When most people look into a mirror, they see their reflection. More often than not, people my age don't like what they see. Acne, a displeasing feature, or unkempt patches of hair may greet them. Always unwanted, always unwelcome. Sometimes ignorance is the best solution to dealing with that kind of truth. Other times, it isn't enough.
I long for the days when I would see a proud boy in my reflection. I saw eyes blue as day, aristocratic features belonging to a wizard pure of blood, and a mischievous smile. I knew my place in the world. I knew I was above the filth that I became exposed to throughout my first few years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
I never imagined my royal blood status would come at a price.
These past few months I've learned the true meaning of being a Malfoy. Sick lies and betrayals can be read outlining the faces of my ancestors on the branches of my family tree. But only a man bearing the family name can see them. The day the Dark Lord entrusted in me to carry out a vital task of his, my father decided that I was of age. He unveiled the secret of my family tree to me for the first time the next day. Some of the things my predecessors have done in the name of Malfoy have invaded my sleep, haunting me for countless nights.
I used to be able to get away with everything, from taunting a hippogriff to giving teachers cheek. My last name was a convenience back then, something that I indulged in. Now, my father can't save me anymore. He can't protect me even if he went up to the Minister himself. He only has a handful of people above his authority, the Dark Lord being the most superior.
"I must, I must," I mutter to myself, watching the water drip from the facet and disappear down the drain.
Am I capable of doing this? Batty or not, can I take away the life of Albus Percival Dumbledore himself, not only my headmaster but the greatest wizard of his time? How do I know I can go through with this? I look up at the mirror, hoping to find answers I desperately seek.
I see a young man staring back at me. The clouded sunlight coming from the window makes his light, unruly hair appear to match his sickly pale face. The skin under his eyes is inflated and posses an abnormally dark tint, which does nothing to mask the battling emotions clear in his eyes.
Exhaustion, desperation, fear. But most of all: torment. These are no longer abstract concepts that the young man displays, but they control him. He is exhaustion. He is desperation. He is fear. The young man is hopelessly tormented; I can read him clear as day.
I flinch suddenly, as though I have been broken from a trance. This is my reflection. my state of being. My life. I blink.
Feeling more confused than ever, I slump against the bathroom wall. I break down into uncontrollable sobs, and let my emotions possess me once more.
It's been a good two years since I've written a story. Since I'm incapable of doing a multi-chapter, I think I'll stick with oneshots now that I'm back.
Please review, I'm looking for critique. It's my first angsty kind of writing so I would appreciate it (: