Mirrors
Mirrors
A/N: It's been in my head ever since- i just had to let it out.
Draco Malfoy hated mirrors. He despised them. He loathed them beyond anything else. He hated the way the shine, the way the smooth texture against skin reminded him of what his father expected of him. Perfection. Smooth textures, straight lines, amazing shines… He was nothing near that. He was bitter. He was sour. He was broken. He felt broken even though he hid it. Who knew how he felt? Who? His mother was destroyed. His father was a killer. His 'friends' were idiots- the whole lot of them… Who the heck did he have? But, he hated mirrors for another reason. Not just appearances- but the reflection. He wasn't like this before, oh no, he was never. He used to like gazing into the depth of a mirror, searching for its end or wondering about the picture in front of. But then, before he went to Hogwarts, his mother told him a story. A story of her family. Draco was of course interested and was very proud of having the most noble and aristocratic blood in him as well as of the Malfoys. All his years he was taught Malfoy ways, so listening to his mother speaking of the Blacks was a miracle. It turned out different. It wasn't what he expected. Not even close.
She told him that she had a killer sister locked in Azkaban with the doors of hell widely opening for her. That she had a traitor sister who gave birth to filth. That she had another traitor cousin who was a killer as well, and about him. Regulus Black. The name sent shivers down his spine.
She told him of his character. He stared at the textures of his face- the bitterness.
She told him of his appearance. His eyes were black and bloodshot, so piercing that he couldn't look away.
She told him of his ways. He saw the tattered black clothes that made his pale, beaten face glow.
She told him of him. He remembered, later that day when he went to comb his hair to get ready to leave to Hogwarts, he saw a picture flash before him. It was too quick though- he barely made out the picture only the black eyes and nothing else. That happened almost every time that he was used to it- but it never stopped giving him gooseflesh. Then, in his fourth year when Voldemort rose and was alive. He stared at the mirror and never saw his reflection. No. He saw Regulus Black staring back at him with those menacing eyes. From a long time, he cried.
In his fifth year, he saw Regulus Black looking back at him with disgust on his face- it did not match his features… that was what made him so frightening. In his sixth year, he looked desperate- worried and anxious and yet, the bitterness never left his face. In his seventh year, with the mark planted on his arm, Regulus Black looked at him full of pity and anger. He finally understood, he didn't have a reflection of his own life. He wasn't walking his own path, he wasn't playing his own game. He was playing someone else.
" He was a poor, confused soul, he went one way for years at the prompting of our family, out of desire for approval and fear from repercussion from the family if he tried anything else. He realized that it wasn't for him. With no one there and with lacking a purpose it destroyed him".
Those were his mother's word in describing her favourite cousin. Those words described him completely. He did it all for his father, but his father just wanted a title. He had joined for approval but he was met with nothing of a sort. He had no path to run away to, it's slowly destroying him. He understood, Regulus Black was his reflection. Always bitter, always scowling. So different than the stories his mother used to tell him. He was just like Regulus Black, the reflection was a warning and Regulus Black hated him for it. He knew that as long as he had that mark planted on his arm, Regulus Black would haunt him for it.
A/N: Pls Review and tell me what you think!