their lives away to save everyone else. Draco used the word passed rather loosely, because in all honesty, it was quite obvious that the cloud had not passed yet. It was still looming above the Wizarding World, large and grey and gloomy. It still hung above the head of many of the others that survived their loved ones. Survivor's guilt, Draco could only assume. Survivor's guilt; something he could silently truly relate to. The cloud lingered heavy above his own head, no matter the time that had passed, and it seemed to have swallowed his entire family name and topple them all down from their thrones. Aching thoughts ate at his brain at every waking moment. Why had he lived? Why hadn't he died along with the others? He surely deserved it, didn't he? So many innocent lives lost, yet here he was. As guilty as he ever was, with the horrors of serving The Dark Lord replaying in his nightmares every night he found some sleep, or at least attempted to.
The events of that night would haunt him forever, and the Death Eater's mark upon his forearm would always be there to remind him of the things that he had witnessed, the things that he was forced to do. No one knew the story. No one understood the truth. No one would care, honestly. Not even Harry Potter stepping forth and asking that they be pardoned for their crimes would fully change the situation. His father was still trialed and sent to Azkaban, but luckily his mother and himself were saved from the punishments. Not all, however. The Malfoys wealth at Gringotts was frozen and locked away as a light punishment for their war crimes. They had to be punished somehow, didn't they?
Rumours flew around immediately that they were penniless, and that Narcissa had gone into a deep depression after her husband's execution. They were so close to losing the Malfoy Mansion, so close to losing it all entirely. His family was going down and faster than he had ever thought they would. Yet, to his confusion, he and his mother had received an invite to a very important event; the Ministry Gala. Draco thought that the invitation was simply some way to make them a public joke and humiliate them, but the fact that he had been hiding away in his home with his mother for so very long now, really made him want to attend. As well as his prideful nature, of course. This was the sort of event that he had always dreamed of attending someday, and here it was in his hand. How would it look if he denied going?
And so, here he was. Alone, however. Narcissa had refused to attend and Draco didn't press the issue on. His clothes wasn't as extravagant as they usually were. He couldn't really afford what he used to have anymore. They weren't exactly poor yet, his mother had some money left hidden away in the mansion, but it was all he could find. It was still rather posh, of course. It was Draco Malfoy, even if he was covered in mud, it had to still appear to be high class and ornate. Yet, honestly, he didn't wish to call that much attention to himself tonight. Although, he knew he'd get it nonetheless. Although he stood up straight and kept his usual arrogance, anyone who would truly look at him would notice the shadow underneath his eyes and the paler than usual look to his skin. He was literally being eaten alive by his own thoughts, behind the smug mask that he hid behind of. There was a glass of champagne within his grip, in which he took gulps of every few seconds, this was the fourth one he had this night and his head was beginning to feel the effects.
He was alone for the most part, but eventually was surrounded by a few people approaching him for conversation. Conversation that he wished didn't come his way; it was all so prying. Questions about his father, about the rumours, where they true? How was Narcissa? How was he? Draco attempted his best to answer the questions as vaguely as he possibly could, but was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable with the situation. Perhaps he should've just simply stayed home and hidden away? That's when his head had turned to the left, and that's when his cold grey eyes made contact with the ever so green ones that had become so familiar to him now.
His breath hitched within his chest and his mouth hung slightly ajar. His stomach churned and his heart sped up within his ribcage. Draco licked his suddenly dry lips and gulped down the huge knot that had formed itself within the bottom of his throat. Harry Potter was here. How long had he been here? Had he seen him before this moment? Would he attempt to come speak to him? The people around him continued to speak, but their voices sounded distant to him now. A plethora of memories, both good and bad, and a million confusing emotions all hit him like a tidal wave. His eyes wandered along Potter's body, noticing the wardrobe that he was currently wearing. It was rather flashy, not exactly how he'd ever imagine Potter. It was more of his style. Not to mention, it looked utterly ridiculous on him. Far too big, and that messy hair of his. Immediately, a sneer appeared upon Draco's lips and he snapped himself out of his daze, turning to the people speaking to him and giving them a quick, "Excuse me," before storming off and out of the ceremony. He couldn't stay here any longer. The thought of Harry being there with him shook him. It had been a year since he had seen him. Draco wasn't ready to face him.
Things only seemed to get worse that night for Draco Malfoy. Upon arriving home, he had discovered his mother's lifeless body, cold and pale, sitting upon his father's favorite arm chair, by the warmth of the fireplace. A small and empty vile of arsenic was found upon her lap and a glass of red wine was chattered upon the wooden floor beside her. Hot tears swelled up within Draco's eyes and he cradled his mother's limp body within his arms. He cried and screamed in anger and in pain. He was alone now. All alone. And so the darkness in his heart grew, and Draco retreated back into his bitter and hateful shell.
Three weeks later, Draco found himself in the most unlikely of places; a park in muggle London, full of sweaty and disgusting bumbling muggles walking around and complaining about the immense heat of the sun beaming down upon them, something that Draco had not to worry about at all. Being able to cast a magical cooling spell was one of the many perks of being a wizard. The poor fools would melt, but Draco Malfoy would remain untouched by sweat and as perfect as he ever was. Annoying little muggle children laughing and playing around with their water guns while their stupid parents chased after them in attempts to keep them by their side passed by him. The sight was actually not that annoying to Draco, despite the thoughts that ran through his head about them all, but he couldn't be blamed. They were stupid. He was sure that other wizards would agree. But, you see, a lot had changed in the last couple of weeks for the young man.
His mother's death had definitely cemented the end of the Malfoy empire, the Malfoy Mansion was put up for sale and all of his expensive belongings were sold. Even the ones that he held an emotional tie to. His first Nimbus, the stuffed bear that Narcissa had gifted him with on his first birthday, one that he had forgotten about away in his closet and buried within a mountain of other forgotten toys. All of it, sold to the crowd of soulless bidders. None of them feeling a single speck of sympathy for Draco Malfoy. However, it came to no surprise to him at all. Many people disliked the Malfoys, only showing respect and being cordial because they were who they were. Important, well-known. Something that didn't exactly play well when the war happened and they were aligned with the Dark Lord. The Malfoys fell, and many took pleasure in it. Many took this as a time to exact some sort of revenge. And with Draco being the last of the bunch, he took the majority of that.
He stayed with Astoria for a small while and dated her as he attempted to pick himself up from the ground, but things with her didn't exactly work out. It was difficult for someone who was accused of war crimes and had the obvious Death Eater mark upon his forearm to get hired anywhere within the Wizarding World. He was finally getting the attention that Potter was getting. The attention he always wished was his, but nowhere near as good as Potter. Negative attention wasn't better than no attention, he'd honestly rather the latter. There were horrid rumours going around about him, things like people sleeping with him for money. Definite lies, Draco was much too prideful for that. And although Astoria was giving him her helping hand, it just wasn't enough. Things became rocky between the two, with the fact that he had made it a habit to come home late with fire whiskey on his breath. The relationship ended before it could truly ever begin. After that, much to Draco's dismay, he truly had no choice whatsoever than to move himself to the muggle world. Here, they knew nothing of magic, they knew nothing of the Dark Lord, or Death Eaters. It was either this or he'd starve and die in the cold streets of Diagon Alley, a beggar, nonetheless.
It was difficult for him to blend in with the rest of them and not use magic for everything, but he had managed to get himself a muggle job as a bartender in a nightclub in London. Draco Malfoy, serving muggles. What a thought! It was his day off this summer day, and although his mind was clouded with his troubles and he was still attempting to get used to living in this whole new environment, he felt somewhat peaceful and relaxed for once. That was until a familiar voice had caught his attention. Draco didn't turn his head immediately, however. He just listened with furrowed brows and a scoff at the other's words. Draco still didn't dare to turn his head, afraid that he'd feel exactly how he felt that night at the awards ceremony. Afraid that he wouldn't be able to control his impulses. Harry Potter had been the first contact he had made with any sort of link to the Wizarding World in the past two weeks.
He wondered if Potter had even heard of all the gossip, and mentally hoped that he wouldn't pry. Honestly, Draco didn't wish to discuss it with anybody. He didn't want to talk about his miserable life after the war, and he didn't wish to speak about the night of said war. It was one of the main reasons why he had been afraid of facing Harry all this time. Yet, here he was, sitting beside him. Draco couldn't run away from him now. "Well, if it isn't Harry Potter, Boy Wonder...." Came his usual c*cky drawl, finally picking up the courage to turn his neck to gaze at Harry. Immediately, he felt the pang of confusing emotions hit his chest, the guilt, the fear. His gaze faltered for a moment and fell away to towards Harry's chest, but he took in a quick breath and held his head high in that smug way of his, managing to control himself rather well this time around. His mean demeanor and silver-tongued words would keep him from faltering, as they always did. "Almost feels like you've chosen to stalk me." He continued, raising a brow, a small sneer curling at his top lip. "And just like that, my day is ruined. Congratulate yourself on a newly achieved level of annoyance, Potter. I'm in a park, in muggle London, surrounded by idiotic muggles, but you are the thing that manages to ruin the day." A smug chuckle escaped his lips, followed by his infamous smirk.
It was something Draco Malfoy had grown-up hearing, learning, believing in. His blood was perfection. His blood was pure and untouched of any disgusting mixtures that would deem his blood garbage. Draco Malfoy was a pureblood through and through, and those that were tainted were below him. That's what mother and father always said. Those who mixed blood were nothing but trash. Their children, a disgusting mistake. Draco Malfoy was raised to be cruel and stick his nose in the air at those who believed otherwise. Even if they were family. But was that right? Was it the right thing to do? To sever every tie you have with blood -- ruined or not? Somewhere within the darkest corners of Draco's mind, the questions resonated there. A sense of moral, that no one would ever think Draco Malfoy had inside that head of his. Something that he would never admit to having himself, not out loud at least. Draco knew very well about his aunt, Andromeda Tonks - the blood-traitor, as he had heard his dear mother and father address to her several times. The one who ran away and married herself to that muggle-born wizard, Edward Tonks. Disgusting, disgraceful! A shameful thing to do to your family. Something Draco would never do himself.
Yet, that was far from the damage they had caused. The two had decided to have a child. A half-blood little thing they called Nymphadora. Draco didn't hear much about her, if he was being honest, (unless she was being used as 'the bad example') yet it was already ingrained inside of his head that he must automatically hate this girl. His cousin. A half-blood cousin. Mixed blood. A black sheep. How ridiculous! And with such a name, "Nymphadora..." He said mockingly to himself. Scoffing and rolling his eyes. However, despite the mockery, he found himself sitting by the edge of his bed and speaking in a much lower voice now, as if he were afraid that the walls would hear him speak. "My cousin..." Malfoy sighed in subtle exasperation, running his fingers through his platinum blonde hair. His room was quiet, as it always was. So very quiet. So void of life. He was used to it by now, honestly. He didn't really have as many friends as he did back at Hogwarts, and sometimes he wondered if he would even consider those his actual friends. Draco was sure that most of them simply clung to him for the sake of being friends with a Malfoy. For the sake of being in his circle. Having his approval. Being in his good graces. A lot of them were surely fake friends, that would easily turn their backs upon him the moment he was no longer important. But, he enjoyed the attention and popularity, nonetheless. Fake friends were better than no friends. And, honestly, who needed friends when you had all the material things that you could ever want to fill that space? Right? Right...
The truth was, that back home, Draco Malfoy was a lonely one. He supposed that was the curse of being an only child. His father was always so busy, his mother the same, although he did see more of her than he did Lucius, however, he wished he had someone closer to his age to interact with. Someone who wasn't a rock, because let's face it, Crabbe and Goyle weren't exactly conversationalists. They were more like... listeners... yeah, lets call them that for lack of a better word. And it wasn't as if he could actually hold a conversation with his brand new Firebolt that he had been surprised with as a Christmas gift. Let alone, any of the other inanimate objects in his room. At least he didn't have to share them with anyone. That was the bright-side. He was the first and the only to wear his clothes. The first and the only to play with his toys. Everything was his and his alone. Not like those Weasleys. Yet, sometimes he wondered what it felt like to have annoying little siblings running about all the time. Sometimes he did wish that he had family his age around. Sometimes he wished...
Draco paused his thinking for a moment, clenching his jaw and chewing on the inside of his cheek. He shook his head, no. He couldn't be thinking things like that. His aunt had made her choices and his cousin was below him. That was how things were. He had no business wishing that he had actually formed some sort of actual family relationship with her, despite his parents opinions. Absolutely no business at all, wishing that if maybe things were different, that he could possibly never feel alone again, because he would've always had someone there to talk to, to laugh with, to do all sorts of shenanigans with. The thought was almost absurd! Besides, they would never like each other. It would never happen. She was raised differently. She was raised to believe that blood purity wasn't important. She was raised to believe that everyone must be accepted equally....
With this war on the rise... did those of mixed blood really truly deserve to die? Did his cousin, his family.... his blood, deserve to die?
Draco swallowed down a knot that had created itself at the bottom of his throat, and his stomach turned at the word that continued to repeat itself within his head, over and over and over again.
And no matter how hard he attempted to shake the doubt from his mind, he couldn't. It terrified him. It made him feel confused. Conflicted. Afraid that if somehow someone could read his mind, he'd be judged; cast out into the cold. Possibly even killed himself. The last thing he wanted to do was be shunned from his family. To disappoint his father, the most. It was the last thing, the only thing he had. Yet, there was the irony. Family was the only thing he had to cling to... and Nymphadora was just that. Family. Someone that he was kept from all because of blood purity. Someone he had missed out on knowing and growing up with.
"Nymphadora Tonks..." He repeated her name once again, this time following it with her last. However, the drawl in his voice was far from mocking this time around; no, it was much softer, followed by words that dared to leave his lips. "I wish I was allowed to miss you... but I never had a chance to even try..."
The words were said to no one, yet somehow he wished that by some magic, that wherever his cousin lay tonight, that his words would reach her. That she could hear him, wherever she was. Maybe there was still time to change things between them? Maybe there was still time to fix things.
Yet, just as the words left his mouth, Draco's top lip curled into a sneer and he shook his head, scoffing once again. "What am I thinking? Silk and salad a match they do not make. And they never will."
Or maybe not? Only time could tell.
Draco reached over to turn off the light in his room and turned on his side, closing his eyes and falling asleep.