Title: Forbidden
Author: Psycho Ferret
Rating: PG
Warnings: Ah. Draco being a little depressive and submissive. That's it. No yaoi. This is a one-shot. I dun like it.
Author's Notes: There's no direct time period that this is written about. It's my interpretation of how Draco reacts to his father. Ah. Lucius. so tasty.
Disclaimers: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers, not me. This is purely for my enjoyment. Or rather, a vent while I was angry. Yes, this is me talking. Enjoy. I get no money out of this, simply a little bit of pride because I actually like this one.
~~~~~~~~
It's cold outside, just like always. There's a biting chill that eats away at the meager warmth my blood emits.
The chill in my soul, ground in by my bastard of a father, overwhelms me, consumes me until I can no longer think of him in any manner but full of hatred. I hate him, despise him, and cannot fathom how anyone could care for him at all.
I've heard people say that I remind them of him, and I cringe. To relate me in any manner to him is an utter insult.
Let the fires of Voldemort consume him, let him writhe in the flames of Hell.
However, I can do nothing but respect him, but use his name to better my own. I cannot deny that the mere mention of his title has lessened ridicule or a punishment, if only because his name is so feared.
I can hardly love him, even though he is my father, you see, because he doesn't, he can't love me, for he loves himself far too much. I take away from his power, his security by simply living. After all, another addition to the family is one more member he has to keep in line. One more member he has to keep from spoiling the family name.
I hate him for what he has bred me for, how he has raised me.
No, he has never raised a hand against me, never hurt me.
Physically, anyway.
Any childhood I had was thanks to the fleeting kindness towards me in the cold heart of my mother. But that's her duty as a mother, isn't it? To love her children.
Oh yes, they bless me with gifts until I can hardly stand it anymore, but it seems to me that they're buying me off, making sure that I don't stray from the path they have lain before me. And I will not. I fear the change that would occur if I were to do so.
My father can be a frightening man when angered. I have seen it but once, long ago, when I questioned him and He Who Must Not Be Named. The angry fires in his eyes and normally smooth voice were enough to quiet me, to hush what further questions I had. Since then, I have not questioned, I have only done what he has asked of me. I have been submissive to him ever since.
If I strayed from what they have set for me, I will lose what I have been raised as; I will lose my name, my heritage and my pride. Thus, I continue on like I always have, following my father like a faithful little pet.
Just what daddy wants.
I will join what I have been born to join, to bring the destruction of all.
I will join Voldemort's cause and become a Death Eater, like those in my family before me.
I have no choice, really, considering how lost I would be without their guidance. I do have my pride to look after and being kicked out of my own home, forced to throw away my family's name, would result in horrifying results. How much better than Potter would I be then? And I always must be above him. Always. If I lose what I have now, I would be lower than him.
Thus, I am in a dilemma. I hate my father, but my loathing for Potter and Professor Dumbledore goes far deeper. My mind, my soul is full of a burning series of hatreds, a roaring inferno that continues to build until I will be utterly consumed by it in the end.
And honestly, I believe I have no reason to hate Potter, except for a jealousy I am loath to admit to myself. I am jealous of his good qualities, of the admirable ideals he has formed through his hardships. I am jealous of the trustworthy friends he surrounds himself with, the respect he has won. And to deal with this jealousy, I lash out at him.
Sometimes I see my father there, in Potter's place.
I hate them both. I hate them and the anger their presences flare inside of me.
But in a way, then, I also hate myself.
To love oneself is a sin, but it is how I must survive. To sin is to be hated. Thus, I hate myself above all others because of my shallowness and my insecurity.
It is a forbidden thing.
Hatred.
Author: Psycho Ferret
Rating: PG
Warnings: Ah. Draco being a little depressive and submissive. That's it. No yaoi. This is a one-shot. I dun like it.
Author's Notes: There's no direct time period that this is written about. It's my interpretation of how Draco reacts to his father. Ah. Lucius. so tasty.
Disclaimers: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers, not me. This is purely for my enjoyment. Or rather, a vent while I was angry. Yes, this is me talking. Enjoy. I get no money out of this, simply a little bit of pride because I actually like this one.
~~~~~~~~
It's cold outside, just like always. There's a biting chill that eats away at the meager warmth my blood emits.
The chill in my soul, ground in by my bastard of a father, overwhelms me, consumes me until I can no longer think of him in any manner but full of hatred. I hate him, despise him, and cannot fathom how anyone could care for him at all.
I've heard people say that I remind them of him, and I cringe. To relate me in any manner to him is an utter insult.
Let the fires of Voldemort consume him, let him writhe in the flames of Hell.
However, I can do nothing but respect him, but use his name to better my own. I cannot deny that the mere mention of his title has lessened ridicule or a punishment, if only because his name is so feared.
I can hardly love him, even though he is my father, you see, because he doesn't, he can't love me, for he loves himself far too much. I take away from his power, his security by simply living. After all, another addition to the family is one more member he has to keep in line. One more member he has to keep from spoiling the family name.
I hate him for what he has bred me for, how he has raised me.
No, he has never raised a hand against me, never hurt me.
Physically, anyway.
Any childhood I had was thanks to the fleeting kindness towards me in the cold heart of my mother. But that's her duty as a mother, isn't it? To love her children.
Oh yes, they bless me with gifts until I can hardly stand it anymore, but it seems to me that they're buying me off, making sure that I don't stray from the path they have lain before me. And I will not. I fear the change that would occur if I were to do so.
My father can be a frightening man when angered. I have seen it but once, long ago, when I questioned him and He Who Must Not Be Named. The angry fires in his eyes and normally smooth voice were enough to quiet me, to hush what further questions I had. Since then, I have not questioned, I have only done what he has asked of me. I have been submissive to him ever since.
If I strayed from what they have set for me, I will lose what I have been raised as; I will lose my name, my heritage and my pride. Thus, I continue on like I always have, following my father like a faithful little pet.
Just what daddy wants.
I will join what I have been born to join, to bring the destruction of all.
I will join Voldemort's cause and become a Death Eater, like those in my family before me.
I have no choice, really, considering how lost I would be without their guidance. I do have my pride to look after and being kicked out of my own home, forced to throw away my family's name, would result in horrifying results. How much better than Potter would I be then? And I always must be above him. Always. If I lose what I have now, I would be lower than him.
Thus, I am in a dilemma. I hate my father, but my loathing for Potter and Professor Dumbledore goes far deeper. My mind, my soul is full of a burning series of hatreds, a roaring inferno that continues to build until I will be utterly consumed by it in the end.
And honestly, I believe I have no reason to hate Potter, except for a jealousy I am loath to admit to myself. I am jealous of his good qualities, of the admirable ideals he has formed through his hardships. I am jealous of the trustworthy friends he surrounds himself with, the respect he has won. And to deal with this jealousy, I lash out at him.
Sometimes I see my father there, in Potter's place.
I hate them both. I hate them and the anger their presences flare inside of me.
But in a way, then, I also hate myself.
To love oneself is a sin, but it is how I must survive. To sin is to be hated. Thus, I hate myself above all others because of my shallowness and my insecurity.
It is a forbidden thing.
Hatred.