It was amazing how everything changed from what was always defined. Nothing was supposed to happen; nothing was supposed to change. When he thought about it, it made him laugh. It sounded strong, like he found it genuinely funny, but it had a depressing tone. There was always something depressing about him and his life. He could count them off his fingers, one by one.
i.
Ambition: that's the thing you're sorted on to get into Slytherin. A small chuckle escaped him with the thought. That's where it started: Slytherin. His ambition was gone, long gone. Anything he wanted now, anything that he had to work for, was just another thing he could just curse into oblivion. He watched people going about tearing their hair out trying to achieve something that wouldn't even do anything for them. He thought back to all those days at Hogwarts. They tried to make them achieve something that wouldn't do anything for them. All those OWLS and NEWTS; like they did anything for him. It wouldn't change what people thought of him, how disgust almost overflowed in their eyes.
ii.
He had slumped down to a rank that he hadn't even known existed. It was even a rank below the Mudbloods he was taught to hate. It was funny how he had it all, money, power, influence. Those were gone and were replaced with nothing. If not that, almost nothing. The place he had grown up in was his for the taking; no one was there to say anything about that. But of course, what would he do with it? He had no ambition to do anything that would care for the place; the best he could do was just leave it with the Ministry. It was a laugh; seeing how he was able to have all the finer things in life stuck in that house. He was sure he could sell most of it for hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions of galleons. He didn't have anything from there; they wouldn't allow him. They wouldn't allow him a lot of things.
iii.
It had been years since the war and everything else had ended. He was twenty-nine now.
He was there for each of their passings. His mother died first, she was too shaken up by what had become of her life to even live for her son. He had always loved his mother; it was something he hadn't really thought of. But of course, he should've; she wasn't doing well during the war, most certainly not after. She wasted away when they were in Ministry custody, losing any sort of herself that was still intact.
He was there in the room when she had gone. She looked at him with those same loving eyes he had known for his whole life. Those ocean blue eyes that crinkled when she laughed. The same eyes that were dull of the smile that was at her lips whenever she was being polite. They became dull for a different reason that day. Her hand slowly slipped out of his as he was still unbelieving of her death. Tears fell from his eyes like they were fountains, sobs escaping his mouth. He thought back to his father that day. He seemed so…lifeless. That was a funny word to use considering the situation.
The day his father passed, he felt something he never thought he would He heard his father's voice for the last time that day. With his mother, she could barely make a sound. The harsh whisper that came from his father made him cringe slightly. "Draco, look at me," he said. "You've been brave, my son. I'm…" Tears fell from his father's eyes. He couldn't even think back to the deepest recesses of his memories to where his father cried. "I'm sorry…for everything! You should've been your own man, not following what I wanted you to do." He could feel the life leaving his father with every ragged breath he took. "I'm sorry… I love you, Draco…"
With that, he died. Just like that. He didn't even allow him the chance to say something. But then again, Draco didn't even know what to say to him. The man he had known for his whole life, the man who had inadvertently made him become one of the Death Eaters - his father - had died. And that's when it had hit him. It was funny to him how he knew everything he felt about his mother, but when it came to his father, he was just as stupid as Crabbe or Goyle. He had cried for hours longer than he had ever imagined he would, shaking and sobbing. He lost the one person that he looked up to. He was gone and never coming back.
iv.
Astoria Malfoy: the one girl who would talk to him after everything was over. Even Luna Lovegood stayed away from him (though, considering she was imprisoned in the Malfoy Manor dungeon, he didn't really blame her).
She was his solace, the one thing that he had after his parents were gone. Astoria had faced some harsh judgment, too, once the Dark Lord had fallen for the final time. Her family was grouped in with all the other pure-bloods that thought they were better than half-bloods, Mudbloods and blood traitors. The Greengrass' didn't do anything wrong, they didn't truly join the Death Eaters like the Malfoy's did; they only supported the cause half-heartedly. They both found something in the other, something that made then get married like foolish kids even though they were in their twenties. He didn't even know where they went wrong. She had said so many things that night; things had gone by in a blur. He just knew that she had packed some bags and left.
v.
Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy: his joy of life.
He cried the day he was born. It seemed so stupid to think about; he had been raised not to show emotion like many of the men in the world. But that day felt like something real had happened. He had some innocent life in his arms, something so pure that he felt that he had tainted it just by holding his own son. Scorpius's giggles still rang in his ears sometimes when he thought about him, the happy times. He thought about the day after Astoria had left, when he had gone through the house trying to find his son. A complete mess he was: leaning against the toddler's bed, holding the toy dragon that was Scorpius' favourite. He could still remember the day that Scorpius had ripped the side of it and of how he cried because he thought he killed it. A smile spread across lips at the memory of the child he loved.
vi.
It was a month after Astoria and Scorpius had gone. He hadn't even gotten a letter from her telling him anything.
He wanted to see his son. He wanted to see his wife.
He wanted to see his mother and father again.
He wanted to have one last conversation, another scathing joke with Vincent Crabbe.
He wanted just one more good memory of his Aunt Bellatrix.
He wanted to hear the praise of Severus Snape about his potion skills.
He wanted to hear about the strange and non-existent things that Luna Lovegood would talk about when she was imprisoned at the Malfoy Manor.
He wanted to see both of the Weasley twins walking around, telling people about their new trickster concoctions.
He even wanted to see the three people he had insulted and made fun of all those years at Hogwarts.
He wanted everything back. He wanted every happy memory, every enjoyable feeling, every person he missed.
Everything was funny within itself when he had thought back: his father's death; his wife taking his son away; losing his own self. If he had ever told someone these thoughts, they would think him insane. He was pretty sure he was as well. He had lost so much. He wasn't sure how something could even help him out of what he felt was his depression. He just sat at the same bar stool every day at the Leaky Cauldron until he was kicked out. He would sit in his son's room, staring at all the things that Astoria had left in the rush she was in. He would lie down on the bed he used to share with her, staring at her empty side. He would even dig through some drawers to find the one photo album that he managed to keep from the Manor.
His mother would smile up at him through the magical photograph. His father would still have the same intimidating attitude. But he knew that in the back were photos that his mother never got a chance to put on the pages: the one of where his father laughed heartily at how his mother stared at him for eating the chocolate he was forbidden; the one where Draco had fallen off his first broom in their grand backyard; the one where he sat on the freezing cold snow, trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue. Even when he ended up crying himself to sleep over seeing those old photos, he felt some glimmer of happiness go through him each time he saw one of them.
This is what the young, cocky Slytherin Draco Malfoy had become: a broken man with none of what was his. He could just imagine all the harsh jokes that Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger would say if they saw him. He was sure everyone who knew him from Hogwarts and after would say some scathing, ridiculing joke at his expense. He wasn't even sure he cared anymore. He probably didn't care; he had nothing to care about.
He was done. Everything that he once had, everything that had meant something to him was gone. Maybe it was all just a dream and he would wake up. Maybe the Dark Lord never killed Lily and James Potter. Maybe the Dark Lord had fallen in the First Wizarding War. If that happened, none of this would've happened. He probably would've been friends with Harry. This is what he had been reduced to.
He laughed, at himself, at everything that he wasn't.
vii.
And there he was: gone.
He was dead and he felt like some weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
He felt anger and grief for leaving his son without a father, his wife a widow, but he felt good at the same time. He didn't have to live a life that was something that he hated. He felt like he was doing something for the better. Maybe Scorpius would understand one day... No, he didn't want Scorpius to understand him.
It would be written and spread all across the newspapers. "Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, Found Dead in Home." It was funny how he knew that's how the article would read. He would always be stuck with the title of "former Death Eater", even in death. Tragic, it was; it was tragic more than funny.
But then again, he was finding everything funny when he thought back.