This new story is dedicated to Endearing, whom I love dearly, and who has given me many, many wonderful ideas over the past couple of months. Any text you recognize (and there is some in this chapter) is JK Rowling's, not mine. You will never see another disclaimer, as I think they are useless. I'm obviously not JK Rowling, but I don't want to hear plagarism either, so I'm giving you a disclaimer here. Don't get used to it.

Rant over! This will be a chapter story! Please, please review and let me know what you think, it means so much to me when you do!

I love you all,

harrys-girl-4-life


Nominis Umbra.

It was Latin for 'the shadow of a name'.

Draco knew what that was like, he knew it all too well.

The Malfoy name had quite a shadow that came along with it.

And he fucking hated it.

He spent all of his time with shadowy people, in shadowy places, doing shadowy things.

Even now, bending over the small white sink in the sixth-floor boy's lavatory, he was with a shadowy person.

Moaning Myrtle.

And she wasn't just shadowy, she was a shadow.

Literally.

But Myrtle was the last thing on his mind, what was on his mind was the task he'd been given to complete.

A task the Dark Lord himself had given him.

Draco glared fiercely at the Dark Mark on his left forearm, gripping the sink tighter and wishing to all hell that the mark wasn't there.

He knew...he and the Dark Lord both knew that Draco couldn't complete his task.

He would fail, and he would be killed.

Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes and he swallowed hard.

It wasn't death that he dreaded, it was what would come first.

Torture.

He knew he would be tortured first, tortured until death would be a relief.

Though, death would be a relief anyway.

Hadn't he been tortured enough in his life?

Having Lucius Malfoy for a father was definitely torture enough.

Being a Malfoy at all was torture enough.

"You are a Malfoy," his father would say. "You must always remember that, and you must always act a certain way."

He'd heard it since birth.

When he was five, his father had thrown his favorite teddy bear into the parlor fireplace, announcing that Malfoys did not play with such pansy, girly things.

Draco had burst into tears.

Lucius had slapped him across the face.

"Malfoys do not cry!" He had bellowed, then sent the boy up to his room.

When he was seven, his mother had arranged for another small boy his age to come over and play with him.

All had been going well, until Lucius had come home and Draco tried to introduce his new friend.

Lucius promptly sent the other boy home through the Floo, then grabbed a large, hardcover book off a nearby table.

"Malfoys," he growled, striking Draco hard across the back with the book, "do not have friends! Malfoys have followers!"

He had continued to hit Draco with the book until the back of his shirt ripped nearly completely open, his back and shoulders torn and bleeding.

Draco hadn't dared to make a sound in pain, nor shed a tear.

Even at such a young age, he had known that would only make things worse.

It had been quite literally beaten into him.

He had so many scars all over his body that it would take weeks to count them all.

All of his beatings had been accompanied by one of his father's 'lessons' on the Malfoy dos and don'ts

"Malfoys do not love!" He'd been told while his father whipped rough branches across his bare back and legs.

"Malfoys never worry about anyone other than themselves!" This had been accompanied by a heavy candlestick, striking his torso and even his face. He'd had several cracked ribs after that one, plus a long scar that started above his eyebrow and continued across his temple.

"Malfoys always stand up straight!" Had been shouted at him as his father's cane came down across his back.

"Malfoys never get less than perfect grades in anything!" His father had fumed when Draco got an 'A' in Defense Against the Dark Arts. There were dozens of little round burn scars up both of his arms that would look like cigarette burns to any Muggle, but any wizard would know that they were actually from the burning hot tip of Lucius' wand.

"Malfoys never, ever, ever associate with anyone who is less than a pureblood! They are filth, and you will become such by associating with them!" Draco had been told as his father kicked and punched him to his heart's content.

"You will become a Death Eater whether you like it or not."

That one had been growled sadistically, time and time again, as Lucius dug a sharp blade into Draco's pale skin, leaving even more scars all over his young body.

If that had been Lucius' way of teaching his son the Malfoy way, Draco didn't want to beginto imagine what the torture from both him and the Dark Lord would be like once he failed to complete his task...and he would definitely fail.

"Please don't cry," Myrtle tried to soothe him, but he ignored her.

Tears streamed freely down the young man's face as he dreaded his fate.

Death truly would be preferable, at this point, but Draco couldn't bring himself to take his own life, either.

He was destined to fail, be tortured, and then murdered in the most terrible way possible, he was sure of it.

He wished he could convince himself to kill himself.

It wasn't as if he had anything to live for.

Hatred was all he knew.

His father hated him, the wizarding world hated him, most of the teachers hated him...even his mother hated him.

Well, his mother didn't really hate him, but she never did anything to help him, all the times his father had abused him, and that made Narcissa just as guilty as Lucius, in Draco's eyes.

"Oh, don't," Myrtle cooed. "Please don't...tell me what's wrong...I can help you..."

"No one can help me," he choked, his voice sounding dull and lifeless. "I can't do it...I just can't bring myself to do it...and if I don't do it soon...he says he'll kill me...please, just go...I want to be alone..."

He stared at himself in the mirror, crying harder as he wondered what he could have possibly done to deserve such treatment.

He'd never done anything to deserve this.

Nothing.

But he'd been born a Malfoy, and that was apparently what mattered.

He had been born a fucking Malfoy, and that somehow made it okay for everyone, including...no...especially his father, to treat him like a pile of rotting shit.

He hated his father, he hated his life, and he hated the Dark Lord.

But more than anything, he hated being a Malfoy.

He hated the shadow of his name.